Praetorian (2011)

by Simon Scarrow

  Cato saw Narcissus’s shoulders sag a little at the words. Pallas did his best not to smirk and Geta clasped his hands behind his back, the thumb of his sword hand vigorously working the flesh of the other hand.

  ‘Fine words, my husband,’ said Agrippina as she stood up. ‘Brave words. But bravery alone will not sustain a man. You have not eaten all day. Come, you’ll need your strength. Let us eat together, in my bedchamber. I’ll send for some food. Your favourite dish perhaps?’

  ‘Mushrooms!’ Claudius grinned. ‘You are good to me, Agrippina.’

  He eased himself on to his feet and straightened his back as he faced the other men in the room. ‘I have spoken my m-mind. Let it be known that the Emperor will remain in Rome.’

  Geta, Pallas and Narcissus bowed their heads and stood aside as Claudius and his wife, hand in hand, made their way out of the study. Geta followed them out. The two imperial freedmen were the last to leave, as social protocol demanded. As the prefect of the Praetorian Guard left the room, Pallas turned to Narcissus with a look of cold amusement. ‘If I were you I’d take my own advice and get out of Rome, while you can.’

  ‘What, and leave the Emperor’s life in the hands of you and your friends?’ Narcissus spoke loudly enough for Cato and Macro to catch his remarks.

  ‘Friends?’

  ‘The Liberators. That’s who you are working for. You and Geta. What have they promised you as a reward?’

  Pallas shook his head mockingly. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree, my friend. I have nothing to do with the Liberators. For what it’s worth, I pledge my life on that.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘No.’ Pallas stood in front of Narcissus and thrust his finger into his chest. ‘You will live to see the truth of it, but I would not count on living much longer than that.’ He paused and ran his eyes over the imperial secretary. ‘It has been a pleasure to have worked alongside you these past years, Narcissus. For the most part, at least. We have served Claudius well, but no emperor lasts forever. The only issue is who will succeed Claudius. You have made your choice of who to serve, and I have made mine. Farewell, Narcissus.’ He held out his hand, but the imperial secretary did not move. Pallas shook his head sadly. ‘I would prefer that we parted as friends. It’s too bad. Goodbye.’

  Pallas turned away and strode from the room. Narcissus watched him leave, with undisguised hatred. When the sound of his rival’s footsteps had faded away, he turned to the balcony and approached Macro and Cato.

  ‘You heard?’

  Cato nodded. ‘Every word.’

  ‘They mean to murder Claudius, I am certain of it. The fool has played into their hands,’ Narcissus said bitterly. ‘That little bitch has him wrapped around her finger. Him and that bastard, Pallas. We have to act quickly.’ He stopped and looked at them with a puzzled expression. ‘How did you two come to be posted here?’

  ‘Fuscius had a duty roster,’ Macro explained. ‘Tigellinus handed it to him.’

  ‘Tigellinus?’ The imperial secretary stared at him anxiously. ‘He means to place his men as close to the Emperor as possible. Has he given you any instructions?’

  ‘He told us to be ready to act.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  Cato nodded.

  Narcissus rubbed his jaw anxiously. ‘The Liberators have men in place close to the Emperor. The prefect and some of his officers are in on the plot and they have taken control of the palace. I’d say they will act soon. Tonight perhaps. Certainly no later than noon tomorrow.’

  ‘Why then?’ asked Macro.

  ‘Because the spectacle is over. Most of the mob will remain by the lake tonight. They will set off for Rome at first light and reach the city at midday. Unless there is food here to feed them, there will be nothing to stop them venting their rage. It’s my guess that the Liberators will have taken control by then. The Emperor will be dead, and then they’ll produce all the grain that they have amassed in secret. The mob will be grateful enough to whoever feeds it.’ Narcissus looked at them with a cynical smile. ‘Once the people have been won over, the Liberators will start to remove anyone who was loyal to the previous regime. In which case, I’m as good as dead already. Me, and Britannicus.’

  ‘Why not the others?’ asked Cato. ‘Won’t they want to dispose of Agrippina and Nero as well?’

  ‘Why would they?’ Narcissus asked bitterly. ‘My guess is that they’re in on the plot. Why else would Agrippina have persuaded the Emperor to remain in the palace? Now they have Claudius where they want him.’

