CHAPTER TEN

A thick pall of smoke from the direction of the Forum billowed into the afternoon sky as the column of litters and soldiers made their way down the Viminal Hill towards the centre of the city. Even though news of the riot had spread through the streets, many people were still going about their business and hurried out of the way of Centurion Lurco and the two sections leading the party. The Germans closed ranks around the litters carrying the Emperor, the Empress and the two boys. The rest of the Sixth Century filled in the gaps between the remaining litters and brought up the rear.

Cato, Macro and fourteen other men were under the command of Tigellinus as they marched behind a litter shared by Narcissus and two other advisers, including the man Macro had seen with Agrippina. They were marching four abreast, with Fuscius to Macro’s right and a surly youth beyond him. After a quick look to make certain that the optio was facing forward, Macro spoke softly to Fuscius.

‘See the men in the litter directly ahead of us?’

‘Yes.’

‘I recognise Narcissus, but who are the others?’

‘The one opposite him, the one with the good looks, is Pallas. One of those bloody freedmen the Emperor insists on surrounding himself with. The other one’s Seneca, Nero’s tutor and adviser.’

‘I see.’ Macro glanced to his left at Cato and cocked an eyebrow before realising that it was pointless beneath his helmet. ‘Pallas, eh? I wonder what he’s up to?’

‘Up to?’ Fuscius turned his head to Macro. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’

Before they could say another word, Tigellinus glared over his shoulder. ‘Silence in the ranks! Keep your bloody mouths shut and your eyes and ears open!’

They progressed in silence and as they drew closer to the Forum the street ahead of them began to empty. A few small groups of anxious-looking civilians hurried by, squeezing past the column with barely a comment or look of surprise as they glimpsed the imperial litter with its barbarian escort. The roar of the mob was clearly audible now, and soon they could discern distinct shouts of anger and even a shrill scream of terror. The smoke was dense and acrid. Wafts reached the column as it entered the square where Cato and Macro had been involved in the brawl a few nights earlier. Cato looked over towards the inn and saw its owner closing the shutters of a window that looked out on to the public fountain, before scurrying inside and closing the doors. A thin and frail-looking woman sat on the edge of the fountain nursing a crying infant with bulging eyes and skeletal arms. She watched the soldiers and litters passing by for a moment before struggling to her feet and limping across to them, holding her free hand out.

‘Spare a sestertius for me baby?’ Her voice was weak and strained. ‘For the love of Jupiter, spare a coin. We ain’t fed for days, sir.’ She made to intercept Tigellinus but the optio turned on her with a snarl.

‘Clear off, you slut! Take your brat with you. Before I use this!’ He brandished his optio’s staff at the woman and she cowered back with a screech of terror.

Macro gritted his teeth in contempt for the optio and muttered, ‘Glad to see that our optio’s got the guts to stand up to a half-starved woman.’

‘Shhh!’ Cato warned him.

They left the square and continued down the road. A short distance further on, the column came across the first body. An overweight man lay sprawled in the gutter. He had been stripped of all but his loincloth and the mangled stumps on his hand showed where ring fingers had been cut off. His skull had been crushed by frenzied blows. A short distance away was a bakery that had been smashed and looted. The column was passing through the fringes of the Subura, a district of the city that was notorious for its poverty and crime. The crowded tenement blocks reduced the gloomy light further and the rank air caught in Cato’s throat as their footsteps echoed off the grimy walls.

As they reached the foot of the hill, there was a sudden outburst of shouting from the front of the column and Cato craned his neck to see Centurion Lurco confronting a small crowd of men who had spilled out of a side street into the path of the Emperor and his retinue.

‘Clear the way there!’ Lurco shouted, his high voice carrying above the shouting. ‘Make way for the Emperor!’

‘It’s Claudius!’ a voice responded. ‘Stand firm, boys. Let’s put our grievances to the Emperor.’

Lurco threw up his arm ‘Column, halt!’

There was little co-ordination possible among the Praetorians, Germans and slaves carrying the litters and the column shuffled to a disorderly stop. Over the heads of the men in front of him Cato could see that many of the men in the crowd were armed with staves, axes and clubs. Lurco warily stepped forward to confront the crowd as more people joined it, shouting and gesturing angrily.

‘You will clear the way for the Emperor, now! There will not be another warning!’

‘Claudius!’ the ringleader bellowed. ‘Your people are starving! Feed us!’

‘Get out of the way!’ Lurco bellowed then looked back over his shoulder. ‘Draw swords!’ he ordered.

There was a metallic clatter as the soldiers pulled their swords from their scabbards and held them ready. The ringleader stepped forward and Cato recognised him at once.

‘Cestius.’

Macro looked up at Cato. ‘The big bastard from the inn?’

‘Yes.’

‘Shit. He’s trouble.’

Cestius approached the head of the column and called out loudly enough for all his followers to hear clearly, ‘What’s this? A party on its way to a banquet, I’ll be bound.’ He turned back to the crowd. ‘While we go hungry, while our children slowly starve to death, this lot stuff their fat faces with delicacies, then throw it all back up, just so they can feed again!’

Some men in the crowd shouted angrily and waved their fists. Cestius turned towards the soldiers. ‘We’re not moving. We want to put our demands to the Emperor. We want bread and grain at a price we can afford. You, Centurion, get out of our way. We demand to speak to Claudius!’

As the mob roared their approval, Lurco withdrew into the front rank of his men and drew his blade. ‘Protect the litters! On my word, advance at the slow step! Optio, call the pace! Shields front!’

The decurion in charge of the Germans formed his men up around the Emperor’s litter while the Praetorians surrounded the others. They angled their shields to screen those huddling down in the litters and held their short stabbing swords level to the ground, elbows bent and weapon ready to thrust. Cato felt his heart beating quickly and the chill in his guts and limbs that always came upon him before a fight. Then he was aware of movement at the periphery of his vision and glanced to the side just in time to see the dim shapes of men filtering down an alley to his right. He looked quickly to the other side and saw more coming from the other direction, and yet more, further back, sprinting across an intersection as they cut round the column to try to surround it.

‘Look there!’ He pointed them out to Macro with his sword. ‘It’s a trap.’

Before Macro could respond, there was a shout from ahead. ‘Advance!’

‘One! Two!’ Tigellinus called the pace and the leading Praetorians moved forward, shield to shield. Behind the first sections came the Germans and the imperial litter, then Narcissus and the advisers, followed by Tigellinus and his men. For a moment the crowd fell silent and then Cestius roared, ‘Kill! Kill them!’

A brick hurtled over the gap between the soldiers and the mob and glanced off a shield before thudding on to the thick fabric covering the Emperor’s litter. There was a cry of terror from within. More missiles filled the air: bricks, fragments of paving and lumps of filth scooped up from the gutter. More came from the sides, hurled from the alleys at the flanks of the column caught in the narrow street. Step by step they moved forward. Ahead of them the mob held their ground until the last moment and then began to press back, but those behind who could not see the Praetorians did not move and blocked their retreat. Men scrambled to the side of the street in panic and pressed into the arches and doorways of the tenements. Some managed to escape down the side alleys but a number were caught in the path of the Praetorians.

‘Don’t stop for anything!’ Lurco shouted.

With Tigellinus steadily calling the pace, the Praetorians reached the mob and thrust forward with their shields, battering the nearest men. Then the first sword stabbed out, tearing into the side of a struggling figure. He screamed in agony before slumping down on to the street. At last those at the rear of the crowd realised the danger and began to fall back. But it was too late for those at the front. The Praetorians pushed their shields forward relentlessly, stabbing into the flesh of those before them. Some of the wounded fell to the ground where the soldiers trod over them, others were caught tight in the suffocating press of bodies and were stabbed again and again, screaming with pain and terror.

Over the top of his shield Cato saw the tall figure of Cestius push his way through to an alley where he disappeared with several of his men. Ahead, the mob at last began to break up, leaving several dead and injured bodies in its wake. Those who had had enough fled from the scene to find shelter, or easier pickings. But over a hundred remained, staying beyond reach of the swords as they hurled whatever came to hand at the imperial party. The missiles thudded and cracked off shields and helmets, but the slaves carrying the litters had no protection and already four of them had been felled. One was knocked cold by a blow to the head and blood gushed from a long tear in his scalp. Two of the others had also received head wounds. They released their hold on the litters and staggered to the side of the street before collapsing. The last was clutching his smashed elbow and groaning through clenched teeth. The remaining slaves were struggling under their increased burden and their way was impeded by bodies sprawled across their path. Then one of the slaves carrying the imperial secretary’s litter stumbled and the litter thudded down, almost pitching Narcissus into the gutter. Cato saw that the slaves could not hope to make any speed along the street.

‘Get out of the litter!’ he ordered Narcissus. ‘You and the others. You have to abandon the litter. Keep your heads down and stay behind the Praetorians.’

Narcissus nodded and the Emperor’s advisers slithered off the cushioned interior and their expensive boots squelched down into the filth-caked street.

‘Who gave that order?’ Tigellinus yelled from the other side of the litter.

‘Me, sir. Capito.’

‘Are you the bloody centurion, Capito? You don’t give orders, you obey them.’ Tigellinus ducked down to peer through the other side of the litter at the freedmen. ‘Best get back in. I’ll have some of my men make up the slave numbers.’

Narcissus shook his head. ‘They’d only go the same way as the slaves. Your man is right, we have to abandon the litters. I’ll tell the Emperor.’

Tigellinus shot a furious glance at Cato and then nodded. ‘As you wish, sir.’

‘You, Capito, and the short fellow.’ Narcissus beckoned. ‘I need protection. Cover me with your shields. Let’s go.’

With Cato and Macro on either side, holding their shields over the imperial secretary, Narcissus emerged from the ring of Praetorians and the three men made their way the short distance to the Germans screening the imperial litter. Cato winced as a brick struck his shield. At their approach the Germans parted to let them through. Cato saw that five of the twelve slaves carrying the ornately decorated litter had already fallen, and the others could barely keep the litter off the ground. He turned to Narcissus. ‘You have to get the Emperor and the others out, or we won’t be able to move.’

‘I understand.’ Narcissus nodded nervously, ducking as a turd flew close overhead. He drew back the curtain to reveal the Emperor protecting Britannicus in his embrace. Next to him sat the Empress cradling Nero’s head in her lap. Claudius looked up anxiously and his head twitched.

‘Sire, the Praetorians say we have to continue on foot.’

‘On f-f-foot?’

‘Yes, sire. We won’t be able to get the litters much further. It would be dangerous to try.’

‘But there are madmen out there!’ Agrippina protested. ‘Just drop the curtain and get us back to the palace. I order it.’

‘I regret to say that there is no choice in the matter, your imperial majesty. Either we move now or we will be stuck here, at their mercy.’

