He crossed to the door, gently eased the latch up and left the room as quietly as possible. Cato heard some of the steps creak faintly and then there was silence in the stairwell. Cato pulled the borrowed cloak tighter about his shoulders, his nose wrinkling with distaste at the reek of urine. He sat still for a while as he pondered the situation. Macro was right. This was no business for a pair of soldiers to be involved in. The two of them were far more use to Rome out on the frontiers fighting barbarians. That was simple thinking, Cato chided himself. The empire faced enemies from all sides and it was the duty of a soldier to deal with any threats. Besides, Narcissus had promised to reward them if they successfully carried out the task he had set. Thought of that set Cato’s mind towards Julia.
He had been trying not to think of her, but she was a distraction that was hard to ignore, like a permanent ache in his heart. The moment he let his mind wander, it was likely to turn to memories of Julia and the anxiety over the prospect of not spending the future with her. They had not seen each other for over a year. While Cato had been involved in the hunt for the fugitive gladiator, Ajax, and the campaign against the Nubians in Egypt, Julia had been living in Rome, enjoying the society of the rich and powerful. She was young and beautiful and bound to attract attention.
Cato’s anguish welled up painfully as he recalled just how beautiful she was, and how she had given herself to him, heart and body, in the months they had been together in Syria and Crete. The fact was they had been apart longer now than they had spent together, and though his feelings for her had been constant, nourished by the prospect of reunion, he had no idea if she still felt the same about him. His instinct said she did, but Cato was distrustful of himself. It could just as easily be naive wishfulness. The rational part of his mind coldly determined that it was more than likely her affections had faded. What was the memory of a young soldier to her now when she was surrounded by the refinement and glamour of Rome’s high-born society?
Cato reached up a hand to his face and traced his fingertips across his cheek, as she had done when they first made love. He closed his eyes and forced himself to recall every detail of the setting, every sound and scent of the small garden beneath a Syrian moon. His mind painted her into the scene with every embellishment that he could summon, far beyond the skills that the rough hand of nature used in fashioning the real world. Then his fingertips brushed over the hard lumpy skin of the scar and his heart burned with disgust and fear. Cato’s eyes flickered open. He breathed deeply for a moment before picking up the lamp and rising to his feet. He placed the lamp back on the shelf and blew out the flame.
Outside in the street he glanced around but there was no sign of movement so he turned back towards the main street running down the Viminal Hill. As he approached the square, Cato stopped for a moment and thought quickly, picturing the entrance to the inn where Macro sat waiting. There were two alleys a short distance apart that offered the best view of the River of Wine. Cato approached the square from the far end of the alley nearest to the inn. Resting one hand on the handle of his dagger, he crept forward, feeling his way along the rough wall and carefully testing each footstep as he went. There was a shallow bend a short distance before the alley gave out on to the square and as he reached it, Cato held his breath and peered round the corner. At first he saw nothing, but then the faintest loom of mist curled gently from behind a buttress close to the end of the alley. It came again and Cato realised that someone was breathing. From where he was he could not see anybody, so he steeled himself and continued forward slowly, until he had a view of the profile of a man watching the inn across the square. Cato stood quite still and waited. At last the man shifted his position slightly and afforded Cato a quick three-quarter view of his features. Cato smiled thinly as he recognised the man beyond any doubt.
He slowly worked his way back round the corner and up the alley. There he pulled the hood of the cloak up and continued until he came to the junction with the next thoroughfare. He made his way to the edge of the square and affecting a drunkard’s gait he half walked, half staggered across to the entrance of the inn, being careful not to glance towards the alley from where Sinius’s spy kept watch. Cato stumbled through the door and veered off towards the table where Macro and Porcinus were sitting. As soon as he was out of sight of the alley, Cato stood straight and flicked the hood back.
Macro smiled with relief. ‘You’ve been quite a while. Done what you needed to?’
‘Yes.’ Cato undid the pin fastening of the foul-smelling cloak and tossed it to Porcinus.
