‘Very well.’ Claudius waved him away and Tigellinus backed off through the cordon of German bodyguards. Cato let out a pent-up breath and felt his body relax.
‘We’ll have some of this delicious cake and then return to R-r-rome,’ the Emperor announced. ‘Tribune, you may order your men to stand down while I eat.’
‘Praetorian Guard!’ Burrus called out. ‘Fall out!’
The guardsmen, on reduced rations, looked on enviously, having moved off a short distance to allow Claudius and his small retinue to pick at the cake and indulge in small talk. Cato noted with a smile that Narcissus was doing his best to insert himself between his master and the engineer and respond to the words of the Emperor with his customary obsequiousness while frowning frostily at every comment made by Apollodorus.
Macro was staring wistfully at the cake. ‘I could murder some of that.’
‘It looks far too rich,’ Cato responded dismissively. ‘Probably give you indigestion.’
‘I could live with it.’ Macro tore his gaze away and looked at his friend. ‘I was a bit worried there, when our friend Tigellinus stepped up to test the food.’
‘Me too. Seems I was right. Whatever his plan is, it doesn’t involve suicide.’
‘Except by indigestion.’ Macro turned to look for the centurion as he and Cato leant on their shields. Tigellinus had moved a short distance off and had unfastened his chinstraps and removed his helmet. He mopped his brow and then began to unbuckle his breastplate. He glanced briefly back up the vale with a strained expression. Easing his armour on to the ground, Tigellinus stretched his shoulders, raising his arms into the air.
Macro turned back to look at the small party of dignitaries crowded around the cake, scooping away at the choice ingredients. His stomach grumbled loudly enough for Cato to hear and the two exchanged a smile. Cato opened his mouth to comment, but before he could speak a dull crash reverberated through the air. Everyone turned in the direction of the sound. A moment later there was another crash that merged into a cacophony of splintering timber and falling rocks. Then a rushing roar that swelled up and filled the air. A sudden breeze stirred at the end of the vale, and strengthened.
‘What the fuck is that?’ Macro turned towards the din.
But Cato knew instantly what the sound was and his stomach knotted in icy terror. He glanced towards the Emperor, staring up the vale, a spoon heaped with jelly halfway to his mouth. As Cato turned back he saw a dark liquid mass, gleaming and foaming, sweep round the bend in the vale, smashing down the stunted trees that clung to the steep slopes, dislodging boulders and mounds of earth, carrying all before it. The vast body of water that had been held back by the final dam roared out of the vale, directly towards the imperial party and its escort.
CHAPTER TWENTY
At first no one moved. Every man was too horrified by the sight of the churning wall of water sweeping towards them. Tigellinus acted first. He cupped a hand to his mouth and yelled, ‘Run! Run for your lives!’
The cry broke the spell and the imperial retinue, the engineers and the Praetorian guardsmen began to flee, some heading directly away from the water, while most tried to escape to the side where the ground rose slightly. Cato threw down his shield and spear and snatched at his chinstraps. Macro did likewise, already moving away from the wave.
‘Wait!’ Cato called to him. ‘We must save the Emperor!’
Macro paused, then nodded and they turned towards the table and the cake. Claudius was stumbling towards the river as fast as his limp would allow, casting terrified glances back over his shoulder as the wave approached. Tigellinus was racing across the ground after him and Cato saw, with a stab of fear, that the centurion might reach the Emperor first. He struck out, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him, still weighed down by his scaled armour vest. Macro ran after him. A strong breeze rippled the folds of the Emperor’s toga and the loose strands of his hair as the wave thrust a cushion of air ahead of it. The hissing roar of the pounding water seemed deafening to Cato as he ran at an angle towards Claudius. To his left he could see that Tigellinus was gaining ground and would reach the Emperor first. His dagger was grasped in his hand, point held low and level as he single-mindedly sprinted towards his prey.
The air felt cool at Cato’s back and he risked one last glance towards the wave and saw that it was no more than fifty feet behind him, an ugly churning mass of spray and brown water carrying brush and trees with it. There was a cry of terror and despair away to his right as the first of the Praetorians went down, and then the voice was instantly silenced as the man was submerged in the tumult.
