Invictus

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘That’s what we say to the primus pilus!’

  Cato could not help laughing as he strode over to join them.

  Macro looked up and grinned. ‘And here’s your daddy!’

  He lowered the boy into his lap and then onto the floor and gave him a gentle shove. ‘Go and say hello.’

  Lucius hesitated, staring uncertainly at his father, sticking the middle fingers of his right hand in his mouth. Cato smiled warmly at him and hunkered down so that they were on more even terms. He held out his hands.

  ‘Lucius, come here, my boy.’

  The child did not approach but lowered his head and continued watching Cato from under his brow, as if that might hide him from sight.

  Cato awkwardly shuffled forward a step and tried again. ‘Come, Lucius . . . Here, I won’t eat you.’ He forced a smile as his son abruptly turned and hugged Macro’s knee.

  ‘Oh, come on now!’ Macro frowned. ‘He may scare the shit out of some hairy-arsed barbarian warrior but you’re better than that, little soldier. Here.’ Macro lifted him up, flipped him round and looked at Cato over the boy’s shoulder. ‘That there is Prefect Cato, one of the bravest men and brightest officers in the whole bloody army. You’re lucky to have him as your daddy. Now say hello properly, lad.’

  Lucius could not help looking up to his father and smiled shyly. ‘’Lo.’

  Cato felt a pang of jealous hurt that Macro had taken the opportunity to introduce himself first. He should have held back and given Cato that chance. The unworthy thought was hurriedly dismissed as Cato realised his friend would never have done such a thing deliberately. It was just a shame that Cato had slept longer. Now he had some ground to make up because of it. And perhaps the scar that crossed his face made him a somewhat frightening prospect. He sat down in front of his son and slowly reached out and took Lucius in his hands. Then, inspired by Macro’s example, he lifted Lucius up, pursed his lips and blew into the soft skin of the boy’s stomach.

  Lucius let out a shrill cry of fright and began to bawl as he waved his tiny fists and kicked his legs. Cato lowered him and looked at him in alarm. ‘What did I do? Are you all right? Macro, what’s wrong with him?’

  Macro gave an amused click of his tongue. ‘Beats me. He loved that a moment ago. You saw.’

  Lucius shrieked inconsolably and tears ran down his plump cheeks as his mouth gaped to expose two tiny pearl-like teeth.

  ‘What’s all this nonsense?’ demanded Petronella as she emerged from the house. She was carrying the pan of sausages and onion and hurriedly set it down before she took Lucius and hugged him close. ‘What’s the matter, little master? Were the great big men scaring you? Shame on them, eh? Poor lamb.’

  ‘But I didn’t do anything,’ Cato protested, his hands held out innocently. ‘I was just saying hello to him.’

  ‘Soldiers. What are they like?’ Petronella muttered. ‘Here’s your breakfast, Master. Enjoy it while I calm the boy and give him his porridge.’

  ‘Then you can feed him out here,’ Cato ordered. ‘With us. He might as well start getting used to being with his father.’

  ‘And his uncle Macro!’ Macro grinned.

  Cato turned to his friend and raised an eyebrow. ‘Uncle Macro?’

  ‘Why not? I’m the nearest thing he’s ever going to have to an uncle. Now then, let’s obey the good lady, and do some damage to these fine-smelling sausages!’

  As the nurse and her charge retreated to the kitchen Macro picked up his dagger, impaled a sausage, tore off the end with his teeth and chewed heartily. ‘Delicious! Tuck in, Cato.’

  There was no denying his hunger so Cato slipped onto the couch next to Macro and helped himself to a platter of sausages and onions. A short time later, Petronella returned with Lucius on one arm and a steaming bowl in her other hand. She took the remaining couch with the boy settled onto her ample lap. Moments later Macro slapped his belly and belched. ‘Delicious!’

  Lucius’ eyes widened at the sound and he pointed and laughed. ‘Mac, Mac!’

  Macro smiled with delight and tapped his chest. ‘That’s it! Uncle Macmac.’

