Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

‘That’s it!’ Cato called out, crouching as he backed towards Macro. He exchanged a few blows and kicks with two of the gang and then he was beside Macro. Meanwhile Fuscius kneed his opponent in the face and then struck him about the head a few more times until the gang leader tumbled on to his back, arms flailing as he took two men down with him in a sprawling heap of limbs.

‘Look out!’ a voice cried. ‘Someone’s called for the urban cohort! Let’s get out of here!’

The first of the gang members peeled away from the brawl and headed for the entrance. Others, bowed and staggering, struggled after them.

‘The chief! He’s down. Here, you, help me!’

Two of the gang hurried to their dazed leader and grasped him under the arms. Fuscius went to hit the downed giant again, then paused, as if unsure of the ethics of hitting a defenceless man. By the time the desire to take advantage of the situation had won out, the gang leader had been dragged halfway to the door and his boots were scrabbling for purchase as he tried to stand. By now both sides had mutually decided to break up the fight and were warily drawing apart, leaving tables and benches knocked over amid the shards of broken pottery and puddles and splatters of wine. The innkeeper covered his face with his hands and shuddered.

Cato knelt down by his friend’s side. Macro was slumped against a pillar, eyes flickering as blood coursed from cuts to his brow, nose and lip.

‘Hey, Calidus?’ Cato said loudly. ‘You hear me?’

‘Wheerrrgghh.’ Macro licked his split lip and winced, then spat out a gobbet of blood. ‘What the fuck happened? What hit me?’ His eyes opened wide and he recognised Cato. ‘Lad! We’re under attack! To arms!’

‘He’s lost it.’ Fuscius chuckled as he knelt beside Cato. ‘Knocked senseless.’

Cato nodded. He was afraid that in his dazed state Macro might say something that would give them away. ‘Fuscius, get me a jug of water. Now.’

‘Right.’ The guardsman rose up and made his way over to the innkeeper to make his request. While the innkeeper sighed and went to do as he was bid, Cato leant close to Macro’s ear and whispered, ‘You’ve been in a fight and were knocked down. But you’re all right. Just remember the mission. Don’t say a word until you can think straight. Got that? Macro! Did you get that?’

‘Yes … Fight. Keep much shut.’

‘Good man.’ Cato sighed and patted him on the shoulder. He stood up as Fuscius returned with a pitcher of water and handed it over. Cato stepped back and took aim before slinging the contents of the pitcher in Macro’s face. The torrent of water caused Macro to jolt up and splutter. His eyes opened wildly and he looked as if he might attack the first thing he saw. Then he recognised Cato and opened his mouth to speak, frowned as he remembered his friend’s warning and clamped his jaw shut instead. He breathed deeply for a moment before he spoke thickly. ‘The other bloke?’

‘Is out for the count. Thanks to Fuscius here. Otherwise you’d be on the way to the Underworld by now. Fuscius, help me get him up on his feet. Before the urban troops arrive.’

But it was too late. The sound of boots drumming on the paved street echoed round the square. The Praetorians were helping their injured up when the first of the troops entered the inn. An optio with a long staff strode in and looked around. ‘What’s this then? What’s going on here? I was told it was a brawl.’

‘No,’ Cato protested. ‘We were just having a drink when the Viminal gang charged in and started beating the place up.’

‘A likely story!’ The optio snorted. ‘Bloody Praetorians think you can pull the wool over my eyes.’

‘It’s true, man!’ Cato shouted at him. ‘They’ve only got a short start on you. They’ll be making for the bottom of the Viminal. If you go now and stop wasting bloody time, you can still catch ‘em.’

‘You catch ‘em!’ the innkeeper cried out to the optio. ‘Someone’s got to pay for all this!’

‘And it won’t be us,’ Cato said firmly. ‘Not if the Emperor has anything to say about it. He’ll not take sides against his Praetorians. Better to go after the gang.’

The optio bit his lip and then turned and left the inn.

‘Come on, boys!’ Cato heard him call out and then the sound of their boots hurrying off filled the air.

Cato eased Macro up on to his feet and slung his friend’s arm across his shoulder. Fuscius took the other side.

‘Praetorians!’ Cato called out. ‘We are leaving!’

They stumbled outside and then in a loose column headed out of the square and up the street in the direction of the Praetorian camp.

‘Thanks for helping him out,’ Cato said to Fuscius through gritted teeth. ‘You probably saved Calidus’ life.’

‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ The young guardsman’s voice filled with pride. ‘Do you think he’ll be all right?’

‘He will. Trust me, he’s had worse in his time.’

‘Good.’

They went on in silence for a moment before Fuscius spoke softly. ‘By the way, who’s Macro?’

Cato felt his heart miss a beat. ‘Macro? Must have had a bit too much to drink. Macro was a mate of ours back in Britannia. Slip of the tongue. That’s all.’

‘Oh, right,’ Fuscius responded vaguely. ‘Slip of the tongue then.’

‘Right then, since you two have got such a nice shiner each, you’re bound to draw attention to yourselves. If any of the imperial family speak to you, be ready to respond with the appropriate form of address.’ Tigellinus sighed impatiently as the century, dressed in their duty togas, crossed the Forum towards the palace gates two days later. ‘One more time. The Emperor?’ He was marching beside Macro and Cato and had been running through some of the basic protocols since they left the camp.

‘We call him “sir” outside of the palace, and “your imperial majesty” inside,’ Cato replied.

Tigellinus nodded, and then added quietly, ‘And some can call him whatever they like behind his back.’

Cato turned to look at him with a surprised expression. Tigellinus smiled thinly.

‘You won’t be so shocked when you’ve been here for more than a month, Capito. You’ll see for yourself the truth of the situation. Claudius has always been ruled by his freedmen and his wives. Messallina had him eating out of her hand, until she made a play for the throne and got the chop. Her replacement’s a sharp one.’ Tigellinus’s smile warmed for a moment. ‘Agrippina knows exactly how to tweak his strings. His or any other man’s. Now then, what about the Empress?’

‘“Imperial majesty” in the palace and in public,’ Cato replied. ‘Since she does not have to worry about public opinion.’

Tigellinus turned to him sharply. ‘That’s enough, Capito. You’re a bloody ranker. You don’t get to comment on such matters. Just the correct form of address from now on. Clear?’

‘Yes, Optio.’

The column stopped at the gate to relieve the section on duty and then continued up the broad staircase to the main entrance hall of the imperial palace. Cato had been raised within these walls many years ago and felt a peculiar tingle in his scalp at the thought of all that he had seen as a child on the fringes of the imperial court. For a moment he wondered how many of the slaves he had been raised with were still serving in the palace. He had been a fresh-faced youth when he left, but now he was older, his hair was a military crop and he bore the scars of his years in the army. He would not be recognised even if he did encounter someone from his past.

At the head of the column of four centuries marched Tribune Burrus and at each station of the first watch he barked the orders to relieve those who had been on duty during the night. There were three watches in all, the first running from first light to noon, the second from noon to dusk, and the third – the least popular – guarding the palace through the night. The night watch operated with only two centuries since they simply had to guard the entrances and patrol the public precincts of the palace. The private suites were protected by the German bodyguards.