‘Where are the urban cohorts?’ demanded Agrippina. ‘They should be dealing with those scum. They’ll find us if we stay here.’

Narcissus shook his head. ‘They probably don’t even know what’s happening.’ He turned to the Emperor. ‘We have to continue on foot, sire. Now.’

Claudius turned to his wife. ‘The soldiers know best, my d-dear. Come, let’s not show any fear in front of the m-m-mob.’

Narcissus helped his Emperor out and then handed out Agrippina and the two boys. Claudius put a protective arm round his wife and faced Cato and Macro.

‘You two, guard the children.’

‘Yes, sire.’ Cato bowed his head and then gestured for Nero to join him. ‘Calidus, you take the smaller boy.’

Macro nodded. ‘Over here, young ‘un.’

Britannicus frowned. ‘That is not how you address me, soldier.’

‘It is right now.’ Macro gently took his shoulder and drew him behind his shield.

The decurion of the German bodyguards called to his men to form a cordon round the Emperor and then Narcissus cupped a hand and shouted towards the leading sections a short distance ahead. ‘Centurion! Centurion!’

Lurco heard the shout, glanced back and then ordered his men to hold their position before he made his way to the other party, hunched close into his shield.

‘We’re leaving the litters behind,’ Narcissus explained. ‘Gather your men together and we’ll make our way across the Forum to the palace. It’s not too far now.’

Lurco shook his head desperately. ‘It would be safer to return to the camp. We have to escape. Before it’s too late.’

‘No, sir,’ Cato interrupted and pointed his sword back up the street. ‘Look!’

A hundred paces behind them another small crowd had gathered in the shadows between the tenement blocks and was already beginning to edge towards them.

‘Shit … shit,’ Lurco muttered, his lip beginning to tremble.

Cato made to say something, but Macro acted first. He thrust himself towards the centurion, sheathed his sword and grasped the officer’s shoulder. ‘Pull yourself together, sir,’ he said harshly. ‘Your Emperor’s life is in your hands. All of our lives are. Get the men together, shield to shield, and get them moving, or we’re fucked.’ He saw the dazed look in the officer’s face and shook him hard. ‘Sir!’

Lurco blinked, then his eyes flickered towards the imperial family and he swallowed. ‘Yes, of course. Right.’ He raised his head and called to Tigellinus. ‘Optio!’

‘Sir?’

‘Bring the rest of the century forward. Form up by the Germans!’

While the men guarding the Emperor’s advisers trotted towards them, Lurco turned to Macro and Cato. ‘You guard those children with your lives. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Macro nodded. ‘They’ll be safe with us.’

Once Pallas and Seneca had joined Claudius and his family, the soldiers closed up behind their shields, protecting the slaves as well, and Lurco gave the order for the makeshift formation to advance. The leading sections waited until the rest caught up and then they continued as one body. Meanwhile the crowd behind them had grown bold enough to come closer and hurl insults before following those up with the first stones and broken roof tiles drawn from a pile of rubble at the corner of one of the alleys. Cato and Macro held their shields up and bent forward to use their bodies to protect their charges. Cato had sheathed his sword and had his right hand on Nero’s shoulder so that they would keep in step. He felt the boy trembling beneath the folds of his toga.

‘It’s all right.’ Cato spoke in a comforting tone. ‘We’ll have you back in the palace as soon as we can.’

Nero didn’t reply for a moment and then Cato just caught his words. ‘I’m scared.’

‘My friend and I have been in far worse situations.’

Nero looked up at him. ‘But I haven’t.’

‘Then look on this as a chance to be brave. It is a good thing to learn while you are young.’

Nero nodded uncertainly and took a deep breath to calm his nerves as they picked their way forward. Around them the Germans began to call out a battle chant in their harsh tongue and rapped the guards of their swords against the inside of their shields. Cato straightened up for a moment and saw that there were no more than fifty paces to go before the street gave out on to the open space in front of the Temple of Minerva, on the edge of the Forum.

‘Not far before we’re in the open, lads,’ Macro called out encouragingly.

There was a shout from above and an instant later a roof tile exploded on the ground beside Macro. Britannicus let out a startled cry as a shard gashed his hand. Macro drew the boy in closer and called out a warning.

‘Some of the bastards are in the buildings. Keep your heads covered!’

More tiles came down from above and risking a quick look Cato glimpsed a figure lean out of a window, take aim and hurl a tile on to the head of one of the Germans. It struck him on the helmet, driving his head away at an angle, and he pitched over to the side. At once two of his comrades sheathed their swords and picked him up under the arms and dragged him along with the formation. With missiles clattering in from all directions, the soldiers instinctively increased their pace and those at the front began to pull away as they sought to get away from the danger from above.

‘Not so fast there!’ Tigellinus yelled. ‘Stay together, damn you!’

He pushed his way to the front, brushing by Centurion Lurco, and used the flat of his sword to smack the shields of those who were moving too fast. ‘No man goes by me! I set the pace and you follow!’

By the time they reached the end of the street, another two men had been struck down among the defenceless slaves huddled together at the rear of the party. One was dead and lay stretched out in the street. The other’s foot had been smashed and he limped along, falling out of formation and desperately struggling to keep up. Then the crowd caught up with him and they showed him no pity, even though he was simply a slave and quite blameless. His screams cut through the air and chilled Cato’s blood before they were mercifully cut off and the mob surged forward once again.

As the party reached the precinct of the temple, the full scale of the riot was apparent for the first time. Several stalls in the Forum close to the senate house were ablaze and the breeze swirled the flames and smoke so that the fire writhed like a wild animal chained to a stake. The avenue leading into the Forum was littered with bodies, many still living, and their piteous cries filled the air. Cato noticed some wore the uniform of the urban cohorts. Many more market stalls had been smashed to pieces and only scattered remnants indicated the trade of the stall’s owner. A handful of ragged beggars and street children were looting the bodies for whatever valuables they could find. At the sight of the clusters of men who preceded the imperial party, most of the looters hurried into the safety of the Subura’s alleys.

As soon as they were out in the open, the optio picked up the pace and the rioters moved out of their way, keeping a wary distance from the soldiers and their swords. Ahead, in the heart of the Forum, the din of the rioters was much louder, amplified and echoing off the temples and palaces that surrounded the Forum. Cato saw that Nero was terrified by the sights and sounds that surrounded him, yet they still had to cross the Forum and gain the entrance to the palace, assuming the mob had not broken through the gates and sacked the complex. With luck there would be some elements of the urban cohorts on hand who would rally to the Emperor and his bodyguards and escort them to safety.

The avenue narrowed between the Markets of Caesar and the Temple of Janus, and then there was a short stretch of colonnade before the main Forum.

‘Not far now!’ the optio called out to the others. ‘Stay together and keep your eyes open.’

The walls on either side closed in and the last of the rioters who had tormented them fell back and only a few more missiles were thrown. After the harsh battering of shields and armour, the scraping thud of the soldiers’ nailed boots suddenly seemed very loud. Cato was aware of the heavy breathing of the German bodyguards and the Emperor was muttering something incomprehensible as he limped along beside his wife, his weak legs making him look like a wet spider dragging himself from a puddle.

The attack came just as they reached the end of the colonnade.

With a roar, men streamed out from between the towering stone columns and threw themselves at the soldiers. Unlike the other rioters, these men were armed with a mix of spears, axes, swords, clubs and daggers, and well prepared for a fight. They drove into the shield cordon from both sides, trying to rip away the shields and strike at the soldiers. Cato pulled Nero closer in to his shield.

‘Stay with me.’ He spoke into Nero’s ear. ‘Whatever happens!’

He looked round and saw that the attackers were concentrating on the front and rear of the column, where the Praetorians were positioned. As yet the Germans had not been engaged and they crouched expectantly, round shields up and their longer swords held at the ready. Then Cato saw a stream of men running from the shadows inside the temple. These were armed with swords and at their head was the now familiar face of Cestius. His expression was fixed in determined hostility as he leaped down into the narrow avenue and made directly for the Emperor and his family. Cestius’s men formed a narrow wedge on either side as they plunged in among the Germans. Cato saw Cestius duck a clumsy sword cut and clamp his hand round the bodyguard’s windpipe and crush it in one quick move. He thrust the gasping man aside and looked round quickly until he saw the two boys. Macro was closer and turned to face the threat, still trying his best to protect Britannicus.

With a savage roar Cestius rushed forward, knocking aside another German. Macro’s sword came up and thrust out. At the last instant Cestius parried it aside with a ringing clash of blades and smashed into Macro and knocked him flat on his back. Britannicus stood alone and defenceless but Cestius spared the boy only a brief glance before sweeping him aside and charging on towards Cato, his teeth bared.

There was no time to think and Cato went down on one knee, angling his shield as he pushed Nero to the ground. A look of surprise flashed across Cestius’s face the instant before he tripped and fell heavily across the shield, flattening those beneath. Cato felt the hot rush of expelled breath from the other man’s lungs. He pushed into the shield, straining with all his might, and Cestius rolled to one side, coming up on his knees, sword raised. His spare hand grabbed at the edge of the shield and he ripped it away to reveal Nero dazed and winded. The giant’s eyes filled with triumphant zeal as the point of his sword descended.

‘No!’ Cato shouted, throwing his body over the boy. The sleeve of his tunic caught the tip of the oncoming blade and there was a sound of ripping material and then a burning streak across his right bicep.

‘Bastard!’ Cestius snarled, drawing back his arm. Then he glanced up and saw Macro looming before him an instant before the boss of Macro’s shield struck him square in the face. Cestius fell back with a groan, his sword clattering to one side. He trembled for an instant and then lay still, his breath rasping.

‘Lad, are you all right?’ Macro called anxiously as he crouched beside Cato. He saw the rent in the tunic and the bright scarlet spreading across the exposed flesh of Cato’s arm and shoulder.

‘Nero?’ Cato turn to look for his charge and saw the boy struggling up into a sitting position, unharmed. The wave of relief lasted only a moment before the burning agony from his wound struck Cato.

‘Cestius is down!’ a voice cried out nearby. ‘Cestius is down! Fall back!’

As quickly as the men had attacked, they broke off, retreating from the soldiers before turning and running back into the colonnade, the sound of their boots echoing off the temple walls. Macro helped Cato to his feet. The swift attack had been deadly enough. Several of the Praetorians and Germans had been struck down, as well as a similar number of the attackers. The Emperor was swallowing nervously and Agrippina’s eyes were wide with terror, but neither they nor their children had been harmed.

‘Pick up the wounded!’ Tigellinus ordered. ‘Close up!’ He looked round for his centurion and saw Lurco rising up from the street with a sheepish expression. ‘We should move on, sir. Quickly, in case those men come back.’

‘Yes.’ Lurco nodded. ‘Of course.’ The centurion cleared his throat. ‘The Sixth Century will advance!’

