Praetorian c-11

by Simon Scarrow

  Cato glanced from side to side for a moment before he consulted Septimus. ‘I reckon we must be close to the Aventine.’

  The imperial agent thought for a moment and then nodded. ‘I think you’re right.’

  ‘In which case, the left tunnel would take us towards the Palatine, and the other one into the Aventine district. Where would Cestius be most likely to hide the grain?’

  ‘I doubt he would want to hide it near the palace. There are several secret tunnels beneath it, as you know. He wouldn’t want to risk running into any of those. The other tunnel is our best bet.’

  ‘I agree. Let’s have a look. Macro, you come too.’ Cato turned to the centurion. ‘Stay here while we scout ahead. I’ll send Septimus back for you if it looks like we’re on the right track.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But don’t be too long, eh?’ Plautus sniffed. ‘The air here is fucking horrible.’

  Cato grinned and clapped the man on the shoulder before he entered the right tunnel, followed by Macro and Septimus. Thankfully there was another walkway on the side that saved them from having to wade upstream through the flow of sewage. Cato kept his torch up and paused every so often to examine the sides of the tunnel and the paving stones at their feet. They had gone no further than fifty feet when he stopped and turned round to face the others.

  ‘This isn’t the right way.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ asked Macro.

  ‘There’s no sign that anyone’s used this route for a while. Look at the walls. They’re untouched. Same with the walkway.’ He used the edge of his boot to scrape some of the grime from the stone beneath. ‘We’ve missed something. Come on, we have to go back.’

  Back in the chamber Cato looked round again, then his gaze fixed on the cataract. He worked his way around the edge of the chamber to examine it more closely. The channel above the pool was perhaps six feet high, and dropped eight feet into the pool. Tendrils of some kind of growth hung down amid the flow cascading from above. Cato held his torch up to the steady torrent, grimacing as some of it splashed on to him. It was impossible to see through the flow. He bit his lip. There was only one way to find out for sure if his suspicion was correct.

  Cato drew the torch back and held it low as he bent forward to shield it from above, flinching as he felt the heat of the flame. Then he sucked in a breath and edged forward along the narrow walkway leading under the cataract. At once his head and shoulders were pounded by water and lumps of solid matter. Then he was lost from the view of his comrades.

  Macro’s mouth opened in alarm. ‘What the fuck is he doing?’

  Septimus and the bodyguards stared towards the cataract in silence, waiting for a sign of Cato. For a while none of them moved, and the only noise was the crashing rush of fluid over the cataract, amplified by the brick walls of the chamber. Macro could not wait any longer to find out what had become of his friend and hurried round the edge of the chamber. He paused momentarily at the edge of the cataract but before he could steel himself to duck beneath the flow, something moved out from under the curtain of foul water and Cato, minus his torch, burst through spluttering, his eyes clenched shut. As soon as he was out of the flow he straightened up and opened his eyes with a grin.

  ‘Found it.’

  Macro looked him over. ‘You look like … well, you know what you look like. So what’s there?’ He jerked his thumb at the cataract. ‘Besides the obvious.’

  ‘Best if you see for yourself.’ Cato leant past him and beckoned to Septimus and Plautus. ‘Bring ‘em over!’

  ‘See for myself?’ Macro shook his head. ‘You are joking.’

  ‘It’s nothing we haven’t been in before,’ Cato quipped. ‘At least it isn’t deep this time. Come on, follow me. Just be sure to keep your feet on the edge if you don’t want to slip and end up in the pool there. And shield your torch. The rest of you wait here for a moment.’

  Cato led the way and with a reluctant sigh Macro followed him with gritted teeth. The sewage closed over his head briefly and then he was through and he found himself in a brick-lined tunnel stretching back behind the cataract. Cato bent down to retrieve the torch he had left on the ground. Macro mopped his brow and took a few paces further in and looked down the tunnel. The floor was paved and there was a channel in the middle, flanked by two stepped walkways, but the channel was dry.

  ‘What is this place?’ Macro wondered. ‘If Cestius and his lads put it together then they’re a damned sight better organised than I thought.’

