Praetorian c-11

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Not far before we’re in the open, lads,’ Macro called out encouragingly.

  There was a shout from above and an instant later a roof tile exploded on the ground beside Macro. Britannicus let out a startled cry as a shard gashed his hand. Macro drew the boy in closer and called out a warning.

  ‘Some of the bastards are in the buildings. Keep your heads covered!’

  More tiles came down from above and risking a quick look Cato glimpsed a figure lean out of a window, take aim and hurl a tile on to the head of one of the Germans. It struck him on the helmet, driving his head away at an angle, and he pitched over to the side. At once two of his comrades sheathed their swords and picked him up under the arms and dragged him along with the formation. With missiles clattering in from all directions, the soldiers instinctively increased their pace and those at the front began to pull away as they sought to get away from the danger from above.

  ‘Not so fast there!’ Tigellinus yelled. ‘Stay together, damn you!’

  He pushed his way to the front, brushing by Centurion Lurco, and used the flat of his sword to smack the shields of those who were moving too fast. ‘No man goes by me! I set the pace and you follow!’

  By the time they reached the end of the street, another two men had been struck down among the defenceless slaves huddled together at the rear of the party. One was dead and lay stretched out in the street. The other’s foot had been smashed and he limped along, falling out of formation and desperately struggling to keep up. Then the crowd caught up with him and they showed him no pity, even though he was simply a slave and quite blameless. His screams cut through the air and chilled Cato’s blood before they were mercifully cut off and the mob surged forward once again.

  As the party reached the precinct of the temple, the full scale of the riot was apparent for the first time. Several stalls in the Forum close to the senate house were ablaze and the breeze swirled the flames and smoke so that the fire writhed like a wild animal chained to a stake. The avenue leading into the Forum was littered with bodies, many still living, and their piteous cries filled the air. Cato noticed some wore the uniform of the urban cohorts. Many more market stalls had been smashed to pieces and only scattered remnants indicated the trade of the stall’s owner. A handful of ragged beggars and street children were looting the bodies for whatever valuables they could find. At the sight of the clusters of men who preceded the imperial party, most of the looters hurried into the safety of the Subura’s alleys.

  As soon as they were out in the open, the optio picked up the pace and the rioters moved out of their way, keeping a wary distance from the soldiers and their swords. Ahead, in the heart of the Forum, the din of the rioters was much louder, amplified and echoing off the temples and palaces that surrounded the Forum. Cato saw that Nero was terrified by the sights and sounds that surrounded him, yet they still had to cross the Forum and gain the entrance to the palace, assuming the mob had not broken through the gates and sacked the complex. With luck there would be some elements of the urban cohorts on hand who would rally to the Emperor and his bodyguards and escort them to safety.

  The avenue narrowed between the Markets of Caesar and the Temple of Janus, and then there was a short stretch of colonnade before the main Forum.

  ‘Not far now!’ the optio called out to the others. ‘Stay together and keep your eyes open.’

  The walls on either side closed in and the last of the rioters who had tormented them fell back and only a few more missiles were thrown. After the harsh battering of shields and armour, the scraping thud of the soldiers’ nailed boots suddenly seemed very loud. Cato was aware of the heavy breathing of the German bodyguards and the Emperor was muttering something incomprehensible as he limped along beside his wife, his weak legs making him look like a wet spider dragging himself from a puddle.

  The attack came just as they reached the end of the colonnade.

  With a roar, men streamed out from between the towering stone columns and threw themselves at the soldiers. Unlike the other rioters, these men were armed with a mix of spears, axes, swords, clubs and daggers, and well prepared for a fight. They drove into the shield cordon from both sides, trying to rip away the shields and strike at the soldiers. Cato pulled Nero closer in to his shield.

  ‘Stay with me.’ He spoke into Nero’s ear. ‘Whatever happens!’

