Cato's Cavalry
- Thread starter Cymraeg
- Start date
Cato peered at the mass of men that could be seen marching up the South road. He could see from his vantage point on the highest watchtower on the walls that they were infantry, and well-trained infantry at that. He rubbed a finger under his nose for a moment and then looked at the young sentry next to him. “Can you see any banners from here?”
The sentry squinted at the oncoming men. “Not really sir. They’re too far away. But I think that there’s a red banner in the lead there.”
Cato looked at the sentry sharply and then squinted himself. “Damn, but you might be right.” And then he grinned. “An army from the South and a red banner – there can be only one man in charge of that!” And then he was off down the stairs, his heart lighter than it had been for days as the worry lifted off him. As he reached the bottom he looked around. “Malgo! I want a Turmae of men formed up at once, along with both my bannermen! We have an old friend to welcome here!”
The newly minted Centurion looked at him, read his face and then took off at a run as he bellowed orders. Other men watched him, flinched slightly at the volume and then started running themselves.
The shouting did its magic. Not long after the South gates of Eboracum saw a full Turmae of cavalry trot through, with Cato in the lead followed by his two bannermen, one with the Dragon Banner and the other with the Eagle.
As they passed down the road they could see the great mass of men ahead of them and Cato’s eyes were instantly drawn to the horsemen leading the oncoming army. Yes, there was a red banner there and as they got closer he could see the shape of a golden spear – and then the man in armour by that banner let out a great shout and galloped towards them.
Cato grinned and then formally saluted as the man approached. Lucius Ambrosius Aurelianus Aemilianus was in a set of utilitarian armour, nothing flashy, nothing ostentatious, and yet he had a far more commanding presence than the elder Beliatrix brother could ever dream to have.
“Cato!” the Dux of Britannia shouted as he drew level. “It is you! Who else could fly those banners!?! Your father’s banner and the Eagle!” And then he saw the Cincticulus and if anything his grin got larger. “At last – you have taken the rank you are due.”
“I had little choice,” Cato replied as he clasped forearms with his old friend. “It has been a busy time since you sent me here. There is much to tell you. Eboracum is secure. Beliatrix is under arrest. But we have a lot of gold coins from Constantinople being spent in strange places. Someone has been trying to subvert people all over the place. One of Beliatrix’s men, Caecilius, seems to have been in the pay of someone from the East.” He paused and swallowed. “So was Corius back in Deva.”
Aemilianus looked at him sharply and then pulled a face. “Corius? Really?”
“He tried to kill me. I fought back. He’s dead. Had a lot of gold in his office.”
The other man swore under his breath and then gestured at the fortress. “Ride with me. I have news as well. War is being prepared in Rome – brother fights brother. And Constantine of Gaul is also dealing with unrest. Who knows what else has been funded with that gold? Tell me everything.”
Cato did just – he spoke until he was hoarse, telling of his trip to Eboracum so many long days ago, his talk with the dead Dux, his flight from the fortress with the younger Beliatrix and also eventually Cottia, and then their trip to Deva, followed by the marshalling of the First Cavalry Legion and the march on Eboracum, along with his confrontation with Beliatrix the Elder and (eventually) Caecilius.
By the time he finished, as he and his old friend entered the bowels of the fortress and passed along the corridor that led to the office of the old Dux, he could see that Aemilianus was looking at him slightly oddly. “What?”
“You have changed Cato. You have put aside your old… hesitations.”
“I… I had no choice,” Cato sighed as he sat on a chair opposite the desk. “Chaos was about to envelope the North, a chaos orchestrated by Caecilius and his damn gold. I’ve sent word out to the South to hunt down that ship and that damn Galatian. We need proof.”
“We do at that.” Aemilianus sat at the desk and pulled a wry face as he looked at the map on the wall. “You pulled the fangs of this conspiracy here, far better than I could have. I was on my way North anyway with the Second Legion when I had word of what had happened. Your young friend Beliatrix the Younger found me on the road with his father’s banner and insignia. He’s somewhere back there. Smart little fellow.”
“Smarter than his brother.” Cato shook his head. “You’ll need to talk to him at some point.”