  ‘I doubt they had anything to do with it,’ Cato responded. ‘I had a brief look further along. There’s a feed tunnel off to the right and a bit further on this comes to a dead end. My guess is this section of the sewer was abandoned. At least until Cestius and his gang started to use it.’

  ‘What makes you think they have?’

  ‘This.’ Cato held up his spare hand and opened it to reveal a few grains of wheat. ‘I found it just inside the tunnel leading off this one. They brought the grain this way sure enough.’

  ‘Then that’s a pity. It’s sure to have been spoiled by going under that river of shit back there.’

  ‘No. That’s not how they did it,’ Cato’s eyes gleamed. ‘Come and see.’

  He led Macro back to the cataract and pointed up at the ceiling. For the first time, Macro noticed a wooden board secured to the brickwork by a bolt at each corner close to the cataract. The other end had a chain attached to a hook mounted in the ceiling. Cato handed his torch to Macro and lifted the chain off the hook and eased the board towards the cataract. As he did so, a long stout wooden shaft clattered to the floor, narrowly missing his boots.

  ‘Aha! I thought there would be something.’ Cato nodded. ‘Right then, the next part should make it all clear to you. Watch.’

  Bracing his boots, Cato pushed the board out into the flow, straining as he pushed it out and up. The flow of the sewage was deflected away from the ledge and now the two of them could see the startled expressions of the other men. ‘Get that post!’ said Cato. ‘Wedge it up under the board. Quickly. I don’t know how long I can hold this up.’

  Macro grabbed the post and stood beside Cato as he placed one end under the board and then scraped the other end into a small niche in the floor that seemed to have been cut into the stone deliberately. ‘There.’

  They stood back and watched as the flow poured over the edge of the board, well clear of the ledge running under the cataract. Septimus appeared round the corner of the tunnel, then Plautus and the first of the Germans.

  ‘Can’t tell you how glad I am you came up with that.’ Septimus nodded at the board. ‘Otherwise …’ he gestured towards them with a grimace.

  ‘It wasn’t down to me,’ said Cato. ‘It’s something that Cestius and his friends came up with, so they could get the grain through without exposing it to the sewage. Simple, but very effective.’ He turned to Plautus. ‘I think we’re very close to them now. Have your men draw their swords. We’ll also put out some of the torches. Calidus, Septimus and I will feel our way ahead. You follow on, slowly. We can’t afford to give ourselves away until we know what lies ahead.’

  Plautus nodded. ‘We’ll be ready to go in as soon as you give the word, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ Cato held his torch out into the flow to douse the flames and then handed it to one of the Germans before he turned towards the tunnel. He took a calming breath and the three of them set off, the padding of their soft-soled boots drowned out by the sound of the cataract until they had gone a good fifty feet further. The light from the torches faded behind them. Cato trailed his fingertips against the side of the tunnel until they came to an opening. He slowed down. ‘Here. To the right.’

  ‘Can’t see a bloody thing,’ Macro grumbled from the darkness. ‘Daft idea not to bring at least one of the torches.’

  ‘Too risky,’ Cato replied. ‘We’ve no idea what lies ahead. Best not to risk alerting Cestius.’

  ‘We’re sure to outnumber him. Those German lads might not be
the sharpest arrows in the quiver but they’re tough. We’ve got nothing to fear from Cestius. Not unless he’s got a small army tucked away down here.’

  ‘He might have, for all we know. But I’m more worried about him getting away. I need to speak to him, if I can.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Septimus.

  ‘I need some answers,’ Cato replied bluntly. ‘We’re wasting time. Let’s move.’

  They set off down the side tunnel, feeling their way in the darkness with one hand on the wall, while they probed ahead with the toes of their boots. The floor of the tunnel was dry and the only sounds were the occasional scrape of their footsteps, the sound of their breathing and the scuttling of rats. Twice Cato thought that he could hear something ahead of them but by the time he stopped and whispered for the others to be still the sound had gone. The pace was slow and Cato worried that the Germans might start to follow them in their eagerness to finish the job and get out of the tunnels back into the open air. He glanced back frequently and was gratified to see the faintest glimmer of a torch only once. Centurion Plautus clearly had his men in hand.

