Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

‘I understand, sire.’

Burrus turned in his saddle to survey the men of the Sixth Century. Before he could speak, Tigellinus stepped forward. ‘I volunteer, sir!’

Burrus opened his mouth, as if to speak, then shrugged and nodded. Cato felt his muscles tense as the centurion paced forward, between two of the German bodyguards. He stopped a short distance from the Emperor and there was a brief pause before Claudius offered the spoon up to his mouth. Tigellinus leant forward and consumed the mouthful. His jaws worked briefly and then he swallowed. There was another pause before Claudius arched his eyebrows. ‘Well?’

‘Bloody tasty, sir!’ Tigellinus barked.

‘No ill effects?’

‘None, sir.’

‘Very well.’ Claudius waved him away and Tigellinus backed off through the cordon of German bodyguards. Cato let out a pent-up breath and felt his body relax.

‘We’ll have some of this delicious cake and then return to R-r-rome,’ the Emperor announced. ‘Tribune, you may order your men to stand down while I eat.’

‘Praetorian Guard!’ Burrus called out. ‘Fall out!’

The guardsmen, on reduced rations, looked on enviously, having moved off a short distance to allow Claudius and his small retinue to pick at the cake and indulge in small talk. Cato noted with a smile that Narcissus was doing his best to insert himself between his master and the engineer and respond to the words of the Emperor with his customary obsequiousness while frowning frostily at every comment made by Apollodorus.

Macro was staring wistfully at the cake. ‘I could murder some of that.’

‘It looks far too rich,’ Cato responded dismissively. ‘Probably give you indigestion.’

‘I could live with it.’ Macro tore his gaze away and looked at his friend. ‘I was a bit worried there, when our friend Tigellinus stepped up to test the food.’

‘Me too. Seems I was right. Whatever his plan is, it doesn’t involve suicide.’

‘Except by indigestion.’ Macro turned to look for the centurion as he and Cato leant on their shields. Tigellinus had moved a short distance off and had unfastened his chinstraps and removed his helmet. He mopped his brow and then began to unbuckle his breastplate. He glanced briefly back up the vale with a strained expression. Easing his armour on to the ground, Tigellinus stretched his shoulders, raising his arms into the air.

Macro turned back to look at the small party of dignitaries crowded around the cake, scooping away at the choice ingredients. His stomach grumbled loudly enough for Cato to hear and the two exchanged a smile. Cato opened his mouth to comment, but before he could speak a dull crash reverberated through the air. Everyone turned in the direction of the sound. A moment later there was another crash that merged into a cacophony of splintering timber and falling rocks. Then a rushing roar that swelled up and filled the air. A sudden breeze stirred at the end of the vale, and strengthened.

‘What the fuck is that?’ Macro turned towards the din.

But Cato knew instantly what the sound was and his stomach knotted in icy terror. He glanced towards the Emperor, staring up the vale, a spoon heaped with jelly halfway to his mouth. As Cato turned back he saw a dark liquid mass, gleaming and foaming, sweep round the bend in the vale, smashing down the stunted trees that clung to the steep slopes, dislodging boulders and mounds of earth, carrying all before it. The vast body of water that had been held back by the final dam roared out of the vale, directly towards the imperial party and its escort.

At first no one moved. Every man was too horrified by the sight of the churning wall of water sweeping towards them. Tigellinus acted first. He cupped a hand to his mouth and yelled, ‘Run! Run for your lives!’

The cry broke the spell and the imperial retinue, the engineers and the Praetorian guardsmen began to flee, some heading directly away from the water, while most tried to escape to the side where the ground rose slightly. Cato threw down his shield and spear and snatched at his chinstraps. Macro did likewise, already moving away from the wave.

‘Wait!’ Cato called to him. ‘We must save the Emperor!’

Macro paused, then nodded and they turned towards the table and the cake. Claudius was stumbling towards the river as fast as his limp would allow, casting terrified glances back over his shoulder as the wave approached. Tigellinus was racing across the ground after him and Cato saw, with a stab of fear, that the centurion might reach the Emperor first. He struck out, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him, still weighed down by his scaled armour vest. Macro ran after him. A strong breeze rippled the folds of the Emperor’s toga and the loose strands of his hair as the wave thrust a cushion of air ahead of it. The hissing roar of the pounding water seemed deafening to Cato as he ran at an angle towards Claudius. To his left he could see that Tigellinus was gaining ground and would reach the Emperor first. His dagger was grasped in his hand, point held low and level as he single-mindedly sprinted towards his prey.

The air felt cool at Cato’s back and he risked one last glance towards the wave and saw that it was no more than fifty feet behind him, an ugly churning mass of spray and brown water carrying brush and trees with it. There was a cry of terror and despair away to his right as the first of the Praetorians went down, and then the voice was instantly silenced as the man was submerged in the tumult.

Ahead, Tigellinus was no more than ten feet from the Emperor, and then he stumbled, the toe of his boot stubbing against a rock. He fell down, the dagger spilling from his fingers. Cato ran on, calling out, ‘Sire!’

Claudius looked back at Cato, wide eyed, then past him, aghast. Cato grabbed the Emperor’s arm with one hand and wrenched at the toga with the other. At once the Emperor struggled and lashed out with his spare hand. ‘Help! Murder!’

‘No, sire! The toga will weigh you down!’ Cato shouted, ripping the thick woollen material from the Emperor’s shoulder. He heard Macro cry out a short distance behind, but before he could turn to look, the wave struck. There was an instant when he felt a surge around his calves, and Cato stepped in front of the Emperor, trying to shield him with his body. The full force of the water slammed into his back, instantly wrenching him off his feet. Cato tried to stay upright, kicking down to get purchase on the ground as he was swept along. He held tightly to the Emperor, pushing Claudius up. The water surged around his head, flowing over him and roaring in his ears before he surfaced, snatching a breath.

Something struck him in the ribs, a winding blow that drove the air from his lungs in an explosive cough and water instantly flooded his mouth before he could shut it. Then he was under again, still holding the Emperor and feeling him struggling wildly in his grasp. Cato felt something solid close by and risked letting go of Claudius with one hand as he groped. He felt the branch of a tree. He clamped his fingers round the rough bark and pulled himself and the Emperor towards it. His head burst through the surface once more and Cato took a breath. Around him was a chaotic mass of spray and water and debris, with the heads of men and flailing limbs all about. Cato thought he saw Macro a short distance away, but water closed over the head before he could be sure. Claudius came up, spluttering at his side.

‘Sire!’ Cato yelled into his face. ‘Grab the branch!’

Claudius turned his head to Cato. ‘I can’t! I’m being dragged down! S-s-save yourself, young man. I’m done for!’

Cato saw that his toga was still caught round his chest and debris in the surging water was pulling at the cloth and dragging the Emperor with it. Cato grabbed at the fabric and wrenched it as hard as he could, working it free. It slipped down a little, yet Claudius was still being pulled under and let out a despairing cry before the water closed over his face again. He came up and Cato shouted, ‘Kick it free! Kick it free, or you’ll die!’