“I know I will. I need to send word to the North first though. A deputation came South from Valentia just before I heard about the madness here in Eboracum. The tribes are united on one thing – they are pleading to formally join us. They want our protection.”
Cato looked at him and then smiled slightly. “My father’s prediction was right then.”
“He was right. The border has shifted North, as he thought it would. But if this conspiracy here had succeeded, then it might not have happened, because we would now be fighting each other.” Aemilianus shook his head. “Idiots. Eboracum will always need the fortress, just in case the North needs reinforcements. But it has been changing for many years now. Trade is always important. Without trade we are weak, we are poor and we are shrunken.”
A pause filled the air as the two men stared at the map – and then the moment broke as they both shivered slightly. “You mentioned unrest in Gaul,” Cato muttered. “What of that?”
Aemilianus pulled a face. “Constantine is said to be facing a revolt near Massilia. Not a large one, but worrying enough.” Then he pulled a more anguished face. “And Sulpicius of Hispania has… taken a more radical decision. He has… proclaimed himself Rex.”
Cato looked at his old friend worriedly. “This cannot have come as a surprise to you.”
Another pause, as Aemilianus stared at a spot on the wall. “No,” he said eventually. “No. But… I still dislike the term. The name.”
“If I have changed then so must you,” Cato pointed out quietly. “You are the sole Dux now. You must do what needs to be done. Find whatever title pleases you. But the North will need a figure to bow to when they join us. And Constantinople will need to know that you lead here.”
This time the silence was heavier than lead. Finally Aemilianus ran a hand over his face and then looked at Cato. “Let me think on this. Think hard. Thank you Cato. Now – let’s talk to Beliatrix the idiot.”
The sentry squinted at the oncoming men. “Not really sir. They’re too far away. But I think that there’s a red banner in the lead there.”
Cato looked at the sentry sharply and then squinted himself. “Damn, but you might be right.” And then he grinned. “An army from the South and a red banner – there can be only one man in charge of that!” And then he was off down the stairs, his heart lighter than it had been for days as the worry lifted off him. As he reached the bottom he looked around. “Malgo! I want a Turmae of men formed up at once, along with both my bannermen! We have an old friend to welcome here!”
The newly minted Centurion looked at him, read his face and then took off at a run as he bellowed orders. Other men watched him, flinched slightly at the volume and then started running themselves.
The shouting did its magic. Not long after the South gates of Eboracum saw a full Turmae of cavalry trot through, with Cato in the lead followed by his two bannermen, one with the Dragon Banner and the other with the Eagle.
As they passed down the road they could see the great mass of men ahead of them and Cato’s eyes were instantly drawn to the horsemen leading the oncoming army. Yes, there was a red banner there and as they got closer he could see the shape of a golden spear – and then the man in armour by that banner let out a great shout and galloped towards them.
Cato grinned and then formally saluted as the man approached. Lucius Ambrosius Aurelianus Aemilianus was in a set of utilitarian armour, nothing flashy, nothing ostentatious, and yet he had a far more commanding presence than the elder Beliatrix brother could ever dream to have.
“Cato!” the Dux of Britannia shouted as he drew level. “It is you! Who else could fly those banners!?! Your father’s banner and the Eagle!” And then he saw the Cincticulus and if anything his grin got larger. “At last – you have taken the rank you are due.”
“I had little choice,” Cato replied as he clasped forearms with his old friend. “It has been a busy time since you sent me here. There is much to tell you. Eboracum is secure. Beliatrix is under arrest. But we have a lot of gold coins from Constantinople being spent in strange places. Someone has been trying to subvert people all over the place. One of Beliatrix’s men, Caecilius, seems to have been in the pay of someone from the East.” He paused and swallowed. “So was Corius back in Deva.”
Aemilianus looked at him sharply and then pulled a face. “Corius? Really?”
“He tried to kill me. I fought back. He’s dead. Had a lot of gold in his office.”
The other man swore under his breath and then gestured at the fortress. “Ride with me. I have news as well. War is being prepared in Rome – brother fights brother. And Constantine of Gaul is also dealing with unrest. Who knows what else has been funded with that gold? Tell me everything.”