Once again the column re-formed its shield wall round the freshly wounded, the surviving slaves and civilians and moved out into the Forum. Macro picked up Cato’s sword and replaced it in his friend’s scabbard and then pulled the torn tunic aside to examine the wound. ‘You’re bleeding badly but it looks like a flesh wound. Painful, but you’ll recover.’

‘Since when were you a bloody surgeon?’ Cato replied through clenched teeth as he adjusted his grip on the shield and held it up to protect Nero again. Then he quickly turned back to Macro. ‘Cestius?’

‘What about him?’

‘We should have taken him with us.’

Macro chuckled. ‘You mean we should have killed him.’

‘That was an ambush.’ Cato lowered his voice so that only Macro might hear. ‘There’s more to this than there seems. We need to question Cestius.’

Macro looked round. Several men had already emerged from the colonnade to carry off the bodies of the dead and wounded from the brief skirmish. Cestius had disappeared. ‘It’s too late.’

Cato thought quickly. He could tell Centurion Lurco to turn back and try to recover Cestius before he was taken away, but Lurco was badly shaken and wanted nothing more than to reach safety without delay. The only way Cato could stop him would be to expose his true identity and try to pull rank on the other officer. Narcissus would have to vouch for him. And by the time that was established it would be too late to send men back for Cestius.

‘What’s so important about this Cestius?’ asked Nero.

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ Nero gasped. ‘That man tried to kill me.’

Cato stared at him briefly then looked up as he kept pace with the other soldiers. The entire length of the Forum was littered with evidence of the severity of the riot. Scores of bodies lay on the ground. The doors of some of the temples had been forced and discarded loot lay on their steps. Several handcarts had been turned over or simply stripped of their contents. To the right, the fire in Caesar’s Market was still raging but a company of fire-fighters was already attempting to contain the blaze, with lines of men passing buckets of water from the public fountains. Elsewhere the men of the urban cohorts had almost cleared the Forum, except for a few running battles with gangs of men throwing rocks around the Temple of Venus to the east. Slowly the tension in the small party eased as they realised that the crisis had passed and they were safe.

A century from one of the urban cohorts was guarding the entrance to the palace and hurriedly drew aside as they saw the Emperor. The column passed through into a small courtyard where Lurco gave the order for his men to fall out. Both the Praetorians and the Germans were shaken by the ordeal and leant on their spears and shields to recover their breath. Now that they were all safe, the normal hierarchy reasserted itself. The surviving slaves were ordered back to their quarters and Claudius was composed as he stood by his wife and called the boys to him. Britannicus clutched his father’s arm. Narcissus hurried over to the Emperor.

‘Sire, are you hurt?’ he asked anxiously.

Claudius shook his head. ‘N-no. Quite all right.’

‘Jupiter be praised!’ Narcissus rejoiced, then turned to the Empress. ‘Your majesty?’

‘Unharmed.’ Agrippina smiled coldly.

Narcissus turned to Britannicus and quickly looked him over to satisfy himself that the boy had received no injuries other than that to his hand. Then he saw Nero and with a flicker of anguish approached the boy who still stood beside Cato.

‘I saw the man attack you. I thank the gods that you were spared.’

Nero nodded towards Cato. ‘This man saved my life.’

Narcissus looked up and met Cato’s gaze without a hint of recognition. ‘Very well, I shall see that he is rewarded.’

‘You do that,’ Macro added quietly.

Nero turned to Cato and looked him in the eye. ‘I am in your debt, soldier. What is your name?’

‘Titus Ovidius Capito, sir.’

Nero’s gaze switched to the blood-soaked tear in the tunic on Cato’s shoulder. ‘Get your wound attended to, Capito. I shall not forget this. I never forget a face. One day, I shall repay you.’ He lowered his voice so that only Cato could hear. ‘One day I shall be Emperor. If you ever need my help, then it is yours. I give you my most sacred promise.’

He grasped Cato’s hand and squeezed it firmly before he released his grip and turned away to join his mother and the Emperor. Narcissus watched him go then turned to fix Cato with an icy stare before he scurried back to comfort his master.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Four days later Cato was sitting on his bed when Macro and the others returned from their patrol in the city. Following the food riot the Emperor had ordered the Praetorian cohorts on to the streets alongside the soldiers of the urban cohorts, leaving the palace under the protection of his German mercenaries. There were checkpoints at all the major junctions of avenues and streets and even the smallest gatherings of men in public places were swiftly broken up. Rewards had been offered for the ringleaders of the riot and their descriptions had been posted on the streets surrounding the Forum. So far only a handful of minor rabble-rousers had been arrested and disposed of, their heads mounted on stakes outside the entrance to the imperial palace. Cestius was still at large, despite the small fortune offered to anyone who could lead the authorities to his hiding place. Such was his fearsome reputation that none of the inhabitants of the Subura dared to admit they had even heard of Cestius when questioned by patrols.

Cato’s wound had been cleaned and stitched up by one of the surgeons in the hospital at the camp who had excused him from duties for ten days to give the wound time to heal. Cato had only ventured out of the camp twice, to visit the safe house and leave a message for Septimus, requesting a meeting to make his report, and then again a day later to see if there had been a reply. There was none and Cato had decided to stay in camp for a few more days before looking again, just in case his excursions drew unwelcome attention.

‘How’s that tiny cut on your arm today?’ asked Macro as he leant his shield against the wall by the door, and started to remove his sword belt and armour.

‘Stiff, but the pain’s bearable, thanks.’

‘As I said, a flesh wound. Little more than a scratch really.’ Macro struggled out of his chain-mail vest and laid it on the floor by his shield before slumping down on his bed. ‘Still, it’s a good way of ducking out of duties.’

‘It has served its purpose.’ Cato smiled briefly before his expression became serious again. ‘How are things in the city?’

‘Quiet. The Emperor has stamped down on it. He’s also sent word to every town and city within a hundred miles to send wagons of grain to Rome. The granaries of the Praetorian Guard are going to be used to eke out what little is left in the imperial store. Which means we will be on half rations from tomorrow. Not the smartest of moves.’ Macro shook his head. ‘We’ll need to keep our strength up if we’re to keep order on the streets. But if it helps appease the mob, then I guess it will serve its purpose for a few days at least. Beats me how Claudius ever let us get into this situation in the first place. He must have known the situation in Egypt was going to disrupt the supply for a while. So why didn’t he plan for it?’

‘Maybe he did but someone sabotaged the plan.’

Macro cocked his head. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘I’m not quite sure yet.’ Cato reached his left hand up and lightly stroked the dressing over his wound, his fingertips sensing the lumps where the stitches had closed the gash. ‘Have you been keeping an eye on Centurion Lurco?’

‘I have. He’s a useless fart if ever there was one. Frankly, Cato, if he is involved in any conspiracy then I’d say the Emperor has nothing to worry about.’

‘That’s my impression too.’ Cato nodded thoughtfully then continued, ‘But it’s interesting how things are drawing together, wouldn’t you say? The theft of the bullion, Narcissus uncovering a plot, the riot, and then that ambush on us the same day.’

‘No doubt you think there’s a connection between it all,’ Macro suggested wearily.

‘I’m not sure, but at the very least, it’s all pretty suggestive.’

Macro sighed. ‘To your mind, yes. For the rest of us, it’s just a question of the shit being piled on. That or the gods have decided to give us some grief, for whatever reason. Either way, I think you’re jumping at shadows now.’

Cato was silent for a moment before he responded. ‘Maybe it’s the shadows jumping at us.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

Cato tried to explain the thoughts that were troubling him. ‘Something’s going on. I can feel it. There’s too much happening to dismiss it as coincidence. All of this makes some kind of sense. Or would, if I could piece it together somehow. Right now I can only speculate, but I’m sure the conspiracy is real.’

‘Not very helpful.’ Macro eased himself forward and folded his legs. ‘Of course, it could be nothing more than the usual mess. The palace has screwed up the grain dole and some greedy bastards have pinched the silver. As for Narcissus’s conspiracy, well, when haven’t the Liberators been plotting the removal of the Emperor and the return of the Republic? We’re on a wild-goose chase, Cato my lad.’

At the mention of his name, Cato growled. ‘Careful!’

‘We’re alone. What does it matter?’

‘It matters because you said it without thinking.’

‘Just like you did back at the inn, eh?’

Cato flushed with shame. ‘Exactly. We can’t afford to make another mistake until this is all over.’

‘Come the day,’ Macro said wearily.

They were interrupted by footsteps and then Fuscius and Tigellinus entered the room and began to remove their kit.

‘Still skiving, Capito?’ asked Tigellinus.

‘Am I ever, Optio?’ Cato forced a grin as he stretched out on his bed. ‘This is the life for me. Resting up while you lot tramp up and down those shit-filled streets of the Subura.’

‘Ain’t that fun?’ Tigellinus put his hands behind his back and rubbed the bottom of his spine. ‘It doesn’t help that the centurion is a bag of nerves. He thinks everyone he sees on the streets has got it in for us. He’s stopped and searched almost every man we’ve run into, and given them a good slapping into the bargain at the slightest excuse. The mad bastard is going to end up causing another riot if he’s not careful.’ He paused. ‘He should never have been appointed to the Guard. Classic case of the stupidity of direct commissions to the centurionate. A centurion needs experience. And guts. You get that the hard way. It ain’t right that he’s our centurion. Should be someone else.’

‘Like you?’ Cato suggested.

‘Why not? I’ve paid my dues.’ The optio gave Cato a cold look. ‘You’re in my good books, Capito. Don’t ruin the moment.’

‘Why am I in favour?’

‘For what you did to save the boy. I saw you throw yourself in the way of that sword. That’s good soldiering. It’s what Praetorians are for. You’re all right by me. And you’ve won yourself some favour with the Empress and her boy.’ He smiled. ‘That may serve you very well indeed some day.’

‘Oh?’

‘Of course. Think it over. Claudius ain’t going to live forever. Looks to me like young Nero has a good chance of succeeding him, and he owes you. Play your part and you’ll come out of it all smelling of roses. In the meantime, remind me to buy you a drink sometime. Now, I’ve got a report to write for that useless bastard Lurco.’

Tigellinus left the room and they listened to the sound of his boots receding. Fuscius looked at Cato and raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s the first time I ever heard him offer someone a drink. Maybe old Tigellinus has a heart after all.’

‘Then he’ll never make a good centurion,’ said Macro.

‘Really?’ Cato struggled to suppress a smile. ‘And what would you know about that, Calidus?’

‘Trust me, I’ve seen plenty of them come and go in the legions. The best of them are as hard as nails and there’s not a grain of pity in their souls. Of course, there are others.’

‘Like Lurco?’ Fuscius suggested quietly.

Macro nodded. ‘One or two. But they never last. They die quickly. That or they get bucked up to prefect to keep ‘em out of trouble. Has Lurco got influence that you know of?’

