Cato folded his blanket over his belongings, tied the ends together, and looped the knot over the end of the marching yoke. When Macro had finished, he joined Cato a short distance away from the waiting Praetorians.
He looked down at his boot, as if checking his laces, and whispered, 'Think we should try and make a break for it?'
'No.'
The Praetorian smiled, anticipating the remark even though he had not heard it. 'Please, don't either of you do anything foolish. Me and the lads have had plenty of experience escorting people.'
'Prisoners, you mean,' Macro growled.
The Praetorian shrugged. 'People, prisoners, it's all the same to us, sir. We just collect and deliver. There's others who handle the messy stuff. I'm just warning you not to try and escape. It'd be an unpleasant business for both of us, if you get my meaning.'
Macro glared at him.'I'd get it a lot quicker if you didn't dress it up so much. In the legions we call a spade a spade. We have to deal with the real messy stuff.'
'But we're not in the legions, are we, sir? In Rome things are done with more style.'
'Death's death, lad. There ain't no hiding that.'
'You'd be surprised what we keep hidden.' The Praetorian smiled coldly, then stood aside and gestured towards the door. 'Now, sirs, if you wouldn't mind…?'
With two guards in front and two behind, their swords drawn, the centurions made their way down the narrow staircase and emerged into the stairwell at the bottom of the tenement block. The guardsmen had been seen entering the building and a small crowd of curious onlookers had gathered outside. As the prisoners and escort clattered on to the paved street,Velina emerged from the bakery. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw Cato and Macro carrying their packs. She stepped out in front of the leading Praetorians.
'Cato! What's happening?'
'Out of the way, lady!' snapped one of the guards.
Velina looked round his shoulder. 'Cato?'
She tried to push past but the guard grabbed her arm and thrust her back against the wall of the tenement and then the Praetorians marched off with their prisoners.
They entered the palace through one of the servants' entrances that opened on to a narrow side street away from well-used thoroughfares. Cato recalled using the narrow gateway a few times as a child, when he had lived in the servants' quarters of the palace. There were few people around to see them taken inside, and Cato realised how easy this made it for people simply to disappear in the city. Once past the guards stationed at the entrance, the Praetorians took them along a corridor until they reached a stairwell, and then they climbed up through the heart of the imperial palace.
Cato turned to the leader. 'You're not taking us to the cells, then?'
The man raised his eyebrows. 'Evidently.' Then he relented and relaxed his stern expression for a moment. 'Look, sir, we were told to take you to Narcissus. That's all the orders we have, as far as you two are concerned.'
'You weren't sent to take us to be executed, then?'
'No, sir. Just to take you to Narcissus. That's all. If he decides you're for the chop, well then, that's different, and we might have to take you to the lads who get that job done.'
'Oh…' Cato looked at the man more closely, wondering how he could be so sanguine about his duties. Maybe the Praetorian had simply become used to it. Cato remembered that under Emperor Caligula the Praetorian Guards had been kept busy arresting and executing people throughout the three years of his reign.
After four flights of stairs they emerged on to a wide corridor with an ornate mosaic pattern flowing across the floor. Large windows, high up, admitted broad shafts of light. Cato had never seen the corridor before and as he felt a warm current of air rise up his legs he realised that the floor must be heated.
Macro pursed his lips.'Our man Narcissus knows how to live well.'
The escorted party marched down the corridor towards an imposing door, almost twice the height of a man. The door was flanked by a pair of Praetorian Guardsmen, and in a niche to the left a clerk sat at a large walnut desk. He was neatly turned out in a soft wool tunic and looked up at the sound of echoing footsteps. The leader of the squad nodded to him.
'Centurions Macro and Cato, as requested by the Imperial Secretary.'
'He's in a meeting with the Emperor. You'll have to wait. Over there.' He pointed across the corridor with his stylus, to where padded benches lined another niche. The party crossed over and the two centurions gratefully lowered their packs, and took a seat. Two guardsmen stood either side of them. In the austere surroundings of the Imperial Secretary's suite of offices, Macro felt self-conscious about his unshaven and battered face. Glancing over at Cato, he saw his friend staring dejectedly at the mosaic floor, wholly absorbed in his misery.