Cato did just – he spoke until he was hoarse, telling of his trip to Eboracum so many long days ago, his talk with the dead Dux, his flight from the fortress with the younger Beliatrix and also eventually Cottia, and then their trip to Deva, followed by the marshalling of the First Cavalry Legion and the march on Eboracum, along with his confrontation with Beliatrix the Elder and (eventually) Caecilius.
By the time he finished, as he and his old friend entered the bowels of the fortress and passed along the corridor that led to the office of the old Dux, he could see that Aemilianus was looking at him slightly oddly. “What?”
“You have changed Cato. You have put aside your old… hesitations.”
“I… I had no choice,” Cato sighed as he sat on a chair opposite the desk. “Chaos was about to envelope the North, a chaos orchestrated by Caecilius and his damn gold. I’ve sent word out to the South to hunt down that ship and that damn Galatian. We need proof.”
“We do at that.” Aemilianus sat at the desk and pulled a wry face as he looked at the map on the wall. “You pulled the fangs of this conspiracy here, far better than I could have. I was on my way North anyway with the Second Legion when I had word of what had happened. Your young friend Beliatrix the Younger found me on the road with his father’s banner and insignia. He’s somewhere back there. Smart little fellow.”
“Smarter than his brother.” Cato shook his head. “You’ll need to talk to him at some point.”
“I know I will. I need to send word to the North first though. A deputation came South from Valentia just before I heard about the madness here in Eboracum. The tribes are united on one thing – they are pleading to formally join us. They want our protection.”
Cato looked at him and then smiled slightly. “My father’s prediction was right then.”
“He was right. The border has shifted North, as he thought it would. But if this conspiracy here had succeeded, then it might not have happened, because we would now be fighting each other.” Aemilianus shook his head. “Idiots. Eboracum will always need the fortress, just in case the North needs reinforcements. But it has been changing for many years now. Trade is always important. Without trade we are weak, we are poor and we are shrunken.”
A pause filled the air as the two men stared at the map – and then the moment broke as they both shivered slightly. “You mentioned unrest in Gaul,” Cato muttered. “What of that?”
Aemilianus pulled a face. “Constantine is said to be facing a revolt near Massilia. Not a large one, but worrying enough.” Then he pulled a more anguished face. “And Sulpicius of Hispania has… taken a more radical decision. He has… proclaimed himself Rex.”
Cato looked at his old friend worriedly. “This cannot have come as a surprise to you.”
Another pause, as Aemilianus stared at a spot on the wall. “No,” he said eventually. “No. But… I still dislike the term. The name.”
“If I have changed then so must you,” Cato pointed out quietly. “You are the sole Dux now. You must do what needs to be done. Find whatever title pleases you. But the North will need a figure to bow to when they join us. And Constantinople will need to know that you lead here.”
This time the silence was heavier than lead. Finally Aemilianus ran a hand over his face and then looked at Cato. “Let me think on this. Think hard. Thank you Cato. Now – let’s talk to Beliatrix the idiot.”
TFSmith121
Banned
Dux? Yes...
Rex? No, bad call, smacks of independence and needs to be smacked down.
Augustus? Imperator? Caesar? Um, no, not good calls at all...
Gubernator?
Fun stuff, as always.
Best,
Rex? No, bad call, smacks of independence and needs to be smacked down.
Augustus? Imperator? Caesar? Um, no, not good calls at all...
Gubernator?
Fun stuff, as always.
Best,
Perhaps Dominus Dux, to show that he is a more important/powerful Dux, but not quite entirely declaring independence?
Praetor would be a good option, given its origins as a office that acts with the authority of a king, especially in a military context.
Donald Reaver
Donor
A great update cymraeg, a title he may want to think of the old title of proconsul as a governor of a province. While that does not match the reality of what he is, it does not challenge the existing order.
Hmmm, trouble in Rome? It's the perfect time for Aemilianus to declare Britannia's final independence. Otherwise he'll be pushed to declare support for one side or the other in the brotherly conflict ahead. And something sinister is happening in Gaul, a set-up for regime change that would put a Constantinople ally on the throne perhaps.