‘You finished with me then, sir?’ asked the fuller. ‘I can go?’
‘Yes. Better catch up with your mates before they spend all the money I gave ‘em.’
‘Too bloody right.’ Porcinus hurriedly swapped Cato’s cloak for his own and nodded a swift farewell before he hurried off. Cato took his place on the bench opposite Macro.
‘I’ve told Septimus everything I can. He’ll report back to Narcissus. Now we need to decide what to do about Lurco. We’ll need to work fast.’
‘Why? What’s the rush?’
Cato thought for a moment. ‘The Liberators have made one attempt on the imperial family. They failed last time, and they’ll be planning something else. The sooner we work our way into the conspiracy the better. Oh, and there’s one other thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘I know who Sinius is using to watch us. He’s in an alley across the square. It’s Tigellinus.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The morning air was cold and clammy as the century stood to attention on the small parade ground between the barrack blocks. Macro and Cato held their shoulders back and thrust their chests out as Centurion Lurco and his optio marched down the front rank scrutinising the uniforms and equipment of his men. They were wearing their off-white tunics under their armour and were armed with shield and javelin as well as their swords and daggers. It was kit that the Praetorian Guard rarely had cause to use, but the recent riot had obliged the elite formation to turn out ready for action every day.
Macro and Cato were positioned at the end of the front rank, on the right flank, with the other men from Tigellinus’s section. They stood, legs braced, shield gripped by their left hand while their right held the javelin shaft, just below the swelling of the iron weight designed to give the weapon greater penetration when it was thrown. They, like the rest of the men on parade, were staring straight ahead. The centurion stopped a short distance from them and scowled at one of the men in the next section.
‘There is what looks like a turd on your boot.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You do not come on parade dressed in shit.’
‘No, sir. Must have been one of the wild dogs, sir. Got into the barracks.’
‘You-do-not-make-excuses!’ Lurco shouted into his face. ‘Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Lurco turned briefly to his optio. ‘Tigellinus, mark him down for ten days on latrine duty since he has developed a taste for shit.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Tigellinus made a quick note on his waxed slate.
The centurion looked the man over for further signs of fault. He reached for the guardsman’s sword handle and gave it a pull. There was a slight grating sound as the weapon left its scabbard.
‘There’s rust on this. Make that twenty days.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Tigellinus amended his note.
The two officers continued down the line and stopped in front of Macro. Lurco inspected him closely. Finding no fault, he nodded and then turned and strode a few paces back along the line before he called out, so that all his men could hear.
‘Thanks to our fine effort the other day the Emperor has requested that my century guards his imperial majesty and his family for the next month. A signal honour, as I am certain you will all agree. To which end I demand a perfect turnout by you men. Until the situation is settled in Rome you will not be wearing the toga. Instead you will appear as you are kitted out now. As it h
appens, the Emperor is quitting the city for a few days to inspect the works in Ostia and also the draining of the marshes around the Albine Lake, to the south-east of the city. It will be our duty to escort him on these excursions. He leaves tomorrow. So we will be smart and create a fine impression on any civvies that come out to cheer the Emperor. If any of you let me down, you will suffer the consequences.’ He turned to Tigellinus. ‘Optio, take over.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Tigellinus snapped his waxed tablet closed and hurriedly placed it in his side bag along with the stylus. As the centurion strode off, making for his quarters at the end of the nearest barrack block, Tigellinus gave the order for the men to fall out, and then strode off in the direction of the camp’s headquarters.
Cato and Macro relaxed their posture alongside the other men. Then Macro glanced at Cato. ‘What was that about the Albine Lake? Any idea what’s going on there?’
Cato recalled that the lake was a large body of water in the foothills half a day’s march from the city. He had passed by it a few times as a child and did not relish the memory. The lake was surrounded by low-lying boggy ground infested with mosquitoes and other insects, which made the land useless for farmers, as well as forcing travellers to make lengthy diversions around the affected area. Draining it was a long-awaited project, finally being realised under Claudius.
