CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The sun was shining fitfully through the scattered clouds as the Praetorians took up their positions around the stage that had been set up for the Emperor to address his summoned guests. Most of the senators and their wives had been carried out on litters to the side of the Albine Lake. The lower ranks of Roman society had made the short journey in carts, on horseback or on foot, and were to stand behind the seating areas that had been arranged for the senators. March was coming to an end and the ground was firm and free of the glutinous winter mud that had hampered the work of the engineers. They were tasked with digging the channel that would drain off most of the lake, and the surrounding marshes, into a tributary of the Tiber.

Centurion Lurco’s men were footsore after the previous day’s march from Ostia, and the march to Ostia from Rome two days before that. Claudius had made a quick inspection of the progress on the new harbour and gave a series of short speeches around the town to reaffirm his love of his people and to promise them the rich rewards that would flow from the increase of trade passing through the port. The Emperor had also provided a banquet for the leading politicians, merchants and administrators of the port. Having appeased the people of Ostia, he and his court had moved on to the engineering works at the Albine Lake to attempt to win over the people of Rome. Claudius was due to make a public announcement and the men of his escort had been speculating on its nature all morning.

‘Has to be a spectacle,’ said Fuscius. ‘That or a distribution of food. Maybe both.’

‘As long as he doesn’t reduce our rations to supply the mob,’ Macro grumbled. The Praetorian Guard had been on half rations for three days and his stomach was beginning to growl. Despite the imperial order for other towns and cities to send their food reserves to the capital, only a handful of wagons were entering the city each day and most of the stock was bought by those wealthy enough to pay the premium prices demanded. Supplies earmarked for the public granary were diverted by corrupt officials and pilfered by those entrusted with guarding what little grain remained. Many of the poorest and weakest had already starved to death and as the supply wagons rumbled into the capital they passed the carts carrying the dead to the open graves outside the walls of Rome. The cries and wails of lamentation echoed through the narrow streets of the slums and Macro wondered how long it would take for the grief to turn once more to anger. When that happened, only the Praetorians and the urban cohorts would stand between the Emperor and the mob.

Cato had been listening to the exchange. ‘If there’s no bread then Claudius is going to have to depend on circuses to keep the mob happy. If he is going to stage a gladiatorial event then he’ll have to do something special. Even then, he may have satisfied their bloodlust but their bellies will still be empty.’

Fuscius shrugged. ‘I suppose. But it might buy him a few more days in which to find some food. Just as long as he doesn’t take any more of ours. If he does, then there’ll be consequences,’ the young Praetorian added darkly.

‘Consequences?’ Macro spat on the ground with contempt. ‘What consequences? Claudius is the bloody Emperor. He can do what he likes.’

‘You think so?’ Fuscius cocked an eyebrow. ‘He’s Emperor just for as long as the Praetorian Guard says so. We made him. We can just as easily put someone else in his place, if he forces us to.’

‘Who’s this “we” you’re talking about? You and a few disgruntled mates?’

Fuscius looked round and lowered his voice. ‘Not so few of us, judging from word going round the barracks. If the time comes, I’d make sure you’re on the right side, Calidus.’

‘Maybe, but until then, I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you. You’re talking treason, lad.’

Cato smiled thinly. ‘You know the saying, treason is just a question of timing. Fuscius has a point. Best to see how things work out before you pick a side.’

Macro shook his head in disgust. ‘Politics … Good soldiers should never get involved in it.’

‘Oh, I agree with that, sure enough,’ Cato replied. ‘Trouble is that sometimes politics can’t help getting involved with soldiers. Then what’s a man to do?’

As he asked the question, Cato watched Fuscius for his response. The younger Praetorian was silent and his expression suddenly became fixed and unreadable as he glanced over Cato’s shoulder.

‘What’s all this then?’ Tigellinus barked. ‘Gossiping like old ladies? Fall in, the Emperor’s coming.’ He jerked his thumb in the direction of the tents further along the side of the lake. The German bodyguards were stirring and the slaves hurried forward with the imperial litters. The men of Lurco’s century raised their shields and javelins and began to form up around the stage. Half of the men stood either side of the approach to the rear of the stage while the others, including Cato and Macro, provided a loose screen around the sides and front. Meanwhile the last of the senatorial families had arrived to take up their seats.

‘Shit …’ Macro muttered and Cato glanced sharply at him.

‘What?’

‘To the right, close to that red litter, see that party of hooray Horatios. Try not to be obvious.’

Cato casually turned his head to survey the Emperor’s audience until he saw the party that Macro had indicated - twenty or so young aristocrats in expensive tunics beneath their rather more austere togas. They seemed to be gathered around one individual. He was a tall but manifestly overweight individual whose jowls shook as he talked. At first Cato could not recognise him from that angle, but then the man slapped his thigh and laughed loudly enough for the sound to carry clearly over the hubbub of the other senatorial guests, several of whom turned in his direction with expressions of disapproval. The man turned and glanced towards the stage and Cato felt a chill seize his heart.

‘By the gods,’ he muttered. ‘Vitellius … Bastard.’

‘Who is he then?’ asked Fuscius.

Cato shot a warning glance at Macro before the latter replied. ‘He was senior tribune in the Second Legion a few years back.’

Fuscius made a wry smile. ‘Doesn’t sound like you approve of him.’

‘He nearly got us killed,’ Cato said flatly, as he considered how much it was safe to say. He was cross with himself, and Macro, for their reaction to seeing Vitellius again. The former tribune had been involved in a plot to assassinate the Emperor while Claudius was in Britannia. Even though Cato and Macro had foiled the attempt, Vitellius had managed to deftly exculpate himself. ‘Vitellius is the kind of man who puts himself first, above all other considerations. A word of advice, Fuscius. Never step in his way. You’d be crushed under his heel with no more regard than if he had trod on an ant.’

‘I see.’ Fuscius stared towards the loud group of aristocrats for a moment. ‘Still, seems like a popular lad.’

‘He has charm,’ Cato admitted, recalling all too painfully how the tribune had seduced Cato’s first love, and then killed her when there was a danger that she might expose his plot to kill the Emperor. ‘Bastard,’ he repeated.

‘I just hope he doesn’t see us,’ said Macro. ‘We didn’t exactly part on good terms, Fuscius,’ he explained.

Cato watched as Vitellius turned away again, engrossed in conversation. ‘We should be all right. He can’t possibly recognise us under all this kit.’

A brassy blast cut through the air to announce the approach of the Emperor. The Praetorians quickly snapped to attention, shields held in and spears grasped perpendicular to the ground. The public fell silent and stood respectfully. Behind Cato the imperial litters made the short trip from the tents and then their occupants waited until the German bodyguards had taken their place at the very foot of the platform. The Emperor and his coterie of close advisers climbed out and advanced down the short avenue of Praetorians, and up on to the stage. Out of the corner of his eye Cato could see that Claudius was doing his best to disguise his limp and suppress his tic and look dignified before his guests. He made his way up on to the dais and sat on the gilded throne. There was a pause as he surveyed the audience with an imperious tilt to his head and then he waved those that had them back to their seats. Narcissus and Pallas stood discreetly behind the dais, as befitted their status. Though they wielded far more power than any senator, consul or proconsul, as freedmen they technically ranked lower than the poorest freeborn Roman citizen presently starving to death in the most squalid districts of Rome.

‘Remember, sire, keep it clear and keep it short,’ Cato heard Narcissus say.

‘I kn-kn-know,’ Claudius replied tartly out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I’m no fool, you know.’

He cleared his throat with a rather unpleasant guttural sound and drew a deep breath.

‘My friends! Rome has endured much hardship in recent months. Our b-b-b-beloved city is troubled by social unrest. The failure of the grain supply has vexed our p-p-people. I have done all in my power to scour Italia for food to feed the capital. However, I believe we are close to solving the g-g-gr-grain shortage.’

Cato’s ears pricked and he sensed Macro stir beside him. Finding a reliable supply of food was the key to ending the strife in the city. Once that was dealt with, the people would be grateful to their Emperor and his enemies would no longer be able to exploit the discontent. Claudius had better be right, Cato thought. If he raised hopes only to dash them, it would only inflame the anger of his people.

The Emperor was about to continue when Narcissus leant forward slightly and spoke in an undertone. ‘Remember, pause for effect.’

Claudius nodded, staring at the audience for long enough for a few uncertain coughs to break out. Then he launched back into his prepared speech. ‘Until the people’s bellies are filled again, it is only ri-ri-right that the Emperor offers Rome the com-comfort of entertainment to help them through the c-cri-crisis. If their stomachs are empty, then let their hearts b-be-be filled instead!’ He thrust his arm into the air with a dramatic rhetorical flourish.

‘Pause for applause,’ Narcissus prompted and there was a brief delay before those in the audience who had been primed clapped their hands. The sound quickly spread and swelled and Narcissus smiled cynically, while his master bathed in the adulation of his audience. Narcissus allowed it to go on for a while and then made a cutting action with his hand. The applause died away, rather too soon for the Emperor’s taste and his brow creased into a frown before he continued, with a gesture towards the channels and dams that had been constructed to link the lake with the Tiber’s tributary.

‘By the end of next month, my engineers will have completed their work here and once the lake is dr-drained, we will, b-b-before the end of the year, have increased the farmland close to R-r-rome by several thousand iugerae. More land means more grain. Never again will Rome go h-hun-hungry!’

This time Narcissus did not need to prompt the applause. It was freely given by those who were relieved at the prospect of pacifying the mob.

‘Before the lake is dr-dr-dr-drained,’ the Emperor continued, ‘it is my intention to use the natural arena of the Albine lake to stage the gr-gr-greatest gl-glad-gladiatorial spectacle in history.’

The current of excitement that swept through the crowd was palpable and it was a while before the muttering died away enough for Claudius to resume.

‘Two fleets, crewed by ten thousand gladiators, will fight on the lake, b-be-before the eyes of the entire pop-population of Rome! For generations to come, people will remember the reign of Cl-cl-claudius not because of food riots but because of our gladiators and the spectacular N-nau-naumachia they provided. Our heirs will look on us with envy. Th-thin-think on that, and pass the word into every street and alley of Ro-rome!’

Claudius thrust out his arms, as if to embrace the thousands who stood cheering before him. Cato caught a look of smug gratification on the face of Narcissus as he turned to Pallas. The latter looked furious, but held his position, and a moment later forced himself to join in the celebration with muted applause.

‘Bloody hell.’ Macro shook his head and muttered to Cato, ‘Where’s he going to find ten thousand gladiators? He’s mad.’

‘No,’ Cato responded quietly. ‘Just desperate.’

Claudius turned away from his audience and arched an eyebrow at his two closest advisers. ‘Well?’

‘A fine speech, sire!’ Narcissus clapped his hands together. ‘The Naumachia is just what your people need.’

‘Indeed,’ Pallas agreed. ‘Your speech was so good that one grieves over its brevity.’

Narcissus glanced daggers at the other freedman and then smiled brilliantly at the Emperor. ‘Ah, yes! But brevity is an art that few in history have mastered as well as you, sire.’

‘Yes, quite.’ Claudius nodded vigorously. ‘And when w-word of the games reaches the vulgar mo-mo-mob they’ll forget that they were ever h-h-hungry. Speaking of which, it’s time to return to the palace. I need to eat. I have a craving for mush-mushrooms.’

With a last gracious wave to his audience Claudius left the dais and limped down from the stage back to his litter. Pallas followed quickly, trying to steal a lead on his rival. Narcissus let him go and then, as he passed by Cato and Macro, he seemed to catch his boot and trip over his toga. His arms flailed as he fell against Cato. Cato felt the imperial secretary’s hand thrust something into the palm of his shield hand.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ Cato asked, as he helped Narcissus back on to his feet.

‘I’m fine,’ Narcissus snapped. ‘Unhand me, soldier.’ He shook off Cato’s grip and hurried to catch up with Pallas.

‘Charming man, that,’ said Macro.

