Praetorian (53 page)

Macro stirred and looked at his friend in surprise, but kept his silence as he waited for Cato to explain.

‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ Narcissus responded flatly. ‘I suggest you withdraw your groundless accusation.’

‘Groundless?’ Cato chuckled. ‘I don’t think so. I had it from the mouth of Cestius, before he died. You paid him to kill Nero.’

‘I did no such thing.’

‘He took his orders from Septimus who answers directly to you. It comes to the same thing.’

‘I’m afraid not. Cestius is dead. You have no evidence.’

‘Not unless we can persuade Septimus to confirm what Cestius told us. Not just about the attempt to kill Nero, but also about other tasks he performed for you.’

‘What tasks would those be?’

Cato stared at the imperial secretary. ‘Those associated with the threat posed by the Liberators for several years now.’

Narcissus met Cato’s eyes without betraying his thoughts in the smallest degree. ‘Go on.’

‘Very well.’ Cato nodded, gathering his suspicions and conclusions together. ‘Let’s talk about the Liberators. They’ve been a thorn in Claudius’s side ever since he became Emperor. More precisely, ever since you began to wield power behind the scenes.’

‘Most interesting. So what?’

‘There have always been conspiracies against emperors. But never anything as enduring and as secretive as the Liberators. Which is odd, given how they have failed to achieve much, until recently.’ Cato paused. ‘I’ve given it a lot of thought in the last few days. It occurs to me that if the Liberators didn’t exist, then it might be a good idea to invent them.’

Macro frowned. ‘What are you talking about? How can that be a good idea?’

Cato turned to his friend. ‘Think about it. There are plenty of people who would happily see the back of the emperors. They might even consider hatching their own plots against Claudius. But what if there was a secret organisation dedicated to his downfall? Not so secret that no one ever heard of them, of course. Wouldn’t
they attract the attention of almost every aspiring assassin? Far better to join other like-minded people than go it alone.’

Macro pursed his lips. ‘I suppose.’

‘Then what could be more logical than to use the Liberators as a front to draw out those who harbour a grudge against Claudius? It’s just the kind of scheme that a man tasked with running the Emperor’s spy network might come up with, don’t you think?’

Macro shook his head. ‘That’s a step too far. Even for Narcissus. That would be playing with fire.’

‘Yes, it would be risky, but while it worked it would provide an invaluable means of identifying traitors, and then arranging for their quiet disposal, or recruitment as double agents.’

Narcissus sat back in his chair. ‘All very interesting, but you have no proof that any such scheme ever existed.’

‘Of course not. That’s how it would have to work. The Liberators would need a high degree of autonomy if they were to believe that their conspiracy was real. Only there was something that you didn’t anticipate.’ Cato shook his head slightly. ‘You didn’t think that the organisation might take on a life of its own. You lost control of them, didn’t you?’

Narcissus did not respond, and there was a tense silence until Narcissus cleared his throat.

‘As I said, you have no proof to back up your wild speculations.’

‘I will have, once Septimus is interrogated. He was your middle man. He shared everything that you knew about the Liberators. He was more than a middle man, he is your right-hand man.’

Narcissus smiled. ‘As it happens, he is even more than that, Cato. Septimus is my son. Do you really think he would betray me? That’s why I placed him in that position. I can rely on him, at least.’

‘Your son?’ Cato was taken by surprise. Then he nodded. ‘That makes sense. But even a son might sell his father out, with the right … persuasion. I wouldn’t count on Septimus holding his tongue.’

‘Then you should not rely on him being taken alive for interrogation. Either he would take his own life, or it could be arranged for another to do the deed for him.’

Cato felt his stomach turn in disgust. ‘You wouldn’t do that.’

‘I would. Do you think a man from my background could achieve what I have without abandoning every principle save that of self-interest? Well?’

For a moment Cato’s composed mask slipped as he muttered, ‘By the gods, you are a monster …’

Narcissus shook his head. ‘I am the servant of the Emperor, tasked with keeping him on the throne at any price. That is all.’

