He allowed them to enjoy the moment before his expression became serious. He gestured towards the entrance to the barracks. ‘When we return to our quarters, your thoughts are bound to turn back to those of our brothers who are no longer with us. For many of you, this is the first time you have returned from campaign. Even though you know this barracks like the back of your hand, it will feel different now. There will be plenty of empty bunks in the section rooms. There will be less of the banter you were once used to. You will find yourselves looking back to happier times and missing the faces of the fallen. They were your comrades and friends and it is natural that you will miss them now that you have returned to the normal routine of garrison duties. You will have time to reflect on the last two years, and time to mourn our dead brothers. Some of you will take the loss well. Others will find the darkness of grief catching you unawares. There is no shame in that. I’ve served long enough to know that no two soldiers are truly alike and that we all deal with what life throws at us in our own way.
‘Proud Praetorians we are, and rightly are we proud. But we are also mortal men with hearts and minds as well as the discipline and muscle of the emperor’s finest soldiers. Our limbs ache, our flesh bleeds and our hearts must carry the burden of our losses. But there are others we must think of. Some of you will know the families of the dead men. To you I say, be the bearers of kindness to those who will never again see their sons who left them behind to do their duty and die for Rome. They will want to know about their fate. Use kind words and offer compassion. They will need it . . .’
He paused to let his words settle in their minds. Then he cleared his throat.
‘There is one further matter that I must relate with a heavy heart. Some of you will be wondering why Tribune Cato is not here to greet you. It is with sadness that I have to tell you that he has been removed from his post and that I will be your acting commander until a new tribune is appointed.’
Some of the men began to mutter angrily. A voice cried out away to Macro’s right. ‘What’s the meaning of this? What’s the tribune supposed to have done?’
‘Silence there!’ Macro roared. ‘You are Praetorians, not a fucking shower of gossiping goatherds! The next man who speaks out of turn will feel my vine cane across his bloody shoulders quicker than boiled asparagus!’
He glared at the men, daring any to defy him. Then he sighed heavily and continued.
‘Second Cohort! There will be a full inspection at dawn tomorrow. So have your kit cleaned, see the quartermaster for anything that needs replacing, and get bathed, shaved and spruced up. I want the Second to be the smartest cohort in the camp come tomorrow. I’ll have the balls off any man who lets me down. Second Cohort! Dismissed!’
As the men stood to and began to break ranks, Macro noted that some of them were muttering as they hefted their packs and shuffled towards the barracks block. It seemed that they were no happier with the removal of the tribune than Macro was. Centurion Ignatius watched his men pass into the building, then turned and approached Macro.
‘So, what’s the story with Tribune Cato?’
Macro glanced round to make sure they would not be overheard before he answered. ‘Someone at the palace isn’t happy with the way Corbulo is handling things and needs to make an example. The official line is that Cato was careless with his men’s lives.’
‘Fuck that. It’s thanks to the tribune that any of us returned from Armenia at all.’
‘I know it. You know it. The men know it. But some fuckwit adviser of Nero doesn’t give the tiniest shit about the truth. They want to punish our boy as a way of putting pressure on Corbulo to get a quick victory over Parthia. Let the general know what’s in store for him if he comes back to Rome without a triumph the emperor can dangle in front of the mob. That outweighs the fact that the tribune did the best job he could with the punishing missions Corbulo dished out to us.’
‘What’s going to happen to him?’
Macro tucked his vine cane under his arm and unfastened his helmet strap. ‘There’s going to be some kind of investigation. They might bring formal charges against him.’
‘What kind of charges?’
Macro eased his helmet off and wiped the perspiration from his brow. ‘I don’t know yet. They might accuse him of exceeding his orders.’
‘How so?’
‘We were sent east to act as Corbulo’s bodyguard. We were there for decorative purposes and weren’t supposed to go into action.’
‘But it was the general who sent us into Armenia.’
‘No doubt they’ll say Cato’s orders from Burrus had precedence over those of Corbulo, and the tribune should have refused to obey the general.’
‘Bollocks to that. What’s the point in being appointed general if you can’t give orders to the men serving under you?’
Macro smiled wryly. ‘Quite . . . Then there’s the matter of our casualties. They’ll try and hold that against him too. They’ll say it’s down to incompetence.’
Ignatius ground his teeth. ‘I’d like to see any of the bastards do better than the tribune.’
‘You’d be waiting a long time for that. Look here, Ignatius, they may want to speak to some of the officers and men. If that happens, we need to make sure we back up the tribune’s side of the story. Normally I don’t hold with getting the men involved in matters above their station, but this ain’t right and we owe it to Cato to do what we can to protect him.’
‘Right.’
‘Meanwhile, I’ll try and have a word with Burrus. He might not like it, but it’s not as if I have anything to lose by challenging him.’
Ignatius looked straight at him. ‘You’re still going for the discharge then?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? If this is how the Praetorian Guard treats one of its finest, I don’t want any part of it.’
‘Fair enough. But me and the rest of the centurions have some years to go yet.’