The Imperial Secretary's meeting with Emperor Claudius went on, and on. As the sun rose above the sprawling city, the shafts of light slowly glided down the walls of the corridor and finally bathed the prisoners and their escort in a warm golden glow. Macro eased himself back and shut his eyes, and, despite their predicament, he began to enjoy the soothing sensation of the warmth and the hazy orange glow of the sunlight through his eyelids. So it was that he missed the faint creak of the doors as they swung open. As the guardsmen stiffened to attention, the clerk jumped to his feet and bowed. Cato rose quickly, but before he could stir Macro, the Emperor of Rome and his most faithful and trusted servant, Narcissus, emerged into the corridor.
'S-s-so, you really think it's that important?'
'Yes, Caesar.' Narcissus nodded to emphasise his agreement. 'It is a vital component of the work. Without it, posterity will be forever impoverished.'
Emperor Claudius looked at him wide-eyed, and there was a violent twitch of his head.'Really? You r-really think so?'
'Yes, Caesar. Without question.'
'Well, put like that, w-w-what can I say? I had thought that my ch-ch-ch-childhood poetry might not be quite the ticket for an autobiography.' He smiled, twitched, and squeezed Narcissus' arm. 'But you've convinced me. As ever, your good t-t-taste and sound judgement are a perfect complement to my genius.'
'Caesar.' Narcissus bowed low.'Your praise is undeserved. Any mortal with any literary sensibility at all could not mistake the divine brilliance of your powers of perception and description.'
Claudius beamed and clasped Narcissus' arm in gratitude, then froze as he spied Macro, nodding off on his bench. 'I somehow doubt that f-fellow shares your point of view.'
Narcissus glared into the niche and snapped an order. 'Get that fool on his feet!'
Two guardsmen took an arm each and hauled Macro up. He opened his eyes blearily. 'What? What? Oh…'
At the sight of the Emperor he was instantly awake and stood straight as a marble pillar. Claudius limped over towards him and looked the centurion over.
'Is this one of the men you were telling me about, Narcissus?'
'Yes, Caesar.'
'Hardly an impressive sp-sp-sp-specimen, I must say. But he looks like the sort of man we might sacrifice without losing much s-sleep.'
'Yes, Caesar. Once again you anticipate my thoughts.'
Claudius turned to Cato, with a look of surprise. 'And this other one, this boy? Surely he's not the other officer you mentioned. Why, h-h-he doesn't look old enough to even shave!'
Narcissus forced a laugh, and when his clerk followed his cue the Emperor turned round with a frown.'No one asked you to join in!'
The clerk froze, and blanched, dropping his eyes at once.
'That's better.' The Emperor turned back to continue his examination of the two centurions. 'I suppose you know what you're d-d-doing, Narcissus. That other business we talked about will need careful handling. Are you sure the-the-these men are up to the job?'
'If they aren't, then no one is, Caesar.'
'Very well… I'll see you at dinner.'
'Caesar.' Narcissus bowed again, as did the Praetorians, his secretary and the two centurions. They kept their heads d
own as Claudius shuffled away down the corridor and disappeared into a side gallery. The moment the Emperor was out of sight there was a collective sigh of released tension. Macro felt as if he had escaped instant execution by a hair's breadth and the blood pounded through his heart.
Narcissus glanced at the two centurions and snapped an order. 'Bring them in!'
He turned on his heel and strode back into his office as Cato and Macro grabbed their yokes and, flanked by the guardsmen, they were escorted through the high doorway into the office of the Imperial Secretary.
The room was vast. Above, the ceiling rose to the same height as the corridor, and the floor was covered with animal skins, through which the heat of the hypocaust could still be felt. To the right stretched a wall made up of a honeycomb of shelving for scrolls and books. To the left, the wall was covered with a finely detailed painting of a huge bay that stretched out into the distance where it was lost in a faint haze. Looming over the coastal strip was a vast mountain, dwarfing the towns that lined the shores at its feet. On the far wall were four large windows, with spectacular views over the Forum and the sprawling slopes of the Subura beyond. Narcissus had crossed the room and settled himself behind an oak desk whose size was proportionate to the room, if not to the amount of paperwork upon it, which struggled to look burdensome. The Imperial Secretary noticed the admiring looks on the faces of the two centurions as they gazed out over the city, fascinated to see so much of it at once.
