Brothers in Blood by Simon Scarrow

return to Rome.’
    Cato recalled the comment of Horatius the night before. ‘I take it you are keen to get your military service over with.’
    ‘Rather!’ Otho replied with feeling. ‘Much as I like the fresh air and earthy companionship, there’s no place like Rome, nay?’
    ‘Thankfully,’ Macro added, burdened by bad memories of the capital.
    ‘I could stand to return there soon,’ said Cato. ‘I was married recently and had to leave my wife behind. Though, as I understand it, your wife has accompanied you on campaign.’
    ‘That’s right. Poppaea and I can’t be parted from each other.’
    ‘Although you are now.’
    ‘Not at all. Her carriage is with the cohorts marching to join Ostorius. To be honest, that’s why I reached the hunt late. I was hanging on just in case the column made the camp this morning. No such luck. And now I am in bad odour with the general as a result.’
    Cato puffed his cheeks as he appraised the younger officer. He appeared to be the most unsoldierly tribune Cato had ever encountered. And the presence of his wife here on the frontier either spoke volumes for their mutual feeling, or there was something more to it, as Horatius had hinted. Cato decided to probe a little further. ‘It’s quite unusual for an officer to bring his wife. I certainly wouldn’t want mine enduring the hardships of camp life, regardless of how much I miss her.’
    Otho lowered his gaze and turned his attention to positioning his quiver comfortably. ‘It’s not as simple as all that, actually.’
    ‘Oh? How so?’
    The tribune clicked his tongue. ‘We left under a bit of a cloud. The thing is, Poppaea was married to another chap. Dreadful, dour fellow with large ears and precious little of interest between them, or indeed anywhere else on his body. Rufus Crispitus.’ He looked sharply at Cato. ‘You know of him?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Not surprised. He makes an art of being invisible at social gatherings. The sort of fellow who could stand as a model for those tiresomely dull sculptures of provincial magistrates, if you know what I mean.’
    Macro looked at Cato with a puzzled expression and shook his head.
    ‘Anyway,’ Otho continued. ‘To cut a long story somewhat less so, I seduced Poppaea.’ He smiled. ‘As it happens, she seduced me. She’s a bit of a game girl in that respect.’
    ‘I like her already, sir,’ Macro chipped in with a grin.
    The tribune shot him a cross look, before he continued. ‘Before you know it we’re quite madly in love. Our joy was unbounded.’
    ‘And I’m willing to bet Rufus Crispitus did not approve,’ said Cato.
    ‘Not half! The chap was furious. First time in his life he ever showed any kind of emotion. So he makes a beeline to the imperial palace and demands that the Emperor punish us both. As he was still married to Poppaea he was fully within his rights to give her a good hiding. However, Crispitus – ever the fool – made rather too much of his demands and annoyed the Emperor. Claudius still had to do something for appearances’ sake. So he demanded that Crispitus divorce Poppaea and we were offered a choice. Exile to Tomus, or I join the army and take Poppaea for my wife and we both disappear from Rome for a year or two until the scandal was forgotten. Well, I’ve read enough Ovidius to know that Tomus is the last place in the world to spend any amount of time. Or at least that’s what I thought until we came here.’ He shrugged. ‘So there you have it. My tale of love and woe, to coin a phrase.’
    They were interrupted by the sound of a horn and Cato looked round to see that the other officers were all in position, with Ostorius and the legates at the mouth of the wicker funnel.
    ‘Here we go,’ said Macro, drawing his first arrow and notching it to the bowstring. All along the line of the panels the other officers were similarly making ready and Cato watched as Otho drew a shaft and fitted the knock in one swift and clean