There was a brief silence before the imperial servant continued. ‘I know that you may despise me for what I am about to say.’

‘No,’ Macro interjected. ‘We despise you already.’

Narcissus shot him an icy look. ‘Be that as it may, you have to understand the stakes before you condemn me. I am all that stands between the order of the Empire and chaos. That is the nature of my world. There is no room for all those fine values that you soldiers think are so important.’ His lips lifted in a sneer. ‘I think you’d better go back to the army. Your sense of morality is too dangerous to you here in Rome, and it threatens all that I stand for …’

Cato closed his eyes and fought down the bile that filled his guts. When he opened them again he refused to meet Narcissus’s gaze and turned instead to Macro. ‘I think I felt cleaner when I was standing up to my neck in shit back in the Great Sewer. He’s right, Macro. We should get out of here. Get out of Rome. Get back to the army.’

His friend nodded, rising to his feet. ‘Like I always said. Let’s go.’

Cato stood up, then looked at Narcissus for the last time. ‘You’ll see to it that we get our commands. Do that and we’ll not speak of what we know. Not to anyone.’

‘That is the deal,’ Narcissus agreed. ‘And since you wish for it so fervently, I shall be delighted to have you sent back to … Britannia. I’m sure the natives will be delighted at the prospect of your return.’

‘Suits me,’ Cato replied, then with a quick look at Macro he turned and led the way out of the imperial secretary’s office, feeling sick to the core of his being. Both men were silent until they had left the palace behind them and emerged into the crowded
thoroughfare of the Sacred Way, the route that ran through the heart of Rome.

‘Do you think he will keep his side of the bargain?’ asked Macro.

‘He will. It serves his ends to get us far from here as soon as possible. After that, he’ll have no time to spare us any attention. He’ll be too busy dealing with Pallas.’ Cato thought for a moment. ‘I doubt he’ll survive for long. I think he’s finally met his match.’

‘Then good riddance.’

Cato looked at his friend and laughed humourlessly. ‘Narcissus falls, Pallas rises and all is as before. That’s how it will be.’

‘So? By then we shall be far away. Back where we belong.’

‘Britannia?’

‘Why not? That’s where the fighting is best at the moment.’ Macro clapped his hands together at the prospect. ‘Think on it, lad. Battles to be won, booty to be had as far from that slimy reptile Narcissus as possible. And we still have that small fortune Sinius gave us. What could be better?’

Cato stopped and stared at his friend. ‘You intend to keep that?’

‘Why not? You can’t say that I’ve not earned it. You too.’

Cato thought for a moment. ‘If anyone found out we had kept the silver, then we’d be in deep trouble.’

‘Who’s alive to tell the tale?’ Macro smiled. ‘Sinius is dead, so is Geta.’

‘What about Tigellinus?’

‘He might know something about it. But if he says anything, it’ll only prove that he knew more about the Liberators than he’s said so far. He’ll keep his mouth shut.’ Macro looked at Cato pleadingly. ‘Come on, lad. After all that we’ve been through, it’s only fair. It’s not as if Claudius is going to miss a handful of coins.’

‘Handful?’ Cato wrestled with the idea for a moment, before the spectre of Narcissus and his devious machinations appeared in his mind’s eye. He nodded. ‘Why not?’

‘Good lad!’ Macro gave a relieved grin and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I knew you’d see the sense of it.’

‘Good sense doesn’t come into it,’ Cato said quietly.

They reached the road leading back up to the Praetorian camp and stopped. Since their true identities had been revealed, they had
been granted accommodation at headquarters, although they were regarded with cool formality by the other officers.

‘You go ahead,’ said Cato. ‘There’s something I have to do.’

Macro gave a lopsided smile, half tender, half nervous for his friend. ‘She’s back in Rome, then.’

‘I heard this morning.’ Cato felt dread welling up in his heart again at the prospect of seeing Julia. It had been over a year since they had last seen each other. In that time there had been a handful of letters exchanged. Though her words had been tender and reassuring, Cato could not help fearing that they were no guarantee that her heart was still his. ‘I told myself I would see her as soon as we were finished with Narcissus.’

