Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

‘Are you all right, sir?’ Cato asked, as he helped Narcissus back on to his feet.

‘I’m fine,’ Narcissus snapped. ‘Unhand me, soldier.’ He shook off Cato’s grip and hurried to catch up with Pallas.

‘Charming man, that,’ said Macro.

‘He’s a freedman,’ Fuscius hissed. ‘Shouldn’t be allowed to treat a Praetorian that way. It ain’t right.’

As the Emperor climbed into his litter, those summoned to hear his brief announcement began to shuffle back towards their own litters and horses, anxious to get back on the road to Rome before the route became clogged with traffic. Centurion Lurco cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed the order to his men. ‘Sixth Century! Fall in behind the imperial litter!’

‘You heard him!’ Tigellinus shouted. ‘Move yourselves!’

The Praetorians began to hurry over to form up behind the German bodyguards surrounding the litter. Cato hung back and when he was sure that he would not be observed, he opened his hand and saw a small, neatly folded sheet of papyrus. He thumbed it open and saw a few words written in fine print. He crumpled it up and closed his fist before he took up his station beside Macro near the front of the column and muttered to his friend, ‘Narcissus wants to meet us in the safe house as soon as we return to Rome.’

The imperial secretary looked up anxiously as Septimus opened the door to Cato and Macro late in the afternoon. The shutters were open and pale shafts of light illuminated the room. Narcissus was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. He waited until the door was shut before he spoke.

‘You’ve taken your time.’

‘We came as soon as we could,’ Cato replied.

‘Are you sure that no one saw you come here?’ Narcissus asked earnestly.

Cato nodded. ‘Tigellinus was called to headquarters to get tonight’s watchword. We left before he got back to barracks.’

‘What if the Liberators have other men watching you?’

‘We doubled back and stopped a few times to check. We’re safe.’

‘Safe?’ Narcissus laughed humourlessly. ‘No one is safe at the moment. Not you, not me, and not the Emperor.’

Macro cocked his head to one side. ‘Somehow, I think vulnerability is more of an issue for those further up the chain of command.’

Narcissus stared at him. ‘If you really think that, then you are a fool, Centurion Macro. Your fate is tied to mine. If our enemies win the day, do you really think they will be satisfied by removing just the Emperor and his immediate circle? Look what happened when Sejanus fell. The streets were running with the blood of anyone who was even remotely associated with him. So spare me your delight in the greater misfortune of others.’ He paused, as a thought struck him. ‘There really ought to be a word for that quality since so many people seem to relish the misfortune of others.’

Cato cleared his throat. ‘You sent for us for a reason.’

‘I did. What did you make of the Emperor’s announcement?’

‘About the games? Or about the improvement of the supply of grain?’

Narcissus smiled. ‘Both.’

‘I don’t see how he can possibly stage his naval spectacle. Where is he going to get so many gladiators from? I doubt there are ten thousand in the whole of Italia.’

‘There aren’t. Calling them gladiators is stretching a point. Some of them will be. But the rest will be criminals and the scrapings of the chain gangs from the mines and imperial estates. As long as the people get a spectacle they’ll remember for as long as they live then they won’t pay too much attention to the quality of the individual combats. We’ll dress them up and place a weapon in their hands and let them get on with it, with freedom for the winners. That should provide sufficient incentive to get stuck in.’

‘What about the ships?’ asked Macro. ‘How are you going to get warships up to the lake?’

‘The engineers’ barges are going to be made to look like biremes. How many people in Rome do you think can tell one end of a boat from another? It’s all about appearances, Macro.’

‘Not all,’ said Cato. ‘A spectacle does not feed its audience. What of the grain the Emperor mentioned? Where’s that coming from?’

‘That we don’t yet know exactly,’ Narcissus admitted. ‘Septimus, you’d better fill them in.’

The imperial secretary nodded and was silent for a moment as he collected his thoughts. ‘With that recent trouble in Egypt restricting the flow of grain, there was always going to be a shortage. That’s where the guild of grain merchants comes in. If one source of grain begins to dry up, they find another province to import it from. As far as I understand it, they had compensated for the situation by offering tenders to suppliers in Gaul and Sicilia. The cargoes were landed in Ostia and carried up the Tiber to Rome, and then put up for sale in the guild’s hall. The thing is, a handful of merchants bought up almost every shipment, bidding up well above the normal price range. There won’t be another grain fleet arriving from Egypt until late in the spring. Meanwhile there’s only a tiny trickle of grain reaching the market. Nowhere near enough to feed Rome.’

‘So,’ Narcissus intervened, ‘the pressing issue is to find those who have been buying all the grain and then find out where they have been storing it. If there’s been a plot to corner the market on grain, then I dare say the Emperor is not going to be too pleased when he discovers who is responsible. He might spare them from being thrown to the mob if they are public spirited enough to give their stocks to the Emperor to distribute to the public. In the meantime, we await a convoy of grain from Sicilia. I sent word to the governor of Sicilia a month ago to send us whatever grain he has sitting in the island’s granaries. The first convoy should reach Ostia any day. When it does, the grain will be handed over directly to a cohort of the Praetorian Guard, for escort to Rome. That will assuage the mob’s appetite for bloodshed and disorder temporarily. For now, we must discover who has been hoarding the grain.’ Narcissus nodded at Septimus to continue.

Septimus stirred. ‘It should have been an easy task, but the thing is when I questioned the merchants in whose name the shipments were purchased it turns out that they were acting on behalf of someone else and were paid generously to act as intermediaries.’

‘For whom?’ asked Macro.

‘That’s just it. They never met the final buyers, or buyer. They were funded in silver and told to deliver the shipment to a warehouse close to the Boarium. One rented out by Gaius Frontinus.’

Cato felt his pulse quicken. ‘I know it. I’ve been there. That was where I lost Cestius.’

‘Cestius?’ Naricissus sounded surprised and he exchanged a brief look with Septimus.

‘Do you know him?’ asked Cato.

‘Only by reputation. He leads one of the largest criminal gangs in the Subura, the Viminal Hill thugs, I believe.’

‘That’s right. But you also know him by sight. He was the man who led the attack on the Emperor that day we escorted him back from the camp.’

Narcissus thought a moment. ‘The big man? The one you saved young Nero from?’

‘That’s him.’

‘So that’s Cestius,’ Narcissus said deliberately. ‘What has he got to do with this warehouse then?’

Cato explained how he had seen the man and followed him across Rome, and that he was known to at least one regular member of the grain merchant’s guild. ‘It’s more than likely Cestius is behind the attempt to control the grain supply.’

Narcissus stroked his chin. ‘But he’d need a fortune to do that. The street gangs do well enough, but it would take them several years at least to amass a fortune big enough to buy up the grain stocks. There’s only one likely source for that kind of sum.’