‘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.’
‘The
re’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.’
<
br /> ‘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?
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