  He looked round and saw that the attackers were concentrating on the front and rear of the column, where the Praetorians were positioned. As yet the Germans had not been engaged and they crouched expectantly, round shields up and their longer swords held at the ready. Then Cato saw a stream of men running from the shadows inside the temple. These were armed with swords and at their head was the now familiar face of Cestius. His expression was fixed in determined hostility as he leaped down into the narrow avenue and made directly for the Emperor and his family. Cestius’s men formed a narrow wedge on either side as they plunged in among the Germans. Cato saw Cestius duck a clumsy sword cut and clamp his hand round the bodyguard’s windpipe and crush it in one quick move. He thrust the gasping man aside and looked round quickly until he saw the two boys. Macro was closer and turned to face the threat, still trying his best to protect Britannicus.

  With a savage roar Cestius rushed forward, knocking aside another German. Macro’s sword came up and thrust out. At the last instant Cestius parried it aside with a ringing clash of blades and smashed into Macro and knocked him flat on his back. Britannicus stood alone and defenceless but Cestius spared the boy only a brief glance before sweeping him aside and charging on towards Cato, his teeth bared.

  There was no time to think and Cato went down on one knee, angling his shield as he pushed Nero to the ground. A look of surprise flashed across Cestius’s face the instant before he tripped and fell heavily across the shield, flattening those beneath. Cato felt the hot rush of expelled breath from the other man’s lungs. He pushed into the shield, straining with all his might, and Cestius rolled to one side, coming up on his knees, sword raised. His spare hand grabbed at the edge of the shield and he ripped it away to reveal Nero dazed and winded. The giant’s eyes filled with triumphant zeal as the point of his sword descended.

  ‘No!’ Cato shouted, throwing his body over the boy. The sleeve of his tunic caught the tip of the oncoming blade and there was a sound of ripping material and then a burning streak across his right bicep.

  ‘Bastard!’ Cestius snarled, drawing back his arm. Then he glanced up and saw Macro looming before him an instant before the boss of Macro’s shield struck him square in the face. Cestius fell back with a groan, his sword clattering to one side. He trembled for an instant and then lay still, his breath rasping.

  ‘Lad, are you all right?’ Macro called anxiously as he crouched beside Cato. He saw the rent in the tunic and the bright scarlet spreading across the exposed flesh of Cato’s arm and shoulder.

  ‘Nero?’ Cato turn to look for his charge and saw the boy struggling up into a sitting position, unharmed. The wave of relief lasted only a moment before the burning agony from his wound struck Cato.

  ‘Cestius is down!’ a voice cried out nearby. ‘Cestius is down! Fall back!’

  As quickly as the men had attacked, they broke off, retreating from the soldiers before turning and running back into the colonnade, the sound of their boots echoing off the temple walls. Macro helped Cato to his feet. The swift attack had been deadly enough. Several of the Praetorians and Germans had been struck down, as well as a similar number of the attackers. The Emperor was swallowing nervously and Agrippina’s eyes were wide with terror, but neither they nor their children had been harmed.

  ‘Pick up the wounded!’ Tigellinus ordered. ‘Close up!’ He looked round for his centurion and saw Lurco rising up from the street with a sheepish expression. ‘We should move on, sir. Quickly, in case those men come back.’

  ‘Yes.’ Lurco nodded. ‘Of course.’ The centurion cleared his throat. ‘The Sixth Century will advance!’

  Once ag
ain the column re-formed its shield wall round the freshly wounded, the surviving slaves and civilians and moved out into the Forum. Macro picked up Cato’s sword and replaced it in his friend’s scabbard and then pulled the torn tunic aside to examine the wound. ‘You’re bleeding badly but it looks like a flesh wound. Painful, but you’ll recover.’

  ‘Since when were you a bloody surgeon?’ Cato replied through clenched teeth as he adjusted his grip on the shield and held it up to protect Nero again. Then he quickly turned back to Macro. ‘Cestius?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘We should have taken him with us.’

  Macro chuckled. ‘You mean we should have killed him.’

  ‘That was an ambush.’ Cato lowered his voice so that only Macro might hear. ‘There’s more to this than there seems. We need to question Cestius.’