  Cato was thinking. ‘That doesn’t make sense. Agrippina can’t be part of the Liberators’ plot.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She was there when the Liberators attacked the imperial party in the Forum. They tried and nearly succeeded in killing her son.’ As Cato recalled the incident, there were some details that still defied explanation, but he continued with his original line of thought. ‘And afterwards, Nero spoke to me. He said he would reward me when he became Emperor. He seemed quite certain about it.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘If he believes he is going to be Emperor, then Agrippina must have planted the idea in his head. You said it yourself, she is using him to further her own ambitions. In which case, why would she conspire with the Liberators?’

  ‘He’s got a point,’ said Macro.

  Narcissus hissed with frustration. ‘All right. Then if she’s not part of the Liberators’ plot, why is she trying to keep Claudius in Rome, where he’s in greatest danger? There’s only one good reason for that. She’s running her own conspiracy. She’s working with Pallas to remove the Emperor and place her son on the throne. It’s no secret that she has been doing her best to bend Claudius to her will. Firstly by seducing him, then persuading him into marriage, then the adoption of her son and finally making Nero heir to the throne.’

  ‘Now that makes more sense.’ Macro nodded. ‘So we’re dealing with two conspiracies, not one. The Liberators want to remove the entire imperial family, while Agrippina wants to replace the Emperor with her son. That I can get my head round.’

  It made sense, thought Cato, but for one small nagging detail. ‘You’re right. She and Pallas have a motive, and the means, if they can get their strike in before the Liberators and disarm them. But there’s something that still doesn’t fit. Something that I’ve not been able to explain.’

  ‘Speak up then, man,’ Narcissus hissed. ‘We haven’t got much time. We have to act. What’s the problem?’

  ‘It’s about that day in the Forum when the Liberators attacked the imperial party. Their leader, Cestius, pushed Britannicus aside just before he went for Nero.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Why would the Liberators pass up the chance to kill one of the Emperor’s sons? It would have been the work of a moment to strike Britannicus down before turning on Nero. Why did Cestius spare Britannicus?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Narcissus said irritably. ‘Perhaps Cestius didn’t recognise him. There’s no time for this now, Cato. We can go through it all later. Right now we have to save the Emperor. We need to protect him. I don’t know how far the conspiracy has spread through the ranks of the Praetorians. We know about Geta, Sinius, Tigellinus, and I have the names of a few other suspects but that’s all. There could be many more. The only troops that we can rely on are the German bodyguards. I’ll have them all roused and placed close enough to the Emperor to prevent any assassin getting through to him.’

  ‘That won’t be enough to save him. The Liberators, and Pallas - assuming you’re right about him and the Empress - are not the only threat. We have to keep the mob under control, or they’ll succeed where the conspirators have failed.’

  ‘To do that we need to feed the mob,’ Narcissus responded tersely, ‘and I can’t just make grain appear.’

  ‘No,’ Cato conceded.

  Macro sniffed. ‘Either way, we’re in deep shit. Just like I said. The situation stinks.’

  Cato stared at his friend.
‘That’s it,’ he muttered. ‘It has to be.’

  ‘What are you on about, lad?’

  ‘Cestius. You remember when we first ran into him, and his men. At the inn?’

  ‘Yes. What of it?’

  ‘Do you remember how they smelled?’

  Macro nodded. ‘Like shit.’

  ‘Exactly. Just like shit,’ Cato said with an excited gleam in his eyes. ‘And where would you go to stink like that? A sewer, that’s where. To be precise, the Great Sewer that runs right under the heart of the city before it flows into the Tiber.’

  ‘Very interesting. So what if Cestius and his pals have been mucking about among the turds? How does that help us?’

  ‘Think about it, Macro. Where does the Great Sewer empty out into the Tiber?’

  ‘Not far from the Boarium. In fact close to that warehouse of Gaius Frontinus.’

  ‘Right next to it as it happens.’ Cato could not help smiling at the cleverness of the conspirators. ‘Surely you see it now.’

  Macro looked at Cato, then glanced at Narcissus. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  Narcissus stroked his jaw. ‘I think I can guess.’

