‘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.’
‘There’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.’
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.’
‘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?
He tried to shake off his doubts and concentrate his thoughts on his reply to Fuscius. It was possible that the younger man was testing him. Perhaps Fuscius was involved in the conspiracy in some way. Or had he overheard something? More worrying still was the possibility that he simply reflected the views of many in the ranks of the Praetorian Guard.
‘A new emperor,’ Cato mused. ‘And you reckon it’ll be Nero.’
‘Who else?’
‘He’s the most likely candidate to replace Claudius,’ Cato conceded. ‘Although, there’s another possibility. Why should we bother with another emperor at all? Why not return to the days of the Republic? Of course, we’d be out of a job. What would be the point of the Guard without an emperor to protect?’
Fuscius stared at Cato for a moment. ‘Whoever it is that rules Rome, you can be sure that they’ll want protection. The senate will need looking after just as much as an emperor. And they’ll be prepared to pay for it.’
Macro laughed. ‘You’re suggesting that the Praetorian Guard enters the protection racket.’
Fuscius shrugged. ‘Call it what you like. The fact is, we’re the real power behind the imperial throne, or whoever else we choose to support.’
‘Do you really think that the army should seize power?’ asked Cato.
A smile flickered across t
he young guardsman’s face. ‘Not at all. Just think of it as an unofficial check on the power of whoever rules Rome. For which service we will be handsomely rewarded.’
‘Or else,’ Macro added sardonically.
The latch on the door snapped up and the door swung open and all three men started guiltily as they turned to see Optio Tigellinus standing on the threshold of the room. He regarded them curiously.
‘What’s this? You look like a bunch of toga lifters caught in the act.’ He let out a grunt of amusement before he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Calidus, Capito, you’re wanted at headquarters. Centurion Sinius sent for you. Better hop to it.’
‘Yes, Optio.’ Cato nodded. ‘Any idea what he wants?’
‘Not a clue.’ Tigellinus smiled thinly. ‘That’s up to you to find out, my lad.’
Cato discreetly felt the slender bulge of the object in his belt purse. He had been expecting the summons.
Tigellinus began to untie the helmet strap under his chin as Cato and Macro made for the door. Just as they reached the threshold, the optio spoke again.
‘Don’t think that I haven’t noticed how fond you two are of slipping out of the camp. You’d better not be doing anything that’s going to cause me trouble, understand?’
Cato did not reply, but simply nodded, then gestured to Macro and they left the barracks and headed across the camp to headquarters.
‘I understand that Centurion Lurco has gone missing.’ Sinius cocked his head to one side as he regarded the two guardsmen standing in front of the desk in his office. ‘He’s nowhere to be found. The officer in charge of the watch on the main gate reports that he left the camp last night and he didn’t return. Can I take it that we need not expect to see him again?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cato replied.
‘What happened to Lurco?’
Cato reached into his purse and drew out a small object and tossed it on to the desk where it landed with a soft thud. Centurion Sinius could not help briefly wrinkling his nose in distaste as he looked down at the severed finger, bearing the equestrian ring that belonged to Lurco. Cato watched his reaction closely. The finger had come from one of the fresher corpses washed out of the mouth of the Great Sewer. It had been short work to cut the finger off and ease Lurco’s ring into place. The combination would have a convincing effect, Cato had reasoned, and would carry more weight than the simple claim that he and Macro had murdered the commander of their century. Sinius lifted the finger up for closer inspection of the crest on the ring and after a brief silence he nodded in satisfaction and laid it back on the desk. He looked up at Cato.
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