  Which is more than Cato could say for his imagination. Every sound seemed grossly magnified so that he was torn between anxiety over the amount of noise he and the other two men were making and fear that the sounds were covering up any danger that may lurk ahead in the blackness.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Septimus muttered. ‘What if there’s nothing here?’

  ‘Then there’s no grain to feed the mob. The mob gets angry and kills the Emperor and you and Narcissus are out of a job, sunshine,’ Macro replied in a low growl. ‘Bear that in mind, and keep your mouth closed, eh?’

  Cato came to a halt. Macro brushed up against his back before he could stop and there was a final shuffle of Septimus’s boots before there was quiet. ‘Listen.’

  At first Macro could not separate out any noise that might be of significance. Then there was the unmistakable sound of laughter from ahead, a brief snatch and then quiet again.

  Cato turned in the direction of his companions, invisible in the pitch black of the tunnel. ‘Septimus, you stay here.’

  ‘What? Alone?’ The fear in his voice was clear. ‘Why?’

  ‘Calidus and I are going on ahead. When Plautus and his Germans catch up I don’t want them going any further unless I give the word. You tell him to stop and wait.’

  There was a pause before Septimus’s voice quavered. ‘All right. But don’t be too long.’

  Cato reached back and tugged Macro’s tunic and they edged forward even more slowly than they had advanced so far. A short distance further on they heard voices, more laughter and the shrill cry of a woman. Then there was the faintest hue of light ahead, revealing the dark outline of the tunnel as it turned to the left. The two men kept moving and soon they could see enough to light their way and no longer needed the reassurance of touching the wall. Cato lowered his hand to his sword handle and carefully drew the weapon. He heard a light dry rasp as Macro followed suit. Cato lowered himself into a crouch. His pulse quickened and his mouth felt dry. He slowed down and stopped as he came to the corner. The sound of voices, many of them, filled the tunnel now and Cato turned back and held up a hand to halt Macro who was just visible in the gloom. Then he edged a step forward and slowly looked round the corner.

  The tunnel gave out on to what looked like a huge storeroom, illuminated by the flames of several braziers and torches guttering in brackets fixed to the walls. In front of the tunnel the ground was a jumble of rocks. At first Cato thought that the space must have been constructed, then he realised that it was a natural cave that had been enlarged by human hands. The walls seemed to have been cut from the rock in places to expand the size. Guttering torches in iron brackets provided enough illumination to make out the details. Great mounds of grain sacks had been piled at the far end and extended well over half the length of the cave, some hundred paces long by forty across. To one side a wide ladder climbed up to a ledge, beyond which there was a brick-lined passage that sloped upwards into the shadows.

  At the near end of the cave were several tables and benches at which sat thirty or forty men. There were a handful of women too, in short tunics that reached just below their buttocks. Their faces were powdered white and dark kohl had been crudely applied around their eyes. To one side was a table longer than the rest. At its head sat Cestius, with a plump red-haired girl sitting on his lap, the fingers of one hand playing with his curls as he squeezed the breast that sagged loosely out of her tunic. The toughest-looking men of his gang sat close by, drinking and laughing with their leader.

  Cato gestured to Macro to join him.

  ‘What do they think they’re celebrating?’ Macro whispered once he had taken in the scene.

  ‘What do you think? They’re sitting on top of a mountain of grain in a city on the verge of starvation. They’re going to make a killing. Or someone is, and they’ll take their cut.’

  They continued to watch in silence for a moment before Macro spoke again. ‘I reckon we can take ‘em. Most of them are armed with daggers. There’s a few swords, clubs and axes about the place. They look tough enough, but they’ve had a skinful of wine and that’ll take the edge off their ability to fight.’

  Cato scrutinised the men in the cave. He agreed with his friend’s assessment, but they would still be outnumbered by Cestius and his gang. It would be prudent to make sure that Narcissus knew about the grain and the cave, in case the fight went against them.

  ‘All right, we’ll do it. But we’ll send one of the men back to report to Narcissus. Just in case.’

  Macro shrugged. ‘If you think it’s necessary. Thanks to those bastards I’ve had to spend the night wading through shit. I don’t feel like being very merciful.’

  ‘Nevertheless, we’ll send a man back.’