Ahead, Tigellinus was no more than ten feet from the Emperor, and then he stumbled, the toe of his boot stubbing against a rock. He fell down, the dagger spilling from his fingers. Cato ran on, calling out, ‘Sire!’
Claudius looked back at Cato, wide eyed, then past him, aghast. Cato grabbed the Emperor’s arm with one hand and wrenched at the toga with the other. At once the Emperor struggled and lashed out with his spare hand. ‘Help! Murder!’
‘No, sire! The toga will weigh you down!’ Cato shouted, ripping the thick woollen material from the Emperor’s shoulder. He heard Macro cry out a short distance behind, but before he could turn to look, the wave struck. There was an instant when he felt a surge around his calves, and Cato stepped in front of the Emperor, trying to shield him with his body. The full force of the water slammed into his back, instantly wrenching him off his feet. Cato tried to stay upright, kicking down to get purchase on the ground as he was swept along. He held tightly to the Emperor, pushing Claudius up. The water surged around his head, flowing over him and roaring in his ears before he surfaced, snatching a breath.
Something struck him in the ribs, a winding blow that drove the air from his lungs in an explosive cough and water instantly flooded his mouth before he could shut it. Then he was under again, still holding the Emperor and feeling him struggling wildly in his grasp. Cato felt something solid close by and risked letting go of Claudius with one hand as he groped. He felt the branch of a tree. He clamped his fingers round the rough bark and pulled himself and the Emperor towards it. His head burst through the surface once more and Cato took a breath. Around him was a chaotic mass of spray and water and debris, with the heads of men and flailing limbs all about. Cato thought he saw Macro a short distance away, but water closed over the head before he could be sure. Claudius came up, spluttering at his side.
‘Sire!’ Cato yelled into his face. ‘Grab the branch!’
Claudius turned his head to Cato. ‘I can’t! I’m being dragged down! S-s-save yourself, young man. I’m done for!’
Cato saw that his toga was still caught round his chest and debris in the surging water was pulling at the cloth and dragging the Emperor with it. Cato grabbed at the fabric and wrenched it as hard as he could, working it free. It slipped down a little, yet Claudius was still being pulled under and let out a despairing cry before the water closed over his face again. He came up and Cato shouted, ‘Kick it free! Kick it free, or you’ll die!’
‘Yes … yes,’ Claudius spluttered. ‘Kick it free.’
While he thrashed at the material with his legs, Cato used his spare hand to try to pull the toga away from the Emperor’s body. The wool was like a live thing, squirming in the chaotic current, the folds wrapping around Cato’s hand and arm. With one last pull it came off and both men came up, heads and shoulders clear of the water as they gripped the branch. The water around them was no longer raging quite so much and Cato could see for the first time that they had been swept some distance from the end of the vale. Around them were the remains of the tables, and Cato saw Tigellinus, some fifty feet away, trying to haul himself on to one of the table tops, which was spinning round in the fast current.
‘Cato!’
He turned and saw a commotion in the water where Macro was trying to swim towards the branch. Then, between them, another figure came up coughing and hacking, his arms flailing to keep him above water. Cato saw
that it was Tribune Burrus.
‘Over here, sir! Here!’ Cato waved his arm and Burrus began to kick out towards him. The tribune reached the branch and wrapped his arms over it, gasping for breath. Cato looked round and saw that Macro would join them in a moment. Then he noticed something strange a short distance ahead of them. The leading edge of the wave just seemed to have disappeared, leaving a sharp line no more than fifty feet away.
‘Oh shit,’ Cato muttered. ‘The river …’
The tree, and the men clinging to it, were being swept towards the steep riverbank and down into the river. Cato put his arm round the Emperor and clung tightly to the branch. He saw that Macro had grasped the end of a smaller branch a short distance away. Cato filled his lungs and cried out above the din of the rushing water, ‘Hold on tight! We’re going into the river!’