‘Another of the Emperor’s big civil projects,’ Cato replied. ‘Seems there’s been more than a few changes in Rome since we left. First a new port, now the lake, and a new wife and stepson.’
‘But still the same old Narcissus,’ Macro muttered sourly. ‘Pulling strings behind the scenes. Some things never change.’
They followed the other men leaving the parade ground and returned to their section room. Fuscius was already there, carefully placing his cleaned armour and weapons back on their pegs. He nodded a greeting as the others lowered their shields and began to follow suit.
‘Bloody footslogging,’ Fuscius complained. ‘It’s been bad enough with all the patrols we’ve had to mount in the city. My bloody boots are giving me blisters.’
‘Hah, you’re too soft, lad,’ Macro replied. ‘Wait until you’ve had to do some proper soldiering, like Capito and me. Then you’d know what real marching is like.’
Fuscius stared at him. ‘Spare me the back-in-my-day routine, Calidus. I’m just pissed off with those bloody rioters in the city. Now they’ve gone and made my life even more difficult because the Emperor wants to divert their attention to the great works he’s doing for the benefit of the people. Pah, it’s a goodwill stunt and nothing else. I’ll be glad when things have settled down again.’
‘Assuming that happens,’ said Cato.
‘Oh it will,’ Fuscius replied. ‘I’ve heard a rumour that the Emperor’s diverted some grain from Sicilia. Once that reaches the city, it’ll keep the mob quiet while other supplies are organised.’
‘And where did you hear that?’
Fuscius tapped his nose. ‘Friends of friends.’
Macro snorted and shook his head. ‘Like you have highly placed contacts …’
Cato pursed his lips. ‘Well, I hope you’re right. The Emperor needs to buy some time.’
Fuscius hung up his sword belt. ‘There’s a dice game in the mess. You two want to come?’
‘Sure,’ Macro answered. ‘Soon as we’re done here.’ He patted the purse hanging at his side and smiled. ‘Time to spend some of the pay that headquarters advanced us.’
‘Or lose the lot.’ Fuscius laughed. ‘I’d be careful to check the dice before you play. Some of the lads are not above trying to put one over on new recruits.’
‘I wasn’t born yesterday.’ Macro raised a fist. ‘Besides, let ‘em, if they dare.’
Once Fuscius had gone, Macro turned to Cato. ‘What are we going to do about Lurco? You said you had a plan.’
Cato glanced towards the door to make sure no one was within earshot before he replied. ‘Centurion Lurco is a keen party boy. More often than not he spends the night away from the barracks. It’s a question of following him and trying to catch him alone.’
‘And then?’
‘Then we have to tell him the situation.’
Macro snorted. ‘That’s great. He gets accosted by two of his men, rankers, and you think he’ll sit down quietly for a chat? Let’s assume, for argument’s sake, that he doesn’t listen to us. Then what?’
‘Then we use force and take him to the safe house and get Septimus to arrange for him to disappear, until the conspiracy is crushed.’
‘And when shall we do it? Tonight?’
‘No. We wait until we get back from escorting the Emperor. If Lurco goes missing tonight then there’s a danger that a different century will be assigned to guard Claudius while there is a search for Lurco. We need to stay close to the Emperor. Our first duty is to protect Claudius from any further attempts on his life.’
They joined the dice game in the mess hall. Some tables and benches had been dragged aside so that the men could gather round the action. The standard bearer oversaw the cast of the dice and the raucous placing of bets between throws. Cato leant close to Macro and cupped a hand to his friend’s ear. ‘I need to drop a message off. Tigellinus may still be at headquarters, if he hasn’t returned to the barracks. Try and find him and keep an eye on him. If he leaves, you follow him. Agreed?’
Macro nodded. ‘Be careful.’