‘So, go on, then. What are you waiting for?’

Cato’s brow creased as he stood still, as if rooted to the spot. ‘I don’t know … I really don’t know.’

‘What is there to know, except the truth of how things stand between you?’ Macro punched his shoulder. ‘You can only discover that by going to see her.’

‘Yes. You’re right. I’ll go. Now.’

‘Want me to hold your hand?’

Cato looked at him sharply. ‘Fuck off, thank you.’

Macro laughed heartily and winked at Cato before turning away and striding up the road leading to the camp as if he had not a care in the world. Cato watched him enviously for a moment and then continued on his way, pushing through the crowd as he made for the house of Senator Sempronius on the Quirinal Hill.

It was late in the morning when he stepped up from the street on to the steps to the entrance of the house. The heavy wooden doors were open and the last of the senator’s clients were sitting on benches in the atrium, waiting to present their petitions to their patron. A slave approached Cato to ask him his business.

‘I’m here to speak to Julia Sempronia.’

‘Yes, master. What name shall I give her?’

Cato sucked in a deep breath to calm his nerves. ‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato.’

The slave nodded and turned away on his errand. For an instant Cato was tempted to call the man back and cancel the instruction,
but the slave was already at the far end of the atrium and Cato did not want to shout after him. It was too late for that. He stood, his right hand twitching against his thigh. He looked round, not really taking in the details of the house.

Then he froze.

Overhead the sky was clear and larks swooped high above, but Cato had no eyes for them and no ears for their shrill song. Instead he stared across the atrium at a slender young woman in a plain, long, light-blue tunic. She was standing in the opposite doorway, her dark hair tied back in a simple pony tail. She stared back at him. Then she began to walk steadily across the tiled floor, round the shallow pool in the centre of the atrium, her pace slowing as she approached him. Cato tried desperately to read her expression, for any hint of the despair or joy that the next moment might bring.

‘Julia Sempronia.’ He bowed his head formally, not knowing why he did it and feeling foolish.

‘Cato,’ she replied softly. ‘Cato … My Cato.’

Then with a patter of her slippered feet she rushed into his arms and held him tight and Cato felt a warm wave of relief sweep through his chest. He pressed his cheek down against her hair and closed his eyes as her scent, almost forgotten, rushed back amid a confusion of memories and emotions.

Julia drew back and he opened his eyes to see her staring into his face. She reached a hand up to touch his lips, then moved her fingers lightly and uncertainly to trace the line of his scar. Then he saw a tear gleaming at the corner of her eye, where it swelled like a tiny translucent pearl before it rolled down her cheek.

Cato felt his heart torn in two as he regarded her. Much as he loved and desired Julia, Cato wanted to leave Rome at the first opportunity and get far away from its deadly cross-currents of deceit and treachery. He and Macro would be leaving to rejoin the army campaigning in Britannia. Nothing could sway Cato from that. Those were the terms that Julia would have to accept if she still wanted to have him.

‘What’s wrong, my love?’ Her brow furrowed anxiously.

Cato took her hands in his. ‘We must talk.’

Being set mainly in Rome,
Praetorian
is something of a departure from the usual battlefield adventures of Cato and Macro. The last occasion they were in the city was when they were waiting for the outcome of an investigation into the death of a superior officer. Then they were living on the last of their savings, forced into taking rooms in a crumbling tenement block in one of the slum districts. It was only a brief interlude, however, and they were soon sent off to join a naval campaign against a gang of pirates. At the time I was quite taken with Rome as a setting for the story and wished that Cato and Macro could have spent more time in the capital. It’s a fascinating setting to write about. With a population of around a million, Rome was a vast city even by modern standards. It is worth pointing out that during the early Renaissance the population of Rome was no more than fifteen thousand - living amid the ruins of a civilization that dwarfed their own. It was not until the nineteenth century that the population of Rome returned to the levels it had enjoyed under the Caesars. That is eloquent proof of the fact that human history is not a tale of steady progress towards greater knowledge and achievement.