As Hadrian clattered through the main gates of the fortress of Deva Cato looked around carefully. There was surprise on many faces and that was a good thing. It meant that his arrival was entirely unexpected and that was exactly as it should be. Whatever the hell was going on needed to be brought out into the light of day.
The drill square contained a section of infantry who were still very rough about the edges and a section of cavalry who were far, far better. Cato reined in and cast a critical eye on them, before hearing a number of extremely critical sniffs from some of the veterans behind him. He smiled slightly. “Those that can, teach, gentlemen,” he said over his shoulder. He looked around again. “Dismount! And someone find me an orderly officer. I want all our horses rubbed down and watered. The stables should have spaces. And I want a meal for you all. Everyone one of you. Feed me last – I have work to do in the administration block.”
Beliatrix raised a hand and Cato waved him down. “Stay here with Cottia. I want you two safe. I need to find out what’s going on here.”
“Sir, you need an escort!” Malgo, his father’s old friend who had somehow heard of his ride to Deva and who had surprised the hell out of him when he had rode out of the hills to join them, looked distinctly annoyed.
“Stay with them Malgo. They’re more important than I am.”
“You are the only son of my friend sir. That makes you damn important.”
“Then what does that make what Beliatrix bears? That is also damn important. Stay with them, Centurion. Guard them.” He dismounted quickly, handed Hadrian over to a rather bewildered orderly and then strode over to the administration block, where a number of officers of various ranks were looking out at the assemblage of veterans and other men that Cato had picked up along the way.
As he went up the stairs he heard the mutters as he was recognised by the men around him. “Where is Centurion Corius?”
“Um, in his office sir,” said a rather bewildered Decurion.
“Is it true that Centurion Poplicala left for Segontium three days ago?”
The Decurion blinked. “In the direction of Segontium, yes sir. He had a Century of men with him that needed training in field operations. I think they were going to train in the hills to the South-West of here.”
Cato nodded shortly and then strode down the corridor and then ran up a flight of stairs to another corridor, where he walked over to a doorway, rapping at the doorframe as he entered it. Corius was seated at his desk scowling at a wax tablet book in front of him and muttering something about this being the last time that ever bought any foodstuffs from that crook Alerix. As he looked up and saw Cato his jaw dropped.
“Cato? What you doing here? I thought that you were off on some mission in Eboracum?”
“I was,” Cato replied grimly as he strode in. Then he paused and returned to the door, where he peered out carefully and then pulled the door shut. “I need you to tell me what’s been going on here. The garrisons to the North are all involved in cavalry patrols against raids from Hibernia. Have there been any – because no-one seems to have heard that any have happened!”
Corius spread his arms out in bafflement. “I don’t know. Poplicala gave the orders. I thought that he must have had news from somewhere.”
Cato looked at him quizzically. “Surely the Uí Néills promised us that they would do their best to stop the raids. You’ve heard nothing of any such raids?”
The other man shook his head. “Not a word. I did wonder if it was some form of training though. To check on readiness.”
He might have had a point, but Cato shook his head. “No – all it’s done has been to throw the man into chaos. Hard to command them with them so scattered.” He paused and paced about the room. “Has there been any word from Eboracum?”
“Yes,” said Corius with a sigh. “Marcus Junius Beliatrix is dead – he fell upon his sword. His son, Marcus Junius Beliatrix the Younger is now Dux of the North.”
Cato snorted. “Is that what he’s announced? No – he’s not the Dux. His dead father transferred his duties to Aemilianus in Londinium. He regarded his son as an idiot. I agree – the man, or someone close to him, tried to kill everyone in my party.”
“Your party?” Corius looked confused. “You rode off to Eboracum alone.”
“I left with company. One Gaius Junius Beliatrix, younger brother to the would-be Dux. A lot smarter though. Oh, and the daughter of Gaius Tortorius. Who is very good with a bow indeed.” He stopped pacing. “Did Poplicala order the patrols via a formal order? On parchment?”
Corius snapped himself out of whatever daze he had been in. “Formal orders? Um… yes - yes I believe so.”
“Where is the original?”
“In his office I think.”
Nodding, Cato strode for the door, opened it and then swept down the corridor with Corius in his wake. At the end they clattered up one more flight of stairs and then along another corridor to a room with a closed door, which Cato opened.
Poplicala’s office looked as neat as it ever did, and on one wall was a wooden rack with various orders and instructions rolled up and placed into various holes. As Cato closed the door behind them Corius walked over to the rack and gazed at it, before he finally pulled out a roll of parchment with a strip of cloth attached to it that bore a red wax seal.
“This is it,” he said as he handed it over to Cato, who unrolled it quickly. Yes, it was an order to send out patrols of cavalry to guard the coastline against possible attack by raiders from Hibernia. Which, given the fact that there hadn’t been any such attacks, was madness.”
“Why would he order this? Why would he do this?” Cato muttered as he re-read the orders. Then he paused. “Wait. Why would he send out patrols against raiders but then lead a century of men out to train them in the hills to the South-West? That makes no sense. He would have led them against any raiders.”
He squinted at the orders again and then at the seal. And then his blood literally ran cold for an instant. The seal. Poplicala’s seal – the one he used for day to day operations, rather than the old family one which was only used for great occasions – was one of a winged sword. But the previous year he’d been forced to replace the old seal ring with a new one to the same design after the old one had disappeared. At the time he’d blamed his youngest daughter, who had a habit of taking things that didn’t really belong to her and hiding them. The old ring had a blemish on the right wing of the sword. The new one did not. But the seal in front of him had that old blemish. The order was forged. Someone had gotten to it, someone had stolen the old ring, someone was playing them.
Cato rolled the parchment up and replaced it in the rack. “I need to know,” he said heavily, “If anyone in the garrison has been using gold coins minted in Constantinople. Because someone from the Eastern Empire is doing their best to foment chaos here.”
He didn’t get a verbal reply from Corius. Instead he got a sigh – and the sound of a dagger being unsheathed.
