Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

Cato scratched his cheek. ‘Won’t be easy. The warehouse is built round a courtyard. The wall facing the wharf is the lowest point. The rest of it is built up against the warehouses on either side and behind. There’s no other way in. We have to go in through the gate, or over the wall. If we try and scale that, we’re bound to be seen by the guard.’

Macro ran his eyes over the warehouse and nodded. ‘You’re right. So what do we do?’

Cato looked round the wharf for a moment before fixing his attention on the men unloading the barge, surrounded by the small crowd. ‘We need a diversion. That’s a job for you, Septimus. While Macro and I get inside the warehouse.’

He quickly explained his plan and then, while Septimus worked his way through the crowd towards the edge of the wharf, Cato and Macro moved off, back in the direction of the Boarium. They took care to keep close to the edge of the Tiber in order not to attract the guard’s attention. There was a small danger that he might remember Cato’s face, even though his coarse features and bovine expression hinted at a mind that was not readily accustomed to the retention of information. Once they had covered a safe distance they stopped and looked out across the moored barges to the leaden flow of the Tiber. Cato glanced towards the crowd and saw Septimus standing close to the gangway leading up from the barge. Cato discreetly raised a hand to give the signal.

Septimus edged forward and waited until one of the slaves carrying the baskets of dried fruit struggled up on to the wharf. Then he darted between two of the gang master’s men and thrust his arms out into the slave’s side. The latter tumbled over, his basket flying through the air until it hit the ground and dates exploded across the wharf. At once the waiting crowd surged forward and down, hands scrabbling to scoop up the dried fruit.

‘Get off! Get back, you bastards!’ the gang master bellowed in rage as he laid into them with his cudgel. He looked up at his men. ‘What are you lot waiting for? Get ‘em away from the goods!’

His men were startled into action and they began to lash out at those scrabbling around on the ground at their feet. In the struggle another basket was knocked over, spilling its contents. An excited cry went up as the starving mob closed in.

Cato glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw that the guard outside the warehouse gate had stopped chewing and stood up to get a better view of the action. His lips lifted into a slight smile of amusement, and then he took a few paces away from his station to watch the frenzied violence as the mob and the gang master’s men fought it out over the spilled barley.

‘Come on!’ Cato tugged Macro’s sleeve and they turned to pad across the wharf to the warehouse wall. The guard had his back to them. He tore off another chunk of bread and continued to eat while watching the spectacle. Beyond the struggle Cato glimpsed Septimus backing away now that he had played his part in the plan. They reached the wall and Macro turned and clasped his hands together and braced himself against the rough bricks. Cato placed his right boot in Macro’s hands and as his friend began to lift, Cato straightened his leg and reached up, fingers seeking purchase as he rose up the wall.

‘Get me higher.’

Macro grunted with effort as he lifted Cato up and then groaned as Cato stood on his shoulder.

‘I’m there,’ Cato called down softly and then gritted his teeth as he pulled himself on to the wall and swung one of his legs up. His heart was pounding with the effort and he glanced quickly at the guard and was relieved to see him still watching the chaos on the wharf. Cato dropped down behind the wall and hurriedly unravelled the length of rope tied about his middle and hidden by a fold in his tunic. He tossed one end back over the wall and then grasped the other tightly, leant back and braced one foot against the wall. An instant later he felt Macro’s weight drag at the rope. There was a scuffling sound and a muttered curse before Macro appeared on top of the wall. He hurriedly clambered over and dropped down inside the warehouse yard, dragging the rope over behind him.

For a moment both men stood breathing heavily, ears straining for any indication that they had been discovered. Cato looked round the interior of the warehouse yard. A paved area approximately a hundred feet by forty ran between the high walls of the massive building which enclosed the yard on three sides. Several doors faced the yard, all of them closed. There was no sign of life, and the yard felt oddly quiet after the din of the fight on the wharf. A handful of small handcarts stood against the wall. Cato took a deep breath and indicated the carts. ‘At least getting out is going to be easier than getting in.’

‘If you say so,’ Macro replied. ‘That depends on Septimus doing his job.’

‘He did well enough to get us in. We can count on him. Come on.’ Cato stepped towards the nearest door and saw that it was secured with a heavy iron bolt. A quick glance round the yard was enough to see that all the others were also bolted. Cato took up the lever and tested the bolt. With a lot of effort it began to move, giving a loud squeal as it did so. Cato stopped at once.

‘Shit.’

‘Easy there, lad,’ said Macro. ‘The noise outside will cover any that we make. And we can shift the bolts nice and slow.’

They took firm hold of the iron bolt and began to heave again. With a gentle rasp the bolt moved and a moment later slipped free of the receiving bracket. Fearing that the hinges might be as noisy as the door, Cato pulled it open carefully, just wide enough to admit himself and Macro. The light spilled across an empty stone floor and cast long shadows before the two men as they slowly entered, squinting into the shadows as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. It was a large space, eighty feet deep by half as much in width. Overhead the beams were high above the floor and a latticework of timbers supported a tiled roof. There were two narrow slits in the wall, high up, to provide light and ventilation, but not wide enough for even a child to squeeze through.

Cato bent down and scraped up some of the dust and grains from the floor. ‘Looks like there has been wheat here.’

Macro nodded as he glanced around. ‘If every chamber in this place is as big as this one, then there’d have been enough here to feed Rome for months. Let’s try the next one.’

They worked their way round the warehouse yard, but every chamber was empty like the first. The only contents were a few coils of rope, blocks and tackle for unloading heavy items from the beds of wagons and a pile of torn and grimy sacking in the corner of the yard. In every chamber there was the same evidence that wheat had been stored there, and from the condition of the grain scattered on the floor, recently at that. When they closed the last of the doors Cato stepped back into the middle of the yard and folded his arms, frowning.

‘Where has it gone?’

‘Cestius must have thought this place was not safe,’ Macro reflected. ‘He must have figured that Narcissus and his agents would eventually discover where the grain was stockpiled. It’s been moved on.’

‘Without anyone noticing? You don’t shift that much grain without drawing attention to it.’

‘Unless you did a small amount at a time. Not enough for people to take notice.’

Cato thought briefly. It did not seem possible for Cestius to relocate his entire stock in limited movements in the time available. Even then there was another question that would need answering. ‘Where would he put it all?’

‘Another warehouse, perhaps?’

‘Someone would have seen something.’

‘In barges then, taken downriver to Ostia and stored there as soon as they bought each grain consignment.’