Macro got the point at once. ‘Just tell the truth. There should be no need to go any further than that if you’re asked to testify. If the truth carries any weight, Cato will be back in command of the cohort as soon as this bloody circus is over.’ He paused and held up his vine cane, tapping the gnarled head against the other centurion’s shoulder. ‘You’ve done good by the tribune. I’ll recommend that you take over as senior centurion once I get my discharge.’
Ignatius was moved and struggled to find the words to express his thanks. ‘I, er . . .’
‘You’ve earned it, brother. The best man for the job, in my humble opinion. Bar me, of course.’
‘It won’t be easy to fill your boots, sir.’
‘Ah, dry up, you soppy cunt,’ Macro growled. ‘Before you make me fucking cry.’
They shared a brief chuckle.
‘Right, let’s get the men settled in, then go and have a drink down the officers’ mess. I’m parched. My throat’s drier than the arse crack of a camel.’
Macro returned to Cato’s house at dusk, and was hanging up his cloak in the alcove by the door when he sensed a presence behind him and winced in anticipation.
‘What kept you?’ Petronella asked testily. She leaned forward and sniffed. ‘Wine . . .’
‘I had a quick drink with the other centurions after the cohort reached the camp. We had some business to talk over.’
‘A drink? Smells like more than one to me.’
‘It could well have been,’ Macro said, frowning slightly as if he was trying to remember precisely. ‘No, I think it was just the one.’
‘Cup? Or jar?’ Petronella responded with contempt, then turned and paced off towards their sleeping quarters.
‘Where’s Cato?’ Macro called after her.
‘In his study. He asked to see you when you returned. That was some hours ago, mind.’ She turned a corner and disappeared.
Macro exhaled with relief. He had got off lightly, and he looked up and whispered a quick prayer of thanks to Bacchus for not making him appear as drunk as he felt.
‘You started without me, then?’
Cato narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose. ‘The other way round, I think.’
‘I may have had one or two drinks up at the camp.’
‘No doubt. How are the lads?’
‘Glad to be back in Rome. But they didn’t take the news about you too well. I had a word with the other centurions. They’ll back you to a man if they’re called to testify at any hearing.’
‘It may not come to that. I’ve been ordered to attend an audience with the emperor in two days’ time, after the games. I’ll know my fate then. But if it comes to a hearing, or a trial, then I’d be grateful if they spoke up for me.’
‘Of course they will. They said as much. I’d have expected no less, mind you. There’s not a man in the cohort who doesn’t know how much we owe you.’
Cato felt touched by the words but found it hard to accept them at face value. ‘Every officer and man did his bit, Macro. I was lucky to have good men at my side, that’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ Macro repeated, and gave a quick laugh. ‘Seriously, lad, you need to learn to accept praise when it is fairly given. I’m not trying to butter you up. Why would I? In a month’s time, I’ll no longer be in the army, so I have nothing to gain from flattery. You know me well enough to know I would never bullshit you. So what I say about you is true, and it’s true for every man in the bloody cohort.’
‘You exaggerate . . .’
Macro stared at him and then frowned. The warmth of the wine in his veins and the slight euphoria in his heart emboldened him. ‘I think it’s time I told you something. I’ll say it now, because I won’t have the chance to soon, and I don’t want to wait until I’ve had another drink before I do. If you see what I mean.’
‘Frankly, I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.’
‘Ah, fuck off with your modesty. Give it a rest. And keep your mouth shut until I’m finished.’
Macro took a deep breath as he arranged his thoughts, while Cato tried to hide his amusement at his friend’s maudlin mood.
‘Cato, sir, you are without doubt the finest officer I have ever known, let alone served under. One of the best in any legion there ever was, and I should know. I’ve served half my life in the army. I’ve seen it all. Seen them bloody thrusters from wealthy backgrounds come in and treat the rankers like dirt, even though they barely know one end of a sword from the other. But you, you’re different. You were right from the start. You learned the trade the hard way and earned every promotion you got. You’ve the heart for it as well as the head. Sharp as a needle, you are, and brave as a lion. And you look after the men, and don’t think they don’t know it. By rights you should be a bloody general now. If you were, I dare say the Empire would be a far more secure place and good people wouldn’t have to worry so much about hairy-arsed barbarians crossing the frontier at night to beat their brains in and run off with their women . . .’
Cassius whined and then growled in his sleep as his paws twitched.
‘Have you finished?’ Cato demanded. ‘You’re upsetting my dog.’
‘Quiet, you!’ Macro stabbed a finger at him. ‘I’m sick and bloody tired of seeing you not being given the full reward for your achievements. I’m tired of seeing second-raters taking the credit for your successes. It ain’t right. Why, if I was emperor, I’d give you command of all the legions, just like that.’ He tried to snap his fingers, but the middle one flopped soundlessly against the ball of his thumb. He glared at his hand and tried again without success. ‘Anyway, you deserve no less.’
‘If that’s what you think,’ Cato nodded politely, ‘it might be a good idea if we all got an early night. I’ve arranged for us to go to the races tomorrow. Best we have a proper night’s sleep so we can get there early enough to find good seats. Lucius is very excited about it.’
