Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

‘Pah, you’re nothing but pretend soldiers. I’ve seen better men than you in the worst centuries of the Second Legion, and that’s saying something …’

Their voices faded as they strode down the street. Macro seized Cato’s arm and whispered urgently, ‘That voice. You know who that was?’

Cato nodded. ‘Vitellius.’

‘What do we do? We can’t risk having that bastard recognising us.’

‘Come on.’ Cato rose up. ‘We mustn’t lose them.’

Before Macro could protest, Cato set off after the two men, keeping to the shadows along the side of the street. With a muted curse Macro followed him. They kept their distance so that their footsteps would not be heard by those ahead of them. As Lurco and Vitellius headed out of the Quirinal district and reached a crossroads, Lurco slowed down and moved off to the wall of a house just before the junction. He hoisted up the hem of his cloak and fumbled under the tunic beneath.

‘You go on, Vitellius. I’ll catch you up.’

The other man glanced back and then nodded and turned the corner, leaving Lurco to sigh with relief as his piss spattered against the base of the wall.

‘This’ll do us,’ Cato decided. ‘Let’s get him now, while he’s on his own.’

Macro nodded and reached for his cosh as the two of them increased their pace, padding along the other side of the street until they were almost opposite Lurco. At the last moment they dashed across the cobbled way and Lurco turned dully at the sudden sound. Cato thrust his shoulders hard, slamming him against the wall. Lurco let out a pained grunt as the breath was driven from him. Macro swung his cosh across the back of the centurion’s skull and his legs gave way and he collapsed into the puddle he had just created.

Cato was breathing hard and his heart was beating fast. It had been easier than he expected. Now they had to deliver Lurco into the hands of Septimus at the safe house. ‘Let’s get him up. Give me a hand.’

They reached down and pulled the unconscious centurion up between them, slinging one of his arms over each of their shoulders.

‘Ready?’ Cato asked softly.

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s get away from here before Vitellius comes looking.’

They had gone no more than a few paces when a voice called out behind them.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

Cato looked round sharply and saw Vitellius standing at the corner of the junction, no more than ten feet away. Even though it was night, the sky was clear and the loom of the stars gave just enough light to reveal their faces to each other.

Vitellius looked confused for an instant and then his jaw sagged a fraction before he called out in astonishment, ‘You!’

Macro was the first to break the spell. He threw Lurco’s arm off and spun round as he reached inside his cloak for the cosh. It was in his hand before he took his first pace towards Vitellius. The former tribune was too stunned to react, and further hampered by the wine he had consumed. Even so he ducked as Macro’s cosh swept through the air and the impetus sent it thudding into the side of the building. Macro’s knuckles cracked against the bricks and he let out a strangled cry of anger and pain as Vitellius stumbled back. Cato dropped Lurco and turned to help his friend but Macro charged on, thrusting his spare hand into Vitellius’s chest and sending him sprawling on to the paving stones.

‘Help!’ Vitellius cried out. ‘Help me!’

Macro fell on him, driving the wind from his lungs. At the same time he drew his bloodied cosh hand back and swung it viciously at the side of Vitellius’s head. The latter sensed the movement and jerked round, taking the blow on his shoulder.

‘Oh, sod it!’ Macro growled as he dropped the cosh, balled his hand into a fist and smashed it down directly into the other man’s cheek. Vitellius’s head struck the ground beneath and he went limp, his arms dropping untidily across his chest. Macro drew his hand back to strike again but saw that Vitellius had been knocked cold. Macro struggled up, breathing hard. Cato stood on the other side of the fallen man, staring down.

‘Great,’ said Macro. ‘Now what do we do?’

‘He’s seen us. He knows we’re in Rome. We can’t let him talk.’

‘So.’ Macro smiled cruelly, and drew his dagger out. ‘I’d always hoped it would come to this.’

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Cato grasped his arm.

Macro turned to him with a surprised expression. ‘We can get rid of him once and for all. You know what he’s done, to us and others. I can’t think of a man who is more deserving of a knife in the ribs and being left to bleed out in the gutter.’

‘No.’ Cato shook his head. ‘That’s not in our orders.’

‘Then it’s a bonus.’ Macro pulled his hand free.

‘No. Think about it, Macro. Witnesses saw him leave with Lurco. Narcissus is bound to hear of it. If he turns up dead, then Narcissus will know it was us.’

‘So? He’s no friend of Narcissus either.’

‘That doesn’t mean Narcissus won’t use it against us. You don’t go and kill the son of one of the most influential men in Rome without there being consequences.’

Macro was silent for a moment. ‘Then let’s just make him disappear. Drop him into the Great Sewer.’

‘What if his body is found and recognised?’

Macro held up his dagger. ‘I can make sure that he won’t be recognised.’

‘Put that away, Macro,’ Cato said firmly. ‘We have to take him with us.’

‘Bollocks,’ Macro grumbled. ‘Won’t be easy carrying ‘em both.’

‘We’ll manage. Keep watch while I see to them.’ Cato drew some thick twine and a few strips of cloth from the side bag under his cloak. He tied the hands of both men and then stuffed their mouths with the cloth. No one was about, and only the familiar sounds of the capital broke the silence. Cato helped lift Vitellius on to Macro’s shoulders and then lifted Lurco, who was more slightly built than his companion.

‘Ready?’ asked Cato. ‘Let’s go.’

It was at least half a mile to the safe house and they kept to the side streets as they struggled under their burdens. At one point Vitellius began to stir and Macro was obliged to crack his head against a wall to keep him quiet.

‘Don’t get a taste for that,’ Cato warned him as they continued up the slope of the hill into the Subura district. Just before they reached the safe house they ran into a rowdy group of young men and had to make up some story about their mates not being able to hold their drink. The two parties parted with good-humoured laughter. At last they staggered into the insula and dumped Vitellius in the vestibule before labouring upstairs with the centurion. Septimus opened the door for them, backing into the room which was illuminated by an oil lamp.

‘Good work.’ He nodded approvingly as he made to shut the door.

‘Wait,’ Cato gasped. ‘One more … to come.’

‘One more? What are you talking about?’

‘Explain later … Come on, Macro.’

When they returned with Vitellius, the imperial agent stared at the second body in surprise, and then shock as he recognised his features.

‘Are you mad? Good gods, do you know who this is? What the hell is he doing here?’

‘He was with Lurco … when we took him,’ Cato explained between breaths. ‘We didn’t have any choice.’

‘You didn’t have to bring him here. Why not leave him in the street?’

‘He recognised us.’

‘How?’

Cato exchanged a wary look with Macro before he replied. ‘I take it that Narcissus has not told you about our past history.’

‘Only what I needed to know,’ Septimus replied stiffly. ‘It is dangerous to possess too much knowledge in my line of work.’