Cato smiled, and then waited until there was a roar of delight and frustration at the latest roll and the winners crowded round those taking the bets to claim their winnings. Using the chaos to cover his exit, Cato slipped out of the hall and fetched his old army cloak that he had worn in Egypt. He had decided that it would be best not to wear a cloak issued from the Praetorian stores if he was to blend in on the streets. When he reached the safe house he wrote a brief note to Septimus explaining his intentions for Centurion Lurco once the century returned to Rome after escorting the Emperor. He placed the waxed tablet in the cavity beneath the floorboards, turned the lamp towards the door as agreed to signal a message, and then left. Back on the street Cato pulled his hood up and headed towards the square where the River of Wine stood. Even though it was late in the morning the streets and alleys were far quieter than usual. The men of the Praetorian Guard and urban cohorts were still patrolling the city and breaking up any gatherings, as well as stopping and questioning anyone acting in such a way as to provoke their suspicion. Cato assumed that most of the Subura’s inhabitants were too nervous to venture out for anything other than food and water.
He was making his way down a dim alley when he saw a figure approaching from the other direction. Like Cato he was wearing his hood up and kept his head bowed. He wore an expensive embroidered tunic beneath the flaps of his cape. There was something about him that sparked a vague sense of recognition in Cato. Something in the way he carried himself as he paced down the alley, the swagger of a fighting man. As they passed, his shoulder caught Cato and he mumbled something that might have been an apology or a warning and continued on his way without breaking his stride.
Cato felt a cold tremor ripple down his spine as he walked on, not daring to look back immediately. It was Cestius. Cato was certain of it. He waited until he was a safe distance before slowing and glancing over his shoulder. The gang leader was already some thirty paces away, and then he turned abruptly into a side alley sloping down towards the Forum. Cato doubled back, ran to the tight junction and peered round the corner. Cestius was walking steadily on, head bowed. He passed an open door where a haggard woman sat on a step with a wailing infant clutched to her small, sagging breast. She muttered something and held out her hand, but Cestius swept by without a word. Cato let him build up a decent lead and then followed him down the alley, hurrying past the woman. He spared her a sidelong glance, just long enough to see her pinched face and large eyes. The infant’s arms were thin and spindly and the skull clearly defined under the pale skin. Beyond her he saw other children on the floor of th
e room, sitting listlessly as the family starved.
‘A coin, sir.’ She made to clutch at the hem of his cloak and Cato just had to time to swerve beyond her grasp. He increased his pace to get past her and then slowed to keep his distance from Cestius. The big man continued heading down into the heart of the city, emerging a short distance from the Temple of Venus and Rome. Then he turned towards the Tiber, keeping away from the centre of the Forum as he passed along the palace wall. A semblance of normality had returned to Rome, for some at least, and parties of officials and a handful of senators and their retinues crossed the Forum on their way to or from the senate house. A few of the usual market stalls were set up in the porticoes of the basilica, but there was not the usual loud throng of traders and shoppers that normally filled the Forum. Soldiers stood at almost every junction, scrutinising passers-by. Cestius kept clear of the soldiers as far as possible and left by a narrow unguarded alley, heading towards the Boarium market and the warehouse district.
As Cato kept up with the man, his mind was whirling anxiously. Why was Cestius courting danger by taking to the streets when a reward had been placed on his head? Where was he going? Cato scrutinised the other man’s clothing. The cloak and tunic were expensive items and Cestius had replaced his heavy boots with a soft leather pair that extended halfway up his calf, the kind of boots that Macro would have derided as effeminate.
Cato continued following Cestius, down towards the Tiber, between the mass of the Capitoline Hill to their right and the palace on the left. The Boarium had suffered the same decline in activity as the Forum and no more than a third of the stalls had been erected. There were fewer soldiers in evidence, mostly clustered outside the offices of tax collectors and money lenders, many of whose premises had been looted during the riot. Cestius continued through the Boarium until he came to the bank of the Tiber, where the Great Sewer emptied into the river, then he turned left towards the warehouse district.
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