  Cato sighed. ‘For the Gods’ sake . . . If the men you commanded could see you now.’

  ‘Well they can’t. Even those that survived the campaign.’

  There was a brief silence following the remark as both men recalled the terrible cold and gnawing hunger of the retreat from the island of Mona that had cost the lives of so many of their comrades. Then Macro coughed and reached out with his blade to impale another sausage, and saw that it was the last. He glanced at Cato and withdrew his dagger.

  ‘It’s yours.’

  Cato finished his meal as he watched his son eat the porridge. Towards the end, Lucius clamped his lips shut and turned his head to one side defiantly.

  Petronella tutted. ‘Come now, Master Lucius. Just a few more.’

  The boy turned his head away every time the spoon approached.

  ‘Let me have a go,’ said Macro, shifting from his couch. ‘I seem to have a way with the lad.’

  ‘If you wish, Master.’ Petronella passed the bowl to him. Macro scooped up a spoonful and directed it towards Lucius’ mouth. The latter drew his chin back and kept his mouth closed as his eyes twinkled.

  ‘There’s always one recruit who tries to defy his drill instructor,’ Macro smiled. ‘And if you think you’ll succeed where hundreds of others haven’t, then you are in for a great big fucking surprise, my little friend.’

  Cato swallowed and cleared his throat loudly. ‘I’ll thank you to tone down the parade-ground vocabulary in front of my infant son, if you please.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Macro paused and then his lips gave a crafty twitch. ‘Very well then, let’s try something else. He made a clicking noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ‘Here comes the chariot, heading back to the stable. Open the gate.’ He dropped his jaw and a moment later Lucius’ mouth opened and in went the porridge.

  Cato watched with a mixture of amusement and niggling jealousy at the easy manner between his best friend and his son, then he heard a distant rap on the door. Shortly after, he heard the bolt rattle back and a muted exchange between Amatapus and another man, then footsteps in the hall. The shuffle of the major-domo’s light sandals and the harsher sound of the nailed boots of a soldier. Then Amatapus entered the garden, closely followed by a Praetorian guardsman in a white tunic, the polished leather of his sword belt gleaming like glass.

  ‘Excuse me, Master, but this man has come from the palace to see you.’

  Cato nodded. He had half expected an early summons to make his report. But not first thing in the morning. He beckoned to the guardsman who stepped round Amatapus and approached the dining area, halting two paces from Cato’s couch.

  ‘You are Quintus Licinius Cato?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you, sir?’ The guardsman turned to Macro who was attempting to coax Lucius into taking the next spoonful of porridge. ‘Lucius Cornelius Macro?’

  Macro looked round at the Praetorian. ‘That is Centurion Macro to you, soldier. And Prefect Cato. Stand to attention when you address us.’

  The guardsman abruptly stiffened and stared straight ahead.

  ‘Better. Now what do you want?’

  ‘I have been sent to notify you that you are both summoned to the palace to present yourselves to Emperor Claudius and his council of advisers. You are to report to the office of the imperial freedman Narcissus at once. He will escort you to the Emperor.’

  Cato and Macro exchanged a look before Cato responded. ‘Narcissus?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Macro’s shoulders lifted in a resigned sigh. ‘Here comes trouble.’

  ‘Did he say why he wants us to report to him first?’

  ‘No, sir. That was
all I was told. That and to insist that you accompany me at once.’

  ‘We’re hardly dressed for the occasion.’

  The guardsman hesitated for an instant. ‘That is not covered by my orders, sir. I was just told to take you to Narcissus at once.’

  Macro folded his arms. ‘And if we don’t decide to come until we’re ready?’

  The guardsman jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘That’s why I brought my squad with me, sir. Seven of the lads are waiting out in the street. It would be best if I didn’t have to call them in, not in front of your wife and boy there.’

  Macro glared. ‘She’s not my wife. She’s a bloody slave.’

  Petronella raised her eyes and muttered irritably. ‘Thank you, Master.’

  Cato rose from his couch. ‘And the boy is my son. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir . . . Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Very well then, we’ll come. Wait in the hall.’