The young guardsman looked anxiously towards the door, as if the centurion might be eavesdropping. He leant closer to his comrades and whispered, ‘I heard him boast that the Empress has taken a fancy to him.’

‘Why not? He’s a pretty boy.’ Macro gave Cato a knowing look. ‘In any case, she’s got form and almost everyone knows it.’

‘But not since she married Claudius. She doesn’t want to end up like Messallina.’ Fuscius drew his finger across his throat. ‘If she’s being unfaithful, then she has to be very careful.’

An image of the Empress in the arms of Pallas flitted through Macro’s mind. Agrippina took her risks, but how careful she was in covering her tracks remained to be seen. Macro’s helmet had obscured his face when he had escorted her through the riot and neither she nor Pallas had given any indication that they had recognised him. For the moment he appeared to be safe.

There was a light knock on the door frame as one of the headquarters clerks looked in. ‘You got Guardsman Capito in here?’

‘That’s me.’ Cato raised his hand.

‘Centurion Sinius wants to see you.’

‘Now?’

The clerk pursed his lips. ‘When an officer doesn’t say when it’s generally because he means right now. I’d move my arse if I were you.’

‘Thanks.’ Cato stood up and hurriedly put on his boots and military belt. It had started to rain outside so he picked up his cloak and trotted out of the barracks to catch up with the clerk.

‘Did Sinius say what he wanted?’

‘No. And before you ask, I didn’t.’

Cato glanced at the clerk, an overweight soldier with a round, pudding-like face. ‘Are they all as helpful as you at headquarters?’

‘Oh no,’ the man answered in a sour tone. ‘Most of them are complete bastards.’

‘Lucky for me they sent you then.’

The clerk glanced at Cato and shrugged. ‘Sorry, mate. I’m just a bit pissed off that we’re going on half rations.’

‘I can understand that,’ Cato responded with a quick glance at the man’s gut. ‘Someone’s messed up and it’s the rankers who pay the price, eh?’

‘You said it, brother. The Emperor’s been losing his grip these last months. Spending too much time fondling that niece of his. That ain’t right or decent and no good will come of it. Pity that boy of hers isn’t a bit older. Nero’s got promise, if you ask me. And he favours the Praetorian Guard. Give him a few more years and he’ll do fine as the new Emperor.’

‘Assuming the job doesn’t go to Britannicus.’

The clerk snorted with derision. ‘Claudius will be in his grave long before Britannicus is old enough to take the reins.’

‘Then it might be useful if someone encouraged the process along, I’d say.’

The clerk looked at him. ‘I might agree with you, brother, and there are plenty in the camp who would too, but I wouldn’t go and shout it about the place, eh?’

‘Just thinking aloud.’

‘And that’s all very fine now, but words have a way of prompting actions.’ The clerk winked at him. ‘But no more of it.’

They continued to headquarters in silence and the clerk showed him to Centurion Sinius’s door before returning to his duties. Cato had no idea why he had been summoned and thought it might have something to do with his shielding Nero from harm a few days earlier. Perhaps some kind of reward. He stepped up to the door, paused a moment and then knocked.

‘Come!’

Cato lifted the latch and entered. Sinius was sitting on a stool beside the small brazier that warmed his office. He looked at Cato and then gestured towards the door. ‘Close that and come over here.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Cato did as he was told and then crossed the room to stand at ease in front of the centurion. There was a pause before Cato cleared his throat. ‘You sent for me, sir.’

‘Yes, I did.’ Sinius regarded him silently for a moment. ‘You’re an interesting man, Capito. Centurion Lurco’s report of the other day’s events makes for interesting reading. Apart from saving the Emperor’s stepson, it was you who took the initiative in abandoning the litters, I understand. He gives you credit for that at least, the rest he claims for himself. But I have already spoken to your optio and discounted most of Lurco’s boasting. You and Calidus are quite a pair. Very cool headed under pressure, it would appear.’

‘We’ve had our share of skirmishes and battles in the legions, sir.’

‘So I imagine. Your actions got the Emperor and his party out of a very dangerous situation. How very loyal of you. You must be very fond of the Emperor.’

‘I just did what I was trained to do.’

‘Perhaps, but to me it would seem that the pair of you make for good junior officer material, so it’s all the more surprising that you were still just common legionaries before you were transferred to the Praetorian Guard. Why was that, I wonder? Care to explain yourself?’

Cato felt an icy stab of anxiety in his guts. ‘I have no idea, sir. I guess our faces didn’t fit.’

‘Explain.’

‘There’s not much to add to what I said when we spoke before, sir. Calidus and I never saw the point of trying to conquer Britannia. We didn’t hide our feelings. Nor did many others.’

‘I know. I gather there was a brief mutiny in Gesoriacum before the soldiers boarded the invasion fleet.’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘And you had nothing to do with that, of course.’

Cato hesitated before he replied. He could see where the centurion was trying to lead the discussion and realised there was an opportunity to test Sinius in turn. ‘I didn’t disagree with the ringleaders of the mutiny, sir. I just think they mishandled the situation.’

‘I see. Mishandled. You would have led the mutiny differently if you’d had your way.’

‘I didn’t have anything to do with it, sir. Nor did Calidus. But, since you’re asking me, then yes, if I had been in charge I would have been more ruthless. The senior officers had to be removed. It was a mistake to let them remain free. It was the officers who organised the arrest and execution of the ringleaders. It ended as I knew it would.’

‘And since then your superiors have been reluctant to promote you and Calidus.’

‘That’s how it seems, sir.’

‘Hardly fair, since you took no part in the mutiny. Men like you deserve better. You deserve better leaders, and that starts at the top.’

‘Sir?’

There was another silence, broken only by the light crackle of flames from the brazier. Then the centurion continued in a quiet voice.

‘You know what I’m talking about, Capito, though you are smart enough not to admit it. When a leader has failed his followers, or when a succession of leaders have failed us, then a reasonable man - a patriotic man - might well ask if there needs to be change. Wouldn’t you agree?’

Cato said nothing, his gaze fixed on the centurion. Sinius let the silence stretch out for a moment.

‘Fair enough. Then let me do the talking. You resent your lack of promotion. You resent being ordered to take part in a campaign that has little purpose. You condemn those who had the chance to reverse that policy but failed through lack of resolution. You want change. You want what is due to you. Am I right?’

Cato did not move for a moment and then barely nodded.

Sinius smiled. ‘Very well. Then let me put a proposal to you. There is a group of individuals who feel as you do. I am one of them. The difference between us is that I am in a position to bring about the change that we both desire. If my associates and I succeed in our ambitions, there will be rewards for us as well as rendering good service to Rome. And why shouldn’t there be? The risk is ours and we should be compensated accordingly. If I were to offer you the chance to join us, what would you say?’

‘I’d say you were a fool, sir. Why should you trust me?’ Cato paused for an instant before he risked his next comment. ‘For all you know I could be a spy.’

‘That’s true. And that is why I have had you and your friend under observation by one of my men since you arrived in the camp. If you were spies, then I’d know about it.’

Cato felt his heart lurch. He had been to the safe house twice and Sinius appeared to know nothing of it. He had taken precautions to ensure that he was not being followed but a skilled tail would not have been thrown off the scent that easily. He did not speak for a moment, to give the impression that he was carefully considering the centurion’s offer.

‘How do I know you’re not an agent, sir? You could be testing my loyalty.’

‘And why would I do that?’ Sinius smiled. ‘Do you think the imperial palace really has the time and inclination to test the loyalty of every new recruit to the Praetorian Guard in this manner?’

Cato pursed his lips. ‘I suppose not.’

‘No indeed. They have their hands full with rather more important matters, I should imagine. Like the business of the food shortage. Well, Capito, what is your response to my offer?’

‘Firstly, you mentioned rewards.’

‘Yes.’

‘I want promotion, for me and Calidus.’

Sinius’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘Calidus is a separate matter.’

‘No, sir. He is of the same mind as me in nearly all things. I trust him with my life.’ It was easy to say because it was the truth and Cato’s sincerity had its effect on the centurion.

‘Very well, my offer extends to you both.’

‘Thank you, sir. I also want money. Gold. A great deal of gold.’

‘That I cannot give you. But I can offer you silver. Quite a fortune, in fact.’ Sinius turned and pointed to the document chest beside his desk. ‘Open that. There is a false bottom with a catch at this end. Inside is a box. Bring it to me.’

Cato did as he was bid. The chest contained scrolls, some blank sheets of papyrus, pens, ink pots and several waxed slates. He cleared them aside from the near end and found a small catch painted to blend in with the dark wood of the chest. The lid lifted to reveal a cavity twice the size of a mess tin. It was almost filled by the box Sinius had described. Cato grasped the handle and picked it up carefully, slightly surprised by its weight. He crossed the room and handed the box to the centurion. Sinius placed it on his lap and flicked the catch and opened the lid. The contents were in shadow for an instant before the orange glow of the flames in the brazier reflected in the sheen of freshly minted silver coins.

‘There’s a thousand denarii there, Capito. It’s yours if you join us, and there’s more where that came from.’

Cato looked down at the coins. They were surely part of the fortune stolen from the bullion convoy. He made himself smile and reached out a hand. ‘May I?’

‘Of course.’

Cato took a coin at random and raised it up to inspect it closely.

‘They’re genuine,’ said Sinius, and chuckled. ‘Unless the Emperor has been debasing the currency.’

With a nod of satisfaction, Cato replaced the coin and gave the officer a searching stare. ‘If I - if we - agree to join you and your friends, then you’ll just give me this money? There has to be a catch.’

‘Not a catch. More of a test. You do as you are asked and the silver is yours.’

‘What kind of a test?’ Cato asked suspiciously.

‘The kind that puts your loyalty to us beyond doubt, and at the same time furthers our aims.’ Sinius gently closed the lid of the box and looked steadily at Cato. ‘It’s simple enough. I want you to kill Centurion Lurco. He is to disappear without trace. Within the next ten days. Do that and you will be welcomed by my friends. Fail in the act and we will not trust your competence. Fail to even attempt it and we will be obliged to treat you as a threat.’

‘I see.’ Cato smiled grimly. ‘Kill or be killed.’

‘That’s right. The credo of all soldiers, regardless of the circumstances. Should be an easy enough decision for you to make. I give you until dawn to let me know.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Macro as they shut the door of the mess room behind them. They had been playing dice with some of the other men of the century in order to keep up the appearance of being common soldiers. Cato had been careful to lose by a small margin and laugh it off, in order to win the good will of their comrades. Macro, on the other hand, had played to win, and had lost rather more than Cato and was consequently a little bitter as he steered the conversation back to the pressing issue. ‘Lurco is a liability, but I draw the line at doing in one of our own. Even if he is a Praetorian.’