Why would Aemilianus have to declare for either brother? It's not like he would be committing any troops. Britannia is too far away and Gaul with its problems would seem to be more important and closer to hand.
Also isn't it more important to interrogate Caecilius rather than his stooge?
Also isn't it more important to interrogate Caecilius rather than his stooge?
I like this...
...But I've been busy on my Book Two and had almost three pages to read. Please continue, Cymraeg - I have two kindles of Cato and need to assemble a full Turmae - or at least three...
...But I've been busy on my Book Two and had almost three pages to read. Please continue, Cymraeg - I have two kindles of Cato and need to assemble a full Turmae - or at least three...
Sorry about the delay on this. I was a bit busy and then massively depressed and now tamping mad and ready to fight.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cato later had to admit that the confrontation between Beliatrix the Elder and Aemilianus had been something of an anti-climax. The prisoner had been marched in looking pale and had then gone whiter than a candle at the sight of Aemilianus. He also deflated more than a bit as whatever remains of pride and arrogance leaked out of him and puddled on the floor, although he did initially try to make something of the fact that he still thought that he was Dux.
Aemilianus had directed a withering gaze at him, before dressing him down with his tongue, making him well aware of how little his own father had thought of him. He’d even thought to bring the original letter that had informed him that old Beliatrix was dying and that he was transferring his title to Aemilianus. That had rocked him.
What completed the demolition was what happened when a set of knuckles rapped at the doorframe to reveal Malgo with the prisoner’s brother. Gaius Junius Beliatrix looked far more weather-beaten than he had before and his gait looked as if he had recovered from any saddle sores, but it was the look in his eyes that had gotten to Cato. When he looked at his brother there was a hardness and a disgust there.
He had nodded to him and then directed a look of total contempt at his brother, before marching over to the desk and depositing the saddlebags containing the banner and insignia that had belonged to his father. He had then formally saluted (Cato had made a note to ask Malgo who had taught the younger man that) and marched out of the door.
When the contents of the saddlebags had been displayed Beliatrix the Elder had stiffened in his chair, gone white and then red, before looking even more deflated than before. “I was told that… I was told that what I had was my father’s…” he dribbled to a halt.
After that the interrogation had descended into farce. Beliatrix’s growing horror at how he had been manipulated by Caecilius and his gold (and apparently poison as well) was so obvious that Cato found his lip curling as he witnessed the whole thing. Again and again it became apparent that Caecilius had poked him into rebellion with flattery and comments about the need to build on the legacy of his father. All couched in slow, hesitant, tones that stressed his position as a bit of an idiot.
Finally it was over and Beliatrix stumbled out into the hands of his escort, who marched him briskly back to his quarters. Cato looked at Aemilianus, who raised an eyebrow in disgust. “An easily manipulated idiot, totally unlike his father or his brother,” the Dux muttered contemptuously. “Very well – bring in the manipulator.”
There was a pause and then Caecilius was marched in. He was pale and wan, in a tunic that showed the padding of bandages over the arrow wound. He was marched in and then deposited, none too gently, on the seat in front of the desk.
Aemilianus looked at the man and then leant forwards. “Well,” he said quietly, “You’ve been a busy man it seems. Busy fooling as many people as possible that firstly you’re an idiot and secondly that Beliatrix should be Dux. Quite how you made people believe in the second thing whilst ignoring the first I’m not too sure, but perhaps the large bag of gold coins from Constantinople helped you.”
Caecilius smiled thinly back at him. “Should not a son succeed his father?”
“Not when that father regarded his son as being inadequate for the job,” Cato shot back. “Now – where did the gold come from?”
That bought him a languid raise of an eyebrow. “I have generous friends,” Caecilius replied. “Friends in high places too.”
“Those friends will not help you here,” Cato growled, before heeding the look in Aemilianus’s eyes and stalking back to the other side of the desk. “Talk about the Galatian.”
Something flickered in the gaze of the other man. “What Galatian?”