  Macro looked round. Several men had already emerged from the colonnade to carry off the bodies of the dead and wounded from the brief skirmish. Cestius had disappeared. ‘It’s too late.’

  Cato thought quickly. He could tell Centurion Lurco to turn back and try to recover Cestius before he was taken away, but Lurco was badly shaken and wanted nothing more than to reach safety without delay. The only way Cato could stop him would be to expose his true identity and try to pull rank on the other officer. Narcissus would have to vouch for him. And by the time that was established it would be too late to send men back for Cestius.

  ‘What’s so important about this Cestius?’ asked Nero.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’ Nero gasped. ‘That man tried to kill me.’

  Cato stared at him briefly then looked up as he kept pace with the other soldiers. The entire length of the Forum was littered with evidence of the severity of the riot. Scores of bodies lay on the ground. The doors of some of the temples had been forced and discarded loot lay on their steps. Several handcarts had been turned over or simply stripped of their contents. To the right, the fire in Caesar’s Market was still raging but a company of fire-fighters was already attempting to contain the blaze, with lines of men passing buckets of water from the public fountains. Elsewhere the men of the urban cohorts had almost cleared the Forum, except for a few running battles with gangs of men throwing rocks around the Temple of Venus to the east. Slowly the tension in the small party eased as they realised that the crisis had passed and they were safe.

  A century from one of the urban cohorts was guarding the entrance to the palace and hurriedly drew aside as they saw the Emperor. The column passed through into a small courtyard where Lurco gave the order for his men to fall out. Both the Praetorians and the Germans were shaken by the ordeal and leant on their spears and shields to recover their breath. Now that they were all safe, the normal hierarchy reasserted itself. The surviving slaves were ordered back to their quarters and Claudius was composed as he stood by his wife and called the boys to him. Britannicus clutched his father’s arm. Narcissus hurried over to the Emperor.

  ‘Sire, are you hurt?’ he asked anxiously.

  Claudius shook his head. ‘N-no. Quite all right.’

  ‘Jupiter be praised!’ Narcissus rejoiced, then turned to the Empress. ‘Your majesty?’

  ‘Unharmed.’ Agrippina smiled coldly.

  Narcissus turned to Britannicus and quickly looked him over to satisfy himself that the boy had received no injuries other than that to his hand. Then he saw Nero and with a flicker of anguish approached the boy who still stood beside Cato.

  ‘I saw the man attack you. I thank the gods that you were spared.’

  Nero nodded towards Cato. ‘This man saved my life.’

  Narcissus looked up and met Cato’s gaze without a hint of recognition. ‘Very well, I shall see that he is rewarded.’

  ‘You do that,’ Macro added quietly.

  Nero turned to Cato and looked him in the eye. ‘I am in your debt, soldier. What is your name?’

  ‘Titus Ovidius Capito, sir.’

  Nero’s gaze switched to the blood-soaked tear in the tunic on Cato’s shoulder. ‘Get your wound attended to, Capito. I shall not forget this. I never forget a face. One day, I shall repay you.’ He lowered his voice so that only Cato could hear. ‘One day I shall be Emperor. If you ever need my help, then it is yours. I give you my most sacred promise.’

  He grasped Cato’s hand and squeezed it firmly before he released his grip and turned away to join his mother and the Emperor. Narcissus watched him go then turned to fix Cato with an icy stare before he scurried back to comfort his master.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Four days later Cato was sitting on his bed when Macro and the others returned from their patrol in the city. Following the food riot the Emperor had ordered the Praetorian cohorts on to the streets alongside the soldiers of the urban cohorts, leaving the palace under the protection of his German mercenaries. There were checkpoints at all the major junctions of avenues and streets and even the smallest gatherings of men in public places were swiftly broken up. Rewards had been offered for the ringleaders of the riot and their descriptions had been posted on the streets surrounding the Forum. So far only a handful of minor rabble-rousers had been arrested and disposed of, their heads mounted on stakes outside the entrance to the imperial palace. Cestius was still at large, despite the small fortune offered to anyone who could lead the authorities to his hiding place. Such was his fearsome reputation that none of the inhabitants of the Subura dared to admit they had even heard of Cestius when questioned by patrols.