The end of the branch abruptly shot out into thin air for an instant. Then it tipped over the edge. Once again water closed over Cato and he felt his legs being scraped by rocks and debris as the branch dragged those hanging on to it under the raging surface of the river. The water roared in Cato’s ears and his lungs began to burn. The Emperor seemed to writhe against him, but it was impossible to tell if he was struggling or simply being battered about by the current. Then there was a swirl in the water and the branch broke the surface. Cato snatched a deep breath.
‘Sire, are you all right? Sire!’
The Emperor retched and spluttered and rested his head on the branch as his body was wracked by a coughing fit.
Cato looked round and saw that Burrus was still clinging on, but could not locate Macro. Cato turned his head from side to side, anxiously scanning the surface of the river. There were several men visible, struggling to stay afloat or striking towards the bank. Tigellinus was sprawled across the tabletop some distance away. Now that the river had absorbed most of the water unleashed by the collapse of the dam, the worst had passed, Cato realised. Except there was no sign of Macro. Then he saw a glistening hummock in the water some twenty feet away. It began to roll over and Cato realised it was a body, and then, stricken by fear, he recognised Macro’s features as his face briefly cleared the surface before submerging again.
‘Tribune!’ Cato called out. ‘Tribune Burrus, sir!’
Burrus looked up with a dazed expression, his single eye blinking.
‘Look after the Emperor, sir! Do you understand?’
‘Yes …’ Burrus nodded, concentrating his thoughts with some effort. Cato turned to Claudius. ‘Hold on, sire. We’ll get you out of this.’
Then he released his grip on the branch and thrust himself out towards one of the other tables that was slowly turning round in the current close to where Macro was floating. Cato pulled his chest on to the table and kicked out with his legs, striking out towards his friend who showed little sign of life. As he came within reach, Cato threw out his arm, his fingers struggling for purchase in the folds of Macro’s tunic. He tightened his grip and pulled Macro on to the table. A thin trail of blood etched its way down Macro’s forehead and Cato saw a cut on his forehead.
‘Macro!’ He shook his shoulder violently. ‘Macro! Open your eyes.’
His friend’s head rolled limply back on to the planks of the table and his jaw sagged open. Cato slapped him hard. ‘Open your bloody eyes!’
There was no response and Cato slapped him again, harder. This time Macro’s head jerked up and his eyes blinked open. His jaw clenched defiantly. ‘Which one of you bastards hit me, eh?’
Then the water in his lungs caused him to cough and retch agonisingly and it took him a while to recover sufficiently to register Cato’s presence. He smiled weakly. ‘What the hell happened to you, lad? You look a right state.’
Cato could not help smiling back in delight. ‘Me? You should see yourself.’
‘What … what happened?’ Macro grimaced. ‘Feels like some bastard’s dropped a rock on my head.’
‘You must have hit your head on the branch when we went into the river.’
‘River?’ Macro raised his head and looked round in confusion. Then he started as he recalled the final moments before the wave struck. ‘The Emperor!’
‘He’s safe. Over there.’ Cato pointed towards the branch where Burrus had shifted position to be at Claudius’s side. It was close to the riverbank and a moment later it snagged on some obstruction under the surface and swung in towards the bank. Cato gave vent to a short sigh of relief and then punched Macro lightly. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’
Cato started kicking, working the table round so that it pointed towards the riverbank. Then he and Macro kicked out, heading away from the middle of the current. It took a while in the swift flow before they felt the bed of the river beneath their boots and eased the table into the narrow strip of reeds growing along the water’s edge. There they abandoned the table and waded through the reeds until they reached firm ground and slumped on to the grassy bank beyond the reeds. Macro cradled his head in his hands and groaned while Cato remained on hands and knees, head hung low as he breathed in deeply, coughing up the last of the water in his lungs and spitting to clear his mouth. His heart was beating fast and he was trembling uncontrollably. The air was cold and made his soaked body feel colder still, but Cato knew that the trembling was due to the frantic exertion since the wave struck him. That and the delayed shock and terror over what had happened.