‘We agree to Sinius’s test,’ Cato replied. ‘What else can we do?’

Macro looked shocked. ‘You can’t be serious. Kill a fellow officer? No.’

‘Of course we don’t kill him. But we have to find some way to make him disappear. That’s going to be the tricky bit.’

They made their way up on to the wall of the camp and began to stroll slowly along a section overlooking the city. Sentries were posted in the corner towers and gatehouses of the camp and several other small groups of men were walking along the wall, exchanging cheery greetings with Macro and Cato as they strolled by. Cato wondered if any of these men had been tasked by Sinius with spying on them. When they were clear of the last group he continued his conversation with Macro.

‘At least we know that the bullion is here. If not in the camp, then somewhere in Rome.’

‘Oh, that’s a comfort,’ Macro replied drily. He gestured towards the city where a million people lived. ‘Bound to be easy to find.’

‘It’s a start. In any case, we have to report to Narcissus. He needs to be told about the silver, and the rest of what we’ve discovered.’

‘Fine. And how are we supposed to get to the safe house if we’re being watched?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve made two trips there and Sinius doesn’t seem to know about it. The only way that’s possible is if his man was on patrol while I left the camp. The patrols have been going on different watches. Now, it might be a coincidence but both times I left the camp was when Burrus’s cohort was sent into the city. It’s more than likely that Sinius’s man is in our cohort.’

Macro thought through Cato’s line of reasoning and nodded. ‘It’s even more likely that he’s in our century.’

‘I agree.’

‘Shit.’ Macro hissed through his teeth. ‘It could be anyone, even Tigellinus or Fuscius. Or both.’

‘Then we’d better start by suspecting them, and be on our guard.’ Cato frowned. ‘The thing is, we must get in touch with Narcissus as soon as possible. We’re out on our own here. If anything happens to us he needs to be aware of all that we’ve uncovered. So we’re going for a drink tonight. Somewhere close to the safe house.’

‘The River of Wine?’

Cato nodded. ‘It’s as good a place as any. We know the layout.’

Macro scratched his cheek. ‘And after the other night they know us. I doubt there’ll be a warm welcome.’

‘We’re not looking for a fight, and we can be sure that Cestius and his friends won’t be showing their faces there, if they’ve got any sense. The River of Wine will serve our need perfectly. Come on.’

They signed out with Centurion Lurco’s clerk and left the camp and passed through the city gate. Taking the same street as they had used before, they made their way down the Viminal Hill. They spoke in low tones as they walked. Once in a while Cato looked back, but Sinius’s agent knew his job well enough to remain out of sight.

‘What if we’re not being followed?’ asked Macro. ‘I don’t like this pretending that we’re just out for a stroll. It ain’t natural.’

‘Good. If we acted normally then that in itself would look suspicious. Trust me, we’re doing fine. And we are definitely being followed. Sinius’s man will be watching us like a hawk.’

Ahead, the street bent slightly and ran on for another hundred paces before it reached the square where the inn stood. Cato took a deep breath. ‘Let’s pray this works.’

They strode into the square and made towards the inn. The place had not yet filled up with the usual evening customers and there were several tables free. As soon as they entered, the innkeeper’s face fell and he hurried over to them before they could sit down.

‘I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you’re not welcome here. Please leave. Now. Please.’

Cato raised his hand. ‘Don’t worry, my friend. There’s just the two of us. Here for a quiet drink. We won’t cause any trouble. Just to put your mind at rest …’ Cato reached into his purse and drew out five sestertii and slapped them on the table. ‘Have this on account. What we don’t drink you can keep. How’s that?’

The innkeeper looked at the coins with a torn expression and then nodded. ‘You can stay. But I’ll have my eye on you. The first sign of any trouble and I’ll send my woman for the urban cohort. Now, sir, what’ll you have to drink?’

‘Make it the best wine in the house,’ Macro cut in quickly as he eased himself on to a bench. ‘And for five sestertii it had better be good.’

The innkeeper made a sour face as he scraped the coins into his palm and scurried away.

‘What now?’

Cato sat down opposite Macro and then looked round the inn. A small party of men, ten of them, in worn tunics and cloaks sat to the side of the inn, away from the entrance. Cato nodded towards them. ‘That’s what I need.’

Macro twisted round for a quick look. ‘Them? What for?’

‘A way for me to get out of here and to the safe house without our shadow following me. Wait here. If I get them to help us, I want you to go to the bar and order something to eat. Make sure you are visible through the entrance.’

‘You’d better tell me what you’re up to, lad,’ Macro grumbled.

‘You’ll see soon enough. If I go, wait here for me. Keep an eye on the entrance and see if any familiar faces turn up. I’ll be all right. Trust me.’

Cato rose to his feet before his friend could protest any further and made his way over to the workmen. They stared suspiciously at the Praetorian.

Cato smiled. ‘No need to worry. I’m not looking for trouble. I just want to ask a favour.’

‘A favour?’ A short muscular man with cropped dark hair raised his eyebrows. ‘What kind of favour?’

‘One I’m prepared to pay for.’ Cato took out his purse and jingled the coins inside. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting a woman friend tonight, but her husband has got wind that she’s found herself a lover. He’s outside with some friends, waiting for me. They followed me here from the camp. I need to get out of here without them knowing. So, if I could swap cloaks with one of your party who stays with my friend there,’ Cato indicated Macro, ‘and leave with the rest of you, there’s twenty sestertii for your trouble.’

‘For that price she must be quite a woman,’ one of the other men mused.

‘Trust me, she is.’ Cato smiled.

The short man pursed his lips. ‘You want to screw another man’s wife, and you want us to help you. That’s a dirty business, friend. Why should we help you?’

‘Because the woman’s husband is a tax collector.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’ The man grinned. ‘Of course we’ll help - for thirty sestertii.’

Cato’s expression hardened. ‘Thirty? Twenty-five, no more.’

‘So, she’s not so good that you won’t haggle over her, eh?’

Thirty sestertii was more than a month’s wages for a labourer. Cato frowned, as if struggling over the price, and at length he nodded. ‘Thirty then. Fifteen now and the rest when I’m in the clear.’

‘Fair enough, soldier.’

He counted half the money out and then the stocky man turned to one of his mates, a tall skinny rake, in his fifties. ‘Porcinus, you’re the same shape. Give him your cloak.’

‘Give him yours,’ the thin man snapped back.

His colleague turned towards him and pointed a stubby finger at his chest. ‘You’ll do what I say if you know what’s good for you.’

Porcinus opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and nodded sullenly. He undid the pin that held the neck of his cloak together and handed it to Cato, taking his in return. As Cato put on the man’s cloak, his nose wrinkled at the scent of urine. ‘You’re fullers, I take it.’

‘That we are.’ The stocky man grinned. ‘Best toga cleaners in the city. Can’t help it if piss is the main ingredient of the process. I dare say your woman might not agree with your choice of rescuers tonight.’

‘I’ll have to take that risk.’ With a reluctant sigh, Cato pulled the hood up over his head. ‘Let’s get going then.’

The men drained their cups and stood, some of them pulling up their hoods like Cato, so that he would not stand out. The man with his Praetorian cloak put it on and went to sit with Macro, his back to the entrance. Macro poured him a cup of the wine that had been placed on the table a moment earlier. The fullers headed for the doorway and noisily made their farewell to the innkeeper. Then, with Cato in their midst, they strolled outside into the square and made for a small alley leading up into the Subura district. That suited Cato well enough, and he joined in their banter, laughing along when someone made a crude joke about the innkeeper’s wife. All the while he kept shooting quick glances at the doorways and side alleys leading off the square. Nothing moved except for a mangy dog trotting from one pile of refuse to the next. Cato stayed with the group of fullers as they left the square and walked up a narrow alley squeezed between the crumbling tenement blocks of Rome’s poorest district. Then, as the alley turned a corner, he patted the stocky man on the shoulder and muttered, ‘I’ll take my leave of you here.’ He handed over the rest of the coins. ‘My thanks to you.’

The fuller’s face was all but invisible in the dark alley as he replied, ‘Give my regards to that lady of yours.’

‘That I will.’

‘And you can hand back Porcinus’s cloak to me as well.’

Cato doubted that Porcinus would ever see his cloak again if he surrendered it now. ‘I haven’t finished with it yet. I’ll give it back to him when I return to the inn.’

‘All right then,’ the fuller responded quietly. ‘Come on, lads.’

Cato backed into an arched doorway as the sound of footsteps padded off over the dirt and refuse that coated the alley. He stood quite still, hardly daring to breathe, until the sound of the fullers faded away against the background noises of the city: occasional shouts and the shrill wail of hungry infants and the clatter of window shutters. He waited longer, to be sure that no one had followed them into the alley. At length Cato eased himself out of the doorway and cautiously made his way to the street where the safe house was. He stopped a short distance from the block and waited again, until he judged that no one was watching the entrance, from the outside at least. Then he crossed the street to the entrance and ducked inside the narrow doorway.

The rank odour of sweat and boiled vegetables filled the darkened stairwell. He trod as lightly as he could on the wooden steps but they creaked alarmingly as he climbed. He heard muted voices from behind some of the doors, and inconsolable sobbing from another. Then he was approaching the fourth storey. Cato slowed, his heart pounding from the climb, and the tension. A thin ray of moonlight shone through an opening in the wall, piercing the gloom and provided faint illumination. There seemed to be no movement on the landing and Cato went to the door and reached for the latch. And froze.

It was the faintest of sounds, like cotton rasping lightly on wood. The sound of a breath being drawn. Cato fumbled with the catch as his right hand dropped to his side and stealthily drew out the dagger from the sheath beneath his cloak. There was a rustle and a rush of footsteps on the stairs above. Cato spun round, throwing back his hood with his spare hand while the other thrust the dagger forward, ready to strike. He caught a dull gleam in the shaft of moonlight and realised that the other man was armed as well. He had his back to the light and his face was in darkness as he stumbled to a halt a short distance beyond Cato’s reach.

‘Stay back!’ Cato hissed. ‘Drop the knife!’

There was tense silence for a beat and then the other man lowered his blade and returned it to its sheath with a soft click. He descended the last two steps to the landing and into the faint light.

‘Septimus …’ Cato let out a deep sigh and his shoulders sagged in relief. ‘Bloody scared the shit out of me.’

Narcissus’s agent chuckled nervously. ‘You didn’t do too badly yourself. Now let’s get inside.’

Once the oil lamp had been lit the two men sat on the bedrolls either side of the pale yellow flame. Septimus had brought some bread and sausage with him wrapped in a fold of cloth and stuffed in his side bag. He offered some to Cato and the two ate from time to time as they talked.

‘I got the message that you wanted to make a report,’ said Septimus, gesturing to the hiding place beneath the floorboards. ‘There’s been a few developments at the palace that Narcissus thinks you should know about. That’s why I’m here. Been waiting for nearly two days.’

