Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

Cato nodded. ‘The stolen bullion.’

Septimus cleared his throat. ‘Which means that Cestius is working with the Liberators.’

Narcissus glanced at him with a cold expression. ‘Evidently. Cestius is another enemy we’ll have to take care of in due course. In the meantime, you two will be dealing with Centurion Lurco. What is your plan?’

‘Nothing elaborate,’ said Macro. ‘We follow him, wait until he’s alone and then have a quiet word with him, if we get the chance. If that doesn’t work, then we knock him on the head. Either way, we’ll bring him back here and turn him over to Septimus. Then it’s up to you to keep him out of circulation until our job’s done.’

The imperial secretary stared at Macro for a moment before he replied in a cutting tone, ‘Brilliantly conceived, I must say. It is a comfort to know that the army still employs strategists of the first water.’

‘It’ll work,’ Macro replied sourly. ‘That’s all that matters.’

‘See that it does.’ Narcissus sighed. ‘I fear that we are running out of time, gentlemen. There must be a reason why our enemies want Lurco to disappear. It has to be more than some kind of initiation test. They’re getting ready to make their move, I know it. And the Liberators are not the only danger facing us. The Emperor’s gladiator spectacle will distract the mob for a moment. Unless we feed them before it’s too late then the people will turn on us like ravenous wolves and tear Rome to pieces.’

Dusk thickened over the capital and shrouded it in a thin mist as Centurion Lurco quit the Praetorian camp and entered the city. He was dressed in a thick blue cloak and only the soft leather boots that rose halfway up his calves indicated that he was a man of status. The bulge on his hip revealed that he was armed; lone footpads and small gangs of robbers presented a considerable danger in the darker alleys and byways of Rome.

Macro and Cato tailed him at a distance. After returning to the Praetorian camp following their meeting with Narcissus they had kept watch on the centurion’s quarters, waiting for him to emerge. He came out once in the afternoon, in his military tunic, and made a brief visit to headquarters. Then, as the light faded, he stepped out in his cloak, ready to find his evening’s entertainment. Cato and Macro fell into step fifty or so paces behind the officer. Like Lurco they were armed, and Macro carried a leather sap filled with sand and small pebbles.

Centurion Lurco made his way down the hill at a carefree pace, not once bothering to look behind him as he negotiated the dark streets. There were still plenty of people abroad, enough for Cato and Macro not to draw attention to themselves, and not so many that it was difficult to keep Lurco in view. He stayed away from the main thoroughfares as far as he could, to avoid the inconvenience of encountering any of the patrols and checkpoints of the urban cohorts.

As they tailed him into the Subura, Macro muttered to Cato, ‘Can’t imagine Lurco wanting to spend any time in this dump. That, or he’s got cheap tastes, and friends who share them.’

‘I’m sure there are plenty of young rakes who get their thrills from slumming it,’ Cato replied. ‘Unless he’s heading somewhere else.’

A little further on, the centurion abruptly turned into a street to his right.

‘Shit,’ Macro hissed. ‘He’s on to us.’

They trotted forward to the junction before cautiously peering round the grimy corner of a tenement block. Lurco was a short distance ahead, striding on without any evident sign of concern. They let him open up a safe lead before resuming their pursuit.

‘Why don’t we take him now?’ asked Macro. ‘We’re not far from the safe house.’

Cato shook his head. ‘Let’s see where he goes first. He might lead us to some interesting acquaintances.’

‘Or he might just lead us to a bunch of delinquent piss-heads,’ Macro countered. ‘Or we might lose sight of him.’

‘Not if we’re careful. Besides, it wouldn’t be a good idea to start a scene where we might draw a crowd. We’ll wait and see who he meets, and then deal with him the moment we can catch him on his own.’ Cato realised that he had spoken in a peremptory tone and glanced quickly at his friend to see if Macro had taken any offence. But Macro just nodded briskly, as if he had been given an order. Cato was mildly surprised by the little thrill of pleasure he felt at his friend’s unquestioning obedience to his will, as well as his confidence in stating it. Perhaps they were both finally comfortable with his promotion over his former mentor. Former? Cato mused. No, not yet. There was still much that Macro could teach him.

‘Watch it!’ Macro nudged Cato sharply, pushing him to one side, just before he trod in a foul-smelling sprawl of rotting offal outside the door of a butcher’s shop. ‘Mind where you’re stepping, lad. Bloody hell, do I have to hold your hand all the time?’

Cato chuckled.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing. I was just thinking.’

Macro scowled. ‘Which is why you nearly went arse over tit into that lot.’

Ahead of them the centurion had increased his lead and they had to hurry to catch up with him. The failing light made it hard to see Lurco clearly and they risked moving closer to him. Lurco continued steadily down the slope of the Viminal Hill before leaving the Subura district and climbing a street that led up on to the Quirinal Hill where some of the wealthiest inhabitants of Rome lived, their grand town houses interspersed with the more modest homes of lesser citizens and those who bought into the area simply to rub shoulders with their betters.

The last faint loom of dusk had given away to night and there were fewer people on the street now. Lurco turned into a road that ran between some of the larger residences. The plain walls, broken only by imposing doorways and narrow grilled window slits, were misleading. Behind the stout timbers of the doors fronting the thoroughfare there would be elaborate and finely decorated residences stretching a long way back from the street. The largest houses would also have ornate gardens, and perhaps even fountains.

At length Lurco stopped outside one of the more modest-looking entrances and paused to arrange his cloak before climbing the steps and rapping on the door. Cato pulled Macro into an arched doorway of a closed shop which afforded a clear view of the house, without exposing them to Lurco’s view should he glance back down the street. They watched as Lurco knocked again and a moment later the iron grille in the door snapped open. There was a brief exchange that was too muted for Cato and Macro to make out any words, and then the door opened. Lurco entered and the door was shut firmly, followed by a dull scrape as an iron bolt shot home. The street was still, apart from a distant figure much further up the road, then he, too, was lost from view in the gathering darkness.

‘What now?’ asked Macro. ‘Wait until he emerges again?’

‘That’s right. And see if we recognise any of the faces going in or coming out.’

Macro rubbed his hands together. ‘Could take hours.’

‘More than likely.’

‘Bollocks. It’s going to be a cold night.’

Cato nodded, biting back on the urge to tell Macro to stop stating the obvious. They stood in silence for a while and then Macro started to stamp his feet to try to keep them warm. Amplified by the archway, the sound of the nailed soles striking the flagstone threshold of the shop seemed deafening. Cato turned to him with a frown.

‘Enough! You’ll give us away.’

‘Who to?’ Macro gestured irritably towards the empty road.

Cato pressed his lips together for an instant and then responded as calmly as he could. ‘It would be useful to know who owns that house. Why don’t you scout round it while I watch the entrance? See if you can find someone who knows.’