Praetorian (23 page)

‘Then there
is
a link between the robbery and the Liberators, as we’d feared.’

Cato nodded. ‘Narcissus is going to have his hands full. First the conspiracy, then the food riot, and that attempt on the lives of the imperial family.’

A brief look of surprise flitted across the other man’s expression. ‘What do you mean?’

It was Cato’s turn to be surprised. ‘He didn’t tell you? When the Emperor was on his way back to the palace from the Accession games, he was ambushed close to the Forum. A gang of armed men attacked the party and a handful broke through the ring of bodyguards. One of them made an attempt on Nero before they were thrown back.’

‘Oh, yes. I heard there’d been an … incident,’ Septimus said uncertainly. ‘Narcissus has men out on the street looking for the perpetrators.’

‘I take it that Cestius has not been found yet?’

‘Cestius?’

‘He was the man who led the attack and nearly managed to kill Nero. There’s a good chance there’s some connection between him and the Liberators.’ Cato thought briefly. ‘They’ve made one attempt. There may be others.’

‘I’ll warn Narcissus.’ Septimus was silent for a moment. ‘Is there anything else to report?’

Cato shook his head. ‘What was it that Narcissus wanted you to pass on to us?’

Septimus shifted and rubbed his back. ‘As you know, Claudius agreed to the betrothal of his daughter Octavia to Nero last year. He didn’t want to make the arrangement too quickly in case it seemed like the ground was being prepared to name Nero as his heir. However, the Empress pushed him into it. Then, several days ago, the Emperor told his advisers that he was thinking of conferring the title of proconsul on Nero.’

‘Proconsul?’ Cato could not hide his astonishment. The title was assumed by the gilded few in the senate who had completed their
year as consul. Even though the rank had become largely honorific since the end of the Republic, it was still a bold decision to award the consulship to a boy of fourteen. ‘That’s going to put a few noses out of joint in the senate.’

‘Indeed. Narcissus tried to persuade the Emperor to abandon the notion, but Pallas backed the Emperor and Narcissus lost the argument.’

‘Pallas?’ Cato had not yet revealed what Macro had seen below the imperial box on the day of the Accession games. He had no more desire to be embroiled in the personal relations between the Emperor and his wife than Macro. Nevertheless, Pallas was up to something. Cato scratched his chin and continued. ‘Do you know if the idea to confer the title came from Claudius?’

‘I doubt it. It is not the kind of decision that he would be confident of taking on his own.’

‘Then he was prompted by someone. Most likely Agrippina. Positioning her son for the succession.’

‘That’s what Narcissus thinks.’

‘And Pallas? What is his involvement in this?’

Septimus was silent for a moment before he replied. ‘Pallas is a confidante of the Empress, as well as being one of Claudius’s closest advisers.’

Cato smiled. ‘Something of a conflict of interests there, I’d say.’

‘Unless he, too, is preparing a place for himself in the succession.’

‘Is that what Narcissus thinks?’

‘The imperial secretary sees it as a possible course of action he needs to be aware of,’ Septimus replied warily. ‘As long as Pallas does nothing to, ah, accelerate the succession of the Emperor then Narcissus cannot act openly against him.’

‘But I dare say he is prepared to act against Pallas in a covert manner, if he isn’t already doing so.’

‘That is not for me to say, and it is not within your remit to even think about it,’ Septimus said coldly. ‘Your job is to gather intelligence and only act as Narcissus directs you to. Is that clear?’

‘Of course. Nonetheless, Centurion Macro and I prefer to be aware of the wider situation. We have our reasons to be wary of your master.’ Cato paused and then leant forward slightly. ‘Macro
and I will leave Rome when our task is complete, but you will remain here. I’d be careful not to tie my fortunes to those of Narcissus if I were in your place.’

‘You are speaking out of turn, Cato. I am loyal to Narcissus. It’s a rare quality these days, I know,’ he said drily, ‘but at least some of us know what it means to be loyal, and follow our orders without question.’

‘Fair enough.’ Cato shrugged. ‘It’s your funeral.’

The other man glared at him, tiny darts of reflected flame glowing in his eyes. Then Septimus lowered his gaze and cleared his throat and spoke in a less impassioned manner. ‘What are you going to do about Lurco?’

‘I’ve got an idea. But we’re going to need to bring him here. Then I’ll need you to get him away from Rome, until the business with Sinius and his friends is over. Can that be arranged?’

‘I’ll see to it. The centurion can have a quiet holiday at the empire’s expense. Can’t vouch for the quality of the accommodation though,’ Septimus added, and then was silent for a moment. ‘I’d better get back to the palace and report to Narcissus. I’ll come here every evening from now on. I get the feeling we’re running out of time as far as the conspiracy is concerned.’ He stirred and eased himself on to his feet with a grunt. ‘I’ll leave first. Give me a while before you follow, just in case the entrance is being watched.’

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.’

T
he 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 happens, 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.’