  The guardsman looked embarrassed.

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘I was instructed not to let you out of my sight, sir. It seems the imperial freedman is not convinced you will be willing to see him.’

  ‘Fancy that,’ said Macro. ‘I wonder why on earth he might think such a thing? Being such a great friend to us over the years and all.’

  Cato did not react to his comrade’s sarcasm. ‘We’ll get our boots then. Petronella?’

  ‘Master?’

  ‘Send word to Senator Sempronius and let him know where we have gone. If there are any, uh, consequences, then Lucius is to be taken to the senator. He’ll be safer there.’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘Macro, let’s go and see our old friend Narcissus.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The imperial freedman had visibly aged since the last time Cato had set eyes on him. It hardly seemed possible but he was even thinner and more gaunt and his tunic hung on him as if he was a wooden frame. The quick dark eyes had shrunk in their sockets and his hair was almost all grey and receding across his mottled scalp. He was hunched forward across his desk as his two visitors entered his office and sat down on the stools opposite without waiting to be invited.

  ‘Make yourselves at home, why don’t you?’

  ‘It’s only fair, since you abducted us from my house,’ Cato replied. ‘I’d ask for refreshments, if I could be sure they would be safe to eat.’

  Narcissus offered a thin grin. ‘It’s good to have two such trusting allies back at my side. Especially at this testing time.’

  ‘Allies?’ Macro pretended to choke.

  ‘Call it as you will, but all three of us have sworn to serve the Emperor and at least that is one thing we agree on: keeping true to our vow. Which is more than can be said for some. Especially that cold viper, Pallas.’ Narcissus folded his hands together and cracked his bony knuckles. ‘You two took a chance last night. Entering the city and making for your home before reporting directly to the palace.’

  ‘I wanted to see my son,’ Cato responded flatly. ‘I thought that reporting to the palace could wait until this morning.’

  ‘Your paternal devotion is admirable, Prefect Cato, but it is more politic to tend to your duty first. It’s lucky for you that the optio on the gate answers to one of my men so I got to hear of your presence first. The squad I sent to fetch you were as much for your protection as your coercion.’

  ‘And for that we should be grateful? Ordered here without a chance to wash or change?’

  ‘What good would it do you to be a neat corpse?’ Narcissus stared back coldly. ‘Yes, Cato, you should be grateful. Now you have a chance to represent yourself directly to the Emperor, rather than falling to the blade of one of Pallas’ agents the moment he realised you are here in Rome.’

  ‘And why would he go to such an effort to kill us?’ asked Macro. ‘We’ve been keeping our noses clean while we were campaigning in Britannia. Surely we are of no interest to him any more?’

  Narcissus could not help a brief snort of amusement. ‘Firstly, it really would be no effort at all for him to have you killed. A mere word in the ear of one of his henchmen and you’d be found face down in the sewer with your throat cut. Secondly, the pair of you have rather more knowledge of what we might call the affairs of state than is good for you. At least while Claudius is still living. When he’s gone then it will all be different. Old secrets will die with the Emperor and things that were dangerous to know will have lost their significance. Of course, there will still be grudges and I’m afraid that Pallas is precisely the kind of man for whom revenge is a dish that is best served cold. Cold as the grave. I strongly advise you to be on your guard, the pair of you.’

  ‘We are, of course, touched by your solicitude,’ Cato responded with a faint bow of his head. ‘However, I am curious to know why you have brought us here at such an early hour and in such haste.’

  ‘For your own good, like I said.’ Narcissus gave him a long look and Cato felt a slight tremor of surprise as he recognised the pity in the imperial secretary’s expression.

  ‘What’s the matter, Narcissus? What dirty work do you have in mind for us this time?’

  Narcissus recoiled, as if he had been slapped. He was still for a moment before he eased himself out of his chair and turned to gaze out of the arched window that overlooked the Forum, bustling with the inhabitants of the city. ‘I know that the pair of you despise me. You are by no means alone in that respect.’

  Macro coughed. ‘Who could possibly have imagined?’

