Macro replied, ‘You’re wrong. Ostorius is about to give them one last chance to bend to Rome, then he’s going to hit them with everything he’s got.’ His voice was beginning to slur.
Tullius chuckled. ‘Is that right? You think it’s the first time a governor’s tried to wipe the floor with the bastards? What makes you think he’s got any more chance of finishing the job than Aulus Plautius before him?’
Macro waved a finger at Cato and slapped himself on the chest. ‘Because this time we’re going to be doing the fighting for him. That’s what!’
Cato folded his fingers together and gently shook his head.
Macro had warmed to his theme and raised his fist. ‘We’ll give Caratacus what for, you’ll see! Bloody his nose and whip him like the cur he is. It’ll all be over by Saturnalia.’
‘Care to place a bet on that?’ Tullius asked slyly.
‘Course I will.’ Macro nodded vigorously.
‘Macro!’ Portia snapped. ‘Don’t!’
Before her son could respond there was a cold draught as the door opened and a headquarters clerk came into the inn. He looked round until he spied the table at which Cato and the others were sitting, just as Macro glared over his shoulder and bellowed, ‘Put the bloody wood in the hole!’
‘Sorry, sir.’ The clerk pushed the door to and the latch clicked home then he made his way over to the table and stood to attention. ‘Begging your pardon, Prefect, but the governor sends his compliments and says that you are both to be ready to join him tomorrow morning when he rides to Durocornovium.’
‘Very well.’ Cato nodded. ‘We’ll be there. You may go.’
The clerk bowed his head and departed. Cato stood up. ‘Come, Macro. We must find Decimus and have our packs made ready. Then an early night is in order.’
‘Stuff that. I’m enjoying a drink with Tullius here. I’ll be along when I’m done.’
For an instant Cato considered ordering his friend to join him. But he knew that would only put Macro in a sour mood. Better to let him drink his fill and roll back into their quarters happy and drunk. Besides, the inevitable hangover the next morning would give Cato some peace and quiet on the road to Durocornovium.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Portia came to see them off shortly after dawn the following day. Cato had provided Decimus with enough silver to buy three mules, two to carry their baggage, and one for the servant to ride. The governor had authorised the provision of two horses for Cato and Macro. There was no tearful parting scene at the gates of the town because they had not been constructed yet and Londinium merely petered out amid a shanty town of shelters either side of the road leading west. Fearing for his mother’s safety amongst the barbaric-looking denizens of this fringe community, Macro stopped his horse, waited until the last men in the small column had passed by, and briefly kissed her on the forehead. He wished his own head was not pounding so. Nor did he like the raw nausea in his guts that threatened to humiliate him in front of his companions should he have to throw up.