‘So what’s he like then, Caratacus? I’ve heard he’s a giant of a man, covered in those bloody tattoos the natives go for, and he carries the heads of the men he’s defeated from his saddle horns. And he’s supposed to have filed his teeth. That and taken part in the human sacrifices those druid bastards go in for. Is it true?’
Cato could not help a brief laugh. ‘What do you think? Does that sound like any man we ever fought in Britannia? Or anywhere else in the empire, for that matter? Caratacus is just a man, a soldier, like you and me. Not a giant, not a wild man, nor even much of a barbarian. Just a man, leading his people against invaders who came to take their land and enslave them. In his place, we’d have done the same . . . That’s all I have to say about that,’ Cato concluded and drained his cup before gazing contemplatively at the dregs.
Salinus stared back, mouth slightly agape, and then glanced at Macro who scratched his chin before he offered an excuse. ‘Been a long voyage. I’d love to stay and talk shop with an old comrade but we’ve got business waiting for us in Rome. So we’d better drink up and be on our way.’
The veteran took the hint, emptied his cup and rose from the bench. ‘It’s been an honour. I hope the Emperor gives you the reward you deserve.’
‘That would be a pleasant change,’ Macro answered ruefully. ‘But that’s another story for another time, brother Salinus.’
‘Then, if you come back through Ostia, look me up here at the inn. I’ll stand you a jar of wine, of your choice, sir.’
Macro grinned. ‘Then you can be sure I will.’
He held out his hand and he and the veteran clasped forearms before the latter bowed his head towards Cato. ‘Hope to see you again, sir.’
‘What?’ Cato looked up, hurriedly took stock and nodded. ‘Indeed.’
As Salinus led his comrades back to their spot at the far end of the bar, in a somewhat subdued mood, Macro let out a sigh. ‘Nice work. You killed the moment stone dead. I thought we were about to be in for free drinks all night.’
Cato shook his head slowly. ‘I’m sorry. I was miles away.’
Macro sighed gently. ‘It’s only natural to miss her, lad. I understand.’
‘Yes . . .’ Cato cleared his throat and continued. ‘And then, there’s Lucius. I am a father who has never seen his son before. I am not sure how to react. Not sure how I will feel about him.’ He looked up. ‘Macro, my friend, I am not sure how to cope with this. When we were in Britannia, I longed to return to Rome. But now we are here, it no longer feels like home. I have nothing to do but grieve and the world seems very dark . . . I’m sorry.’ He smiled guiltily. ‘It must remind you of the pathetic, shivering recruit you first met on that cold winter evening on the Rhenus frontier.’
Macro cocked an eyebrow. ‘Well, I wasn’t going to say so, but . . . Anyway, let me top you up.’
Cato sighed. ‘You think that’s going to help?’
‘Who knows? But it ain’t going to make things any worse. Is it?’
Cato managed a light chuckle and they drank some more before Macro continued. ‘Lad, I’ve known you for over ten years now. There’s not much you haven’t coped with in that time. No challenge you haven’t taken on and beaten. I know this is different, and that it feels like some bastard has ripped the stuffing out of you, but life goes on. Always. Julia was a lovely girl. And you loved her as dearly as life itself. I could see that. And, as your friend, I share your grief. But you have a son who needs you. And there will be other campaigns, where me and the men you command will need you too. You understand what I’m trying to say?’ Macro rubbed his lined brow. ‘Fuck, I’m no good with words. No good at all.’
Cato smiled. ‘You say what you need to. And I think I understand. Not so sure that you do though.’
His friend frowned, made to reply and then growled, ‘I’ll just stick with soldiering, then. That’s something I do understand, at least.’
‘Oh yes. No doubt about that.’
There was a brief pause, then Macro raised the jug and gave it a gentle shake and there was the lightest of sloshing noises from within. He poured it into his goblet and drained it with one swift action and set it down with a smack of his lips.
‘Right then. Time for moping around is over. Let’s get on the road.’