‘He’s a freedman,’ Fuscius hissed. ‘Shouldn’t be allowed to treat a Praetorian that way. It ain’t right.’

As the Emperor climbed into his litter, those summoned to hear his brief announcement began to shuffle back towards their own litters and horses, anxious to get back on the road to Rome before the route became clogged with traffic. Centurion Lurco cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed the order to his men. ‘Sixth Century! Fall in behind the imperial litter!’

‘You heard him!’ Tigellinus shouted. ‘Move yourselves!’

The Praetorians began to hurry over to form up behind the German bodyguards surrounding the litter. Cato hung back and when he was sure that he would not be observed, he opened his hand and saw a small, neatly folded sheet of papyrus. He thumbed it open and saw a few words written in fine print. He crumpled it up and closed his fist before he took up his station beside Macro near the front of the column and muttered to his friend, ‘Narcissus wants to meet us in the safe house as soon as we return to Rome.’

The imperial secretary looked up anxiously as Septimus opened the door to Cato and Macro late in the afternoon. The shutters were open and pale shafts of light illuminated the room. Narcissus was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. He waited until the door was shut before he spoke.

‘You’ve taken your time.’

‘We came as soon as we could,’ Cato replied.

‘Are you sure that no one saw you come here?’ Narcissus asked earnestly.

Cato nodded. ‘Tigellinus was called to headquarters to get tonight’s watchword. We left before he got back to barracks.’

‘What if the Liberators have other men watching you?’

‘We doubled back and stopped a few times to check. We’re safe.’

‘Safe?’ Narcissus laughed humourlessly. ‘No one is safe at the moment. Not you, not me, and not the Emperor.’

Macro cocked his head to one side. ‘Somehow, I think vulnerability is more of an issue for those further up the chain of command.’

Narcissus stared at him. ‘If you really think that, then you are a fool, Centurion Macro. Your fate is tied to mine. If our enemies win the day, do you really think they will be satisfied by removing just the Emperor and his immediate circle? Look what happened when Sejanus fell. The streets were running with the blood of anyone who was even remotely associated with him. So spare me your delight in the greater misfortune of others.’ He paused, as a thought struck him. ‘There really ought to be a word for that quality since so many people seem to relish the misfortune of others.’

Cato cleared his throat. ‘You sent for us for a reason.’

‘I did. What did you make of the Emperor’s announcement?’

‘About the games? Or about the improvement of the supply of grain?’

Narcissus smiled. ‘Both.’

‘I don’t see how he can possibly stage his naval spectacle. Where is he going to get so many gladiators from? I doubt there are ten thousand in the whole of Italia.’

‘There aren’t. Calling them gladiators is stretching a point. Some of them will be. But the rest will be criminals and the scrapings of the chain gangs from the mines and imperial estates. As long as the people get a spectacle they’ll remember for as long as they live then they won’t pay too much attention to the quality of the individual combats. We’ll dress them up and place a weapon in their hands and let them get on with it, with freedom for the winners. That should provide sufficient incentive to get stuck in.’

‘What about the ships?’ asked Macro. ‘How are you going to get warships up to the lake?’

‘The engineers’ barges are going to be made to look like biremes. How many people in Rome do you think can tell one end of a boat from another? It’s all about appearances, Macro.’

‘Not all,’ said Cato. ‘A spectacle does not feed its audience. What of the grain the Emperor mentioned? Where’s that coming from?’

‘That we don’t yet know exactly,’ Narcissus admitted. ‘Septimus, you’d better fill them in.’

The imperial secretary nodded and was silent for a moment as he collected his thoughts. ‘With that recent trouble in Egypt restricting the flow of grain, there was always going to be a shortage. That’s where the guild of grain merchants comes in. If one source of grain begins to dry up, they find another province to import it from. As far as I understand it, they had compensated for the situation by offering tenders to suppliers in Gaul and Sicilia. The cargoes were landed in Ostia and carried up the Tiber to Rome, and then put up for sale in the guild’s hall. The thing is, a handful of merchants bought up almost every shipment, bidding up well above the normal price range. There won’t be another grain fleet arriving from Egypt until late in the spring. Meanwhile there’s only a tiny trickle of grain reaching the market. Nowhere near enough to feed Rome.’

‘So,’ Narcissus intervened, ‘the pressing issue is to find those who have been buying all the grain and then find out where they have been storing it. If there’s been a plot to corner the market on grain, then I dare say the Emperor is not going to be too pleased when he discovers who is responsible. He might spare them from being thrown to the mob if they are public spirited enough to give their stocks to the Emperor to distribute to the public. In the meantime, we await a convoy of grain from Sicilia. I sent word to the governor of Sicilia a month ago to send us whatever grain he has sitting in the island’s granaries. The first convoy should reach Ostia any day. When it does, the grain will be handed over directly to a cohort of the Praetorian Guard, for escort to Rome. That will assuage the mob’s appetite for bloodshed and disorder temporarily. For now, we must discover who has been hoarding the grain.’ Narcissus nodded at Septimus to continue.

Septimus stirred. ‘It should have been an easy task, but the thing is when I questioned the merchants in whose name the shipments were purchased it turns out that they were acting on behalf of someone else and were paid generously to act as intermediaries.’

‘For whom?’ asked Macro.

‘That’s just it. They never met the final buyers, or buyer. They were funded in silver and told to deliver the shipment to a warehouse close to the Boarium. One rented out by Gaius Frontinus.’

Cato felt his pulse quicken. ‘I know it. I’ve been there. That was where I lost Cestius.’

‘Cestius?’ Naricissus sounded surprised and he exchanged a brief look with Septimus.

‘Do you know him?’ asked Cato.

‘Only by reputation. He leads one of the largest criminal gangs in the Subura, the Viminal Hill thugs, I believe.’

‘That’s right. But you also know him by sight. He was the man who led the attack on the Emperor that day we escorted him back from the camp.’

Narcissus thought a moment. ‘The big man? The one you saved young Nero from?’

‘That’s him.’

‘So that’s Cestius,’ Narcissus said deliberately. ‘What has he got to do with this warehouse then?’

Cato explained how he had seen the man and followed him across Rome, and that he was known to at least one regular member of the grain merchant’s guild. ‘It’s more than likely Cestius is behind the attempt to control the grain supply.’

Narcissus stroked his chin. ‘But he’d need a fortune to do that. The street gangs do well enough, but it would take them several years at least to amass a fortune big enough to buy up the grain stocks. There’s only one likely source for that kind of sum.’

Cato nodded. ‘The stolen bullion.’

Septimus cleared his throat. ‘Which means that Cestius is working with the Liberators.’

Narcissus glanced at him with a cold expression. ‘Evidently. Cestius is another enemy we’ll have to take care of in due course. In the meantime, you two will be dealing with Centurion Lurco. What is your plan?’

‘Nothing elaborate,’ said Macro. ‘We follow him, wait until he’s alone and then have a quiet word with him, if we get the chance. If that doesn’t work, then we knock him on the head. Either way, we’ll bring him back here and turn him over to Septimus. Then it’s up to you to keep him out of circulation until our job’s done.’

The imperial secretary stared at Macro for a moment before he replied in a cutting tone, ‘Brilliantly conceived, I must say. It is a comfort to know that the army still employs strategists of the first water.’

‘It’ll work,’ Macro replied sourly. ‘That’s all that matters.’

‘See that it does.’ Narcissus sighed. ‘I fear that we are running out of time, gentlemen. There must be a reason why our enemies want Lurco to disappear. It has to be more than some kind of initiation test. They’re getting ready to make their move, I know it. And the Liberators are not the only danger facing us. The Emperor’s gladiator spectacle will distract the mob for a moment. Unless we feed them before it’s too late then the people will turn on us like ravenous wolves and tear Rome to pieces.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Dusk thickened over the capital and shrouded it in a thin mist as Centurion Lurco quit the Praetorian camp and entered the city. He was dressed in a thick blue cloak and only the soft leather boots that rose halfway up his calves indicated that he was a man of status. The bulge on his hip revealed that he was armed; lone footpads and small gangs of robbers presented a considerable danger in the darker alleys and byways of Rome.

Macro and Cato tailed him at a distance. After returning to the Praetorian camp following their meeting with Narcissus they had kept watch on the centurion’s quarters, waiting for him to emerge. He came out once in the afternoon, in his military tunic, and made a brief visit to headquarters. Then, as the light faded, he stepped out in his cloak, ready to find his evening’s entertainment. Cato and Macro fell into step fifty or so paces behind the officer. Like Lurco they were armed, and Macro carried a leather sap filled with sand and small pebbles.

Centurion Lurco made his way down the hill at a carefree pace, not once bothering to look behind him as he negotiated the dark streets. There were still plenty of people abroad, enough for Cato and Macro not to draw attention to themselves, and not so many that it was difficult to keep Lurco in view. He stayed away from the main thoroughfares as far as he could, to avoid the inconvenience of encountering any of the patrols and checkpoints of the urban cohorts.

As they tailed him into the Subura, Macro muttered to Cato, ‘Can’t imagine Lurco wanting to spend any time in this dump. That, or he’s got cheap tastes, and friends who share them.’

‘I’m sure there are plenty of young rakes who get their thrills from slumming it,’ Cato replied. ‘Unless he’s heading somewhere else.’

A little further on, the centurion abruptly turned into a street to his right.

‘Shit,’ Macro hissed. ‘He’s on to us.’

They trotted forward to the junction before cautiously peering round the grimy corner of a tenement block. Lurco was a short distance ahead, striding on without any evident sign of concern. They let him open up a safe lead before resuming their pursuit.

‘Why don’t we take him now?’ asked Macro. ‘We’re not far from the safe house.’

Cato shook his head. ‘Let’s see where he goes first. He might lead us to some interesting acquaintances.’

‘Or he might just lead us to a bunch of delinquent piss-heads,’ Macro countered. ‘Or we might lose sight of him.’

‘Not if we’re careful. Besides, it wouldn’t be a good idea to start a scene where we might draw a crowd. We’ll wait and see who he meets, and then deal with him the moment we can catch him on his own.’ Cato realised that he had spoken in a peremptory tone and glanced quickly at his friend to see if Macro had taken any offence. But Macro just nodded briskly, as if he had been given an order. Cato was mildly surprised by the little thrill of pleasure he felt at his friend’s unquestioning obedience to his will, as well as his confidence in stating it. Perhaps they were both finally comfortable with his promotion over his former mentor. Former? Cato mused. No, not yet. There was still much that Macro could teach him.

‘Watch it!’ Macro nudged Cato sharply, pushing him to one side, just before he trod in a foul-smelling sprawl of rotting offal outside the door of a butcher’s shop. ‘Mind where you’re stepping, lad. Bloody hell, do I have to hold your hand all the time?’

Cato chuckled.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing. I was just thinking.’

Macro scowled. ‘Which is why you nearly went arse over tit into that lot.’

Ahead of them the centurion had increased his lead and they had to hurry to catch up with him. The failing light made it hard to see Lurco clearly and they risked moving closer to him. Lurco continued steadily down the slope of the Viminal Hill before leaving the Subura district and climbing a street that led up on to the Quirinal Hill where some of the wealthiest inhabitants of Rome lived, their grand town houses interspersed with the more modest homes of lesser citizens and those who bought into the area simply to rub shoulders with their betters.

The last faint loom of dusk had given away to night and there were fewer people on the street now. Lurco turned into a road that ran between some of the larger residences. The plain walls, broken only by imposing doorways and narrow grilled window slits, were misleading. Behind the stout timbers of the doors fronting the thoroughfare there would be elaborate and finely decorated residences stretching a long way back from the street. The largest houses would also have ornate gardens, and perhaps even fountains.

At length Lurco stopped outside one of the more modest-looking entrances and paused to arrange his cloak before climbing the steps and rapping on the door. Cato pulled Macro into an arched doorway of a closed shop which afforded a clear view of the house, without exposing them to Lurco’s view should he glance back down the street. They watched as Lurco knocked again and a moment later the iron grille in the door snapped open. There was a brief exchange that was too muted for Cato and Macro to make out any words, and then the door opened. Lurco entered and the door was shut firmly, followed by a dull scrape as an iron bolt shot home. The street was still, apart from a distant figure much further up the road, then he, too, was lost from view in the gathering darkness.