“The so-called Gaul with the Eastern accent who fled on a ship to the South. That Galatian.”
Caecilius looked at Cato for a moment and then shrugged and returned his gaze to Aemilianus. “I followed my instincts. Beliatrix deserved to be supported.”
Aemilianus crashed his fist down on the table. “LIAR! You were paid. You were suborned. Where did it come from?”
The conspirator flinched a little but then looked back. “And why should I tell you? You’ll just kill me anyway.”
He had a good point. There could be only one penalty for treason and trying to foment a civil war certainly counted as treason. Cato looked at Aemilianus, who had an angry, set, look on his face. “You are a traitor,” he said eventually, confirming what Cato was thinking. “But your life before your execution will be a lot more pleasant if you tell us what you know now.”
It was a threat that left a great deal unsaid and it hung in the air like an unpleasant stench. Cato felt his skin crawl at the very thought – but it had to be said.
Caecilius stared at him and then smiled the thinnest of smiles. “I see.”
“No, I suspect that you don’t,” Cato replied harshly. “Word is spreading here in the garrison about your actions. About how you tried to make Britannian fight Britannian because you were bribed. Well, I doubt that you are a very popular man amongst the men that you tried to get to fight for Beliatrix. I doubt that they like you very much at all. Their families neither. There are fierce women here in the North. Women with… short knives and a lot of imagination. It would be such a shame if your guards went for a meal at the wrong moment, before their relief arrived. Leaving you unguarded.”
The blood drained from the face of the traitor as he looked at Cato – and then the thin smile returned briefly. “I was wrong about you, Cato. I thought that you were a very pale shadow of your father and an even paler shadow of your forefathers. I couldn’t have been more wrong, could I?” He looked back at Aemilianus. “Very well. The Galatian approached me about a year ago. He had gold and promises of more gold. Oh, and he had promises of support from foreign friends. A long way away.”
“In Constantinople?” Cato guessed.
Caecilius nodded shortly. “He wanted chaos. And he was willing to pay for it. As he had the money…”
“You provided it,” Aemilianus completed the sentence. “Very well. So now we know.” He glared at the wretched man. “You’ll have a fair trial. The law is the law – my father made sure that everything was codified. You’ll be guarded and protected but when you are found guilty, which every scrap of evidence suggests, I’ll swing the sword myself.”
“I’ll hold your scabbard,” Cato said coldly. “And then we’ll find the Galatian.” And then, he thought, we need to raise a new standard. Cut those final, fragile, cords.
Britannia.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cato later had to admit that the confrontation between Beliatrix the Elder and Aemilianus had been something of an anti-climax. The prisoner had been marched in looking pale and had then gone whiter than a candle at the sight of Aemilianus. He also deflated more than a bit as whatever remains of pride and arrogance leaked out of him and puddled on the floor, although he did initially try to make something of the fact that he still thought that he was Dux.
Aemilianus had directed a withering gaze at him, before dressing him down with his tongue, making him well aware of how little his own father had thought of him. He’d even thought to bring the original letter that had informed him that old Beliatrix was dying and that he was transferring his title to Aemilianus. That had rocked him.
What completed the demolition was what happened when a set of knuckles rapped at the doorframe to reveal Malgo with the prisoner’s brother. Gaius Junius Beliatrix looked far more weather-beaten than he had before and his gait looked as if he had recovered from any saddle sores, but it was the look in his eyes that had gotten to Cato. When he looked at his brother there was a hardness and a disgust there.
He had nodded to him and then directed a look of total contempt at his brother, before marching over to the desk and depositing the saddlebags containing the banner and insignia that had belonged to his father. He had then formally saluted (Cato had made a note to ask Malgo who had taught the younger man that) and marched out of the door.
When the contents of the saddlebags had been displayed Beliatrix the Elder had stiffened in his chair, gone white and then red, before looking even more deflated than before. “I was told that… I was told that what I had was my father’s…” he dribbled to a halt.