CHAPTER TWO
The excitement in the capital was evident some miles before Cato and Macro were even in sight of the walls of Rome. The road from Ostia was filled with carts, mule trains and people on foot, all keenly anticipating the celebrations to mark the defeat and capture of King Caratacus. Even though the event was not for three days there would be plenty of entertainment in the Forum and the surrounding streets. The markets would swell with extra stalls trading in snacks and delicacies, luxuries, such as scents and spices from the east, and souvenirs of the main event, with the usual range of forged militaria purporting to be captured Celtic weapons and druidic curios. Those families and individuals making the trip to the capital would seek out friends and relations to accommodate them, or simply find a place to sleep in the streets until the celebration was over.
Rome was overcrowded and malodorous at the best of times and Cato could imagine how much worse it would be with the influx of visitors, especially in the current weather. It had been many days since any rain had fallen. The two soldiers had been baked most of the time at sea and were again now on land. The road to the capital was shrouded in a fine light dust that left a patina on every surface and irritated the eyes and throats of the travellers. But even the sapping heat and the dust did not quell the high spirits of all those trudging along the paved route. Cato and Macro had left instructions with an agent in Ostia to send their baggage on to the prefect’s house, and set out on foot. Long years of marching in armour laden with kit meant that they were easily able to overtake the civilians trudging along the road. They stopped once at a crowded roadside inn and shared a bench in the shade of some pine trees with an optio from the Praetorian Guard returning from leave.
‘Britannia, eh?’ The guardsman puffed his cheeks. ‘Tough posting, that.’
‘Tough as it gets.’ Macro nodded with feeling, as he rubbed the puckered white scar tissue above his knee, the result of an arrow wound he had suffered in the most recent campaign. It still itched from time to time, a hot tingling sensation. The guardsman noticed the action and gestured.
‘You got that over there?’
‘Some little prick with a hunting bow took a pop. Nearly finished me for good. Not quite the glorious end that a centurion of more than twenty years of service might wish for.’ Macro laughed. ‘But then, most of us never get the chance to go into the shadows in a blaze of glory. Ten to one, it’ll be some foolish injury, sickness or the clap that’ll finish a man off. Plenty of time for any of that yet. But I’ll settle for the clap if I have the choice.’
‘Not wrong there,’ the guardsman laughed and offered his hand. ‘Gaius Gannicus, sir.’
Macro made the introductions and took a swig of water to clear the dust from his mouth before spitting it to one side. ‘Of course, for you Praetorian layabouts the greatest danger to life and limb is the clap. Believe me, I have personal experience of how easy you have it.’
Gannicus cocked an eyebrow. ‘You served in the Guard?’
Macro sensed Cato stiffening uneasily at his side. They had both served as Praetorians in an undercover operation a few years earlier. The kind of work that is best forgotten when its purpose is over. He decided to bluster over the slip-up.
‘Oh, come on! Every soldier in the empire knows what a cushy number your lot have. Swanning around Rome in your white togas and tunics, best seats at the games and first in line for any handouts of silver the Emperor decides to distribute to the army. Am I right?’
Gannicus had the good grace to nod.
‘The nearest thing you lot get to regular action is qu
ietly disposing of those who have fallen foul of the Emperor, or his wife, or even those freedmen of his.’
‘Too true, sir,’ Gannicus responded ruefully. ‘There’s been a lot of that in recent months, I can tell you.’
‘Oh?’ Cato leaned forward, looking round Macro. ‘What’s been happening, then?’
‘It’s those two Greek freedmen of his. Pallas and Narcissus. They’ve been fighting to be top dog for as many years as I can remember. It used to be fairly bloodless. But with the Emperor getting on, there’s the question of who comes next. Pallas wants his boy Nero on the throne, while Narcissus is pinning his hopes on young Britannicus. They know Claudius is not long for the world. Especially if he is given a helping hand by that wife of his, Agrippina.’ He glanced round warily before lowering his voice. ‘The grapevine says she and Pallas are more than a little cosy. Truth is she’s angling on using his influence behind the scenes and he needs her to make sure he’s the last man standing amongst Claudius’ advisers if, more likely when, Nero takes the purple. But you didn’t hear that from me, sir.’