‘What now?’ asked Macro. ‘Wait until he emerges again?’

‘That’s right. And see if we recognise any of the faces going in or coming out.’

Macro rubbed his hands together. ‘Could take hours.’

‘More than likely.’

‘Bollocks. It’s going to be a cold night.’

Cato nodded, biting back on the urge to tell Macro to stop stating the obvious. They stood in silence for a while and then Macro started to stamp his feet to try to keep them warm. Amplified by the archway, the sound of the nailed soles striking the flagstone threshold of the shop seemed deafening. Cato turned to him with a frown.

‘Enough! You’ll give us away.’

‘Who to?’ Macro gestured irritably towards the empty road.

Cato pressed his lips together for an instant and then responded as calmly as he could. ‘It would be useful to know who owns that house. Why don’t you scout round it while I watch the entrance? See if you can find someone who knows.’

Macro looked at him doubtfully. ‘What if Lurco comes out while I’m gone?’

‘He hasn’t been there very long. I suspect he’ll be a while yet. If he does emerge then I’ll follow him and try and take him by myself and meet you back at the safe house. Just don’t be too long yourself.’

‘All right.’ Macro eased himself away from the wall of the arch and stretched his back. With a brief glance both ways to make sure there was no one in sight, Macro stepped out into the road and then hurried across to the other side. He walked towards the entrance and did not pause as he passed by. A short distance beyond was a narrow alley that ran down the side of the house and he turned into it and disappeared from view.

Cato let out a sigh of relief. Macro was a fine soldier but clandestine duties that required patience did not number amongst his strengths. Cato squatted down in the shadows and settled his back against the door of the shop.

The alley was barely four feet wide and Macro guessed that it was little more than a service passage shared by the house Lurco had entered and its neighbour. The walls rose high on either side, leaving only a thin strip of gloom from the night sky. Although the ground was soiled underfoot Macro was acutely aware of the noise that his boots were making as he made his way down the alley and he tried to tread as softly as he could. He traced one hand along the wall, fingertips grazing over cracked plaster and patches of exposed bricks. Fifty paces or so along the alley he came to a small door and gently tried the latch but it was locked. Macro proceeded a little further and then heard some voices, a light-hearted blend of conversation and laughter. An instant later the notes of a flute added to the sound of the party. It came from a short distance ahead and Macro saw that the wall abruptly dropped to half its height as the main part of the house gave way to the gardens.

He hurried on and the sounds from the other side of the wall covered any noise from his boots. A short distance ahead Macro could see the tall cone of a poplar tree rising above the wall and he made towards it. If he could climb the wall, then the tree would give him some cover as he looked over the top, he reasoned. From there he could spy on Lurco and see whom he spoke to. However, the wall rose a good ten feet above the street and Macro hissed bitterly. Looking round he saw nothing that he could use to stand on. With a resigned grunt he reached under his cloak and took out his sword and tested the surface of the wall with the point. The plaster crumbled away freely and the bricks underneath were soft enough for Macro to chisel out a step. He worked quickly, creating several more up to a height where he should be able to reach the top.

Sheathing his sword, Macro pulled himself up and began to climb carefully, grimacing as his fingers strained for purchase in the hurriedly cut holds. He drew his knife and worked at the handholds, proceeding steadily towards the top of the wall. At length he could just reach up and grip the edge. With his knife sheathed, Macro heaved his body up, boots scraping to help lift his weight until his torso rested across the top of the wall. Macro paused for breath, his heart pounding from the exertions of the climb. The boughs of the poplar tree shielded him from the party guests in the garden and when he was ready, Macro swung his legs up and eased himself forward for a better view of the walled garden.

Low-cut shrubs and shaped bushes surrounded a paved area around a large oval pond. Here and there pieces of sculpture stood atop small marble columns. Even though it was a chilly night the guests of the house sat outside, warmed and illuminated by the braziers arranged on the paving stones around the pond. There were at least a hundred people at the party, Macro estimated. Mostly younger men, like Lurco, expensively dressed. In among them were a number of women in short tunics, the customary attire of prostitutes. Most wore lurid make-up, faces powdered white and eyes outlined with kohl, and their hair was carefully arranged in tresses and curls. Slaves moved among the throng with jars of heated wine that left thin tendrils of steam in their wake. Macro licked his lips at the sight and hoped there might be a chance of getting a quick jar in at the River of Wine once he and Cato had completed their night’s work.

Macro edged a little further forward so that he might have a better view, keeping low to the top of the wall where one of the boughs of the poplar stretched over the alley. He searched the crowd for Lurco and easily picked him out in his blue cloak, standing with a group of men his own age, clustered about a brazier as they drank. The centurion was grinning as he and his companions listened to one of their number who had his back to Macro. The brazier threw his outline into sharp relief as he gestured with his hands and the others roared with laughter.

Having picked out Lurco, Macro methodically scrutinised the other guests and had almost satisfied himself that there were no faces he recognised when his gaze fixed on two women standing aside from the rest, talking animatedly in the faint red hue of the nearest brazier. Macro squinted, straining his eyes to make sure of what he was seeing. There was no question of it, the woman on the left was Agrippina. What the hell was she doing here? Macro watched her for a moment before turning his attention to her companion, a tall, slender woman with dark hair, unfussily pinned back into a bun. There was something familiar about her, but Macro could not place her and he frowned with the effort of trying to remember and then gave up. He had seen enough from his vantage point and still needed to discover the identity of the owner of the house.

Macro wriggled back and carefully swung his legs over the side of the wall before easing himself down. He tried to feel for the holds he had cut into the bricks earlier but his boots stubbornly refused to find them. With his arms tiring, Macro took a breath and let himself drop down into the alley. He landed awkwardly and fell back heavily on to his buttocks, jarring his spine.

‘Fuck!’

Macro struggled to his feet and rubbed his back and then continued down the alley towards the rear of the house, where he knew the slave quarters would be. With a party in full swing there was a chance that the escorts of some of the guests might be waiting in the slave quarters that were always at the far end of the more opulent houses, kept at arms length from those they served. A short distance ahead the alley came to an end and Macro could hear a different set of voices now. Subdued conversation, lacking the high-spirited tone of the party guests. Macro adjusted his cloak to conceal his sword as best he could and then glanced round the corner of the wall. There was a wider thoroughfare here, passing between the rows of fine residences. Sure enough, there was an open gate at the rear of the house, illuminated by the flickering flames of torches mounted in iron brackets on either side. Several litters lined the street, their bearers hunched down in their cloaks beside the wall in an effort to keep warm as they waited for their masters to leave the party. Two burly men with clubs stood watch on the gate.

Taking a deep breath, Macro strolled out into the street and boldly approached the gate. The watchmen regarded him with vague interest. Macro raised a hand in greeting.

‘Good evening!’ He forced a smile. ‘You got a party going on here?’

One of the guards stepped forward and hefted his club so that the thick shaft rested in his spare hand. ‘Who wants to know?’

Macro drew up a short distance in front of him and frowned. ‘That’s an unfriendly tone, mate. Just asked a question.’

The watchman’s face remained expressionless. ‘Like I said, who wants to know?’

‘Fair enough.’ Macro shrugged and jabbed his thumb at himself. ‘Marcus Fabius Felix is the name. Personal bodyguard to one Aufidius Catonius Superbus, who managed to slip out of his father’s house to join his friends at a party up on the Quirinal. Muggins here has been sent by his adoring father to bring young Aufidius home. So, have you got him here?’

‘Don’t know,’ the watchman replied flatly. ‘Don’t much care either.’

‘Now don’t take that tone with me, friend.’ Macro tried to sound hurt. ‘I’m the one who should be feeling put out, having walked up and down these bloody streets for most of the afternoon and evening. This is the only party I’ve come across, so do us a favour and let me take the boy home.’

‘Nothing doing, friend,’ the watchmen replied with a flicker of a smile. ‘So piss off.’

‘Piss off?’ Macro’s eyes widened. ‘There’s no need for that. Just doing my job. Why don’t you go and ask your master, whatever his name is, if my boy is here? At least do that for me, eh?’

‘I ain’t your slave,’ the watchman growled. ‘I ain’t running at your beck and call. And the master won’t want me to disturb him during a party.’

‘Touchy type, is he?’ Macro asked sympathetically.

For an instant the watchmen’s expression betrayed a touch of anxiety. He clicked his tongue. ‘Seneca’s all right. It’s that woman friend of his - the bitch. If anyone interrupts her night then she’ll have the skin scourged off their backs quick as anything. Seneca will see to it. Obeys her like a dog.’

‘That’s tough.’ Macro nodded. He cocked his head slightly to one side, as if in thought. ‘All right then, I’ll give this place a miss. I’ll tell my master that I couldn’t find the party.’

‘Would be for the best, for all of us,’ said the watchman, with relief. Then his face hardened again and he let his club swing loose. ‘So, on your way.’

Macro nodded and stepped back into the middle of the street and walked off. He passed the back of two more houses before he cut back up another alley to rejoin Cato.

‘Find out anything?’ asked Cato.

‘Enough,’ Macro grinned. ‘The house belongs to young Nero’s tutor.’

‘Seneca?’ Cato breathed out deeply.

‘Not only that, but I saw the Emperor’s wife there among the guests.’

‘You saw that? How?’

Macro explained how he had climbed the wall and then approached the watchmen on the rear gate.

‘That would seem to rule out any link between Lurco and the Liberators,’ Cato responded. ‘Agrippina and her followers are no more likely to be in favour of a return to the Republic than Claudius.’

‘Unless Lurco’s spying on them for the Liberators,’ Macro suggested.

‘Then why would Sinius want him killed?’

Macro grimaced, cross with himself for not grasping the point at once. ‘All right. Then maybe they want him dead because he is a follower of Agrippina.’

‘Or maybe it’s simply a coincidence that Lurco is there. Did you see him speak to her? Or Seneca?’

‘No.’

‘Hmmm.’

Both men were silent for a moment before Cato hissed with frustration. ‘I can’t see my way through all this. What the hell has Narcissus shoved us into this time? There’s no question about there being a conspiracy … or perhaps more than one conspiracy.’

Macro groaned. ‘Listen, Cato. This is making my head hurt. What do you mean, more than one conspiracy?’

Cato tried to put together the information they had been given by Narcissus at the start of their mission and all that they had uncovered since then. ‘Something doesn’t feel quite right about this. There’s too much contradiction and too much that just doesn’t make sense.’ He paused and glanced towards his friend with a rueful smile. ‘You’re right about this line of work not being for us. Give me proper soldiering any day.’

Macro slapped him heartily on the back. ‘I knew I’d make a professional of you! Come, let’s tell Narcissus we’ve had enough of this bollocks and get back to where we belong. In the legions. Even if it means not getting a promotion. Has to be better than this, skulking around dark streets on a cold night, spying,’ he concluded, his tone laced with disapproval that verged on disgust.

‘I wish it was as simple as that. Narcissus won’t let us go that easily. And you know it,’ Cato said bitterly. ‘We’ve no choice in the matter. We have to see this through to the end.’ He hunched forward and gazed towards the entrance to the house. ‘Meanwhile, we wait for Lurco to come out.’

The hours of the night crept past as they sat in the shadows of the archway. Cato felt the cold more keenly than his friend and his limbs trembled despite his best efforts to will them into stillness. He sat on the cold stone with as much of his cloak bundled up beneath him as possible and then wrapped his arms tightly about his knees. The street remained still and quiet, aside from the occasional passer-by and a covered wagon that trundled along the road in the direction of the Forum. Now and then there was a faint chorus of laughter or cheering from the revellers in the garden. Then, close to midnight, the door of the house opened and a dull shaft of light spilled across the street. A small party of young men and women emerged, loud and raucous, and staggered off. Cato stared at them for a moment, but none was wearing the distinctive blue cloak.

