Captive (The Druid Chronicles Book 2) by Christina Phillips

Author:Christina Phillips [Phillips, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Phoenix 18 Publishing
Published: 2016-09-04T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Bren handed the dispatch over to the praefectus of his auxiliary unit, who would ensure it was delivered up the chain of command to the Legatus.

“How did you find the mood in Camulodunum?” The praefectus dragged his thumb over the seal of the dispatch and obviously satisfied it hadn’t been tampered with glanced up at Bren.

“Subdued.” His king’s elderly advisor had trained him well in the art of opening sealed documents without leaving noticeable trace. The information contained within this dispatch would boost Roman morale. He had to convey what he’d discovered to Caratacus, and soon, so they could plan debilitating strikes against the Legion before reinforcements arrived.

The praefectus made a sound of assent. “More civilized than this hellhole, I don’t doubt.”

Camulodunon had been raped and molded into the Roman ideal. That wasn’t his idea of civilization. But the praefectus clearly expected an answer, and a favorable one at that. “A town worthy of Rome.”

“A shame the barbarians in this western peninsula refuse to see that.”

Bren didn’t answer. He wasn’t known for his conversational skills and yet still the praefectus attempted to draw him out every time they met. Sometimes he wondered if the Roman suspected his loyalty. But if that were so, he would never have been entrusted with delivering the dispatch.

“When this cursed Briton rebel is crushed beneath the Eagle, the people will finally see there’s no point in fighting the inevitable.” The praefectus gave Bren a calculating look. Bren returned the look, unflinching. “The Legatus wants a man on the ground. Your name was mentioned. I want you to spend time in the town, incognito. Listen to the gossip. Find out what you can about Caratacus. There must be people here feeding him information, and that goes both ways. I want to know what that bastard’s up to.”

Only years of brutally subduing his emotions and the rigid training he’d received under the Legion prevented Bren from reacting. This Roman was asking him to spy on his own people. Did he really think anyone would talk in front of him, knowing he was attached to the enemy?

But then, the Romans didn’t assign much credit to the peasant population. The praefectus likely thought if Bren dressed as a Celt of Cymru, he’d be taken as one. The concept that the natives in their far-flung provinces possessed as much loyalty to their own as did the Romans—more, if what he’d learned about their blood-soaked Senate was true—was inconceivable.

To Romans foreigners were inferior, in both blood and intellect. Since Bren’s duties hadn’t taken him in direct conflict with the locals, the praefectus—and Legatus—obviously believed the populace hadn’t noticed him.

“You want me to live in the town?” His voice was level but perhaps not as neutral as he’d imagined as the other man flicked an autocratic hand in a dismissive gesture.

“It’s unpalatable. I know. But if your cover was exposed, your skills would ensure the likelihood of escaping unscathed.”

Meaning his reputation for dispatching those who crossed him was a definite benefit as far as the praefectus was concerned.

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