‘I understand,’ said Cato. ‘So things are coming to a head?’
‘You bet. Narcissus has been using his agents to stitch up his rival’s supporters, and those senators close to Agrippina. Meanwhile, she and Pallas have been leaning on the old man to favour Nero over Britannicus, and at the same time getting rid of as many of Britannicus’ followers as possible.’ The Praetorian shook his head. ‘Been a right old bloodbath, I can tell you. So, as you can imagine, everyone is on edge in Rome these days. You could have picked a better time to return home, sir. At least you’re soldiers, so you should be safer than most. If you want my advice, steer clear of any senators, and their scheming. Most important of all, stay well away from those two bastards, Pallas and Narcissus.’
Cato and Macro exchanged a quick look. It was Narcissus who had compelled them to serve his purposes on a number of occasions in the past. Cato had good reason to loathe the imperial freedman but still more reason to hate and fear Pallas who had plotted to murder the Emperor, and Cato and Macro along with him.
Gannicus flipped open his haversack and took out a loaf of bread and a hunk of cold pork. ‘Care to share this with me, sirs? It ain’t much, but I’d be honoured.’
‘Thanks.’ Cato held out a hand and Gannicus cut him a generous wedge of bread and then tore him a strip of meat. He did the same for Macro and all three chewed in silence for a moment as they watched the people and mule-hauled carts and wagons passing by. Then Gannicus cleared his throat and took a swig from his canteen.
‘If you don’t mind my asking, sir, are you two home on leave?’
‘That’s right,’ Cato replied, keen not to be an unnecessary topic of conversation amongst Gannicus’ comrades. ‘Some rest and relaxation, while we await a new posting.’
‘I imagine there’s family looking forward to seeing both of you?’
Cato nodded. ‘I have a son. Ironically, Macro’s mother is in Britannia.’
‘Really?’ The guardsman turned his attention to Macro. ‘What would a decent Roman woman be doing in a barbaric dump like that?’
‘Long story,’ Macro answered with his mouth half full. He swallowed and continued. ‘But the short of it is that she’s running a drinking hole in Londinium. I own a half share. So, no family for me in Rome, but I dare say I’ll find ways of making myself at home.’
They finished eating and while Gannicus went to find a shady spot to sleep off his meal Cato and Macro got back on the road. The afternoon heat was oppressive and soon sweat was coursing down their faces as they strode mile after mile through the neatly tended farms on either side of the route. At length, as the sun began to dip towards the horizon, the road curved round a gentle hill and a few miles ahead of them they caught sight of the sprawling environs of Rome, lying over the landscape in a vast mantle of red tiled roofs with the lofty structures of temples and palaces rising above it all. It was a sight both men had seen many times before but it still caused a quickening of Cato’s pulse as he gazed on the capital of the greatest empire in the known world. From the grand palace overlooking the Forum, the Emperor and his staff had dominion over lands that stretched from the endless expanse of Oceanus to the parched deserts of the east. Peoples of every hue, of every degree of civilisation, or barbarity, sent tribute to Rome and lived under her laws. It was the responsibility of men like Macro and himself to defend the frontiers of that vast empire from those tribes and kingdoms without who looked on with envy and hostility.
Cato led his friend a short distance off the road to take in the view while he mopped his brow and they drank from Macro’s canteen. The awe of a moment earlier had passed and Cato now felt a twinge of apprehension. Somewhere amid that densely populated city was the home he had looked forward to sharing with Julia, where they would raise a family. Now she was dead, and no doubt her remains lay in a small urn, placed in a niche in the cold family tomb by her father, Senator Sempronius. All that remained of the lively, intelligent and courageous woman who had won Cato’s heart now lived on in their only child. It was the birth of Lucius that had fatally weakened his mother, and ultimately led to her death. For that reason Cato feared that there would be a bitter struggle between resentment and paternal love in his heart when he first beheld his son, already more than two years old.
