Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

‘Here we are,’ the Praetorian announced. He indicated the nearest door. Unlike most of the other offices in the chamber, the door to this one was closed. ‘Centurion Sinius’s office.’

He paused briefly to give the new arrivals a chance to compose themselves and then knocked.

‘A moment!’ a muffled voice called from inside. There was a short delay. ‘Come in!’

The young soldier lifted the latch and swung the door inwards. He stepped into the doorway, stood to attention and bowed his head. ‘Beg to report that the optio of the watch on the main gate ordered me to escort two recruits to headquarters, sir.’

Cato, being taller than most men, was able to see over the Praetorian’s shoulder into the office. The centurion closed a waxed tablet and tidied it away into a small document chest on the side of his desk. Sinius looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, too young to have won promotion from the ranks; Cato guessed he must have been directly appointed to the centurionate. A member of a wealthy equestrian family who had relinquished his social privileges to join the Praetorian Guard. Unusually for a Roman the officer had fair hair, with a light wave that was carefully combed in an attempt to hide the premature onset of baldness. He was a slender man, sinewy with a hard face. However, when he looked up he smiled warmly.

‘Very well, show them in.’

The youth stood aside and Macro and Cato marched in and stood a respectful distance in front of the centurion’s desk, shoulders back and chests out. The office was generously proportioned – fully fifteen feet across. A shuttered window was behind the desk and light entered from two openings higher up the wall, just underneath the eaves outside. The wall to the left was shelved and filled with carefully arranged wax tablets, sheets of papyrus and scrolls. A gleaming breastplate and an ornately decorated helmet, with a red feather plume, hung on a frame standing against the opposite wall.

Sinius glanced at the two recruits briefly and then nodded to the Praetorian. ‘You may go. Close the door behind you.’

The youth stepped out and there was a light clatter as the latch dropped back into place. Sinius regarded the new arrivals carefully. Cato did not return his look but stared directly ahead, fixing his eyes on the small bust of the Emperor that stood on a pedestal next to the rear wall.

‘Let’s get the preliminaries over.’ Sinius leant forward and held out his hand. ‘Your appointment documentation, please.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Cato took out the folded papyrus and the letter of recommendation and placed them in the centurion’s hand. Sinius read through the documents steadily, and tapped the imperial seal at the bottom of the transfer notice, as if to ensure that it was genuine.

‘You two come highly commended. Your former commander speaks very well of you. He calls you both exemplary soldiers. That remains to be seen, as a somewhat higher standard applies in the Praetorian Guard compared to the legions. In any case, your paperwork is in order and the imperial palace has approved your appointment, so guardsmen you are.’ He glanced again at the document. ‘So which one is Capito?’

‘Me, sir,’ said Cato.

‘And Calidus.’ The centurion smiled quickly at Macro. ‘You’re both welcome. Despite what I said about standards, the Guard can always use experienced soldiers. We are not called upon to fight very often, but when we are, the burden of expectation weighs heavily on our shoulders. In that case, the more veterans we have in the ranks, the better. The other side of the coin is that you must accept that your new duties require absolute adherence to established protocols. Your appointment specifies that you are to serve in Centurion Lurco’s century of the Fifth Cohort. Lurco is on leave at the moment, so you’ll be reporting to the cohort’s commander.’ He paused. ‘Apparently the Emperor was so taken by your brave example that he requested that you be assigned to protect him and his household. That’s why you’re in the cohort assigned to protect the palace.’

‘We are honoured, sir,’ Cato responded.

‘So you should be. Such a role is usually only conferred after some years of service in the Guard. Even then, our men have to be aware of the precise manner in which they are to perform their duties. There is a very rigid hierarchy within the imperial palace and all guardsmen are expected to know it and address members of the household strictly in accordance with their station. As the officer responsible for recruiting, training and the manning of the Guard cohorts I will do my best to prepare you, although I’ve only been holding this office for a little over a month now. I’ll have someone who knows the ropes explain the details.’ He smiled again. ‘You will have to make allowances for me, as I will have to for you, eh?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Macro and Cato replied.

‘The palace cohort is commanded by Tribune Burrus.’ Sinius picked up a stylus and made a hurried note on a waxed tablet.

‘ Tribune Burrus, sir?’ Macro raised an eyebrow.

‘That’s what I said,’ Sinius replied sharply, then suddenly his expression softened. ‘Ah, I understand. The tribunes of the legions are staff officers, aren’t they? It’s different in the Guard. The cohorts are each commanded by a tribune who usually holds the post for one year, before retirement. That’s not the only difference. The cohorts of the Guard are twice the size of those in the legions. In fact, there are nearly ten thousand Praetorians on the rolls. Some are on detached duties, but most are here in camp, giving the Emperor over nine thousand men to draw on if there is any emergency. Tends to make the mob think twice before they cause any trouble.’ He paused briefly. ‘Of course, we’re not the only ones charged with keeping order. There are the urban cohorts and the vigiles, who do a decent job of patrolling the main thoroughfares and breaking up drunken brawls and so on. The Praetorians are really there as a last resort. So when we go in, the people know we mean business.’

‘Does that happen often, sir?’ asked Macro.

‘No. But trouble is brewing,’ Sinius’s tone became serious. ‘Thanks to the disruption of the Egyptian grain supplies last year the stocks in the imperial granary are running very low. The dole has already been cut, and people are going hungry as the price of grain rises. We’ve already seen some small riots. It’s a funny thing,’ he mused. ‘Here we are in the greatest city in the world. We have fine bathhouses, theatres, arenas, goods and luxuries from every corner of the world, the best minds toil away in our libraries and one emperor after another has overseen the construction of vast temples and public buildings. Yet we are never more than a few meals away from unrest and the collapse of order.’

Cato and Macro made no comment and continued staring ahead.

Sinius sighed. ‘At ease. I’ve been through the formalities. Now I’m curious to know a little more about you. I have a few questions.’

The two men relaxed their posture and glanced at each other. Cato cleared his throat and answered for them. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Firstly, you’ve come from Britannia?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Where the campaigning continues, despite the fact that Claudius celebrated a triumph awarded by the senate for the conquest of Britannia some years ago.’

‘We control the heart of the island, sir. We’re pushing our enemies back into the mountains bordering the new province. It’s only a question of time before the legions have finished the job.’

‘Really? I have a cousin who serves in the Ninth Legion. He writes to me from time to time, and I have to say he rather lacks your confidence in such steady progress. According to him we’re struggling to crush those who still resist us. The enemy raids our supply lines constantly and fades away the moment we show up in force.’