‘Damn the races!’ Macro grabbed his friend’s forearm. ‘I’m telling you why you should take some bloody pride in what you’ve achieved. For the gods’ sake accept it. Take what I said as true. I should have told you before . . . I’m proud of you, lad. I know you’re my commander and—’
‘Not any more.’
Macro raised a finger to his lips and scowled. ‘Let me finish. You’re my commander . . . my brother in arms . . . my friend. But you’ve also been like a son to me. That’s how I felt. And you turned out as well as any father could hope. You’ll see what I mean when Lucius grows up. He’s a lucky little bastard to have you to look up to and respect. I never had that. My father was a nobody.’
‘Then he was better than mine,’ Cato replied. ‘My father was born a slave.’
Macro shook his head. ‘We are what we are, Cato, my lad. Whether we’re born into luxury or the slums of the Subura, into aristocracy or slavery, we make our own way in the world and deal with whatever the fates throw at us. What matters is what’s in here .’ He slapped his chest and stared at Cato wide-eyed, swaying slightly. ‘You understand what I’m saying?’
Cato stared back at him and smiled gently. ‘I understand you, though some might struggle to right now. And thanks for your kind words. I’ve always depended on you, brother. If I ever get another command, it’s going to be tough to do the job on my own. So there’s no more that needs to be said. We’d better get you to bed before Petronella gives up on you.’
‘Ah, my woman.’ Macro grinned. ‘She’ll be up for a bit of wrestling tonight, I’ll warrant. I’ll need just one more drink before I dare to face her.’
He reached for the jug but Cato snatched it up. ‘No. You’ve had enough. Go to her, Macro. Before she comes hunting for you. That’s my advice.’
Macro looked fondly at the jug before he nodded. ‘All right then . . .’
He rose unsteadily and turned in the direction of the rooms that had been made up for him and his wife, walking into the gloom with a cheery wave. Cato watched him go, amused for a moment, before his heart was piqued by the knowledge that a significant stretch of his life was coming to an end. There would be, he hoped, new challenges, new prospects for him. But there would be no Macro there to share them.
‘Goodbye, my friend,’ he said softly, and turned to gaze over his garden once again.
Chapter Five
The rising sun was still hidden by the mass of the Viminal Hill as Cato and his small party made their way across the Forum towards the Great Circus. Ahead of them, the lofty heights of the imperial palace atop the Palatine Hill were bathed in the rosy glow of the sun’s rays. Cato glanced up at the structure, scanning the colonnades and balconies as if he might catch sight of the emperor or members of his family and entourage, but the only figures in sight were Nero’s household bodyguards, tall Germanic tribesmen with long blond hair, their armour and spears gleaming. They were chosen because they were mercenaries and could not speak Latin, and were therefore less likely to be drawn into any conspiracies hatched against the emperor. They also had a reputation for being ferocious warriors who showed no mercy.
Cato recalled the first skirmish he had taken part in on the Rhine frontier; the cohort he had served in was lured into a trap, and when he had seen the barbarian tribesmen charging towards him with crazed expressions on their faces as they roared their battle cries, that was when he had first known true terror. The Germans were big, wild-looking men who appeared frightening enough under peaceful circumstances. Small wonder, then, that they had been chosen to protect Augustus, and every emperor since then. Cato shuddered at the thought of encountering them in the palace on the morrow.
He had no doubt that he had done his duty to the best of his ability and yet he was realistic enough to know that that would count for nothing in t
he world of high politics, where men of his rank were played and discarded with no more regard than if they were gaming pieces. There was no telling what fate they would decide for him. He might face trumped-up criminal charges, banishment, even death. Or Nero might reinstate him on a whim. The randomness of it all was what truly concerned him. If the peril facing him was known, he could prepare for it. But this situation? He could be ambushed from any quarter.
He held Lucius’s hand firmly as they jostled through a small crowd of shoppers in the Forum who had come to the market early to take advantage of the freshest produce on the stalls. Petronella walked on the other side of the boy, a picnic basket in her spare hand, while Macro surged ahead and did his best to clear the way for them. They passed along the thoroughfare to the side of the palace, where the foul odours that wafted up from the city’s main sewer tended to hang in the air for days at a time between falls of rain or blustery winds. Lucius’s features wrinkled in disgust, while Petronella released his hand and covered her nose and mouth. All four of them increased their pace until they emerged into the large open square that stretched between the end of the Great Circus and the warehouses of the Boarium market. A large crowd had gathered outside the entrances where the chariot drivers and their teams entered the Circus, hoping to catch a view of their heroes before the races began. There was a roar of excitement as a figure in a blue tunic appeared at one of the arches above the entrance gates. Cato and the others paused to watch as the man, light-skinned and fair-haired, opened his arms to greet his fans and smiled at their adulation.
Cato felt his son tug his hand and looked down.
‘Why are they shouting?’
‘You’ll see.’ He scooped the boy up so that he sat on his shoulders, and held his ankles. ‘See the man up there, Lucius?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s one of the chariot drivers.’
The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19) Page 5