‘Come on, brother,’ Macro urged him gently. ‘Not far to go now.’
Cato made no reply.
‘Are you sure you want to offer me a billet at your house? If you want some time alone, then I’ll understand. Time for you to get to know the boy, and time to grieve for Julia.’
Cato shook his head and tried to put on a brave face. ‘No. I’ve done grieving. You are welcome to stay with me. I dare say I could use the company.’
‘All right then. But I warn you. I’ve worked up a pretty big appetite. I’m liable to eat you out of house and home. I’m still hungry. Bloody hungry. Sooner we down packs and pitch up for the night, the better.’
They rejoined the road and even as dusk closed in over the landscape and the last of the light washed the hills and city in a warm glow, the vehicles and those on foot did not pause, but wound on, drawn towards the great city that demanded to be fed in exchange for the entertainment and other delights with which it lured visitors by the tens of thousands. The bright flicker of torches appeared along the city wall as darkness fell, and there were more lights further into the city, as well as the sprawl of campfires outside the gates where some of the travellers had stopped for the night. They gathered in circles about the blazes and there was singing and laughter as families enjoyed the cool air of the evening.
Cato and Macro pressed on and the blast of a horn announced the passing of the first hour of the night as they reached the towering Raudusculan gate leading into the city. They presented their military seals to the optio of the watch to avoid having to pay the toll, and passed beneath the arched gateway. It had been nearly three years since they had last been in Rome and the stench of sewage, rotting vegetables and sour mustiness was overpowering for a moment. The line of the Ostian Way continued through the densely populated Aventine quarter where the ramshackle tenement blocks, rising even higher than those of Ostia, loomed over the street. There were only occasional lamps and the thin light spilling from doors and windows to light the way as the two soldiers marched along the raised pavement beside the street. There were still plenty of people abroad, dodging round the carts that rattled over the rutted cobblestones, and though Cato could not help feeling conspicuous in his army tunic no one appeared to pay him or Macro any attention.
That gave rise to a slight, familiar, sense of resentment. Back in Britannia he and Macro had commanded hundreds of men who respected them and their rank. Comrades who had shed blood and given their lives so that the people of Rome could sleep free of the fear of any enemy, and live off the fruits of their soldie
rs’ conquests. Yet the hard-won victories of Cato and Macro and the army in Britannia were almost unknown here in Rome, and merely a detail on the capital’s gazetteer which itself was rarely read by the people going about their daily routine. They might as well be invisible. The deflating thought added to the ache in his heart as they passed the towering end of the Great Circus and started down the hill towards the Forum.
The centre of the city was ablaze with the light of torches and braziers, and the streets and open spaces were filled with carousers, hawkers, prostitutes and pickpockets, their din echoing off the walls of the temples and civic buildings. Cato kept a hand firmly on the flap of his haversack and proceeded warily as they picked their way across the Forum. At his side Macro did the same, even as his hungry eyes roved over the women leaning against the entrances of brothels. Some called out their services as the two soldiers passed by, but most stood with dull, powdered expressions, drunk, or utterly bored by the endless bump and grind of their trade.
‘Hello you!’ A tall, blonde woman with a small chin and an easy smile stepped into their path. ‘Soldiers, right? I do special rates for soldiers. Special rates and special services.’ She winked at Cato, who made to step round her and continue on his way. So she turned her attention to Macro and took his hand before he could react. He had enjoyed the company of a few women along the route back from Britannia, but still felt the familiar tingle stirring in his loins and paused to look her over.
‘Like what you see, do you?’ She smiled knowingly and held his hand tightly as she pulled it down and pressed it against the hairy mound between her legs. ‘And do you like what you feel?’
‘Very much,’ Macro chuckled, sorely tempted. Then he saw Cato stop and look back with a frown and he withdrew his hand. ‘Another time.’
‘That’s a pity.’ She gave his arm a squeeze. ‘You look like you could please a girl. If you come back this way, ask for Columnella. I’ll keep it warm for you. And what I said about special rates still holds true.’
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