Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

‘I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve made two trips there and Sinius doesn’t seem to know about it. The only way that’s possible is if his man was on patrol while I left the camp. The patrols have been going on different watches. Now, it might be a coincidence but both times I left the camp was when Burrus’s cohort was sent into the city. It’s more than likely that Sinius’s man is in our cohort.’

Macro thought through Cato’s line of reasoning and nodded. ‘It’s even more likely that he’s in our century.’

‘I agree.’

‘Shit.’ Macro hissed through his teeth. ‘It could be anyone, even Tigellinus or Fuscius. Or both.’

‘Then we’d better start by suspecting them, and be on our guard.’ Cato frowned. ‘The thing is, we must get in touch with Narcissus as soon as possible. We’re out on our own here. If anything happens to us he needs to be aware of all that we’ve uncovered. So we’re going for a drink tonight. Somewhere close to the safe house.’

‘The River of Wine?’

Cato nodded. ‘It’s as good a place as any. We know the layout.’

Macro scratched his cheek. ‘And after the other night they know us. I doubt there’ll be a warm welcome.’

‘We’re not looking for a fight, and we can be sure that Cestius and his friends won’t be showing their faces there, if they’ve got any sense. The River of Wine will serve our need perfectly. Come on.’

They signed out with Centurion Lurco’s clerk and left the camp and passed through the city gate. Taking the same street as they had used before, they made their way down the Viminal Hill. They spoke in low tones as they walked. Once in a while Cato looked back, but Sinius’s agent knew his job well enough to remain out of sight.

‘What if we’re not being followed?’ asked Macro. ‘I don’t like this pretending that we’re just out for a stroll. It ain’t natural.’

‘Good. If we acted normally then that in itself would look suspicious. Trust me, we’re doing fine. And we are definitely being followed. Sinius’s man will be watching us like a hawk.’

Ahead, the street bent slightly and ran on for another hundred paces before it reached the square where the inn stood. Cato took a deep breath. ‘Let’s pray this works.’

They strode into the square and made towards the inn. The place had not yet filled up with the usual evening customers and there were several tables free. As soon as they entered, the innkeeper’s face fell and he hurried over to them before they could sit down.

‘I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you’re not welcome here. Please leave. Now. Please.’

Cato raised his hand. ‘Don’t worry, my friend. There’s just the two of us. Here for a quiet drink. We won’t cause any trouble. Just to put your mind at rest …’ Cato reached into his purse and drew out five sestertii and slapped them on the table. ‘Have this on account. What we don’t drink you can keep. How’s that?’

The innkeeper looked at the coins with a torn expression and then nodded. ‘You can stay. But I’ll have my eye on you. The first sign of any trouble and I’ll send my woman for the urban cohort. Now, sir, what’ll you have to drink?’

‘Make it the best wine in the house,’ Macro cut in quickly as he eased himself on to a bench. ‘And for five sestertii it had better be good.’

The innkeeper made a sour face as he scraped the coins into his palm and scurried away.

‘What now?’

Cato sat down opposite Macro and then looked round the inn. A small party of men, ten of them, in worn tunics and cloaks sat to the side of the inn, away from the entrance. Cato nodded towards them. ‘That’s what I need.’

Macro twisted round for a quick look. ‘Them? What for?’

‘A way for me to get out of here and to the safe house without our shadow following me. Wait here. If I get them to help us, I want you to go to the bar and order something to eat. Make sure you are visible through the entrance.’

‘You’d better tell me what you’re up to, lad,’ Macro grumbled.

‘You’ll see soon enough. If I go, wait here for me. Keep an eye on the entrance and see if any familiar faces turn up. I’ll be all right. Trust me.’

Cato rose to his feet before his friend could protest any further and made his way over to the workmen. They stared suspiciously at the Praetorian.

Cato smiled. ‘No need to worry. I’m not looking for trouble. I just want to ask a favour.’

‘A favour?’ A short muscular man with cropped dark hair raised his eyebrows. ‘What kind of favour?’

‘One I’m prepared to pay for.’ Cato took out his purse and jingled the coins inside. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting a woman friend tonight, but her husband has got wind that she’s found herself a lover. He’s outside with some friends, waiting for me. They followed me here from the camp. I need to get out of here without them knowing. So, if I could swap cloaks with one of your party who stays with my friend there,’ Cato indicated Macro, ‘and leave with the rest of you, there’s twenty sestertii for your trouble.’

‘For that price she must be quite a woman,’ one of the other men mused.

‘Trust me, she is.’ Cato smiled.

The short man pursed his lips. ‘You want to screw another man’s wife, and you want us to help you. That’s a dirty business, friend. Why should we help you?’

‘Because the woman’s husband is a tax collector.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’ The man grinned. ‘Of course we’ll help – for thirty sestertii.’

Cato’s expression hardened. ‘Thirty? Twenty-five, no more.’

‘So, she’s not so good that you won’t haggle over her, eh?’

Thirty sestertii was more than a month’s wages for a labourer. Cato frowned, as if struggling over the price, and at length he nodded. ‘Thirty then. Fifteen now and the rest when I’m in the clear.’

‘Fair enough, soldier.’

He counted half the money out and then the stocky man turned to one of his mates, a tall skinny rake, in his fifties. ‘Porcinus, you’re the same shape. Give him your cloak.’

‘Give him yours,’ the thin man snapped back.

His colleague turned towards him and pointed a stubby finger at his chest. ‘You’ll do what I say if you know what’s good for you.’

Porcinus opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and nodded sullenly. He undid the pin that held the neck of his cloak together and handed it to Cato, taking his in return. As Cato put on the man’s cloak, his nose wrinkled at the scent of urine. ‘You’re fullers, I take it.’

‘That we are.’ The stocky man grinned. ‘Best toga cleaners in the city. Can’t help it if piss is the main ingredient of the process. I dare say your woman might not agree with your choice of rescuers tonight.’

‘I’ll have to take that risk.’ With a reluctant sigh, Cato pulled the hood up over his head. ‘Let’s get going then.’

The men drained their cups and stood, some of them pulling up their hoods like Cato, so that he would not stand out. The man with his Praetorian cloak put it on and went to sit with Macro, his back to the entrance. Macro poured him a cup of the wine that had been placed on the table a moment earlier. The fullers headed for the doorway and noisily made their farewell to the innkeeper. Then, with Cato in their midst, they strolled outside into the square and made for a small alley leading up into the Subura district. That suited Cato well enough, and he joined in their banter, laughing along when someone made a crude joke about the innkeeper’s wife. All the while he kept shooting quick glances at the doorways and side alleys leading off the square. Nothing moved except for a mangy dog trotting from one pile of refuse to the next. Cato stayed with the group of fullers as they left the square and walked up a narrow alley squeezed between the crumbling tenement blocks of Rome’s poorest district. Then, as the alley turned a corner, he patted the stocky man on the shoulder and muttered, ‘I’ll take my leave of you here.’ He handed over the rest of the coins. ‘My thanks to you.’