  ‘There’s no other answer,’ said Cato. ‘We know that the grain was taken to the warehouse. Sometime between its purchase and when we searched the place, the grain was moved to another location. I’ve been trying to think how they managed it without attracting any attention to themselves. Now I know. They must have access to the sewer. They used the sewer to move the grain unseen. That’s probably why Cestius and his men were at the inn that night, to celebrate the completion of the job.’ He turned to Narcissus, eyes fired with excitement. ‘We have to go back to the warehouse. I need some men we can trust. We can’t use the Praetorians. It’ll have to be the Germans. Give me fifty men, and torches, and we’ll find that grain.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can spare them. They’re needed here.’

  ‘If we don’t secure that grain, it won’t matter where they are.’

  The imperial secretary struggled to make a decision. Then he nodded. ‘All right, but you can take twenty men. No more. You’ll need one of their officers.’ Narcissus thought quickly. ‘Centurion Plautus can be trusted.’ The imperial secretary looked up at the sky above the city. The light was fading fast and a pastel red hue stained the horizon. ‘You’d better go quickly. And take Septimus with you. Leave your kit here.’ Narcissus wagged his finger at Cato and Macro. ‘You’d better be right about this. If anything happens to the Emperor because there weren’t enough men to guard him properly then it’ll be on your head, Cato.’

  ‘Thanks for the kind words of encouragement,’ Cato replied sourly. ‘There’s one more thing. How are we going to get out of the palace without raising the alarm?’

  Narcissus could not help a small smile. ‘There’s a way. You didn’t think the emperors would have built a place like this without a secret exit, did you? It comes out close to the Great Circus. Caligula used it from time to time when he wanted to go to the races incognito. It was kept a secret from the Praetorians in case they tried to keep an eye on him during his peregrinations.’

  Macro chuckled. ‘Didn’t do him much good then.’

  ‘You’d better take us to this passage,’ said Cato. ‘And have your Germans meet us there, armed and ready.’ He nodded towards the sunset. ‘I think we’re in for a long and bloody night. Only the gods know what the dawn will bring.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ‘Next time keep a civil tongue in your head.’ Cato smiled pleasantly as he gently prodded the warehouse guard under the chin with the tip of his sword.

  The man looked confused, as well as scared. ‘Sorry, sir. I-I don’t understand.’

  ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ Cato frowned, robbed of his brief moment of pleasure. There was nothing to be gained from taking a small revenge on a man who had completely forgotten his offence in the first place. ‘Never mind. Tell me, has anyone entered or left the warehouse since you have been on watch?’

  The man glanced round at the group of big men who had stolen up on him in soft-soled boots while he dozed and then picked him up and pinned him to the wall of the warehouse of Gaius Frontinus. He swallowed nervously as his eyes turned back to Cato.

  ‘Best to be honest, if you want to live,’ Cato said softly, pricking the man’s skin slightly.

  ‘Just one m-man, sir.’

  ‘Reckon that’s Cestius,’ said Macro at Cato’s side. ‘What did he look like? Big bloke? Small?’

  The watchman looked Cato up and down. ‘About your size, sir.’

  ‘Not Cestius then.’ Cato eased his sword off the man’s neck. ‘How long ago?’

  ‘No more than an hour, I’d say.’

  ‘And no one else?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Right, then you’re coming with us. Macro, open the gate.’

  Macro nodded and stepped over to the heavy iron bolt and eased it free of the receiver as quietly as he could. Thanks to the curfew there was no one on the wharf but Cato was wary of alerting anyone inside the warehouse to their presence. Macro eased the gate open just wide enough to admit himself and the rest of the men in single file. Cato allowed Septimus, the centurion and five of his Germans to pass through before he nudged the watchman towards the gap.

  ‘Don’t make a noise or try to get away from me, understand?’

  The man nodded vigorously and Cato steered him inside. The warehouse yard looked just as deserted as it had a few days earlier. A crescent moon provided some dim illumination and by its light the centurion and his men quickly searched each of the storerooms. They were as deserted as before. There was no sign of any life.

  ‘Look for a hatch or some kind of drain cover,’ Cato ordered. ‘It has to be here somewhere.’