He struggled to his feet and scanned the surrounding landscape. Looking upriver he could see the end of the vale, some half a mile away. An earthen streak scarred the pasture between the vale and the bank of the river. Uprooted trees lay scattered across the ground and several figures stood or sat amid the mud, staring about them. More stood at the fringes of where the wave had swept past. There was no sign of the imperial litters, or the tables on which the cake had stood. A few hundred paces upstream Cato could see Burrus supporting the Emperor as they made their way back upriver. There was no sign of Tigellinus in any direction.
Cato squatted down beside Macro. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Sore.’ Macro puffed his cheeks. ‘I must have taken quite a crack to the head … I was holding on to that branch - we went over something and dropped down. That’s the last I can recall until some bastard smacked me round the chops.’ He glanced up. ‘That was you, I take it.’
‘What are friends for?’ Cato offered his hand and helped Macro on to his feet. ‘Come on, let’s get back to what’s left of the century.’
They began to walk towards the figures scattered about the flood plain, some of whom were looking for survivors caught in the debris or tending to the injured.
‘What the hell happened?’ asked Macro.
‘That’s obvious. The dam gave way.’
‘How? How is that possible? You heard the engineer. It would take a hundred men to cause the dam to collapse.’
Cato thought for a moment. ‘Evidently not. It collapsed by itself, or someone helped it to.’
‘Shoddy bloody Greek workmanship - that’s what caused it.’
‘You really think so? Just when the Emperor happened to be standing right in the path of the wave when it struck? Quite a coincidence.’
‘It happens. The gods will play their games.’
‘So will some traitors. Did you see Tigellinus? It was as if he was the only one among us who wasn’t surprised by the wave.’
They continued in silence for a while before Macro cleared his throat. ‘All right then, so if the Liberators are responsible for this, how the hell did they manage it?’
‘I don’t know. Not yet. But I want a good look at what’s left of the dam.’
By the time they joined the other survivors, the remaining German guards had formed up round the Emperor. Their drenched locks of hair, streaked with mud, and their soiled tunics and armour made them look even more barbaric than normal and the Praetorian guardsmen and the civilians kept their distance. Someone had found a stool for the Emperor and Claudius sat on it numbly, surveying the scene. Th
e survivors had instinctively made for the high ground to one side of the end of the vale, in case of another disaster. Narcissus was leaning in towards the Emperor, offering words of comfort while a terrified-looking Apollodorus stood a short distance off, between two of the German bodyguards.
‘You two!’
Cato turned sharply to see Tribune Burrus striding towards them. He and Macro stood to attention and saluted the commander of their cohort. Burrus studied Cato’s features briefly and then nodded. ‘You’re the one who helped me to save the Emperor, aren’t you?’
Cato thought quickly. It was tempting to take the credit for his part in rescuing Claudius, but it would be dangerous to risk drawing any attention to himself, or Macro. Particularly if word got back to the Liberators who would be certain to suspect their motives.
‘I was holding on to the same branch. That is all. I believe you were the one most responsible for saving him, sir.’
Burrus’s eyes narrowed, as if he suspected some kind of a trick. Then he nodded slowly. ‘Very well. All the same, I shall make sure that your part in this does not go unrewarded.’
Cato nodded his gratitude.
‘Your centurion’s missing. Have you seen him?’ the tribune asked.
‘He was close to us in the river. I lost sight of him afterwards.’
‘A pity. A good man that. Quick off the mark to try to save the Emperor when the wave struck. Lucky I was there to succeed where he failed, eh?’
‘Indeed, sir.’
‘His optio’s in charge now.’ Burrus nodded towards Fuscius who had somehow managed to hang on to his staff and was busy searching among the bedraggled survivors for men from the Sixth Century. ‘You’d best report to Fuscius directly.’
‘Not yet, Tribune,’ Narcissus called out as he made his way over to the three guardsmen. ‘I want to have a closer look at the dam. I want these two to help me, in case there’s any further danger.’
‘Further danger?’ Burrus looked surprised by the suggestion, then shrugged. ‘Very well, they’re yours.’
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