‘Why were you waiting on the stairs?’

‘Never pays to shut yourself in a room without any way out. Now, what did you have to report?’

Cato related the details of the meeting he had had with Sinius earlier on and Septimus frowned. ‘He wants you to kill Lurco? But why? He’s one of their men. One of their ringleaders, according to the man we interrogated. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Unless Lurco has done something to compromise their plans.’

‘Yes, that’s true. It’s never a bad thing to cut out the weak links in the chain.’

Cato could not help smiling at the euphemism. Septimus was clearly the creature of the imperial secretary, and just as ruthless. He brushed the thought aside and decided to voice his doubts.

‘I’ve had some time to study Lurco and I can’t say that he strikes me as the conspirator type. He lacks the nerve to see something like that through.’

‘Then he’s a cowardly traitor,’ Septimus sneered.

‘But do the Liberators strike you as being cowardly? They may hide in the shadows but it takes courage to oppose the Emperor. They stand to lose everything if they are discovered. That takes guts. More guts than I think our Centurion Lurco has.’

Septimus was silent for a moment. ‘So what are you suggesting?’

‘That the man you questioned gave up the wrong name. To put you off the scent. I’m not surprised. I’d have tried to do the same in his position.’

‘Lurco is innocent then?’

‘I don’t know for certain. All I’m saying is that I find it hard to believe he could be working for the Liberators. Let’s assume that the man you interrogated was attempting to wrong-foot you. He was trying to hide the name of his true master, so he names Lurco instead, to protect Centurion Sinius.’

‘That would make sense.’ Septimus frowned. ‘But that still doesn’t explain why Sinius wants you to kill Lurco.’

‘He said it was a test.’

‘There are better ways to test you. Why pick a senior officer? Why not a ranker, someone who would not provoke nearly so much interest?’

‘Unless that’s the point,’ Cato suggested. ‘To increase the stakes and ensure that Macro and I are irrevocably committed. That said, I can’t help feeling there’s something more to the choice of target. They want Lurco out of the way for a reason, I’m sure of it.’

‘Why?’

Cato shook his head. ‘I have no clear idea. Not yet.’

Septimus folded his arms together and leant back against the cracked plaster on the wall. ‘What do you think we should do about this test of yours?’

‘I don’t see that we have a choice,’ Cato replied. ‘Not if we want to get any further in uncovering the plot. We have to do as Centurion Sinius asks.’

Septimus’s eyes widened. ‘You mean to kill Lurco?’

‘No. Of course not. But Lurco has to be removed. In such a way that it looks to Sinius that he has been killed. There’s something else you need to tell Narcissus.’

‘Oh?’

‘Sinius offered to pay me and Macro to do the job. He showed me a small chest of newly minted denarii.’

Septimus leant forward. ‘From the stolen bullion?’

‘I think so.’

‘Then there is a link between the robbery and the Liberators, as we’d feared.’

Cato nodded. ‘Narcissus is going to have his hands full. First the conspiracy, then the food riot, and that attempt on the lives of the imperial family.’

A brief look of surprise flitted across the other man’s expression. ‘What do you mean?’

It was Cato’s turn to be surprised. ‘He didn’t tell you? When the Emperor was on his way back to the palace from the Accession games, he was ambushed close to the Forum. A gang of armed men attacked the party and a handful broke through the ring of bodyguards. One of them made an attempt on Nero before they were thrown back.’

‘Oh, yes. I heard there’d been an … incident,’ Septimus said uncertainly. ‘Narcissus has men out on the street looking for the perpetrators.’

‘I take it that Cestius has not been found yet?’

‘Cestius?’

‘He was the man who led the attack and nearly managed to kill Nero. There’s a good chance there’s some connection between him and the Liberators.’ Cato thought briefly. ‘They’ve made one attempt. There may be others.’

‘I’ll warn Narcissus.’ Septimus was silent for a moment. ‘Is there anything else to report?’

Cato shook his head. ‘What was it that Narcissus wanted you to pass on to us?’

Septimus shifted and rubbed his back. ‘As you know, Claudius agreed to the betrothal of his daughter Octavia to Nero last year. He didn’t want to make the arrangement too quickly in case it seemed like the ground was being prepared to name Nero as his heir. However, the Empress pushed him into it. Then, several days ago, the Emperor told his advisers that he was thinking of conferring the title of proconsul on Nero.’

‘Proconsul?’ Cato could not hide his astonishment. The title was assumed by the gilded few in the senate who had completed their year as consul. Even though the rank had become largely honorific since the end of the Republic, it was still a bold decision to award the consulship to a boy of fourteen. ‘That’s going to put a few noses out of joint in the senate.’

‘Indeed. Narcissus tried to persuade the Emperor to abandon the notion, but Pallas backed the Emperor and Narcissus lost the argument.’

‘Pallas?’ Cato had not yet revealed what Macro had seen below the imperial box on the day of the Accession games. He had no more desire to be embroiled in the personal relations between the Emperor and his wife than Macro. Nevertheless, Pallas was up to something. Cato scratched his chin and continued. ‘Do you know if the idea to confer the title came from Claudius?’

‘I doubt it. It is not the kind of decision that he would be confident of taking on his own.’

‘Then he was prompted by someone. Most likely Agrippina. Positioning her son for the succession.’

‘That’s what Narcissus thinks.’

‘And Pallas? What is his involvement in this?’

Septimus was silent for a moment before he replied. ‘Pallas is a confidante of the Empress, as well as being one of Claudius’s closest advisers.’

Cato smiled. ‘Something of a conflict of interests there, I’d say.’

‘Unless he, too, is preparing a place for himself in the succession.’

‘Is that what Narcissus thinks?’

‘The imperial secretary sees it as a possible course of action he needs to be aware of,’ Septimus replied warily. ‘As long as Pallas does nothing to, ah, accelerate the succession of the Emperor then Narcissus cannot act openly against him.’

‘But I dare say he is prepared to act against Pallas in a covert manner, if he isn’t already doing so.’

‘That is not for me to say, and it is not within your remit to even think about it,’ Septimus said coldly. ‘Your job is to gather intelligence and only act as Narcissus directs you to. Is that clear?’

‘Of course. Nonetheless, Centurion Macro and I prefer to be aware of the wider situation. We have our reasons to be wary of your master.’ Cato paused and then leant forward slightly. ‘Macro and I will leave Rome when our task is complete, but you will remain here. I’d be careful not to tie my fortunes to those of Narcissus if I were in your place.’

‘You are speaking out of turn, Cato. I am loyal to Narcissus. It’s a rare quality these days, I know,’ he said drily, ‘but at least some of us know what it means to be loyal, and follow our orders without question.’

‘Fair enough.’ Cato shrugged. ‘It’s your funeral.’

The other man glared at him, tiny darts of reflected flame glowing in his eyes. Then Septimus lowered his gaze and cleared his throat and spoke in a less impassioned manner. ‘What are you going to do about Lurco?’

‘I’ve got an idea. But we’re going to need to bring him here. Then I’ll need you to get him away from Rome, until the business with Sinius and his friends is over. Can that be arranged?’

‘I’ll see to it. The centurion can have a quiet holiday at the empire’s expense. Can’t vouch for the quality of the accommodation though,’ Septimus added, and then was silent for a moment. ‘I’d better get back to the palace and report to Narcissus. I’ll come here every evening from now on. I get the feeling we’re running out of time as far as the conspiracy is concerned.’ He stirred and eased himself on to his feet with a grunt. ‘I’ll leave first. Give me a while before you follow, just in case the entrance is being watched.’

He crossed to the door, gently eased the latch up and left the room as quietly as possible. Cato heard some of the steps creak faintly and then there was silence in the stairwell. Cato pulled the borrowed cloak tighter about his shoulders, his nose wrinkling with distaste at the reek of urine. He sat still for a while as he pondered the situation. Macro was right. This was no business for a pair of soldiers to be involved in. The two of them were far more use to Rome out on the frontiers fighting barbarians. That was simple thinking, Cato chided himself. The empire faced enemies from all sides and it was the duty of a soldier to deal with any threats. Besides, Narcissus had promised to reward them if they successfully carried out the task he had set. Thought of that set Cato’s mind towards Julia.

He had been trying not to think of her, but she was a distraction that was hard to ignore, like a permanent ache in his heart. The moment he let his mind wander, it was likely to turn to memories of Julia and the anxiety over the prospect of not spending the future with her. They had not seen each other for over a year. While Cato had been involved in the hunt for the fugitive gladiator, Ajax, and the campaign against the Nubians in Egypt, Julia had been living in Rome, enjoying the society of the rich and powerful. She was young and beautiful and bound to attract attention.

Cato’s anguish welled up painfully as he recalled just how beautiful she was, and how she had given herself to him, heart and body, in the months they had been together in Syria and Crete. The fact was they had been apart longer now than they had spent together, and though his feelings for her had been constant, nourished by the prospect of reunion, he had no idea if she still felt the same about him. His instinct said she did, but Cato was distrustful of himself. It could just as easily be naive wishfulness. The rational part of his mind coldly determined that it was more than likely her affections had faded. What was the memory of a young soldier to her now when she was surrounded by the refinement and glamour of Rome’s high-born society?

Cato reached up a hand to his face and traced his fingertips across his cheek, as she had done when they first made love. He closed his eyes and forced himself to recall every detail of the setting, every sound and scent of the small garden beneath a Syrian moon. His mind painted her into the scene with every embellishment that he could summon, far beyond the skills that the rough hand of nature used in fashioning the real world. Then his fingertips brushed over the hard lumpy skin of the scar and his heart burned with disgust and fear. Cato’s eyes flickered open. He breathed deeply for a moment before picking up the lamp and rising to his feet. He placed the lamp back on the shelf and blew out the flame.

Outside in the street he glanced around but there was no sign of movement so he turned back towards the main street running down the Viminal Hill. As he approached the square, Cato stopped for a moment and thought quickly, picturing the entrance to the inn where Macro sat waiting. There were two alleys a short distance apart that offered the best view of the River of Wine. Cato approached the square from the far end of the alley nearest to the inn. Resting one hand on the handle of his dagger, he crept forward, feeling his way along the rough wall and carefully testing each footstep as he went. There was a shallow bend a short distance before the alley gave out on to the square and as he reached it, Cato held his breath and peered round the corner. At first he saw nothing, but then the faintest loom of mist curled gently from behind a buttress close to the end of the alley. It came again and Cato realised that someone was breathing. From where he was he could not see anybody, so he steeled himself and continued forward slowly, until he had a view of the profile of a man watching the inn across the square. Cato stood quite still and waited. At last the man shifted his position slightly and afforded Cato a quick three-quarter view of his features. Cato smiled thinly as he recognised the man beyond any doubt.