  Narcissus did not deign to react to the barbed comment and folded his bony arms as he reflected briefly before he continued. ‘Despite what you may think of me, I do what I must in order to protect Rome. The empire is not perfect, but it is a force for order in a barbarous and cruel world. The people who live within its frontiers, whether they like it or not, are spared the endless cycle of conquest and savagery visited upon them by one despot after another. Rome spares them that, at least, so that they may go about their lives, raise families, grow crops, and survive without having to keep looking over their shoulders for the first sign of some savage warband determined to kill, rape and pillage. And at the same time, all that we have here in Rome depends upon the peace and prosperity of the wider empire. It is like some intricate device those Alexandrians are so keen on. A complex arrangement of components all working together. It is my job, my duty, to ensure that it all functions as smoothly as possible, and for that I must occasionally remove and replace certain pieces of the whole.’

  ‘That’s an interesting way of describing murder.’

  Narcissus spared Macro a brief frown before his gaze returned to the view over the capital. ‘Do you think I am insensitive to the injustices I must mete out for the greater good? I have been forced to live a life without friends, for I can trust no one. I have given my all in the service of Rome, and it has been a lonely life.’

  ‘Your choice,’ Macro pointed out. ‘You did not have to devote your life to knifing people in the back.’

  Narcissus arched an eyebrow. ‘I knife them in the back, you knife them in the front. At the end of the day they’re dead either way. The difference is you think there’s some kind of moral distinction that arises from where the blade lands.’

  Macro stirred as he thought about this. ‘There’s a world of difference between what you do and what I do. I take my chances man to man in a fair fight, whereas your kind stabs your enemy in the back, like the cowards you are.’

  ‘There are different forms of courage and cowardice, my friend.’

  ‘Never call me that again.’

  Narcissus pulled a face. ‘As you wish. But the point I am making is that we serve Rome according to our talents. I could never take my place beside you in battle, Macro. I wouldn’t last a moment. How is that a fair fight? My body is of little use to Rome. But as for my mind
, it is as potent a weapon as any number of swords. We both serve Rome as best we can, in our own way. That is our duty.’

  ‘Duty?’ Macro’s lips curled into a sneer. ‘A very lucrative duty as far as I can see. It’s no secret that you are one of the wealthiest men in Rome. You and Pallas both. Spare me the bollocks about duty. You’re in this for yourself as much as anything else. Like all those who meddle in politics. You wrap yourself up in fine words and fine sentiments, while peddling your influence, taking bribes and scheming to steal the wealth of others.’ Macro jabbed his thumb at his chest and then at Cato. ‘And men like us pay the price for the games you play. We pay with our blood, Narcissus.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Cato added in a more measured tone. ‘We’ve seen enough blood shed across the fields, forests and mountains of Britannia to know the truth of it. Ten years we’ve been fighting there, and the island is still barely more than a province in name only. And why did we invade in the first place? Just so that Claudius could have a military triumph to dangle in front of the mob. Yet there was no great victory, just one more bloody campaign after another. We only stayed the distance because it would shame the Emperor if Rome pulled out of Britannia.’ Cato felt his anger building and paused to calm down. ‘From what I hear, there’s plenty of men in the Senate who would be happy for us to quit Britannia. And Nero himself is of similar mind. And he’s first in line to succeed Claudius. Any hope of your lad taking the purple is fast fading.’

  Narcissus winced. ‘Britannicus is the natural son of the Emperor. Claudius may yet favour him. But it really doesn’t matter who wins out. Rome will remain in Britannia. If Britannicus takes the throne then he will be obliged to honour the policy of the father who named him after the conquest of the island.’

  ‘Some conquest,’ Macro sniffed derisively.

  ‘And if Nero takes the throne then he is surrounded by men who have made huge investments in Britannia. Pallas and Seneca alone have tens of millions of sestertii on loan to the rulers of native tribes. I doubt they will be prepared to write off such sums in the event of the legions pulling out of the island.’ Narcissus let his words sink in for a moment. ‘So, we’re in Britannia for the long haul . . . Not that it will concern me for much longer.’