Macro stirred. ‘What if Lurco is with a group of them when he comes out? What if they go on to somewhere else?’

‘Then we follow them and wait again. At some point he’s going to have to head back to the camp.’

‘And so do we.’

‘As long as we’re back in time for morning assembly, there’s no problem.’

‘Other than being cold and bloody tired.’

Cato turned to him and smiled thinly. ‘Nothing we’re not used to.’

‘Hurnnnn,’ Macro growled irritably.

More of the party guests began to leave the house and their litters appeared out of the side alley, led by slaves bearing torches to light their way home. The two men in the archway across the street scrutinised the departing revellers with strained nerves.

‘Bet you Lurco is the last bloody one to leave,’ Macro grumbled. ‘Trust our luck.’

‘Shhh!’ Cato hissed, craning forward. ‘There he is.’

Two men stood on the steps at the entrance to the house. Lurco was conspicuous enough in his cloak, even without the hood being drawn back to reveal his face. The other man was wearing a plain black cloak, with the hood pulled far enough forward to conceal his features. They descended into the street and set off towards the Forum, in the direction of the archway where Cato and Macro were concealed.

Cato pressed himself against the wall of the arch and Macro crouched low by the door. Cato felt his heart pounding and stilled his breath in case the wisps of exhaled breath betrayed his presence. The boots of the approaching men echoed off the walls of the buildings on either side of the street. They talked loudly, in the way of men who have drunk deeply.

‘Good party,’ said Lurco. ‘That Seneca knows how to entertain in style.’

‘Style?’ the centurion’s companion snorted. ‘The wine was good but the food was miserly, and I’ve seen better whores.’

‘Ah, er, yes. I was actually talking of Seneca himself. Quite the raconteur.’

‘Rubbish. Just another poser who thinks he’s a cut above the rest of us because he can swear in Greek. And as for that harlot, Agrippina … I’m pretty broad minded, Lurco, but the damn woman is insatiable. Anything from a slave boy up to a raddled old fool like Seneca is fair game to her.’

There was a short pause as the pair passed Cato and Macro and then Lurco continued in a lower voice, ‘I’d be careful about saying such things. You’re talking treason, especially when you say it in front of an officer of the Praetorian Guard.’

‘Pah, you’re nothing but pretend soldiers. I’ve seen better men than you in the worst centuries of the Second Legion, and that’s saying something …’

Their voices faded as they strode down the street. Macro seized Cato’s arm and whispered urgently, ‘That voice. You know who that was?’

Cato nodded. ‘Vitellius.’

‘What do we do? We can’t risk having that bastard recognising us.’

‘Come on.’ Cato rose up. ‘We mustn’t lose them.’

Before Macro could protest, Cato set off after the two men, keeping to the shadows along the side of the street. With a muted curse Macro followed him. They kept their distance so that their footsteps would not be heard by those ahead of them. As Lurco and Vitellius headed out of the Quirinal district and reached a crossroads, Lurco slowed down and moved off to the wall of a house just before the junction. He hoisted up the hem of his cloak and fumbled under the tunic beneath.

‘You go on, Vitellius. I’ll catch you up.’

The other man glanced back and then nodded and turned the corner, leaving Lurco to sigh with relief as his piss spattered against the base of the wall.

‘This’ll do us,’ Cato decided. ‘Let’s get him now, while he’s on his own.’

Macro nodded and reached for his cosh as the two of them increased their pace, padding along the other side of the street until they were almost opposite Lurco. At the last moment they dashed across the cobbled way and Lurco turned dully at the sudden sound. Cato thrust his shoulders hard, slamming him against the wall. Lurco let out a pained grunt as the breath was driven from him. Macro swung his cosh across the back of the centurion’s skull and his legs gave way and he collapsed into the puddle he had just created.

Cato was breathing hard and his heart was beating fast. It had been easier than he expected. Now they had to deliver Lurco into the hands of Septimus at the safe house. ‘Let’s get him up. Give me a hand.’

They reached down and pulled the unconscious centurion up between them, slinging one of his arms over each of their shoulders.

‘Ready?’ Cato asked softly.

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s get away from here before Vitellius comes looking.’

They had gone no more than a few paces when a voice called out behind them.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

Cato looked round sharply and saw Vitellius standing at the corner of the junction, no more than ten feet away. Even though it was night, the sky was clear and the loom of the stars gave just enough light to reveal their faces to each other.

Vitellius looked confused for an instant and then his jaw sagged a fraction before he called out in astonishment, ‘You!’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Macro was the first to break the spell. He threw Lurco’s arm off and spun round as he reached inside his cloak for the cosh. It was in his hand before he took his first pace towards Vitellius. The former tribune was too stunned to react, and further hampered by the wine he had consumed. Even so he ducked as Macro’s cosh swept through the air and the impetus sent it thudding into the side of the building. Macro’s knuckles cracked against the bricks and he let out a strangled cry of anger and pain as Vitellius stumbled back. Cato dropped Lurco and turned to help his friend but Macro charged on, thrusting his spare hand into Vitellius’s chest and sending him sprawling on to the paving stones.

‘Help!’ Vitellius cried out. ‘Help me!’

Macro fell on him, driving the wind from his lungs. At the same time he drew his bloodied cosh hand back and swung it viciously at the side of Vitellius’s head. The latter sensed the movement and jerked round, taking the blow on his shoulder.

‘Oh, sod it!’ Macro growled as he dropped the cosh, balled his hand into a fist and smashed it down directly into the other man’s cheek. Vitellius’s head struck the ground beneath and he went limp, his arms dropping untidily across his chest. Macro drew his hand back to strike again but saw that Vitellius had been knocked cold. Macro struggled up, breathing hard. Cato stood on the other side of the fallen man, staring down.

‘Great,’ said Macro. ‘Now what do we do?’

‘He’s seen us. He knows we’re in Rome. We can’t let him talk.’

‘So.’ Macro smiled cruelly, and drew his dagger out. ‘I’d always hoped it would come to this.’

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Cato grasped his arm.

Macro turned to him with a surprised expression. ‘We can get rid of him once and for all. You know what he’s done, to us and others. I can’t think of a man who is more deserving of a knife in the ribs and being left to bleed out in the gutter.’

‘No.’ Cato shook his head. ‘That’s not in our orders.’

‘Then it’s a bonus.’ Macro pulled his hand free.

‘No. Think about it, Macro. Witnesses saw him leave with Lurco. Narcissus is bound to hear of it. If he turns up dead, then Narcissus will know it was us.’

‘So? He’s no friend of Narcissus either.’

‘That doesn’t mean Narcissus won’t use it against us. You don’t go and kill the son of one of the most influential men in Rome without there being consequences.’

Macro was silent for a moment. ‘Then let’s just make him disappear. Drop him into the Great Sewer.’

‘What if his body is found and recognised?’

Macro held up his dagger. ‘I can make sure that he won’t be recognised.’

‘Put that away, Macro,’ Cato said firmly. ‘We have to take him with us.’

‘Bollocks,’ Macro grumbled. ‘Won’t be easy carrying ‘em both.’

‘We’ll manage. Keep watch while I see to them.’ Cato drew some thick twine and a few strips of cloth from the side bag under his cloak. He tied the hands of both men and then stuffed their mouths with the cloth. No one was about, and only the familiar sounds of the capital broke the silence. Cato helped lift Vitellius on to Macro’s shoulders and then lifted Lurco, who was more slightly built than his companion.

‘Ready?’ asked Cato. ‘Let’s go.’

It was at least half a mile to the safe house and they kept to the side streets as they struggled under their burdens. At one point Vitellius began to stir and Macro was obliged to crack his head against a wall to keep him quiet.

‘Don’t get a taste for that,’ Cato warned him as they continued up the slope of the hill into the Subura district. Just before they reached the safe house they ran into a rowdy group of young men and had to make up some story about their mates not being able to hold their drink. The two parties parted with good-humoured laughter. At last they staggered into the insula and dumped Vitellius in the vestibule before labouring upstairs with the centurion. Septimus opened the door for them, backing into the room which was illuminated by an oil lamp.

‘Good work.’ He nodded approvingly as he made to shut the door.

‘Wait,’ Cato gasped. ‘One more … to come.’

‘One more? What are you talking about?’

‘Explain later … Come on, Macro.’

When they returned with Vitellius, the imperial agent stared at the second body in surprise, and then shock as he recognised his features.

‘Are you mad? Good gods, do you know who this is? What the hell is he doing here?’

‘He was with Lurco … when we took him,’ Cato explained between breaths. ‘We didn’t have any choice.’

‘You didn’t have to bring him here. Why not leave him in the street?’

‘He recognised us.’

‘How?’

Cato exchanged a wary look with Macro before he replied. ‘I take it that Narcissus has not told you about our past history.’

‘Only what I needed to know,’ Septimus replied stiffly. ‘It is dangerous to possess too much knowledge in my line of work.’

‘In that case, it’s enough for you to know that we served with Vitellius in the Second Legion in Britannia. We didn’t see eye to eye on a few issues.’

Macro chuckled. ‘To put it fucking mildly.’

‘In any case,’ Cato continued, ‘we can’t afford to have him at liberty. He can link us to the disappearance of Lurco. Until our job is done, he has to be kept out of sight. He’ll have to go with Lurco.’

‘Or we could get rid of him,’ Macro suggested and then raised a hand to placate Cato as his friend glared at him. ‘Just trying to think through the options.’

Septimus sucked in an anxious breath. ‘Narcissus is not going to like this. Matters are already slipping out of our control. Vitellius must be dealt with.’

There was a groan and the three men turned to see that Vitellius was stirring.

‘He has to be blindfolded,’ Cato said quietly to Septimus. ‘He’s seen more than enough already. We don’t want him to identify you.’

‘Quite. Deal with it and put him in the other room while we talk to Lurco. We need to find out what he knows about the Liberators’ plot.’

Macro took out his dagger and cut a strip from Vitellius’s cloak which he wrapped twice round Vitellius’s face before tying it off securely. Then he put his hands under the former tribune’s shoulders and hauled him into the next room where he dumped him on the floor. The shock of the impact brought Vitellius to full consciousness and he mumbled into his gag as he writhed on the ground. Macro pressed his boot down on Vitellius’s shoulder.

‘Don’t move,’ he growled, ‘and we might let you live. Cause any trouble and I swear, by all the gods, that I’ll cut your throat. Understand?’

The other man stopped struggling and laid still, chest rising and falling. He nodded.

‘There’s a good patrician,’ Macro said, with contempt. He turned away and returned to the other room where Cato and Septimus had propped the other captive up against the wall. Septimus pulled up his hood to conceal his features. Lurco was moaning faintly and Cato reached forward to pull the gag from his mouth. Lurco retched and an acidic waft of breath struck Cato’s face. The centurion mumbled incoherently as his eyes flickered and Cato slapped him.

‘Come on! Wake up!’

‘Whharr … What?’ Lurco blinked and jerked his head back against the wall with a sharp crack. He winced and let out a pained groan.

‘Oh great,’ Macro mumbled. ‘All we need is for the idiot to get knocked out again.’

‘Shhh!’ Cato hissed irritably. He leant forward and roughly shook Lurco’s shoulder. ‘Lurco … Centurion Lurco!’

The man groaned and opened his eyes again, blinking as he struggled to focus. He glanced at the faces in front of him and his eyes widened in surprise. ‘I know you. Of course I know you. Guardsmen Capito and Calidus. The new recruits.’ He frowned as he tried to make out Septimus’s face, but it was shadowed by the hood of his cloak and Lurco gave up and returned his attention to Cato and Macro.

‘By the gods, I’ll have you both crucified for this! Assaulting a superior officer and kidnapping him. You’ll be shown no mercy.’

‘Shut up,’ Cato snapped, raising his fist threateningly. ‘You’re the one in trouble. Unless you answer our questions truthfully.’

For the first time Lurco looked uncertain, then scared. He swallowed anxiously and licked his lips before responding in a soft voice. ‘Questions?’