After that the interrogation had descended into farce. Beliatrix’s growing horror at how he had been manipulated by Caecilius and his gold (and apparently poison as well) was so obvious that Cato found his lip curling as he witnessed the whole thing. Again and again it became apparent that Caecilius had poked him into rebellion with flattery and comments about the need to build on the legacy of his father. All couched in slow, hesitant, tones that stressed his position as a bit of an idiot.
Finally it was over and Beliatrix stumbled out into the hands of his escort, who marched him briskly back to his quarters. Cato looked at Aemilianus, who raised an eyebrow in disgust. “An easily manipulated idiot, totally unlike his father or his brother,” the Dux muttered contemptuously. “Very well – bring in the manipulator.”
There was a pause and then Caecilius was marched in. He was pale and wan, in a tunic that showed the padding of bandages over the arrow wound. He was marched in and then deposited, none too gently, on the seat in front of the desk.
Aemilianus looked at the man and then leant forwards. “Well,” he said quietly, “You’ve been a busy man it seems. Busy fooling as many people as possible that firstly you’re an idiot and secondly that Beliatrix should be Dux. Quite how you made people believe in the second thing whilst ignoring the first I’m not too sure, but perhaps the large bag of gold coins from Constantinople helped you.”
Caecilius smiled thinly back at him. “Should not a son succeed his father?”
“Not when that father regarded his son as being inadequate for the job,” Cato shot back. “Now – where did the gold come from?”
That bought him a languid raise of an eyebrow. “I have generous friends,” Caecilius replied. “Friends in high places too.”
“Those friends will not help you here,” Cato growled, before heeding the look in Aemilianus’s eyes and stalking back to the other side of the desk. “Talk about the Galatian.”
Something flickered in the gaze of the other man. “What Galatian?”
“The so-called Gaul with the Eastern accent who fled on a ship to the South. That Galatian.”
Caecilius looked at Cato for a moment and then shrugged and returned his gaze to Aemilianus. “I followed my instincts. Beliatrix deserved to be supported.”
Aemilianus crashed his fist down on the table. “LIAR! You were paid. You were suborned. Where did it come from?”
The conspirator flinched a little but then looked back. “And why should I tell you? You’ll just kill me anyway.”
He had a good point. There could be only one penalty for treason and trying to foment a civil war certainly counted as treason. Cato looked at Aemilianus, who had an angry, set, look on his face. “You are a traitor,” he said eventually, confirming what Cato was thinking. “But your life before your execution will be a lot more pleasant if you tell us what you know now.”
It was a threat that left a great deal unsaid and it hung in the air like an unpleasant stench. Cato felt his skin crawl at the very thought – but it had to be said.
Caecilius stared at him and then smiled the thinnest of smiles. “I see.”
“No, I suspect that you don’t,” Cato replied harshly. “Word is spreading here in the garrison about your actions. About how you tried to make Britannian fight Britannian because you were bribed. Well, I doubt that you are a very popular man amongst the men that you tried to get to fight for Beliatrix. I doubt that they like you very much at all. Their families neither. There are fierce women here in the North. Women with… short knives and a lot of imagination. It would be such a shame if your guards went for a meal at the wrong moment, before their relief arrived. Leaving you unguarded.”
The blood drained from the face of the traitor as he looked at Cato – and then the thin smile returned briefly. “I was wrong about you, Cato. I thought that you were a very pale shadow of your father and an even paler shadow of your forefathers. I couldn’t have been more wrong, could I?” He looked back at Aemilianus. “Very well. The Galatian approached me about a year ago. He had gold and promises of more gold. Oh, and he had promises of support from foreign friends. A long way away.”
“In Constantinople?” Cato guessed.
Caecilius nodded shortly. “He wanted chaos. And he was willing to pay for it. As he had the money…”
“You provided it,” Aemilianus completed the sentence. “Very well. So now we know.” He glared at the wretched man. “You’ll have a fair trial. The law is the law – my father made sure that everything was codified. You’ll be guarded and protected but when you are found guilty, which every scrap of evidence suggests, I’ll swing the sword myself.”
“I’ll hold your scabbard,” Cato said coldly. “And then we’ll find the Galatian.” And then, he thought, we need to raise a new standard. Cut those final, fragile, cords.
Britannia.