He slowly worked his way back round the corner and up the alley. There he pulled the hood of the cloak up and continued until he came to the junction with the next thoroughfare. He made his way to the edge of the square and affecting a drunkard’s gait he half walked, half staggered across to the entrance of the inn, being careful not to glance towards the alley from where Sinius’s spy kept watch. Cato stumbled through the door and veered off towards the table where Macro and Porcinus were sitting. As soon as he was out of sight of the alley, Cato stood straight and flicked the hood back.

Macro smiled with relief. ‘You’ve been quite a while. Done what you needed to?’

‘Yes.’ Cato undid the pin fastening of the foul-smelling cloak and tossed it to Porcinus.

‘You finished with me then, sir?’ asked the fuller. ‘I can go?’

‘Yes. Better catch up with your mates before they spend all the money I gave ‘em.’

‘Too bloody right.’ Porcinus hurriedly swapped Cato’s cloak for his own and nodded a swift farewell before he hurried off. Cato took his place on the bench opposite Macro.

‘I’ve told Septimus everything I can. He’ll report back to Narcissus. Now we need to decide what to do about Lurco. We’ll need to work fast.’

‘Why? What’s the rush?’

Cato thought for a moment. ‘The Liberators have made one attempt on the imperial family. They failed last time, and they’ll be planning something else. The sooner we work our way into the conspiracy the better. Oh, and there’s one other thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘I know who Sinius is using to watch us. He’s in an alley across the square. It’s Tigellinus.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The morning air was cold and clammy as the century stood to attention on the small parade ground between the barrack blocks. Macro and Cato held their shoulders back and thrust their chests out as Centurion Lurco and his optio marched down the front rank scrutinising the uniforms and equipment of his men. They were wearing their off-white tunics under their armour and were armed with shield and javelin as well as their swords and daggers. It was kit that the Praetorian Guard rarely had cause to use, but the recent riot had obliged the elite formation to turn out ready for action every day.

Macro and Cato were positioned at the end of the front rank, on the right flank, with the other men from Tigellinus’s section. They stood, legs braced, shield gripped by their left hand while their right held the javelin shaft, just below the swelling of the iron weight designed to give the weapon greater penetration when it was thrown. They, like the rest of the men on parade, were staring straight ahead. The centurion stopped a short distance from them and scowled at one of the men in the next section.

‘There is what looks like a turd on your boot.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You do not come on parade dressed in shit.’

‘No, sir. Must have been one of the wild dogs, sir. Got into the barracks.’

‘You-do-not-make-excuses!’ Lurco shouted into his face. ‘Clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Lurco turned briefly to his optio. ‘Tigellinus, mark him down for ten days on latrine duty since he has developed a taste for shit.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Tigellinus made a quick note on his waxed slate.

The centurion looked the man over for further signs of fault. He reached for the guardsman’s sword handle and gave it a pull. There was a slight grating sound as the weapon left its scabbard.

‘There’s rust on this. Make that twenty days.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Tigellinus amended his note.

The two officers continued down the line and stopped in front of Macro. Lurco inspected him closely. Finding no fault, he nodded and then turned and strode a few paces back along the line before he called out, so that all his men could hear.

‘Thanks to our fine effort the other day the Emperor has requested that my century guards his imperial majesty and his family for the next month. A signal honour, as I am certain you will all agree. To which end I demand a perfect turnout by you men. Until the situation is settled in Rome you will not be wearing the toga. Instead you will appear as you are kitted out now. As it happens, the Emperor is quitting the city for a few days to inspect the works in Ostia and also the draining of the marshes around the Albine Lake, to the south-east of the city. It will be our duty to escort him on these excursions. He leaves tomorrow. So we will be smart and create a fine impression on any civvies that come out to cheer the Emperor. If any of you let me down, you will suffer the consequences.’ He turned to Tigellinus. ‘Optio, take over.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Tigellinus snapped his waxed tablet closed and hurriedly placed it in his side bag along with the stylus. As the centurion strode off, making for his quarters at the end of the nearest barrack block, Tigellinus gave the order for the men to fall out, and then strode off in the direction of the camp’s headquarters.

Cato and Macro relaxed their posture alongside the other men. Then Macro glanced at Cato. ‘What was that about the Albine Lake? Any idea what’s going on there?’

Cato recalled that the lake was a large body of water in the foothills half a day’s march from the city. He had passed by it a few times as a child and did not relish the memory. The lake was surrounded by low-lying boggy ground infested with mosquitoes and other insects, which made the land useless for farmers, as well as forcing travellers to make lengthy diversions around the affected area. Draining it was a long-awaited project, finally being realised under Claudius.

‘Another of the Emperor’s big civil projects,’ Cato replied. ‘Seems there’s been more than a few changes in Rome since we left. First a new port, now the lake, and a new wife and stepson.’

‘But still the same old Narcissus,’ Macro muttered sourly. ‘Pulling strings behind the scenes. Some things never change.’

They followed the other men leaving the parade ground and returned to their section room. Fuscius was already there, carefully placing his cleaned armour and weapons back on their pegs. He nodded a greeting as the others lowered their shields and began to follow suit.

‘Bloody footslogging,’ Fuscius complained. ‘It’s been bad enough with all the patrols we’ve had to mount in the city. My bloody boots are giving me blisters.’

‘Hah, you’re too soft, lad,’ Macro replied. ‘Wait until you’ve had to do some proper soldiering, like Capito and me. Then you’d know what real marching is like.’

Fuscius stared at him. ‘Spare me the back-in-my-day routine, Calidus. I’m just pissed off with those bloody rioters in the city. Now they’ve gone and made my life even more difficult because the Emperor wants to divert their attention to the great works he’s doing for the benefit of the people. Pah, it’s a goodwill stunt and nothing else. I’ll be glad when things have settled down again.’

‘Assuming that happens,’ said Cato.

‘Oh it will,’ Fuscius replied. ‘I’ve heard a rumour that the Emperor’s diverted some grain from Sicilia. Once that reaches the city, it’ll keep the mob quiet while other supplies are organised.’

‘And where did you hear that?’

Fuscius tapped his nose. ‘Friends of friends.’

Macro snorted and shook his head. ‘Like you have highly placed contacts …’

Cato pursed his lips. ‘Well, I hope you’re right. The Emperor needs to buy some time.’

Fuscius hung up his sword belt. ‘There’s a dice game in the mess. You two want to come?’

‘Sure,’ Macro answered. ‘Soon as we’re done here.’ He patted the purse hanging at his side and smiled. ‘Time to spend some of the pay that headquarters advanced us.’

‘Or lose the lot.’ Fuscius laughed. ‘I’d be careful to check the dice before you play. Some of the lads are not above trying to put one over on new recruits.’

‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’ Macro raised a fist. ‘Besides, let ‘em, if they dare.’

Once Fuscius had gone, Macro turned to Cato. ‘What are we going to do about Lurco? You said you had a plan.’

Cato glanced towards the door to make sure no one was within earshot before he replied. ‘Centurion Lurco is a keen party boy. More often than not he spends the night away from the barracks. It’s a question of following him and trying to catch him alone.’

‘And then?’

‘Then we have to tell him the situation.’

Macro snorted. ‘That’s great. He gets accosted by two of his men, rankers, and you think he’ll sit down quietly for a chat? Let’s assume, for argument’s sake, that he doesn’t listen to us. Then what?’

‘Then we use force and take him to the safe house and get Septimus to arrange for him to disappear, until the conspiracy is crushed.’

‘And when shall we do it? Tonight?’

‘No. We wait until we get back from escorting the Emperor. If Lurco goes missing tonight then there’s a danger that a different century will be assigned to guard Claudius while there is a search for Lurco. We need to stay close to the Emperor. Our first duty is to protect Claudius from any further attempts on his life.’

They joined the dice game in the mess hall. Some tables and benches had been dragged aside so that the men could gather round the action. The standard bearer oversaw the cast of the dice and the raucous placing of bets between throws. Cato leant close to Macro and cupped a hand to his friend’s ear. ‘I need to drop a message off. Tigellinus may still be at headquarters, if he hasn’t returned to the barracks. Try and find him and keep an eye on him. If he leaves, you follow him. Agreed?’

Macro nodded. ‘Be careful.’

Cato smiled, and then waited until there was a roar of delight and frustration at the latest roll and the winners crowded round those taking the bets to claim their winnings. Using the chaos to cover his exit, Cato slipped out of the hall and fetched his old army cloak that he had worn in Egypt. He had decided that it would be best not to wear a cloak issued from the Praetorian stores if he was to blend in on the streets. When he reached the safe house he wrote a brief note to Septimus explaining his intentions for Centurion Lurco once the century returned to Rome after escorting the Emperor. He placed the waxed tablet in the cavity beneath the floorboards, turned the lamp towards the door as agreed to signal a message, and then left. Back on the street Cato pulled his hood up and headed towards the square where the River of Wine stood. Even though it was late in the morning the streets and alleys were far quieter than usual. The men of the Praetorian Guard and urban cohorts were still patrolling the city and breaking up any gatherings, as well as stopping and questioning anyone acting in such a way as to provoke their suspicion. Cato assumed that most of the Subura’s inhabitants were too nervous to venture out for anything other than food and water.

He was making his way down a dim alley when he saw a figure approaching from the other direction. Like Cato he was wearing his hood up and kept his head bowed. He wore an expensive embroidered tunic beneath the flaps of his cape. There was something about him that sparked a vague sense of recognition in Cato. Something in the way he carried himself as he paced down the alley, the swagger of a fighting man. As they passed, his shoulder caught Cato and he mumbled something that might have been an apology or a warning and continued on his way without breaking his stride.

Cato felt a cold tremor ripple down his spine as he walked on, not daring to look back immediately. It was Cestius. Cato was certain of it. He waited until he was a safe distance before slowing and glancing over his shoulder. The gang leader was already some thirty paces away, and then he turned abruptly into a side alley sloping down towards the Forum. Cato doubled back, ran to the tight junction and peered round the corner. Cestius was walking steadily on, head bowed. He passed an open door where a haggard woman sat on a step with a wailing infant clutched to her small, sagging breast. She muttered something and held out her hand, but Cestius swept by without a word. Cato let him build up a decent lead and then followed him down the alley, hurrying past the woman. He spared her a sidelong glance, just long enough to see her pinched face and large eyes. The infant’s arms were thin and spindly and the skull clearly defined under the pale skin. Beyond her he saw other children on the floor of the room, sitting listlessly as the family starved.