  The centurion and his men searched again before the officer reported back to Cato. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Damn.’ Cato released his grip on the watchman. ‘Have one of your Germans keep an eye on him. He’s not to utter a sound. If he tries to raise the alarm, or makes a run for it, tell your man to cut his throat.’

  The centurion nodded and called one of the bodyguards over to issue his orders in a mixture of broken Latin and their own harsh guttural tongue. Cato turned to Macro and Septimus.

  ‘There has to be some kind of access to the sewer system here. We have to look until we find it.’

  ‘Or we don’t,’ said Macro. ‘Or we run out of time. Face it, Cato, this is a long shot.’

  ‘No it isn’t,’ Cato replied determinedly. ‘It has to be here. Keep searching.’

  He strode away from the others and began a circuit of the yard, examining the ground under the carts carefully. Septimus came up to him and spoke in a hushed tone. ‘What if there’s a false wall?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Supposing Cestius and his men knocked through a wall into a neighbouring warehouse, and then made up a false wall to disguise the gap?’

  ‘No, that wouldn’t work. If they did that they’d have had to have hired another warehouse and we’d know about it. Besides, that wouldn’t explain the stink of Cestius and his men.’

  ‘You’re assuming that it was to do with the sewer. There could be other explanations.’

  Cato stopped to look at Narcissus’s agent. ‘Such as?’

  Septimus tried to think for a moment and then shrugged.

  Cato nodded. ‘Quite. Now, if you’ve finished, let’s continue the search.’

  Septimus went off in the opposite direction and Cato continued to work his way round the yard. There was no sign of any disguised hole on the front wall and he was starting to edge his way along the inside wall when the pile of sacking in the far corner caught his eye. A faint ray of hope glimmered in Cato’s heart and he made his way over to it. He knelt down and began to pull the sacks aside. Macro joined him.

  ‘Having fun?’

  ‘Just give me a hand.’

  They worked methodi
cally, clearing them away, and then, just before they reached the angle in the wall, Macro paused, looked down, and hurriedly pulled away several more sacks. ‘Over here. I’ve found it.’

  Cato dropped the sack in his hand and went to crouch by his friend. There amid the cobbles at Macro’s feet was a small wooden handle. Macro tried to clear some more of the sacking away but it would not move. Grumbling, he grasped a loose corner and pulled hard. There was a tearing sound, a length of the coarse material ripped free and Macro stumbled back with a curse.

  Cato knelt down for a closer look. ‘Clever. They’ve stuck the sacking down on to the hatch to help conceal it.’

  He grasped the handle and gave it an experimental pull. The hatch was heavy and Cato applied his other hand. An area four feet square began to rise. Cato turned to Macro. ‘Help me.’

  With Macro helping at the corner, they raised the hatch and eased it back against the rear wall of the courtyard. A wide ladder fixed to one side led down into pitch blackness. There was no sign of movement, but there was a faint sound of trickling water, and a waft of foul air.

  Cato turned and called as loudly as he dared, ‘Septimus, over here. Plautus, bring your men.’

  The others padded over and stood looking down at the opening. Cato gave the order for the torches to be lit. Plautus took out the tinder box from his side bag and began to strike sparks on to the thin sheets of charred linen. As soon as the first glimmer of a flame appeared he fed it with some dried moss until the flame was large enough to use. He gestured to one of the men carrying the bundled torches. ‘Let me have one.’

  He carefully dipped the tallow-impregnated cloth on the end of the wooden shaft towards the flame and held it there until the torch produced bright yellow tongues of light. Plautus rose to his feet.

  ‘Let’s light the rest of them.’

  One by one the torches flared into life and Cato took one. He ordered Plautus to leave the warehouse guard gagged and bound and then cautiously lowered himself on to the top rung of the ladder. He descended a few more rungs and by the light of the flame he could see that Cestius and his men had shored up the sides of the shaft with stout timbers. Ten feet down, the shaft opened up and Cato held the torch out to examine his surroundings. Old brickwork curved away on both sides and below there was a dull gleam of moving water. The ladder descended another six feet and then he reached the bottom. He was standing on a narrow paved walkway to one side of a small tunnel. It was just possible to stand erect under the curved ceiling. At his side a glistening flow headed steadily towards the Great Sewer. The air was thick with the stench of human waste and Cato wrinkled his nose in disgust.