‘Don’t play the innocent,’ snapped Septimus. ‘We know you’re part of the conspiracy.’

Lurco’s brow creased. ‘What do you mean? What conspiracy?’

Septimus kicked him in the stomach, then, as Lurco gasped for breath, he stabbed a finger at him. ‘No more warnings. We ask, you answer. Clear?’

‘Yes …’ Lurco whispered. ‘Quite clear.’

‘Right then. You were named by a traitor who recently fell into our hands. He gave you up before we finished with him. Said that you were one of the ringleaders of the plot to overthrow the Emperor.’

‘It’s a lie!’ Lurco shook his head desperately. ‘I’m not a traitor. For Jupiter’s sake, I swore an oath of loyalty!’

‘So did the man we questioned. Didn’t stop him betraying Claudius. Nor you.’

‘No. It’s a mistake.’

‘True enough,’ Septimus replied and nodded to Macro. ‘See what you can do to loosen his tongue, or his teeth.’

‘My pleasure.’ Macro smiled coldly and bunched his fists. He hooked his right into the centurion’s cheek and Lurco’s head jerked hard to the side. A fiery stab of pain shot down Macro’s arm, adding to the existing pain following his earlier contact with the wall when he had felled Vitellius. Lurco let out a deep groan. He turned, dazed, to face his questioners again; their shadows, distorted and menacing, played over the far wall of the room. He spat out a bloody gobbet then spoke with quiet sincerity. ‘I’m innocent, I tell you.’

‘I see,’ Septimus sneered. ‘Then why were you named as a traitor?’

‘I-I don’t know. But I swear it’s a lie.’

‘Pah! You’re the liar, Lurco. And a pretty poor one at that. I want the truth. Macro!’

Lurco’s eyes snapped towards Macro, wide and pleading. This time Macro struck him with his left, and Lurco took it just above the ear as he tried to move his head out of the way. The centurion winced and his eyelids fluttered for a moment.

‘Please … please. I’m innocent,’ he mumbled.

Septimus regarded him in silence and then stretched up to his full height, narrowly missing one of the beams in the low ceiling. He regarded the centurion for a while and then scratched his nose. ‘What do you think, lads? Is he being straight with us?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Cato replied, playing along. ‘Remember how long the other traitor lasted before he spilled his guts? It’s just a question of how long we have to beat him before he gives up any information. Let’s get on with it.’

My pleasure,’ Macro growled, edging forward, his fists raised.

‘For pity’s sake!’ Lurco bleated. ‘This is wrong. All wrong. I’m loyal to Claudius. I’m innocent. You have to believe me!’

‘No we don’t.’ Macro pressed his hands together and cracked his knuckles, hoping that he wouldn’t have to strike the man again with his bad hand.

‘Look at it from our position,’ Septimus continued in a more kindly tone. ‘Why should we believe you and not the man who gave us your name?’

‘Because I’m telling the truth. Ask your man again. Ask him why he’s lying.’

‘We can’t, unfortunately. He died under questioning.’

Lurco went pale. When he spoke again his voice took on a pleading tone. ‘Look, there’s been a mistake. The man you interrogated, he must have got my name wrong.’

‘No, no.’ Septimus clicked his tongue. ‘He was very specific. Centurion Lurco, Sixth Century, Third Cohort of the Praetorian Guard. That is you, isn’t it? There’s no mistake.’

‘Then … then he must have been lying.’

Septimus exchanged an inquiring glace with Cato. ‘What do you think?’

Cato pretended to reflect for a moment. ‘It’s possible. But then there’s the other matter.’

‘Oh?’

‘That other business we discovered. The fact that Centurion Sinius wants him killed. That doesn’t seem to make any sense. Very peculiar.’

‘Yes.’ Septimus nodded. ‘Peculiar.’

Lurco looked from one to the other with growing apprehension. ‘Sinius wants me dead? What’s going on?’

‘It’s simple,’ Macro said. ‘Sinius gave us orders to kill you.’

‘But we brought you here instead,’ Cato continued. ‘We already know that Sinius is part of the conspiracy. The thing that’s puzzling us is why one conspirator would give orders for another conspirator to be murdered. Care to shed any light on that mystery?’

‘I-I don’t know anything about it.’ Lurco raised his bound hands. ‘You have to believe me. I beg you.’

Macro clicked his fingers and looked at Cato as if an idea had struck him. ‘Perhaps the traitors are trying to cover their tracks? Dead men tell no tales, and all that.’

‘But I’m not a traitor!’ Lurco whined. ‘I’m not part of any conspiracy!’

‘Pipe down!’ Macro snarled. ‘Or you’ll wake everyone in the bloody building.’

Lurco subsided.

Cato spoke again. ‘If that’s true, why do you think the conspirators want you dead? There has to be a reason. What is it that you know that makes you a danger to them?’

‘I don’t know. I swear I have no idea. Please believe me!’

The other three men stared at him in silence and the centurion cowered. Septimus took a deep breath and puffed his cheeks out. ‘We need to talk. Put him next door with the other one.’

Macro and Cato grabbed the centurion by the arms and dragged him into the next room and placed him against the wall opposite Vitellius. They closed the door firmly behind them and then moved close to Septimus so that their words would not be overheard by the prisoners.

‘We’re none the wiser,’ Septimus concluded bitterly. ‘Why would the Liberators want him dead?’

‘Perhaps they’re just doing the imperial guard a favour,’ Macro suggested with heavy irony. ‘He’s not the best officer I’ve ever encountered.’

‘I think we can discount that,’ Septimus replied, not knowing Macro well enough to be certain if he was being humorous.

Cato ran a hand through his scalp. ‘If there’s a reason why they want Lurco disposed of then it has to be because of something he knows, or because he is in the way of their plans. From what little we’ve got out of him, it seems he has no idea about the conspiracy.’

‘Unless he’s a bloody good actor,’ Macro intervened.

‘That’s possible.’ Cato conceded. ‘But his fear seemed real enough. If he knows something that the Liberators think might threaten their plans, then it’s clear to me that Lurco has no idea that he knows what he knows.’

Macro winced. ‘Come again?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Cato replied as he continued his train of thought. ‘If they don’t want him dead to keep him quiet, then the reason has to be that he is some kind of an obstacle. They want him replaced.’

‘Replaced?’ Septimus stared at him. ‘Why would they want to replace him?’

Cato’s mind grappled with the implications of his suggestion. If he was right then the danger to the Emperor was clear enough. ‘Because he commands the Praetorian guardsmen who stand closest to the Emperor at the moment. If the Liberators can get one of their men to replace Lurco then they will be within striking range of the Emperor. Close enough to attempt to kill him. It makes sense. They’ve tried once already with that ambush on the imperial party the day of the Accession games. Next time they won’t have to penetrate his line of bodyguards to stick the knife in.’

Septimus stared at Cato for a moment. ‘You could be right …’

‘Narcissus has to get Lurco and Vitellius out of Rome and keep them out of sight,’ Cato went on. ‘Then we wait to see who is appointed as the new centurion of the Sixth Century, and we watch him like a hawk. See who he talks to and make sure we’re close enough to him to act whenever the century is escorting the Emperor.’

‘That’s taking quite a risk,’ said Macro. ‘I doubt that Narcissus will agree to it. Why not just arrest Lurco’s replacement? And Sinius while we’re at it?’

‘Because they will lead us to the rest of the conspirators,’ Septimus spoke before Cato could reply. ‘And hopefully they’ll lead us to what remains of the bullion stolen from the convoy as well.’

‘That’s right,’ Cato agreed. He paused for a moment. ‘But we have a more pressing issue to deal with before then - making sure that the grain Cestus has stockpiled is still at the warehouse near the Boarium. If we can confirm that then Narcissus can seize it and the Emperor can start feeding the mob. Once the people have food in their stomachs they’ll be offering prayers to him rather than threats. That will knock the wind out of the Liberators’ plans.’

‘Very well,’ said Septimus. ‘We’ll see to that tomorrow. Meet me at the entrance to the Boarium at noon. For now, you two had better get back to the camp and rest. I’ll deal with our two friends.’

‘Deal with?’ Cato arched an eyebrow.

‘They’ll be taken somewhere we can keep an eye on them. I’ll have them released once it’s all over. They won’t come to any harm.’

‘More’s the pity,’ muttered Macro.

‘How are you going to get them out of the city?’

‘I’ve got a covered cart in a lock-up under the aqueduct at the end of the street.’

Cato nodded and he and Macro turned towards the door. Cato paused on the threshold. ‘It just occurred to me. Sinius will want proof that the job’s been done. I need something from Lurco.’

He entered the other room and came back a moment later with the centurion’s equestrian ring. ‘One more touch and that should convince Sinius.’

‘Eh?’ Macro glanced at him. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘You’ll see. Come on.’

Cato led the way out of the two-room apartment on to the landing. Just before he closed the door behind them, Septimus whispered, ‘Until noon at the Boarium, then.’

Taking care to feel their way down the darkened stairwell with its worn and creaking floorboards, Cato and Macro left the tenement block and emerged into the street.

‘Back to the camp then!’ Macro’s tone was light hearted now they had completed their task. ‘We should get a couple of hours’ sleep before morning assembly.’

‘There’s one more thing to do first,’ said Cato.

‘What’s that then?’ Macro asked wearily.

‘Something that’s not particularly pleasant, but necessary.’ Cato steeled himself to face the task, then gestured down the street. ‘Let’s go.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The men of the Sixth Century stood formed up, at ease, waiting for their commander to emerge from his quarters to take the morning parade. Centurion Lurco was late and the men would have fallen to muttering and shuffling their feet had they not been under the cold gaze of Optio Tigellinus as he paced steadily up and down the front rank, his staff tucked under his arm.

Cato could not help feeling conspicuous given that it was thanks to him and Macro that the century was standing in the cold, waiting in vain. By now the centurion, and Vitellius, should have left the city and be on the road to the remote villa where they would be held until Narcissus gave the order for their release.

‘What the bloody hell is keeping him?’ Fuscius whispered fiercely. ‘Bet the bastard’s in his cot sleeping off a skinful.’

‘More than likely,’ Macro replied quietly.

‘Well, it ain’t good enough. Officers should know better than to leave us out in the cold like this.’

‘Legion officers would never get away with this,’ Macro added. ‘They’re made of sterner stuff.’

Fuscius glanced at him and muttered in a sceptical tone, ‘So you say.’

‘I do.’ Macro nodded. ‘And I defy any man to say otherwise.’

‘Who the hell is speaking?’ Tigellinus roared as he strode back down the line towards them. Macro and Fuscius instantly shut their mouths and stared straight ahead. Tigellinus swept by, his eyes ablaze as he searched for any sign of the guilty parties. He carried on down to the end of the line, about-turned, and marched back.

‘I didn’t bloody imagine it. I definitely heard one, or more, of you dumb bastards muttering away like schoolboys on their first visit to a whorehouse! Who was it? I’ll give you one chance to step forward, or the whole bloody century is on latrine duty!’

‘Shit …’ Macro spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Always shit, one way or another.’

He drew a deep breath and stepped forward a pace.

‘Macro!’ Cato hissed. ‘What the hell are you doing? Get back in line before he sees you.’

Macro ignored him and called out instead, ‘Optio! I spoke.’

Tigellinus spun round and strode up to Macro, pushing through the first rank and stopping right in front of him, an enraged expression on his face.

‘You? Guardsman Calidus. I expect more from a veteran of your experience. Or was your precious Second Legion no better than a bloody ladies’ sewing circle? Eh?’

Cato winced. Under normal circumstances his friend would regard such a comment as fighting talk. The fact that he would have outranked Tigellinus if he had not been forced to go under cover would only fuel Macro’s ire. But Macro kept his mouth firmly shut and did not respond to the provocation. Tigellinus paused briefly and then curled his lip as he continued.

‘So much for the fighting spirit of the Second. You’re on a charge, Calidus. I’ll have you on latrine-cleaning duties for ten days. Next time you’re on parade maybe you’ll learn to keep your mouth shut.’