'Impressive, isn't it?' he smiled. 'It is the first thing that people who visit this office remark on. I find it inspiring and, at the same time, frightening. Terrifying even.'
He twisted away from Cato and Macro to stare out of the window, and continued in the same reflective tone, 'The Empire is ruled from here. From this palace. The palace is the mind that directs the muscles and sinews of empire. Down there, in the Forum, is the public expression of that power. The fine temples to scores of Gods. The basilicas where the fortunes of men are made and traded, and regulated by law. People from all over the world come to the Forum to marvel at the scale of our achievement. Together, the palace and Forum constitute a shrine to power and order.' He paused and raised a hand, pointing across to the rising slope of the Subura, a filthy mass of tile and plaster, poised like a wave about to crash down upon the Forum.
'That slum, on the other hand, is a chaos of poverty and depravity forever threatening to engulf and destroy the order we have created. The Subura is a daily reminder of what we might become if the Emperor and all who further his aims are swept away. The plebs are the barbarians within the gate. As long as they are fed and entertained we have them in our grasp. But let them get an inkling of their own power, or worse, let another person prey upon their baser motivations… and their superstitions,' Narcissus added with heavy emphasis, 'and they'll cut our throats.'
The Imperial Secretary turned back towards the two centurions with a weary expression. 'So, it is my task, my purpose in this life, to make sure that order is maintained and that Claudius remains in power. That means I have to identify and contain any and all possible threats to the Emperor. And it is your job, as soldiers sworn to obey his will, to aid me in any way I determine. Do I make myself clear?'
'Yes, sir,' Cato and Macro replied. Cato hadn't a clue what the Imperial Secretary was alluding to. But the hint that their services were needed, and no mention of execution, filled his heart with hope.
Narcissus nodded at their ready obedience, and leaned forward to rest his arms on his desk. 'Then listen closely. I have a task for you. Of course it's dangerous and entails great personal risk. But then you have nothing to lose. Isn't that right, Centurion Cato?'
'Sir?'
'Don't play me for a fool, young man. Your life is forfeit. I have but to raise my voice and call in the guards and have them put you to death on the spot. You, and even your friend here. And no one would even ask me the reason. As it happens, I have reason enough. See here.' He picked up a scroll on his desk.'This arrived yesterday. From Britain. You know who it's from?'
Cato's heart sank. 'General Plautius?'
'That's right. And you can guess what he says.' Narcissus smiled faintly. 'The death sentence is upheld. In addition, the general states that there is enough circumstantial evidence to warrant the execution of Centurion Macro on charges of mutiny and murder. You are both dead already.'
He let the words sink in, staring at the centurions intently with his dark brown eyes, sunk deep beneath his plucked brow. Cato stared back, angry and afraid, as he knew that he and Macro were being thrust into new perils by the Imperial Secretary. Cato swallowed nervously before he replied.
'Unless we do your bidding.'
'That's right.' Narcissus nodded. 'You'll do my bidding, or be fodder for the carrion before this day is done.'
Macro sneered at him. 'And what is it you'd have us do for you? An assassination? Make someone disappear? What?'
'Nothing so easy,' Narcissus laughed. 'I have plenty of men for such menial tasks. No, for what I have in mind, I need two resourceful officers. Ruthless men who are also desperate enough to succeed at all costs. Men who know their lives are forfeit unless they carry out their orders. In short, men like you two. I won't demean your intelligence by offering the job to you. You'll do it, or you'll die here and now. All that remains is to tell you the details. Understand me?'
'Oh, we understand all right… sir.'