  Cato’s wound had been cleaned and stitched up by one of the surgeons in the hospital at the camp who had excused him from duties for ten days to give the wound time to heal. Cato had only ventured out of the camp twice, to visit the safe house and leave a message for Septimus, requesting a meeting to make his report, and then again a day later to see if there had been a reply. There was none and Cato had decided to stay in camp for a few more days before looking again, just in case his excursions drew unwelcome attention.

  ‘How’s that tiny cut on your arm today?’ asked Macro as he leant his shield against the wall by the door, and started to remove his sword belt and armour.

  ‘Stiff, but the pain’s bearable, thanks.’

  ‘As I said, a flesh wound. Little more than a scratch really.’ Macro struggled out of his chain-mail vest and laid it on the floor by his shield before slumping down on his bed. ‘Still, it’s a good way of ducking out of duties.’

  ‘It has served its purpose.’ Cato smiled briefly before his expression became serious again. ‘How are things in the city?’

  ‘Quiet. The Emperor has stamped down on it. He’s also sent word to every town and city within a hundred miles to send wagons of grain to Rome. The granaries of the Praetorian Guard are going to be used to eke out what little is left in the imperial store. Which means we will be on half rations from tomorrow. Not the smartest of moves.’ Macro shook his head. ‘We’ll need to keep our strength up if we’re to keep order on the streets. But if it helps appease the mob, then I guess it will serve its purpose for a few days at least. Beats me how Claudius ever let us get into this situation in the first place. He must have known the situation in Egypt was going to disrupt the supply for a while. So why didn’t he plan for it?’

  ‘Maybe he did but someone sabotaged the plan.’

  Macro cocked his head. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure yet.’ Cato reached his left hand up and lightly stroked the dressing over his wound, his fingertips sensing the lumps where the stitches had closed the gash. ‘Have you been keeping an eye on Centurion Lurco?’

  ‘I have. He’s a useless fart if ever there was one. Frankly, Cato, if he is involved in any conspiracy then I’d say the Emperor has nothing to worry about.’

  ‘That’s my impression too.’ Cato nodded thoughtfully then continued, ‘But it’s interesting how things are drawing together, wouldn’t you say? The theft of the bullion, Narcissus uncovering a plot, the riot, and then that ambush on us
the same day.’

  ‘No doubt you think there’s a connection between it all,’ Macro suggested wearily.

  ‘I’m not sure, but at the very least, it’s all pretty suggestive.’

  Macro sighed. ‘To your mind, yes. For the rest of us, it’s just a question of the shit being piled on. That or the gods have decided to give us some grief, for whatever reason. Either way, I think you’re jumping at shadows now.’

  Cato was silent for a moment before he responded. ‘Maybe it’s the shadows jumping at us.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  Cato tried to explain the thoughts that were troubling him. ‘Something’s going on. I can feel it. There’s too much happening to dismiss it as coincidence. All of this makes some kind of sense. Or would, if I could piece it together somehow. Right now I can only speculate, but I’m sure the conspiracy is real.’

  ‘Not very helpful.’ Macro eased himself forward and folded his legs. ‘Of course, it could be nothing more than the usual mess. The palace has screwed up the grain dole and some greedy bastards have pinched the silver. As for Narcissus’s conspiracy, well, when haven’t the Liberators been plotting the removal of the Emperor and the return of the Republic? We’re on a wild-goose chase, Cato my lad.’

  At the mention of his name, Cato growled. ‘Careful!’

  ‘We’re alone. What does it matter?’

  ‘It matters because you said it without thinking.’

  ‘Just like you did back at the inn, eh?’

  Cato flushed with shame. ‘Exactly. We can’t afford to make another mistake until this is all over.’

  ‘Come the day,’ Macro said wearily.

  They were interrupted by footsteps and then Fuscius and Tigellinus entered the room and began to remove their kit.