‘Yes, Optio.’

‘In line!’ Tigellinus barked and Macro stepped back a pace.

The optio shot one last scowl at him, then turned on his heel and made his way back down the line.

‘What the hell did you do that for?’ Cato whispered out of the side of his mouth.

‘He heard me. You know his type, Cato. Won’t let a thing lie.’

‘All the same, you haven’t got time to waste shovelling shit.’

Macro shrugged slightly. ‘Right now, I feel I’m wading through the stuff.’

They stood in silence a while longer, and some of the men of other centuries who had been dismissed from morning parade paused as they passed the end of the barracks to look on curiously.

‘What are you gawping at?’ Tigellinis shouted at them, and the guardsmen hurried on their way.

A tall, stocky officer strode past the end of the barracks in the direction of headquarters, glanced at the Sixth Century, and then paused midstride, changed direction and marched towards Tigellinus.

‘What’s all this, Optio?’ Tribune Burrus called out. ‘Why are your men still on parade?’

Tigellinus snapped his shoulders back and stood to attention. ‘Waiting for Centurion Lurco, sir.’

‘Waiting?’ Burrus frowned. ‘What the fuck for? Send for him. Did you send a man for him?’

‘Yes, sir. But the centurion was not in his quarters.’

‘No? Then where the hell is he?’

The question was rhetorical and Tigellinus kept his mouth tightly closed.

Burrus shook his head. ‘Right then, dismiss your men. Send someone to look for Lurco. I want him to report to me the moment he’s found.’ He raised his voice so that everyone in the Sixth Century would hear his words. ‘I don’t give a damn about rank when any man under my command fails in his duty. Centurion Lurco is in for the bollocking of a lifetime when I see him. Optio, carry on!’

‘Yes, sir.’ Tigellinus saluted, and waited for the tribune to stride off before he turned back to the men and drew a deep breath. ‘Sixth Century … dismiss!’

The men turned to the side and then fell out, making for the barrack block, muttering in low voices as they speculated about the absence of the centurion. Cato and Macro returned to the section room with Fuscius and immediately the younger man closed the door. He turned round with an excited expression.

‘This is a turn-up for the books, even for Lurco!’

Macro cocked an eyebrow. ‘The centurion has form, then?’

‘Oh yes. He’s been the worse for wear before but he’s never missed a parade. Where the hell has he got to?’

‘Probably drunk himself insensible,’ said Cato. ‘He’s going to be for the high jump whenever he turns up. Tribune Burrus doesn’t look like the merciful type.’

‘True enough.’ Fuscius grinned as he placed his javelin in the rack. His stomach rumbled plaintively as he stood back. Fuscius winced. ‘By the gods, I’m hungry.’

‘So are we all, lad,’ Macro replied. ‘But we do better than those down in the Subura. At least we get fed regular. Those poor bastards have to hunt for scraps. They’ll be dropping like flies soon.’

Fucsius nodded thoughtfully. ‘It ain’t good. The Emperor’s let us down badly. Won’t be long until we start starving, alongside the mob. Then there’ll be trouble.’

Cato looked at him. ‘Trouble? You think there isn’t enough trouble as it is?’

‘The food riots?’ Fuscius shook his head. ‘That’ll be as nothing compared to what will happen once people begin to starve to death in their thousands. I’m telling you, when that happens the streets are going to be running with blood. The Praetorian Guard will be the only thing that can prevent chaos. The only thing that stands between the Emperor and the mob. And when that happens either Claudius will have to promise us a sizeable fortune to keep us loyal, or …’

‘Or what?’ Macro prompted.

Fuscius shot a nervous glance towards the door to make sure that it was closed, and then continued in a subdued tone, ‘Or we choose a new Emperor. One who can afford to pay for our loyalty.’

Macro exchanged a quick look with Cato before he cleared his throat. ‘That’s treason.’

‘You’ve been in the legions too long, my friend.’ Fuscius smiled. ‘That’s the way we do business in the Praetorian Guard.’

‘And how would you know? You’ve barely served long enough to know one end of a javelin from the other.’

‘I listen to the others. I talk to people.’ Fuscius nodded. ‘I know what’s going on. Claudius may be Emperor for now, but unless he does something to keep the Praetorian Guard sweet, there’ll be those of us who might consider finding a new master.’

‘Easier said than done,’ said Cato. ‘Britannicus is too young. So is Nero.’

‘Nero may be young, but he’s popular. You saw how the guards cheered him at the Accession games.’

‘So, we just chop and change our emperors according to popular whim?’

Fuscius pursed his lips briefly. ‘It’s as good a reason as any. And you can be sure that any new emperor will do all he can to win the Praetorian Guard over as soon as possible. That suits me. And it’d suit you, too, if you were smart enough to realise it.’

Cato did not like the younger man’s fickle understanding of a soldier’s duty. He had seen the unpalatable greed burning in Fuscius’s eyes and felt an overwhelming desire to cut himself free from the venomous snakepit of Rome’s politics. The mendacity and ruthless ambition that filled the hearts of those at the centre of power in the empire was unhindered by any strand of morality. Now that he and Macro had been sucked into this world he longed to return to regular army duties. The need to conceal his true identity and guard his back created a constant and exhausting tension and Cato had no desire to remain in Rome any longer than he could help it. He suddenly realised that marrying into Julia’s family might well embroil him in the dangerous and devious world of the capital. Her father was a senator, a player in the often lethal game of politics. If he became part of that life, Cato realised that he would have to live on his wits all the time.

That was no life for a soldier, Cato reflected, then inwardly smiled with amusement at this ready identification of himself. Until recently he had harboured grave doubts about his ability as a fighting man and felt that he was merely playing the part of a warrior. That no longer troubled him. The hard experiences of years of soldiering had engraved the profession upon his soul, just as the weapons of his enemies had left their marks on his flesh so that all could see him for what he was - a soldier of Rome, through and through.

Even as he took comfort from this certainty, Cato felt a pang of anxiety as he wondered if he could balance that with being a husband to Julia, and one day a father to their children, should the gods bless them with any. Other men managed, but Cato wondered if he could cope with such a compromise. Equally, would Julia tolerate it? Would she be prepared to remain the loyal, loving wife while Cato campaigned alongside Macro to safeguard the frontiers of the empire?

He tried to shake off his doubts and concentrate his thoughts on his reply to Fuscius. It was possible that the younger man was testing him. Perhaps Fuscius was involved in the conspiracy in some way. Or had he overheard something? More worrying still was the possibility that he simply reflected the views of many in the ranks of the Praetorian Guard.

‘A new emperor,’ Cato mused. ‘And you reckon it’ll be Nero.’

‘Who else?’

‘He’s the most likely candidate to replace Claudius,’ Cato conceded. ‘Although, there’s another possibility. Why should we bother with another emperor at all? Why not return to the days of the Republic? Of course, we’d be out of a job. What would be the point of the Guard without an emperor to protect?’

Fuscius stared at Cato for a moment. ‘Whoever it is that rules Rome, you can be sure that they’ll want protection. The senate will need looking after just as much as an emperor. And they’ll be prepared to pay for it.’

Macro laughed. ‘You’re suggesting that the Praetorian Guard enters the protection racket.’

Fuscius shrugged. ‘Call it what you like. The fact is, we’re the real power behind the imperial throne, or whoever else we choose to support.’

‘Do you really think that the army should seize power?’ asked Cato.

A smile flickered across the young guardsman’s face. ‘Not at all. Just think of it as an unofficial check on the power of whoever rules Rome. For which service we will be handsomely rewarded.’

‘Or else,’ Macro added sardonically.

The latch on the door snapped up and the door swung open and all three men started guiltily as they turned to see Optio Tigellinus standing on the threshold of the room. He regarded them curiously.

‘What’s this? You look like a bunch of toga lifters caught in the act.’ He let out a grunt of amusement before he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Calidus, Capito, you’re wanted at headquarters. Centurion Sinius sent for you. Better hop to it.’

‘Yes, Optio.’ Cato nodded. ‘Any idea what he wants?’

‘Not a clue.’ Tigellinus smiled thinly. ‘That’s up to you to find out, my lad.’

Cato discreetly felt the slender bulge of the object in his belt purse. He had been expecting the summons.

Tigellinus began to untie the helmet strap under his chin as Cato and Macro made for the door. Just as they reached the threshold, the optio spoke again.

‘Don’t think that I haven’t noticed how fond you two are of slipping out of the camp. You’d better not be doing anything that’s going to cause me trouble, understand?’

Cato did not reply, but simply nodded, then gestured to Macro and they left the barracks and headed across the camp to headquarters.

‘I understand that Centurion Lurco has gone missing.’ Sinius cocked his head to one side as he regarded the two guardsmen standing in front of the desk in his office. ‘He’s nowhere to be found. The officer in charge of the watch on the main gate reports that he left the camp last night and he didn’t return. Can I take it that we need not expect to see him again?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Cato replied.

‘What happened to Lurco?’

Cato reached into his purse and drew out a small object and tossed it on to the desk where it landed with a soft thud. Centurion Sinius could not help briefly wrinkling his nose in distaste as he looked down at the severed finger, bearing the equestrian ring that belonged to Lurco. Cato watched his reaction closely. The finger had come from one of the fresher corpses washed out of the mouth of the Great Sewer. It had been short work to cut the finger off and ease Lurco’s ring into place. The combination would have a convincing effect, Cato had reasoned, and would carry more weight than the simple claim that he and Macro had murdered the commander of their century. Sinius lifted the finger up for closer inspection of the crest on the ring and after a brief silence he nodded in satisfaction and laid it back on the desk. He looked up at Cato.

‘Very good. I think you two may be the kind of men I can rely on after all. Your skills will be useful in the days to come. Very useful indeed.’

‘And what about our money, sir?’ asked Macro. ‘Capito said you’d pay us another thousand denarii as soon as the job was done.’

‘Of course there’s a reward. You don’t think that I would fail to honour our arrangement, I trust?’

‘Trust is something of a luxury in this world,’ Macro said. ‘You pay me and I trust you. But try to swindle me and you’ll end up joining Lurco … sir.’

The centurion glared at Macro and he spoke in a soft, chilling tone. ‘You dare to threaten me? You know damn well what the penalty is for threatening a superior officer.’

‘But at the moment you’re not a superior officer.’ Macro lifted his lip in a faint sneer. ‘You’re a fellow conspirator. Or, as some might think, a traitor. The only difference is that you think you’re doing it for lofty ideals, whereas Capito and me are doing it for money.’

Cato watched his friend closely. Macro was playing his part well, just as they had agreed during the time it had taken to make their way across the camp to headquarters. It was important that he and Macro had a credible motive for becoming involved in the conspiracy.

Sinius nodded slowly. ‘I see. Tell me, are neither of you prepared to act purely out of a sense of duty to Rome?’ He shifted his gaze to Cato. ‘What about you?’

Cato pursed his lips briefly. ‘It’s all very well to appeal to patriotism, sir, but the fact is that it makes precious little difference who runs the empire from the point of view of the likes of Calidus and me. Whether it’s Emperor Claudius in power or you and your friends makes no odds to the people of Rome, or to us soldiers.’ Cato paused. ‘As long as there’s an emperor, then there’s a Praetorian Guard, and we do well enough out of the pay and perks. If you’re planning to put your own man on the throne then we’re still in a job, and we’ll have picked up a nice little bonus for services rendered to you. However, if you’re planning on doing away with the emperors and handing power back to the senate, then we stand to lose out, unless we’re handsomely rewarded now. So, pardon me for looking out for number one. In any case, I don’t suppose for an instant that your lot won’t be passing up the chance to make your fortunes out of a change of regime. There are no pure motives in politics, are there, sir?’

‘Ha! What are you, Capito? A soldier, or a student of political affairs?’

Cato eased his shoulders back and stood erect. ‘I’m a soldier. One who has served long enough to know that his first loyalty is to himself and his comrades. The rest is merely eyewash for fools.’

