Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

‘Fair enough.’ Macro shrugged and jabbed his thumb at himself. ‘Marcus Fabius Felix is the name. Personal bodyguard to one Aufidius Catonius Superbus, who managed to slip out of his father’s house to join his friends at a party up on the Quirinal. Muggins here has been sent by his adoring father to bring young Aufidius home. So, have you got him here?’

‘Don’t know,’ the watchman replied flatly. ‘Don’t much care either.’

‘Now don’t take that tone with me, friend.’ Macro tried to sound hurt. ‘I’m the one who should be feeling put out, having walked up and down these bloody streets for most of the afternoon and evening. This is the only party I’ve come across, so do us a favour and let me take the boy home.’

‘Nothing doing, friend,’ the watchmen replied with a flicker of a smile. ‘So piss off.’

‘Piss off?’ Macro’s eyes widened. ‘There’s no need for that. Just doing my job. Why don’t you go and ask your master, whatever his name is, if my boy is here? At least do that for me, eh?’

‘I ain’t your slave,’ the watchman growled. ‘I ain’t running at your beck and call. And the master won’t want me to disturb him during a party.’

‘Touchy type, is he?’ Macro asked sympathetically.

For an instant the watchmen’s expression betrayed a touch of anxiety. He clicked his tongue. ‘Seneca’s all right. It’s that woman friend of his – the bitch. If anyone interrupts her night then she’ll have the skin scourged off their backs quick as anything. Seneca will see to it. Obeys her like a dog.’

‘That’s tough.’ Macro nodded. He cocked his head slightly to one side, as if in thought. ‘All right then, I’ll give this place a miss. I’ll tell my master that I couldn’t find the party.’

‘Would be for the best, for all of us,’ said the watchman, with relief. Then his face hardened again and he let his club swing loose. ‘So, on your way.’

Macro nodded and stepped back into the middle of the street and walked off. He passed the back of two more houses before he cut back up another alley to rejoin Cato.

‘Find out anything?’ asked Cato.

‘Enough,’ Macro grinned. ‘The house belongs to young Nero’s tutor.’

‘Seneca?’ Cato breathed out deeply.

‘Not only that, but I saw the Emperor’s wife there among the guests.’

‘You saw that? How?’

Macro explained how he had climbed the wall and then approached the watchmen on the rear gate.

‘That would seem to rule out any link between Lurco and the Liberators,’ Cato responded. ‘Agrippina and her followers are no more likely to be in favour of a return to the Republic than Claudius.’

‘Unless Lurco’s spying on them for the Liberators,’ Macro suggested.

‘Then why would Sinius want him killed?’

Macro grimaced, cross with himself for not grasping the point at once. ‘All right. Then maybe they want him dead because he is a follower of Agrippina.’

‘Or maybe it’s simply a coincidence that Lurco is there. Did you see him speak to her? Or Seneca?’

‘No.’

‘Hmmm.’

Both men were silent for a moment before Cato hissed with frustration. ‘I can’t see my way through all this. What the hell has Narcissus shoved us into this time? There’s no question about there being a conspiracy … or perhaps more than one conspiracy.’

Macro groaned. ‘Listen, Cato. This is making my head hurt. What do you mean, more than one conspiracy?’

Cato tried to put together the information they had been given by Narcissus at the start of their mission and all that they had uncovered since then. ‘Something doesn’t feel quite right about this. There’s too much contradiction and too much that just doesn’t make sense.’ He paused and glanced towards his friend with a rueful smile. ‘You’re right about this line of work not being for us. Give me proper soldiering any day.’

Macro slapped him heartily on the back. ‘I knew I’d make a professional of you! Come, let’s tell Narcissus we’ve had enough of this bollocks and get back to where we belong. In the legions. Even if it means not getting a promotion. Has to be better than this, skulking around dark streets on a cold night, spying,’ he concluded, his tone laced with disapproval that verged on disgust.

‘I wish it was as simple as that. Narcissus won’t let us go that easily. And you know it,’ Cato said bitterly. ‘We’ve no choice in the matter. We have to see this through to the end.’ He hunched forward and gazed towards the entrance to the house. ‘Meanwhile, we wait for Lurco to come out.’

The hours of the night crept past as they sat in the shadows of the archway. Cato felt the cold more keenly than his friend and his limbs trembled despite his best efforts to will them into stillness. He sat on the cold stone with as much of his cloak bundled up beneath him as possible and then wrapped his arms tightly about his knees. The street remained still and quiet, aside from the occasional passer-by and a covered wagon that trundled along the road in the direction of the Forum. Now and then there was a faint chorus of laughter or cheering from the revellers in the garden. Then, close to midnight, the door of the house opened and a dull shaft of light spilled across the street. A small party of young men and women emerged, loud and raucous, and staggered off. Cato stared at them for a moment, but none was wearing the distinctive blue cloak.

Macro stirred. ‘What if Lurco is with a group of them when he comes out? What if they go on to somewhere else?’

‘Then we follow them and wait again. At some point he’s going to have to head back to the camp.’

‘And so do we.’

‘As long as we’re back in time for morning assembly, there’s no problem.’

‘Other than being cold and bloody tired.’

Cato turned to him and smiled thinly. ‘Nothing we’re not used to.’

‘Hurnnnn,’ Macro growled irritably.

More of the party guests began to leave the house and their litters appeared out of the side alley, led by slaves bearing torches to light their way home. The two men in the archway across the street scrutinised the departing revellers with strained nerves.

‘Bet you Lurco is the last bloody one to leave,’ Macro grumbled. ‘Trust our luck.’

‘Shhh!’ Cato hissed, craning forward. ‘There he is.’

Two men stood on the steps at the entrance to the house. Lurco was conspicuous enough in his cloak, even without the hood being drawn back to reveal his face. The other man was wearing a plain black cloak, with the hood pulled far enough forward to conceal his features. They descended into the street and set off towards the Forum, in the direction of the archway where Cato and Macro were concealed.

Cato pressed himself against the wall of the arch and Macro crouched low by the door. Cato felt his heart pounding and stilled his breath in case the wisps of exhaled breath betrayed his presence. The boots of the approaching men echoed off the walls of the buildings on either side of the street. They talked loudly, in the way of men who have drunk deeply.

‘Good party,’ said Lurco. ‘That Seneca knows how to entertain in style.’

‘Style?’ the centurion’s companion snorted. ‘The wine was good but the food was miserly, and I’ve seen better whores.’

‘Ah, er, yes. I was actually talking of Seneca himself. Quite the raconteur.’

‘Rubbish. Just another poser who thinks he’s a cut above the rest of us because he can swear in Greek. And as for that harlot, Agrippina … I’m pretty broad minded, Lurco, but the damn woman is insatiable. Anything from a slave boy up to a raddled old fool like Seneca is fair game to her.’

There was a short pause as the pair passed Cato and Macro and then Lurco continued in a lower voice, ‘I’d be careful about saying such things. You’re talking treason, especially when you say it in front of an officer of the Praetorian Guard.’