Yes, this has been a looooong time coming, due to a combination of writers block (my plan fell apart when I looked at in more detail) and generally being very busy on real life and other projects like Robb Returns. But Cato's Cavalry was one of my best-loved stories and I need to restart it. So - enjoy. And apologies again for the delay.
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He hung the cloak properly, checked that the broach held it properly and then picked up his helmet and placed it under one arm. Only then did he turn to look at his father, who was watching from the doorway. Father looked at him shrewdly and then nodded. “You’ll do.”
It wasn’t much in the way of praise, but he knew that Father was proud of him. Father was a man of few words at times, careful in those words and also in gestures. The Shadow, he and his siblings often called it, behind Father’s back. The Shadow was always hanging over Father.
It was not fear, never that. It was caution. He knew why. Father had fled a powerful man in the East, a man who many feared. And Father had hidden here in Britannia, along with Mother, Marcus and (eventually) himself and his brothers and sisters.
‘Caius Honorious’ looked at him again. “Remember everything that I’ve taught you. Be on your guard, no matter what. Remember who you are – who you really are. Take nothing for granted. Watch people. Command with authority, but also command wisely. And come home to your family.”
It was a longer speech than he had been expecting. “Father,” he replied carefully. “Are you going North with the rest of the Army?”
A smile flickered over Father’s face. “I am. You know me, Quintus. I do my duty. The Painted People are hardly the Persians, but as long as there is a threat to those who I know and love, then I must step forwards.” Something seemed to cross his face. “Besides – there’s something odd about the situation in the North this time. There’s a different feel to it.”
“I can’t come with you?”
“You have an assignment. Carry it out well. Marcus will be with me, must to the annoyance of Megga, that wife of his.”
He peered at Father. “Marcus loves her!”
Father tilted his head a little. “Aye, but… well, that’s the prejudices of my upbringing speaking.” His eyes seem to shift into another place for a moment, as he tended to do when he thought of the past. Quintus had seen it enough times before and waited for Father to return to the present. “Don’t worry – she’ll do as well.”
They walked to the door together, down along the long corridor with its vibrant mosaic floor and then to the courtyard outside where he could see the gates of the house. The doorwarden, an old veteran, open the nearest gate with a stamp of old habit and they paused at the gates and looked out at the city of Deva that stretched beyond.
“So now,” Father said gruffly – and for a moment there was a catch in his voice. “Your first assignment! Hibernia. It’s a good thing that you’re a better sailor than I am. I always throw up on long sea journeys. That last time I came South from Alt Clud… your mother laughed at the state I was in afterwards.”
He smiled and nodded at the memory. “I remember Father.” And then he took a deep breath. “Father I have to say two things.”
Father looked at him, catching the seriousness in his voice. “What?”
“Firstly, I will not let you down. I swear it.”
“I would not expect anything else of you. What else?”
“Do you think we will ever be able to known by our real family name?”
Father blinked at this. And then he looked at the city, the skies and the ground, before sighing heavily. “Perhaps one day,” he said softly. “I hope soon. You deserve to be known by your real names, you, your brothers and your sisters.” His eyes flickered around to see if anyone was near. “You are Quintus Belisarius and I am damn proud of you. Now – lets head off to the fortress.”
And so they strode off, father and son.