There was a tense silence in the small office before Centurion Sinius smiled. ‘It’s reassuring to know that your only loyalty is to yourself. Men like you are a known quantity. As long as you are paid then you can be relied upon. Unless, of course, you encounter a more generous paymaster.’

‘True.’ Cato nodded. ‘Which is why you and your friends will see to it that we’re paid well if you want to keep us on your side. All the same, if you try to play any tricks on us, then I promise you won’t live long to regret it.’

Sinius leaned back in his chair with a contemptuous expression. ‘We understand each other well enough. Just do as you are told and take your reward, and when it’s all over you keep quiet.’

‘You needn’t worry,’ said Macro. ‘We know how to keep our mouths shut.’

‘Then see that you do.’ Sinius picked the severed digit up between thumb and forefinger and dropped it into an old rag. He wrapped the soiled cloth round the noisome object and placed it in a small chest where he kept his styli and pens. Snapping the lid shut, Sinius glanced up at the other men. ‘That’s all for now.’

‘Not quite all,’ Macro growled. ‘Our money.’

‘Of course.’ Sinius rose from his chair and crossed the office to a strongbox. He took a key on a chain from round his neck and fitted it into the lock. He reached in and drew out two leather pouches then closed the lid. He returned to his desk and set the pouches down with a soft clink. ‘Your silver.’

Cato stared at the two bags, quickly estimating their likely contents. He looked up with a frown. ‘How much is in there?’

‘Two hundred denarii in each.’

‘You said a thousand,’ Cato snapped. ‘Where’s the rest?’

‘You’ll get it when the job is done, and only then.’

‘It is done. Lurco has been dealt with.’

‘Lurco is one step along the path. Your services are needed for a little longer.’

Cato sucked in a breath and spoke through clenched teeth. ‘What else is there to do?’

‘All in good time.’ Sinius smiled. ‘Suffice to say that it’ll all be over within a month. Then you shall have the rest of your reward. You have my word on it.’

‘Your word?’ Cato sneered, reaching forward to take the purses and hand one to Macro. ‘Listen, friend. In this world only money talks. You still owe us three hundred each. Now you’d better tell me what we have to do to earn it. If I’m going to put my neck out for you and your friends, then I want to know what you’re asking of us.’

‘No. You do as you are told, when you’re told. That is all. The less you know, the better for all of us. Now go. Return to your barracks. You’ll be given your instructions when we’re ready to act.’ Sinius cleared his throat and concluded in a loud curt voice, ‘Dismissed!’

Cato and Macro stood to attention, saluted and then turned smartly to march from the office. Once the door was closed behind them Cato let out a sigh of relief and marched off down the corridor with Macro at his side.

‘Things seem to be moving to a head,’ Macro spoke softly. ‘Within a month, he said.’

Cato nodded. ‘And we’re still no closer to discovering who Sinius is working for. We’re going to have to watch him more closely from now on. Follow him, see who he speaks to. He has to meet with the other Liberators at some point. When he does, we need to be there.’

‘Easier said than done,’ Macro responded. ‘They’ll be taking precautions. What if they only communicate by some kind of coded written message?’

Cato thought for a moment. ‘That’s possible … But if they are going to act soon then there’s every chance they will have to speak face to face. We’ll start following Sinius as soon as we’ve dealt with that business down at the Boarium.’

‘All right,’ Macro agreed. ‘But before we meet Septimus there’s another small matter that needs seeing to.’

‘What’s that?’

Macro hefted his pouch of silver. ‘I’m not leaving this in the barracks where some thieving little toerag can get his hands on it. So before we go anywhere else, I think a little visit to one of the bankers in the Forum is called for.’

Cato slowed his stride to turn to his friend. ‘What are you thinking? Do you mean to keep that money?’

Macro could not hide his surprise. ‘Of course.’

‘But you know damn well where the silver has come from.’ Cato glanced round to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them. Apart from a handful of clerks chatting several paces ahead of them, the corridor was deserted. Cato lowered his voice even further. ‘It belongs to the Emperor.’

‘Not any more, it seems.’

‘You think Narcissus is the kind of man who will accept that line of argument? He’ll want it back, every coin that can possibly be recovered.’

‘Which is every coin that he knows about. So I’m not going to mention this little lot. Nor are you,’ Macro concluded firmly. ‘Besides, lad, we’ve earned it, several times over. We’ll just quietly bank this for now. If no one asks us for it, then there’s no harm in hanging on to it. Agreed?’

Cato felt a surge of frustration briefly course through his veins. ‘What if Sinius spills his guts when Narcissus moves to crush the plot? What if he tells Narcissus that we have the silver?’

Macro shrugged. ‘Then we’ll just have to make sure that we get to Sinius first when it’s over.’ His expression hardened as he glanced at Cato. ‘If he’s silenced before he can talk, then we might even get our hands on that chest he keeps in his office.’

The anxiety of a moment earlier returned as Cato hissed, ‘You’re playing with fire, Macro. Don’t even think about it.’

‘Why the hell not? I’m sick of doing Narcissus’s dirty work for no reward. No fair reward at least. This is a chance for us to get ahead in life, lad. We’d be fools to duck the opportunity.’

Cato could see the dangerous gleam in his friend’s eyes and knew it would be foolhardy to try to gainsay Macro in his present mood.

‘We’ll talk about it later, all right? I need time to think.’

Macro’s eyes narrowed briefly, then he forced a slight smile. ‘Very well, later.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

‘That’s the place,’ Cato muttered as he gestured towards the warehouse. Macro and Septimus were on either side of him as they strolled along the wharf. The same guard who had brusquely rebuffed Cato a few days earlier was sitting on a stool beside the gate. He held a small loaf in one hand and a wizened end of cured sausage in the other and his jaw worked steadily as he stared absentmindedly at the barges moored along the quay opposite the line of warehouses. Despite the lack of grain there were still imports of olive oil, wine, fruit, as well as the usual flow of luxury foods for the richest tables in Rome. All of which fetched prices far beyond the reach of the teeming multitude of the capital’s poorest inhabitants.

A short distance along the wharf from the warehouse of Gaius Frontinus a small crowd of ragged people stood watching the unloading of a barge. Several jars of wine had already been landed and now a chain gang was unloading large baskets of dried dates. The gang master was accompanied by a handful of men armed with cudgels who formed a loose cordon around the goods on the wharf and warily kept an eye on the surrounding crowd.

‘Over there,’ Cato said softly. ‘We won’t stand out in the crowd.’

They made their way over to the fringe of the silent gathering of men and women, some with children, and edged round until they could see the warehouse gate and the guard sitting in front of it. A moment before, Cato had not considered what the man was doing, but now he saw it for what it was, a cold-hearted display of cruelty as he ate while others starved.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Septimus. ‘We can’t just walk in.’

‘We could,’ Macro growled. ‘There’s three of us and one of him.’

Septimus shook his head. ‘If we force our way in, then word will get back to Cestius soon enough and the Liberators will know that we are on to them. We can’t afford to scare them into hiding. It’s just as important to smash the conspiracy as find the grain. Meanwhile we have to get in there and confirm that the grain is actually inside, and then get out without the alarm being raised.’

Cato scratched his cheek. ‘Won’t be easy. The warehouse is built round a courtyard. The wall facing the wharf is the lowest point. The rest of it is built up against the warehouses on either side and behind. There’s no other way in. We have to go in through the gate, or over the wall. If we try and scale that, we’re bound to be seen by the guard.’

Macro ran his eyes over the warehouse and nodded. ‘You’re right. So what do we do?’

Cato looked round the wharf for a moment before fixing his attention on the men unloading the barge, surrounded by the small crowd. ‘We need a diversion. That’s a job for you, Septimus. While Macro and I get inside the warehouse.’

He quickly explained his plan and then, while Septimus worked his way through the crowd towards the edge of the wharf, Cato and Macro moved off, back in the direction of the Boarium. They took care to keep close to the edge of the Tiber in order not to attract the guard’s attention. There was a small danger that he might remember Cato’s face, even though his coarse features and bovine expression hinted at a mind that was not readily accustomed to the retention of information. Once they had covered a safe distance they stopped and looked out across the moored barges to the leaden flow of the Tiber. Cato glanced towards the crowd and saw Septimus standing close to the gangway leading up from the barge. Cato discreetly raised a hand to give the signal.

Septimus edged forward and waited until one of the slaves carrying the baskets of dried fruit struggled up on to the wharf. Then he darted between two of the gang master’s men and thrust his arms out into the slave’s side. The latter tumbled over, his basket flying through the air until it hit the ground and dates exploded across the wharf. At once the waiting crowd surged forward and down, hands scrabbling to scoop up the dried fruit.

‘Get off! Get back, you bastards!’ the gang master bellowed in rage as he laid into them with his cudgel. He looked up at his men. ‘What are you lot waiting for? Get ‘em away from the goods!’

His men were startled into action and they began to lash out at those scrabbling around on the ground at their feet. In the struggle another basket was knocked over, spilling its contents. An excited cry went up as the starving mob closed in.

Cato glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw that the guard outside the warehouse gate had stopped chewing and stood up to get a better view of the action. His lips lifted into a slight smile of amusement, and then he took a few paces away from his station to watch the frenzied violence as the mob and the gang master’s men fought it out over the spilled barley.

‘Come on!’ Cato tugged Macro’s sleeve and they turned to pad across the wharf to the warehouse wall. The guard had his back to them. He tore off another chunk of bread and continued to eat while watching the spectacle. Beyond the struggle Cato glimpsed Septimus backing away now that he had played his part in the plan. They reached the wall and Macro turned and clasped his hands together and braced himself against the rough bricks. Cato placed his right boot in Macro’s hands and as his friend began to lift, Cato straightened his leg and reached up, fingers seeking purchase as he rose up the wall.

‘Get me higher.’

Macro grunted with effort as he lifted Cato up and then groaned as Cato stood on his shoulder.

‘I’m there,’ Cato called down softly and then gritted his teeth as he pulled himself on to the wall and swung one of his legs up. His heart was pounding with the effort and he glanced quickly at the guard and was relieved to see him still watching the chaos on the wharf. Cato dropped down behind the wall and hurriedly unravelled the length of rope tied about his middle and hidden by a fold in his tunic. He tossed one end back over the wall and then grasped the other tightly, leant back and braced one foot against the wall. An instant later he felt Macro’s weight drag at the rope. There was a scuffling sound and a muttered curse before Macro appeared on top of the wall. He hurriedly clambered over and dropped down inside the warehouse yard, dragging the rope over behind him.

For a moment both men stood breathing heavily, ears straining for any indication that they had been discovered. Cato looked round the interior of the warehouse yard. A paved area approximately a hundred feet by forty ran between the high walls of the massive building which enclosed the yard on three sides. Several doors faced the yard, all of them closed. There was no sign of life, and the yard felt oddly quiet after the din of the fight on the wharf. A handful of small handcarts stood against the wall. Cato took a deep breath and indicated the carts. ‘At least getting out is going to be easier than getting in.’

‘If you say so,’ Macro replied. ‘That depends on Septimus doing his job.’

‘He did well enough to get us in. We can count on him. Come on.’ Cato stepped towards the nearest door and saw that it was secured with a heavy iron bolt. A quick glance round the yard was enough to see that all the others were also bolted. Cato took up the lever and tested the bolt. With a lot of effort it began to move, giving a loud squeal as it did so. Cato stopped at once.

‘Shit.’

‘Easy there, lad,’ said Macro. ‘The noise outside will cover any that we make. And we can shift the bolts nice and slow.’

They took firm hold of the iron bolt and began to heave again. With a gentle rasp the bolt moved and a moment later slipped free of the receiving bracket. Fearing that the hinges might be as noisy as the door, Cato pulled it open carefully, just wide enough to admit himself and Macro. The light spilled across an empty stone floor and cast long shadows before the two men as they slowly entered, squinting into the shadows as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. It was a large space, eighty feet deep by half as much in width. Overhead the beams were high above the floor and a latticework of timbers supported a tiled roof. There were two narrow slits in the wall, high up, to provide light and ventilation, but not wide enough for even a child to squeeze through.

