Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that we’re not making any progress,’ Cato replied determinedly. ‘We’ll get there. You’ll see.’

As they stepped into the section room they shared with Fuscius and Tigellinus, Cato caught the younger man admiring himself in a polished ornamental breastplate hanging with the rest of the kit from the pegs in the wall. There was a moment’s bemusement before Cato saw the long staff crowned with a brass knob in Fuscius’s left hand.

‘Better not let Tigellinus catch you with that.’

‘What?’ Fuscius reacted instinctively and glanced towards the door with a worried expression, before he caught himself and smiled. ‘It doesn’t bother me. Not now. Tigellinus has no need of this any longer.’ Fuscius held the staff up and looked at it proudly. ‘This is mine.’

Macro laughed and turned to Cato. ‘Sounds like the boy’s balls have dropped at last. Fancy that.’ He turned back to Fuscius. ‘Seriously, I’d put that away before someone sees you with it.’

Irritation and a spark of anger flitted across the young man’s face. Then Fuscius stood, stretched to his full height, and tilted his head back slightly as he addressed them.

‘You’ll have to stop speaking like that to me.’

‘Oh?’ The corner of Macro’s mouth lifted in amusement. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Because I am the new optio of the Sixth Century. The acting optio, anyway,’ Fuscius added.

‘You?’ Macro could not hide his surprise, and not a little disapproval, as he regarded the other man. ‘What about Tigellinus? What’s happened to him?’

‘Tigellinus?’ Fuscius smiled. ‘Until Centurion Lurco is found, Tigellinus has been promoted to acting centurion of the Sixth Century. Tribune Burrus made the decision. He said that he couldn’t afford to have one of his units lacking a commander during the current crisis, and there’d be hell to pay for any man going absent without permission. When Lurco surfaces he’s going to be broken to the ranks, and Tigellinus’s appointment will be made permanent. Just as mine will.’ Fuscius puffed out his chest. ‘I’m the right man for the job, just as Tigellinus said when he chose me.’ Fuscius’s smile faded and he stared hard at Cato and Macro. ‘That means that you two will call me optio from now on. Is that clear?’

‘You?’ Macro shook his head. ‘You’re the best man that Tigellinus could have picked? The most promising ranker in the century? I find that hard to believe.’

‘Believe it!’ Fuscius said fiercely. ‘And I’ll not warn you again, Guardsman Calidus. You will show me the respect due to my rank or I’ll have you on a charge.’

‘Yes, Optio.’ Macro contained his smile. ‘As you command.’

Fuscius strode up to him and glared at Macro for a moment, as if hoping to make the older man flinch. Macro met his gaze frankly and fearlessly, then with a brief snort of derision Fuscius strode out of the door, his staff of office clutched firmly in his hand.

Macro shook his head slowly. ‘There goes a boy who thinks he’s ready to take on a man’s job … Reminds me of you, actually. That day you joined the Second Legion thinking that you were just going to stroll right into an officer’s boots. You recall?’

Cato wasn’t listening, he was deep in thought. He stirred as he became aware of the questioning tone in Macro’s words.

‘Sorry, I missed that.’

‘Don’t worry. Not important. What’s on your mind?’

‘Tigellinus. Acting Centurion Tigellinus that’s what.’ Cato’s brow creased. ‘The Sixth Century is tasked with protecting the Emperor and his family and the Liberators now have their man within striking distance of the imperial family. They’ve finally managed to penetrate the screen of bodyguards that surrounds Claudius.’

Macro pursed his lips and winced. ‘You think Tigellinus will be the assassin?’

‘What else? Why else have Lurco removed? They wanted to place Tigellinus close to the Emperor. That has to be it. And when the time is right, and the opportunity is there, Tigellinus will strike.’

‘He won’t get away with it,’ said Macro. ‘He’ll be killed on the spot. Or taken and questioned.’

‘That won’t matter. With Claudius dead there will be chaos … confusion. That’s when the rest of the conspirators will make their move. They’ll use the Praetorian Guard to move into the city and take control, and then announce a new regime, headed by the leadership of the Liberators. I’d stake my life on it,’ Cato said grimly.

As so often happens in April, a violent thunderstorm swept in from the west during the night and for the next two days and nights ominous dark clouds crowded the sky above Rome. The streets were shrouded in gloom, except for when brilliant bursts of lightning lit them up for an instant. Rain pelted down, hammering the tiled roofs, window shutters and paved streets. Rushing torrents swept down the streets and alleys of the capital, washing the dirt away and tumbling into the drains that fed the Great Sewer snaking beneath the heart of Rome before it joined the Tiber.

The population of the city sheltered indoors and for two days the streets were empty of the scavenging bands of the impoverished looking for scraps of food. The Emperor and his family did not venture out either. They remained in the palace and the men of Burrus’s cohort of the Praetorian Guard took it in turns to march from the camp to the palace through the downpour, huddled in their cloaks. Despite the animal fat worked into the wool to render them waterproof, the rain found its way through and into the tunics beneath the armour, chilling the flesh of the guardsmen as they stood on duty, shivering, until they were relieved in turn and marched back to their barracks in the Praetorian camp.

There was no chance for Cato and Macro to check the safe house for any messages as the new acting centurion of the Sixth Century refused to allow any of his men to leave the camp when off duty. At his first morning parade as their new commander Tigellinus announced that the century’s discipline had become lax under his predecessor. Henceforth, there would be an evening parade and extra drill, as well as their usual guard duty at the palace. The new optio was also relishing his promotion and bawled out his commands in emulation of Tigellinus. Tigellinus moved into Lurco’s quarters and left Macro and Cato to cope with Fuscius, who now decided everything in the section room, from what time the lamp was extinguished at night to which pegs were reserved for the optio’s use alone.

Macro did his best to keep his simmering irritation hidden. Cato, meanwhile, continued to ponder the mystery of the missing grain. He went over every detail of the search that he and Macro had conducted at the warehouse, as well as the information he had gleaned from the grain merchants’ guild and the clerk at the offices of Gaius Frontinus. How could so much grain disappear into the city without any apparent trace? It was a maddening puzzle for Cato which vexed him as he polished his kit and spread his cloak and tunics out to dry on the small wooden rack that was set up close to the section room’s compact brazier. Meanwhile, Macro dutifully headed out each evening to carry out his punishment in the latrines at the end of the block nearest the wall of the camp.

At last, on the third morning the storm blew away, leaving a clear blue sky in its wake and the sun soon began to heat the roofs and streets of Rome, sending tendrils of vapour twisting languidly into the air before they dispersed. The people began to emerge on to the streets, and once more the bodies of those who had starved to death or succumbed to an illness in their weakened state were carried out of the city gates in carts to be added to the many hundreds that had been placed in mass graves along the roads leading out of Rome.