Simon Scarrow: Praetorian

‘As I said, you have no proof to back up your wild speculations.’

‘I will have, once Septimus is interrogated. He was your middle man. He shared everything that you knew about the Liberators. He was more than a middle man, he is your right-hand man.’

Narcissus smiled. ‘As it happens, he is even more than that, Cato. Septimus is my son. Do you really think he would betray me? That’s why I placed him in that position. I can rely on him, at least.’

‘Your son?’ Cato was taken by surprise. Then he nodded. ‘That makes sense. But even a son might sell his father out, with the right … persuasion. I wouldn’t count on Septimus holding his tongue.’

‘Then you should not rely on him being taken alive for interrogation. Either he would take his own life, or it could be arranged for another to do the deed for him.’

Cato felt his stomach turn in disgust. ‘You wouldn’t do that.’

‘I would. Do you think a man from my background could achieve what I have without abandoning every principle save that of self-interest? Well?’

For a moment Cato’s composed mask slipped as he muttered, ‘By the gods, you are a monster …’

Narcissus shook his head. ‘I am the servant of the Emperor, tasked with keeping him on the throne at any price. That is all.’

There was a brief silence before the imperial servant continued. ‘I know that you may despise me for what I am about to say.’

‘No,’ Macro interjected. ‘We despise you already.’

Narcissus shot him an icy look. ‘Be that as it may, you have to understand the stakes before you condemn me. I am all that stands between the order of the Empire and chaos. That is the nature of my world. There is no room for all those fine values that you soldiers think are so important.’ His lips lifted in a sneer. ‘I think you’d better go back to the army. Your sense of morality is too dangerous to you here in Rome, and it threatens all that I stand for …’

Cato closed his eyes and fought down the bile that filled his guts. When he opened them again he refused to meet Narcissus’s gaze and turned instead to Macro. ‘I think I felt cleaner when I was standing up to my neck in shit back in the Great Sewer. He’s right, Macro. We should get out of here. Get out of Rome. Get back to the army.’

His friend nodded, rising to his feet. ‘Like I always said. Let’s go.’

Cato stood up, then looked at Narcissus for the last time. ‘You’ll see to it that we get our commands. Do that and we’ll not speak of what we know. Not to anyone.’

‘That is the deal,’ Narcissus agreed. ‘And since you wish for it so fervently, I shall be delighted to have you sent back to … Britannia. I’m sure the natives will be delighted at the prospect of your return.’

‘Suits me,’ Cato replied, then with a quick look at Macro he turned and led the way out of the imperial secretary’s office, feeling sick to the core of his being. Both men were silent until they had left the palace behind them and emerged into the crowded thoroughfare of the Sacred Way, the route that ran through the heart of Rome.

‘Do you think he will keep his side of the bargain?’ asked Macro.

‘He will. It serves his ends to get us far from here as soon as possible. After that, he’ll have no time to spare us any attention. He’ll be too busy dealing with Pallas.’ Cato thought for a moment. ‘I doubt he’ll survive for long. I think he’s finally met his match.’

‘Then good riddance.’

Cato looked at his friend and laughed humourlessly. ‘Narcissus falls, Pallas rises and all is as before. That’s how it will be.’

‘So? By then we shall be far away. Back where we belong.’

‘Britannia?’

‘Why not? That’s where the fighting is best at the moment.’ Macro clapped his hands together at the prospect. ‘Think on it, lad. Battles to be won, booty to be had as far from that slimy reptile Narcissus as possible. And we still have that small fortune Sinius gave us. What could be better?’

Cato stopped and stared at his friend. ‘You intend to keep that?’

‘Why not? You can’t say that I’ve not earned it. You too.’

Cato thought for a moment. ‘If anyone found out we had kept the silver, then we’d be in deep trouble.’

‘Who’s alive to tell the tale?’ Macro smiled. ‘Sinius is dead, so is Geta.’

‘What about Tigellinus?’

‘He might know something about it. But if he says anything, it’ll only prove that he knew more about the Liberators than he’s said so far. He’ll keep his mouth shut.’ Macro looked at Cato pleadingly. ‘Come on, lad. After all that we’ve been through, it’s only fair. It’s not as if Claudius is going to miss a handful of coins.’

‘Handful?’ Cato wrestled with the idea for a moment, before the spectre of Narcissus and his devious machinations appeared in his mind’s eye. He nodded. ‘Why not?’

‘Good lad!’ Macro gave a relieved grin and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I knew you’d see the sense of it.’

‘Good sense doesn’t come into it,’ Cato said quietly.

They reached the road leading back up to the Praetorian camp and stopped. Since their true identities had been revealed, they had been granted accommodation at headquarters, although they were regarded with cool formality by the other officers.

‘You go ahead,’ said Cato. ‘There’s something I have to do.’

Macro gave a lopsided smile, half tender, half nervous for his friend. ‘She’s back in Rome, then.’

‘I heard this morning.’ Cato felt dread welling up in his heart again at the prospect of seeing Julia. It had been over a year since they had last seen each other. In that time there had been a handful of letters exchanged. Though her words had been tender and reassuring, Cato could not help fearing that they were no guarantee that her heart was still his. ‘I told myself I would see her as soon as we were finished with Narcissus.’

‘So, go on, then. What are you waiting for?’

Cato’s brow creased as he stood still, as if rooted to the spot. ‘I don’t know … I really don’t know.’

‘What is there to know, except the truth of how things stand between you?’ Macro punched his shoulder. ‘You can only discover that by going to see her.’

‘Yes. You’re right. I’ll go. Now.’

‘Want me to hold your hand?’

Cato looked at him sharply. ‘Fuck off, thank you.’

Macro laughed heartily and winked at Cato before turning away and striding up the road leading to the camp as if he had not a care in the world. Cato watched him enviously for a moment and then continued on his way, pushing through the crowd as he made for the house of Senator Sempronius on the Quirinal Hill.

It was late in the morning when he stepped up from the street on to the steps to the entrance of the house. The heavy wooden doors were open and the last of the senator’s clients were sitting on benches in the atrium, waiting to present their petitions to their patron. A slave approached Cato to ask him his business.

‘I’m here to speak to Julia Sempronia.’

‘Yes, master. What name shall I give her?’

Cato sucked in a deep breath to calm his nerves. ‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato.’

The slave nodded and turned away on his errand. For an instant Cato was tempted to call the man back and cancel the instruction, but the slave was already at the far end of the atrium and Cato did not want to shout after him. It was too late for that. He stood, his right hand twitching against his thigh. He looked round, not really taking in the details of the house.

Then he froze.

Overhead the sky was clear and larks swooped high above, but Cato had no eyes for them and no ears for their shrill song. Instead he stared across the atrium at a slender young woman in a plain, long, light-blue tunic. She was standing in the opposite doorway, her dark hair tied back in a simple pony tail. She stared back at him. Then she began to walk steadily across the tiled floor, round the shallow pool in the centre of the atrium, her pace slowing as she approached him. Cato tried desperately to read her expression, for any hint of the despair or joy that the next moment might bring.