Cato bent down and scraped up some of the dust and grains from the floor. ‘Looks like there has been wheat here.’

Macro nodded as he glanced around. ‘If every chamber in this place is as big as this one, then there’d have been enough here to feed Rome for months. Let’s try the next one.’

They worked their way round the warehouse yard, but every chamber was empty like the first. The only contents were a few coils of rope, blocks and tackle for unloading heavy items from the beds of wagons and a pile of torn and grimy sacking in the corner of the yard. In every chamber there was the same evidence that wheat had been stored there, and from the condition of the grain scattered on the floor, recently at that. When they closed the last of the doors Cato stepped back into the middle of the yard and folded his arms, frowning.

‘Where has it gone?’

‘Cestius must have thought this place was not safe,’ Macro reflected. ‘He must have figured that Narcissus and his agents would eventually discover where the grain was stockpiled. It’s been moved on.’

‘Without anyone noticing? You don’t shift that much grain without drawing attention to it.’

‘Unless you did a small amount at a time. Not enough for people to take notice.’

Cato thought briefly. It did not seem possible for Cestius to relocate his entire stock in limited movements in the time available. Even then there was another question that would need answering. ‘Where would he put it all?’

‘Another warehouse, perhaps?’

‘Someone would have seen something.’

‘In barges then, taken downriver to Ostia and stored there as soon as they bought each grain consignment.’

‘It’s possible. But then why are there signs of grain in every one of the storage chambers? It looks to me like they had all of it here before they moved it on. So why did they do it …?’ Cato chewed his lip. ‘They must have been worried that it would be discovered. They’re playing safe. After all, we discovered the location readily enough. In any case, I’m certain that the grain is still here in Rome.’

‘Where then, smart-arse?’

‘That’s the question.’ Cato looked round at the silent walls of the warehouse. ‘It would have to be another place like this.’

‘Cato, there must be scores of warehouses along the wharf on this side of the river alone. Not to mention those on the other side of the Tiber, and the warehouses behind the Forum, and the other markets in the city. We can’t search them all.’

‘Not without alerting the other side,’ Cato conceded. ‘As soon as they got wind that we were on to them they’d have to make their move and put whatever they’re planning into effect.’

‘So what do we do?’

Cato sighed. ‘Tell Septimus to report back to Narcissus. What else? Now let’s get out of here.’

They returned to the wall where one of the handcarts had been left a short distance to one side of the gate. Macro climbed up on to it and again lifted Cato up on to the wall. He cautiously peered over the top to where the guard had returned to his stool to continue his meal. Beyond, the fight over the spilt fruit had ended. The gang master and his thugs had re-established their cordon and the unloading of the barge had resumed. Several bodies lay on the ground about them, most moving feebly and a few lying still. Those who had managed to gather some of the dates had already fled the scene while the rest continued to watch the unloading of the barge, hoping for another chance to snatch something to eat. Cato looked for, and then saw, Septimus. The imperial agent raised a hand in acknowledgement and then made his way along the wharf to the gate. He stopped a short distance from the guard.

‘Spare me some of that?’ Septimus pointed to the bread and sausage resting in the man’s lap.

‘Fuck off.’

‘Come on, friend. I’m hungry.’

‘That’s not my problem. And I’m not your friend, so like I said, fuck off.’

While Septimus took another step forward and asked again, more forcefully, Cato heaved himself up on to the wall and reached down to help Macro up. Then, making sure that the guard’s attention was fixed on Septimus, they lowered themselves down the other side of the wall, straining the muscles in their shoulders and arms, and let go. Their boots crunched audibly on the filth and rubbish that had gathered at the foot of the wall. The guard started and looked round quickly. His eyes widened and in an instant he snatched up his club and was on his feet, his meal tumbling to the ground in front of the stool.

‘I see! Thought you’d play a trick on me, eh? One comes from the front, while his pals take me from behind, eh?’

He lowered himself into a crouch, backed against the gate and swung his club to and fro. Cato could see that there were nails driven through the end of the club and could well imagine the damage those vicious points could do to a man’s flesh. He raised a hand.

‘Easy there. Our mistake. Come on, lads, this one’s too tough for us. Let’s be off.’

Septimus circled round the guard to join the others and then the three men backed away and turned to walk quickly along the wharf in the direction of the Boarium. The guard laughed nervously and blew a loud raspberry after them.

‘Yes, piss off then, you wankers! If I see your faces round here again then you’ll feel the kiss of my little Medusa here!’ He thrust the head of his club after them.

‘Bastard could do with a lesson in manners,’ Macro grumbled, slowing his pace until Cato grasped his shoulder and urged him on.

‘Not now. Let’s get out of here before he remembers me.’

Septimus turned to Cato. ‘Did you find anything?’

Cato briefly explained what they had seen and the imperial agent’s expression became anxious. ‘Damn. We need that grain.’

‘What about that convoy from Sicilia?’ asked Macro. ‘I thought that was going to save the situation for the Emperor.’

‘It will, when it arrives. But the extra grain would have been good insurance in case there was a delay in the arrival of the convoy. Now it all hinges on its arrival. Pray to the gods that it arrives safely. The spectacle that Claudius is putting on up at the Albine Lake will only divert the mob for a short time.’

They walked on in silence for a moment before Cato gave a dry chuckle.

Septimus looked at him sharply. ‘What?’

‘I was just thinking about all the threats that Rome has faced over the years, and now it seems that hunger will succeed where barbarians, slave armies, ambitious politicians and tyrants have failed. If there’s one great enemy of civilisation it is surely starvation. No empire, no matter how great, is ever more than a few meals away from collapse.’ He glanced round at the others. ‘Interesting, don’t you think?’

Septimus glared at Cato and then caught Macro’s eye. ‘Your friend is not very helpful at times. Tell me, does his mind often wander like this?’

Macro nodded wearily. ‘You can’t imagine. Does my head in.’

Cato could not help smiling apologetically. ‘Just an observation.’

‘Well, keep your eyes and mind on the job,’ Septimus chided. ‘The Liberators are planning to do something soon. We have to be on our guard and look to the safety of the Emperor and his family. The enemy might have another chance to do something two days from now.’

‘Why?’ asked Cato. ‘What’s up?’

‘The last section of the drain for the lake will be completed tomorrow. Claudius has decided to hold a celebratory feast for the engineers and a select audience before he gives the order for the sluices to open. It’s not a public event, so there won’t be too many people for your century to keep an eye on. But there’s always the chance of trouble as the imperial retinue makes its way out of Rome, or comes back the same way.’

‘We’ll keep a close watch on the old boy,’ said Macro. ‘After that business in the Forum you can count on it.’

‘I hope so,’ Septimus replied as they reached the entrance to the Boarium. ‘It’s clear enough why the Liberators want the grain. That’s the carrot they can offer to the mob once they’ve removed the Emperor. The question is, what are they going to use as the stick to beat Claudius? There’s not much time left before they make their move, and we’re still no wiser about their plan. You must concentrate on Sinius, find out who his contacts are. If we have the names of the ringleaders then we can strike first.’

‘We’ll do our best,’ Cato reassured him. ‘But Sinius isn’t giving anything away. He’s using us, but he’s not taking us into his confidence. If we discover anything, we’ll make sure we leave a note at the safe house at the first opportunity.’

‘Very well.’ Septimus bowed his head in farewell. ‘I’d better make my report to Narcissus. He’s not going to be happy.’

The three men parted and the imperial agent turned abruptly and strode off through the Boarium in the direction of the imperial palace complex that loomed over the city from the crest of the Palatine Hill. Macro and Cato stared after him for a moment before Macro muttered, ‘We’re losing this one, aren’t we?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This fight … this job for Narcissus. We don’t know where the grain is. We don’t know what the enemy is planning. Shit, we don’t even know who the enemy is, besides Sinius and Tigellinus.’ Macro shook his head. ‘I don’t see any sign of a happy ending to this situation, Cato, my lad.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that we’re not making any progress,’ Cato replied determinedly. ‘We’ll get there. You’ll see.’

As they stepped into the section room they shared with Fuscius and Tigellinus, Cato caught the younger man admiring himself in a polished ornamental breastplate hanging with the rest of the kit from the pegs in the wall. There was a moment’s bemusement before Cato saw the long staff crowned with a brass knob in Fuscius’s left hand.

‘Better not let Tigellinus catch you with that.’

‘What?’ Fuscius reacted instinctively and glanced towards the door with a worried expression, before he caught himself and smiled. ‘It doesn’t bother me. Not now. Tigellinus has no need of this any longer.’ Fuscius held the staff up and looked at it proudly. ‘This is mine.’

Macro laughed and turned to Cato. ‘Sounds like the boy’s balls have dropped at last. Fancy that.’ He turned back to Fuscius. ‘Seriously, I’d put that away before someone sees you with it.’

Irritation and a spark of anger flitted across the young man’s face. Then Fuscius stood, stretched to his full height, and tilted his head back slightly as he addressed them.

‘You’ll have to stop speaking like that to me.’

‘Oh?’ The corner of Macro’s mouth lifted in amusement. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Because I am the new optio of the Sixth Century. The acting optio, anyway,’ Fuscius added.

‘You?’ Macro could not hide his surprise, and not a little disapproval, as he regarded the other man. ‘What about Tigellinus? What’s happened to him?’

‘Tigellinus?’ Fuscius smiled. ‘Until Centurion Lurco is found, Tigellinus has been promoted to acting centurion of the Sixth Century. Tribune Burrus made the decision. He said that he couldn’t afford to have one of his units lacking a commander during the current crisis, and there’d be hell to pay for any man going absent without permission. When Lurco surfaces he’s going to be broken to the ranks, and Tigellinus’s appointment will be made permanent. Just as mine will.’ Fuscius puffed out his chest. ‘I’m the right man for the job, just as Tigellinus said when he chose me.’ Fuscius’s smile faded and he stared hard at Cato and Macro. ‘That means that you two will call me optio from now on. Is that clear?’

‘You?’ Macro shook his head. ‘You’re the best man that Tigellinus could have picked? The most promising ranker in the century? I find that hard to believe.’

‘Believe it!’ Fuscius said fiercely. ‘And I’ll not warn you again, Guardsman Calidus. You will show me the respect due to my rank or I’ll have you on a charge.’

‘Yes, Optio.’ Macro contained his smile. ‘As you command.’

Fuscius strode up to him and glared at Macro for a moment, as if hoping to make the older man flinch. Macro met his gaze frankly and fearlessly, then with a brief snort of derision Fuscius strode out of the door, his staff of office clutched firmly in his hand.

Macro shook his head slowly. ‘There goes a boy who thinks he’s ready to take on a man’s job … Reminds me of you, actually. That day you joined the Second Legion thinking that you were just going to stroll right into an officer’s boots. You recall?’

Cato wasn’t listening, he was deep in thought. He stirred as he became aware of the questioning tone in Macro’s words.

‘Sorry, I missed that.’

‘Don’t worry. Not important. What’s on your mind?’

‘Tigellinus. Acting Centurion Tigellinus that’s what.’ Cato’s brow creased. ‘The Sixth Century is tasked with protecting the Emperor and his family and the Liberators now have their man within striking distance of the imperial family. They’ve finally managed to penetrate the screen of bodyguards that surrounds Claudius.’

Macro pursed his lips and winced. ‘You think Tigellinus will be the assassin?’

‘What else? Why else have Lurco removed? They wanted to place Tigellinus close to the Emperor. That has to be it. And when the time is right, and the opportunity is there, Tigellinus will strike.’

‘He won’t get away with it,’ said Macro. ‘He’ll be killed on the spot. Or taken and questioned.’

‘That won’t matter. With Claudius dead there will be chaos … confusion. That’s when the rest of the conspirators will make their move. They’ll use the Praetorian Guard to move into the city and take control, and then announce a new regime, headed by the leadership of the Liberators. I’d stake my life on it,’ Cato said grimly.