  They eased their way back from the corner and Cato pointed back down the tunnel to where a slight glow indicated the position of Septimus and the German bodyguards. ‘Bring ‘em up, but make sure they do it nice and quiet, and put their torches out. We’re outnumbered and we’ll need the advantage of surprise.’

  Macro nodded, then turned to make his way back down the tunnel. Cato watched him briefly and then returned to the corner. He stared at Cestius, determined to take the gang leader alive. That would not be easy, Cato reflected. Cestius was a powerfully built killer who was sure to fight to the death if he could. Even so, only Cestius could answer the question that had plagued Cato ever since they had clashed in the ambush at the Forum.

  The approach of Macro and the rest of the men was heralded by the light scrape of footsteps and Cato turned just in time to see the last glow of orange from the tunnel flicker out as the final torch was extinguished. The men emerged from the darkness and Macro gestured to them to fan out on either side. The Germans crept silently by and eased themselves into places of concealment behind the rocks. As quietly as they could, they drew their swords and crouched, waiting for the order to attack. Cato drew back into the mouth of the tunnel and hurriedly outlined the report for Narcissus. The German assigned for the task nodded as Plautus translated, then handed the man his tinder box and one of the extinguished torches. The German turned to make his way back into the darkness. A moment later there was a faint flare as he struck sparks, then again, before a brief pause and then a steady glow swelled in the gloom. It quickly faded away as the man made his way off into the tunnel.

  Cato crept forward to join Macro who was squatting behind a large rock in the middle of the line of Germans. Cato drew a deep breath to steady his nerves and then tightened his grip on the handle of his sword. ‘Ready?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be. Let’s have ‘em.’

  Cato tensed his limbs, glanced left and right to see that the rest of the men were watching him intently. Then he snatched a breath and shouted, ‘Follow me!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  As the cry echoed off the walls of the cave Cato leaped over the rocks in front of him and
sprinted towards the men and women at the tables. Macro let out a deafening roar that was instantly drowned out by the savage cries of the Germans as they charged. The laughter and drunken talk of Cestius and his men ceased abruptly as they stared at the bearded intruders racing towards them, swords drawn, bellowing barbaric war cries. For a moment Cestius and his men were too stunned to move. Then the spell was broken as Cestius turfed the woman off his lap and sprang to his feet, ripping out his short sword as he did so.

  ‘Don’t just fucking sit there! Pick up yer tools and get ‘em!’ he shouted.

  Cato was charging towards Cestius, visible over the heads of his men, when a stocky man with dark features and hairy arms stepped into his path, swinging up a heavy club pierced with nails. Gritting his teeth, the man swung the club in a savage arc towards Cato’s head. The end of the club, with its lethal spikes, whistled through the air and Cato ducked low as the weapon passed inches from his scalp with a whoosh. The man grunted as the shaft of the weapon struck his other shoulder, hard. Cato thrust his sword up at an angle and the point ripped through the man’s tunic and sliced open the muscles packed over his ribs. Instead of recoiling in surprise and pain, as Cato expected him to, the man just roared with anger, his senses numbed by drink. He swung the club in a vicious backhand. This time Cato stumbled back out of range and the head of the club swept past his face, and on into the head of one of the man’s companions who was staggering drunkenly forward to get into the fight. The full weight of the club struck home and with a sound like an egg being thrown against a wall, the points of the club pierced skin and bone and drove deep into the man’s brain. His head snapped to the side and then he collapsed, dragging the club down with him.

  With an angry curse his comrade wrenched violently at the handle of the club, trying to free it, but all he succeeded in doing was waggling his victim’s head about obscenely. The man’s jaw worked furiously and his eyes bulged as blood and brain matter spattered from his wounds. Cato pounced forward and stabbed the man armed with the club deep in the guts. He wrenched his sword free, thrust him aside and moved on, scanning the battling figures for Cestius. The flames of the braziers threw wild shadows as the men fought and the air was filled with thuds and the clatter and ringing of blades. It was hard to make out the features of any man in these conditions, and only the beards and bulk of the Germans singled out one side from the other. To his left Cato could hear Macro somewhere close at hand, bellowing at his enemies as he laid about him with his sword.