Simon Scarrow - Praetorian

‘What are you reading there?’ Macro broke into his thoughts.

Cato focused his mind. ‘It’s a copy of the gazette from Rome. I’ve been catching up on events in the city over recent months to see if there’s any hint of what it is that Narcissus needs us for.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing that springs out. Just the usual round of ceremonies, announcements of appointments and births, marriages and deaths of the great and good. There was a mention of Senator Sempronius. He was commended by the Emperor for putting down the slave revolt in Crete.’

‘No mention of our part in that, I suppose,’ Macro mused.

‘Alas, no.’

‘Well, there’s a surprise. Anything else of note?’

Cato glanced down at the sheets in front of him and shook his head. ‘Nothing significant, unless …’ He shuffled through the sheets, scanning them briefly, then pulled one out. ‘Here. A report dated two weeks ago announcing that one of the Guard’s officers had been waylaid by brigands and killed near Picenum. The brigands have not been found … He leaves behind a grieving widow and young son, et cetera.’ Cato looked up. ‘That’s all.’

‘Doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with our being here,’ Macro said.

‘I suppose not.’ Cato sat back and stretched his arms out as he yawned widely. When he had finished, he leant on his elbows and stared at Macro. ‘Another day in the wonderful town of Ostia then. What shall we do for entertainment? Nothing on at the theatre. It’s too cold to go to the beach and swim. Most of the bathhouses are closed until trade picks up in the spring and our friend, Spurius the innkeeper, refuses to light a fire to warm his place until the evening.’

Macro laughed. ‘My, you are in a miserable mood!’ He thought a moment and then his eyebrows rose. ‘Tell you what. According to Spurius there’s some new stock at that brothel down by the Baths of Mithras. Want to go and see what’s on offer? Something to keep us nice and warm. What do you say?’

‘It’s tempting. But I’m not in the mood.’

‘Bollocks. You’re saving yourself for that girl, aren’t you?’

Cato shrugged. The truth was he did not relish the prospect of visiting the disease-riddled whores who served the townsmen and passing sailors. If he caught anything off them then it would ruin his prospects of any happy union with Julia. ‘You go, if you really want to. I’m heading back to the inn for a bite, then I’m going to settle down for a read.’

‘A read,’ Macro repeated blankly. ‘What have you got in your veins, lad? Blood, or thin soup?’

‘Either way, I’m staying in our room and reading. You can do what you like.’

‘I will. Just as soon as I’ve eaten something to get my strength up.’

The benches scraped back as the two soldiers rose to their feet. Cato swept the gazettes together and returned them to a shelf before he and Macro marched out of the library, their footsteps disturbing the other two men once again.

‘Shhh!’ One of them raised a finger to his lips. ‘This is a library, you know!’

‘Library!’ Macro sneered. ‘It’s a whorehouse of ideas, that’s what. The only difference is that a library will never leave you with a nice warm glow inside, eh?’

‘Shocking!’ the man expostulated. He turned to Cato. ‘Sir, please be so good as to remove your companion from the premises.’

‘He needs no urging, believe me. Come, Macro.’ Cato tugged his arm and steered his friend towards the doorway.

Spurius’s cook, an antique sailor who had lost his leg in an accident, served them a thin stew of barley and chunks of meat that might have come from a highly seasoned lamb shank, but it was hard to be certain as it had lost any flavour it had once had and was the texture of damp tree bark. But it was warm and managed to assuage the soldiers’ appetite. When Cato asked for some bread, the cook scowled, stumped off, and returned with a stale loaf which he set down on the table with a thud.

‘Here! Spurius!’ Macro bellowed, startling the four other customers of the inn. Spurius was at the bar arranging his cheap clay cups on the shelves behind the counter. He turned round irritably and hurried over to the table.

‘What is it? And do you mind keeping your voice down?’

Macro gestured towards the bowl of stew, which was still a third full. ‘I may be hungry enough to eat this swill but I draw the line at bread that I would not even force a bloody pig to eat.’ He picked up the loaf and slammed it down on the table top. ‘Hard as a rock.’

‘So soak it in the stew. It’ll soften up soon enough,’ Spurius suggested in a helpful tone.

‘I want good bread,’ Macro replied firmly. ‘Freshly baked. And I want it now.’

‘Sorry, there’s none available.’

Macro eased his stool back. He continued in a lower voice to make sure that the other customers would not overhear. ‘Look, you’ve been told to look after us and no doubt you’re being paid well enough to put us up and feed us.’

‘I’m being paid a pittance for the pair of you,’ Spurius grumbled. ‘Or at least I will be when you leave and Narcissus settles up. Meanwhile you’re eating into my profits.’

Macro smiled. ‘That snake Narcissus never gives up more than he has to and is as likely to cheat you as he is to honour his word, as we’ve found out to our cost on more than one occasion.’

‘Macro, that’s enough,’ Cato warned him. ‘We don’t talk about our business.’

Macro turned to stare hard at him, and then his expression softened. ‘All right. But I don’t take kindly to being left high and dry in Ostia with only this dive for food and shelter. It ain’t right, Cato.’

‘Of course not, but there’s nothing we can do about it.’ Cato turned to the innkeeper. ‘Now then, I know you resent us being foisted on you. We don’t like it either. But in the interests of us getting on with each other and not causing any trouble, I suggest you do something to improve our rations. To start with, I suggest you get my friend the fresh bread he asked for.’

Spurius took a calming breath and nodded slightly. ‘I’ll see what I can find. If you promise not to cause any trouble with the other customers.’

Cato nodded. ‘We promise.’

The innkeeper returned to the counter and had a quiet word with his cook. Cato smiled sweetly at Macro. ‘See what a little bit of reason can achieve?’

Macro sniffed. ‘It has its place. But then I have to say that I have found that the application of force can be equally effective at producing results from time to time.’

‘Not if you don’t want to draw attention to yourself.’

Macro shook his head. ‘I could do with a little attention, Cato. This place is driving me mad. It’s bad enough that we have to sit and wait at Narcissus’s pleasure. But the bastard hasn’t advanced us more than a fraction of the back pay we’re due and we can’t even afford decent food or more comfortable lodgings.’

Cato was silent for a moment. ‘No doubt that’s intended to help make us compliant.’

Before Macro could respond there was a rattle of cart wheels in the street outside and then the sound died away abruptly as the vehicle drew up outside the inn. Spurius hurried to the door, eased it open a fraction, then quickly ducked outside, shutting the door behind him. Macro and Cato heard a brief muted exchange before the cart continued round the building to the rear where there was a small yard with stalls for the horses of travellers stopping at the inn.

‘New customers for this dump,’ Macro mused. ‘Do you think we should warn them off?’

‘Just leave it,’ Cato said wearily. He stared down into his bowl for a moment before reluctantly picking up his spoon to consume some more of the stew. Shortly afterwards, the cook reappeared, looking flustered as he limped over to the table and presented them with a fresh loaf. Macro sniffed and looked at Cato in surprise. ‘Freshly baked!’