'Very well.' Narcissus leaned back in his chair and drew his thoughts together. 'A month ago a merchant ship was captured not far from the coast, off Ravenna. It happens from time to time. Someone fancies his chances as a pirate and starts preying on shipping. We can afford to overlook the loss of the odd vessel here and there, but if they get too greedy we send a squadron after them to scare them off. Only this time, the pirates captured a ship which happened to be carrying one of my most trusted agents. He was on a mission of the utmost sensitivity. He was taken prisoner, and tortured. They sent word that they want a ransom for him. Together with his ring finger. I assume that's some kind of pirate tradition to show they mean business.'
'You want him back?' Cato asked. 'Is that it? Is that all?'
'Not quite all. My agent carried within his baggage some items of great value to the Emperor.'
'Treasure?' Macro frowned. 'You want to send us on a treasure hunt?'
'Treasure? Yes,' Narcissus replied.'But treasure that has far more worth than all the gold and jewels of Egypt.'
'Really?' Macro sniffed. 'I somehow doubt that.'
'What kind of treasure are we talking about?' Cato interrupted his friend.
'Scrolls.' Narcissus smiled. 'Three of them. The pirates want ten million sestertians for the return of the scrolls.'
'Ten million? Just for three scrolls?' Macro laughed and shook his head. 'You're not serious, sir.'
'I've never been more serious in my life.'
Macro's laughter died in his thoat as he beheld the intent expression on the Imperial Secretary's face. 'These scrolls – what's so special about them?'
Narcissus stared at him. 'You don't need to know. You will be told more, if the situation requires it. Suffice to say that if I gain possession of them then a great danger to the Emperor will be averted. For now, all that need concern you is your mission. You will find and recover the scrolls and bring them to me here. If you can manage it, I also want the rest of my agent returned. But if that should jeopardise the safety of the scrolls the agent must be regarded as expendable.'
'Who else knows about this?' asked Cato.
Narcissus thought for a moment. 'The Emperor. My clerk and one other.'
'Who is he, sir?'
Narcissus smiled and shook his head.'You don't need to know. For now. In the meantime I have arranged for you both to be posted to the naval base at Ravenna. We're sending a column of marine reinforcements for operations against this new pirate threat. You can join them. The prefect has been told to find and destroy the pirates' lair. Your job is to make sure that you r
ecover the scrolls, and my agent, once the pirates are defeated. You are also to make sure that any of the pirates who have read, or been in contact with the scrolls, are not taken alive. One last thing.' Narcissus leaned towards them again.'It is possible that the pirates may have approached other parties with a view to selling the scrolls. If that's the case, my enemies will stop at nothing to get hold of them. You must trust no one. Understand?'
The two centurions nodded.
'When do we leave?' Macro asked.
'You already have. The reinforcements left Rome at dawn. You'll have to catch up with them once I've finished with you.'
Cato's mind reeled. 'What about all the paperwork? Our orders?'
Narcissus waved away the questions. 'My clerk has it all in hand. He'll give you the required documents as soon as you leave my office. Now, if you don't want to get any unnecessary blisters, I suggest you get moving, gentlemen.'
'Just one thing, sir,' said Macro.
'Yes?'
'Money. We'll need some to cover our expenses as far as Ravenna, sir.'
'I see. Very well. You can draw some petty cash from my clerk.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'That's all right.' Narcissus smiled. 'You can settle up, if you survive. Now, on your way.'
Narcissus leaned back and crossed his arms, clearly indicating that the meeting was over. Cato and Macro turned towards the doors. Before they could reach them the doors were swung open by a Praetorian on each side. Narcissus' clerk was waiting at his table, a wax tablet in each hand. As the centurions marched into the corridor, he held out the tablets. Cato took his and was busy tucking it into his knapsack when he glanced across the corridor and froze. Macro noticed his reaction and glanced round. Seated in the niche opposite was a heavily built man, running to fat. He wore the toga of a senator, and smiled slowly as he recognised the two centurions.
'Why, if I'm not mistaken,' he chuckled, 'it's my old comrades in arms, Centurion Macro and his little pet optio.' He paused as his eyes fell on the transverse crest of the helmet hanging from Cato's yoke.'Centurion Cato? I don't believe it.'
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