‘A coin, sir.’ She made to clutch at the hem of his cloak and Cato just had to time to swerve beyond her grasp. He increased his pace to get past her and then slowed to keep his distance from Cestius. The big man continued heading down into the heart of the city, emerging a short distance from the Temple of Venus and Rome. Then he turned towards the Tiber, keeping away from the centre of the Forum as he passed along the palace wall. A semblance of normality had returned to Rome, for some at least, and parties of officials and a handful of senators and their retinues crossed the Forum on their way to or from the senate house. A few of the usual market stalls were set up in the porticoes of the basilica, but there was not the usual loud throng of traders and shoppers that normally filled the Forum. Soldiers stood at almost every junction, scrutinising passers-by. Cestius kept clear of the soldiers as far as possible and left by a narrow unguarded alley, heading towards the Boarium market and the warehouse district.

As Cato kept up with the man, his mind was whirling anxiously. Why was Cestius courting danger by taking to the streets when a reward had been placed on his head? Where was he going? Cato scrutinised the other man’s clothing. The cloak and tunic were expensive items and Cestius had replaced his heavy boots with a soft leather pair that extended halfway up his calf, the kind of boots that Macro would have derided as effeminate.

Cato continued following Cestius, down towards the Tiber, between the mass of the Capitoline Hill to their right and the palace on the left. The Boarium had suffered the same decline in activity as the Forum and no more than a third of the stalls had been erected. There were fewer soldiers in evidence, mostly clustered outside the offices of tax collectors and money lenders, many of whose premises had been looted during the riot. Cestius continued through the Boarium until he came to the bank of the Tiber, where the Great Sewer emptied into the river, then he turned left towards the warehouse district.

A terrible stench of human waste filled the air as the dark stream of shit, piss and refuse merged into the flow of the Tiber. The hummock of a human body had caught around the bows of a moored barge and a pair of rats were busy chewing through soaked cloth to get at the rotting flesh beneath. Already a boatman was rowing out to the body to retrieve it to add to the small pile of corpses that had been fished out of the river close to the exit of the sewer - the usual harvest of careless drunks, murder victims and accidents. It was a sight Cato had been familiar enough with as a boy when he had come down to the wharf with his father. He recalled that when enough corpses had been gathered to fill a wagon, they would be carried off to a mass grave outside the city walls.

He turned away from the grisly sight just in time to see Cestius exchange a few words with a stout bald man in a bright yellow cloak and green tunic. Two muscular men with heavy clubs stood silently behind the bald man as he talked with Cestius. The bald man smiled and patted Cestius on the arm before they parted company. Cato discreetly scrutinised the man as he approached and noted the gold chain round his neck and the jewels in the rings on his fingers. Clearly a man of some wealth, and not afraid of displaying his fortune in public, as long as he was accompanied by a pair of bodyguards who looked as if they would pulverise anyone who even considered grabbing their master’s purse.

Cato steered aside so that they passed each other by a safe margin and continued following the gang leader. Cestius continued for a short distance before he looked round quickly. Then, seemingly satisfied that no one was watching him, he made for the guarded entrance of one of the warehouse compounds. He nodded a greeting to the man at the gates, who heaved one open to admit his visitor and then drew it shut once Cestius had disappeared from sight. Cato felt a surge of panic at the prospect of losing his quarry. He stopped on the wharf opposite the gates and squatted down and retied the lace of his boot as he looked over the gateway. A sign was painted on the wall next to the heavy timbers of the gates announcing that the warehouses were rented out by Gaius Frontinus. It invited interested parties to apply at his offices in the Boarium.

Cato drew a deep breath to steady his nerves and strode up to the gates. The guard stirred and moved to block his way. He was a thickset man with a scarred face and Cato guessed that he must be one of the many former gladiators who turned up in such roles after they had won their freedom, or been discarded by their trainers.

‘What do you want?’ the guard demanded without any preamble.

‘I’m supposed to meet my master here, sir,’ Cato replied. ‘I saw him enter just a moment ago.’

‘Really? So what’s his name then?’

Cato opened his mouth and caught himself just in time. If Cestius was in disguise then there was a strong possibility that he was using a false name as well. If Cato tried to use his real name the guard would refuse him entry. Worse still, he might mention it to Cestius on the way out and thereby alert him to the fact that he had been followed.

The pause was long enough for the guard to reach a decision. ‘Thought so. You’re a chancer. Now turn away and piss off. Before I make you.’ He patted the studded club swinging from his belt.

Cato knew that there was no sense in provoking any disturbance. He backed off a few paces and then turned and walked back towards the Boarium. Then it occurred to him that there was still something useful that he could discover and he broke into a run. He pushed his legs hard, looking for the man in the yellow cloak and his two bodyguards. There was no sign of his easily distinguishable cloak on the length of the wharf, and Cato ran on into the Boarium. Even though the market was not filled with its usual dense press of bodies, there were enough people to obscure Cato’s view. He pulled himself up on to the pediment of a statue of Neptune and hung on to the shaft of the trident as his gaze swept over the market. Then he saw the yellow tunic, on the far side, close to the hall of the grain traders.

‘Oi! You! Get off!’

Cato looked round and saw a soldier from one of the urban cohorts striding towards him. Cato clambered down and made to leave the spot but the soldier blocked his path.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Looking for a friend.’

‘Trying to cause trouble more like.’ The soldier growled and slapped the side of Cato’s head, making it ring. Cato blinked as he staggered to one side.

‘Acer!’ a voice cut through the air. ‘That’s enough!’

An instant later an optio stepped up and glared at the soldier. ‘We’re here to keep the peace, you bloody fool. Not to start another fucking riot.’ He turned to Cato. ‘You! Get on your way!’

Cato nodded, and staggered off through the market, heading towards the halls of the merchant guilds on the other side of the Boarium. People who had witnessed the confrontation stared warily after him, as if he carried some kind of frightening mark. It was a sign of the nervous tension that still hung over the city. No one wanted to be associated with any man who fell foul of the military. Cato’s head quickly cleared and he slowed to a steady pace as he crossed the market. He could no longer see any sign of the yellow cloak outside the hall of the grain merchants and feared that he had lost his man. As he reached the portico, topped by a pediment and statue depicting Ceres holding a thick sheaf of wheat, Cato paused and looked round. There was no sign of the bald man, so he continued inside.

After the daylight outside it took a moment to adjust to the gloomier lighting of the hall. There was a large open space in the centre filled with tables and benches. Along each wall stood two storeys of offices from which the merchants conducted their trade. At the far end was an auction podium in front of a large board on which the grain cargoes were chalked up for sale. Only it was clear today, and the merchants were in a depressed mood. Cato saw the man emerge from the colonnade at the side of the hall. He crossed to the clerk sitting on the step beside the podium and began to address him. Cato pulled down his hood and turned to one of the merchants standing close at hand. He indicated the bald man and asked for his name.

‘Him?’ The merchant squinted briefly. ‘Why, that’s Aulus Piscus. Why do you ask?’

Cato thought quickly. ‘My uncle owns a bakery in the Subura. He sent me down here to see if there’s any grain to be had.’

‘You’ll be lucky!’ the merchant snorted. ‘There’s been nothing for days. Your man Piscus snapped up the last cargo.’

‘I see.’ Cato stared at the bald man. ‘I assume Piscus is one of the big dealers in the guild.’

‘Only in the last few months. Before then he was just a small-time trader.’

‘Looks wealthy enough now.’

‘Oh, he’s done all right for himself.’

‘How’s that?’ Cato pressed.

‘Well, either he came into a fortune, or he’s acting as a front for someone who has. Whichever, the lucky bastard’s done well out of it. Well enough to pay for those two thugs that guard his back.’

Cato nodded, stepping away. ‘Thanks. I won’t take up any more of your time.’

‘Time’s a luxury I can afford right now.’ The merchant smiled thinly. ‘There’s not much the likes of me and your uncle can do until the grain supply flows again, eh?’

Cato shook his head and then moved away. He crossed the hall and approached Piscus and the clerk, overhearing the end of their exchange.

‘You let me know the moment the first grain ship reaches Ostia, you hear?’

‘Yes, master.’ The clerk bowed his head.

The bald man leant closer. ‘See that you do, and I won’t be ungrateful. Understand?’

The clerk nodded wearily, as if he had heard the same offer several times already that day. He looked up as Cato approached and the bald man turned round with a quick look of anxiety.

‘Can I help you?’ Piscus asked curtly.

‘As a matter of fact, you can, sir.’ Cato smiled and politely bowed his head. ‘I’m looking for a friend. I missed him in the Boarium a moment ago and then saw him on the wharf, when he stopped to speak to you.’

‘A friend? You?’ Piscus looked at Cato in his worn cloak with undisguised contempt. ‘I don’t think so. Why would a wealthy merchant like him have anything to do with you? Be on your way.’ He clicked his fingers and his bodyguards stepped forward menacingly.

Cato bowed his head and stepped back. ‘My mistake, sir. Perhaps it wasn’t my friend.’

He turned and left the hall, moving off along the paved area in front of the guild halls, deep in thought. What was Cestius up to? The gang leader from the Subura clearly had another identity, or there was another man in Rome who could have passed as his twin brother. Cato discounted the idea at once. The man he had followed looked, moved and sounded just like Cestius. In which case why was he passing himself off as a merchant? And what was he doing down in the warehouse district? There was one way to try to find out. Cato made for the small basilica given as the address of the man who leased the warehouses. Entering the building he saw that it was on a much less impressive scale than the grain merchants’ hall. A score of open-fronted offices lined the walls. He found the sign of Gaius Frontinus easily enough. Below it, the office was fronted by a plain stone counter. A clerk sat on a stool behind it, working through a ledger.

Cato coughed. ‘Excuse me.’

The clerk lowered his stylus and looked up. ‘Yes … sir?’

‘I’m looking for Gaius Frontinus.’

‘He’s not here, sir. May I help?’

‘Perhaps. I’m inquiring about leasing some storage space down on the wharf.’

The clerk took in Cato’s poor appearance. ‘We don’t lease lock-ups. Just warehouses.’

‘That’s what I’m after.’

‘Then I can’t help you, sir. We let them two months ago. There’s nothing available.’

‘I see.’ Cato frowned. ‘Who did you let them to? Perhaps I could talk to the man and get a sublet.’

‘I am not at liberty to say, sir. In any case the master dealt with that contract personally.’

‘Then can I see Gaius Frontinus? To discuss a contract when the present one expires?’

‘The master is not here, sir, as I’ve already told you. He left Rome on business a month ago.’

‘Did he say when he would be back?’

‘No, sir. He just left me a letter telling me to take charge in his absence.’ The clerk coughed self-importantly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, sir, I have work to do. You might try one of the other leasing offices. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for with one of the smaller concerns. Good day.’

Cato nodded and walked off slowly. He felt the familiar tingle of cold dread grasp the back of his scalp. There was more to the conspiracy than Narcissus had realised. The Liberators, or whoever else it was, were preparing the ground on a far wider scale than the imperial secretary had guessed. Cato could link only a few elements of the puzzle together but one thing was for certain. The enemy was well organised and their plan was already being put into effect.