‘I suppose so.’ Cato sighed. ‘In any case, he’s the only real possibility we have right now.’
They stayed a little longer before using the brass strigils to scrape off the grime that had sweated out of their skin. Then they moved through to the cold room and jumped into the pool where the shock of the chilled water made them gasp. Cato struck out briskly, swimming two lengths of the pool before he climbed out and hurried out to the changing area where he rubbed himself down with one of the towels drying over the rack above the hypocaust flues. Macro joined him and they began to dress.
‘You know,’ Macro began, ‘if there is no conspiracy and we’re looking for a gang of thieves then that’s going to make things much harder for us. A conspiracy needs supporters to achieve its ends. Anyone involved in a simple theft is going to want to keep it close to their chests.’
Cato nodded.
‘In which case,’ Macro continued, ‘we’re pretty well stuffed, since Narcissus isn’t going to reward us for failing to produce the results he wants. Insane as it sounds, we’d better pray that there is a conspiracy to unearth.’
As they reached the entrance to the barracks, Tigellinus was waiting for them. He jerked a thumb towards the centurion’s quarters.
‘Lurco is back. He wants to see you.’ Tigellinus smirked. ‘He sent for you over an hour ago. Shame I couldn’t find you - the centurion is not a man who is inclined to tolerate delay.’ The optio gave a dry laugh before he sauntered off to the squad’s room. ‘Good luck.’
Macro’s lips pressed together as he waited until Tigellinus was out of earshot, then he hissed through clenched teeth, ‘Bastard. He knew where we were. He’s set us up.’
Cato shrugged. ‘Nothing we can do about it now. Come on.’
They made their way to the door of the small office adjoining the centurion’s private quarters and saw that it was open. Lurco was standing at the window, looking out across the wall of the camp and over the city, illuminated by the twinkling sparks of torches and lamps. He stood quite still as he stared in the direction of the imperial palace, his back dimly lit by the single oil lamp glimmering on his desk. Cato gestured to Macro and they stood directly outside
the door frame. Taking a deep breath, Cato rapped on the wooden frame.
‘You sent for us, sir?’
Lurco turned quickly and Cato saw that the centurion was younger than he had been expecting, in his mid-twenties. His hair was dark and artfully arranged in oiled curls above a finely featured face that was on the pretty side of handsome. His good looks hardened into a frown.
‘Are you the new men? Capito and Calidus?’ he asked in a thin, high-pitched voice.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Don’t just stand there. Enter.’
They strode in and stood before their commander’s desk. He was taller than Cato and by tilting his head back slightly he gave even more of an impression of looking down on the other men.
‘Where have you been? I sent for you ages ago. Why weren’t you in the barracks?’
‘Beg your pardon, sir, but we were in the bathhouse,’ Macro explained.
‘Shirking some duties no doubt.’
‘No, sir. We’re veterans. We’ve been excused fatigues.’
‘Veterans?’ Lurco sneered. ‘So, you think the world owes you a living? You think you’re better than the rest of us no doubt. Just because you’ve got some mud on your boots, and a few scratches.’ He flicked his hand dismissively in the direction of Cato’s face. ‘I don’t care if you’re veterans. The men of my century are all the same as far as I am concerned. And now it seems you all depend on me so much that I have been ordered to cut my leave short and return to the camp for tomorrow’s tedious little show put on for the Emperor. I could have been at a party in the city having a good fuck with some senator’s wife or daughter, but no, I’m stuck here in the camp. So if I have to give up my friends to be here, then the bloody least you can do is have the damned good grace to come when you are summoned.’
Cato felt an instinctive dislike of the man, and was suddenly painfully conscious of the scar that had ruined his own face. Lurco, with his finely arranged good looks, was the kind of young officer
who would be a success with the capital’s ladies. Possibly the kind of person that a woman like Julia might encounter and take a fancy to. It was a foolish thought, Cato told himself, angry that he had relaxed his hold on the feelings he had been struggling to suppress.
‘We came as soon as we were told you wanted to see us, sir,’ said Macro.
‘Well, that’s not soon enough,’ Lurco snapped. He stared at them, his nostrils flared. ‘Well, now we know each other, and you know what I stand for. In future when I give an order I expect you to obey it at once. Fail to do so and I will see to it that your veteran status is revoked, and I’ll have you up to your necks in shit doing latrine fatigues for the rest of the year. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Macro and Cato replied.
Lurco stared at them. ‘Tomorrow we play host to the Emperor. Our cohort will be placed either side of the imperial box. That means I want a good turnout. My century will be the smartest unit in the entire Praetorian Guard, or I’ll know the reason why. Don’t you dare let me down. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then leave me. Go. Get out of my sight.’
They saluted, turned, and Macro led as they strode out of the room. They made their way to the stairs and Macro’s breath escaped with a hearty sigh. ‘What a complete bloody arsehole. I’ll bet the uppity bastard has been turned down by some woman. Now he’s taking it out on us. As for that bollocks about veterans … Damn! The man owes us a little more respect.’ He fumed for a moment before continuing, ‘It’s all down to Tigellinus. He knew where we were. He was in the room when we left for the baths. I’ll have words with the optio, so help me.’
‘Better not,’ Cato responded. ‘Not if we want to avoid being punished for insubordination.’
‘I was thinking of something a little more forceful than insubordination,’ Macro said darkly. ‘He needs seven shades kicked out of him. I know his type. He’ll set us up at every opportunity. He’s the kind of optio who will do all he can to pull the ladder up behind him now that he’s sitting pretty waiting for his appointment to the centurionate.’
‘Forget it,’ Cato said calmly. ‘We’re not going to be here long enough for him to make our lives a misery. So, we’ll ignore him and keep our minds on the job, yes?’
Macro grunted. ‘If it turns out that our dear optio is part of any conspiracy then I shall be sure to offer my services to anyone who gets to interrogate him.’
At dawn Tribune Burrus gave orders for his cohort to assemble outside the barracks. The sky was overcast and the air felt damp and clammy as the soldiers formed up in the centuries and stood at ease. Macro and Cato were among the first to fall in and watched as the other guardsmen stumbled out of the building, some still fastening their belts about their tunics. Centurion Lurco was one of the last to emerge, bleary eyed and pale faced.
Cato leant towards Macro. ‘He’s been drinking.’
‘Poor lad must have had his heart broken,’ Macro responded without a trace of sympathy.
Tigellinus, positioned two paces in front of the first rank, turned his head and bellowed, ‘Silence! Next man who utters a single fucking word is on a charge!’
Lurco winced at the sound as he shuffled into place in front of the optio and the century’s standard bearer. When the last men of the cohort were in place, there was a short silence before the sturdy figure of Tribune Burrus stepped out of the main entrance of the cohort’s barrack block. The senior centurion of the cohort, the trecenarius, drew a deep breath and called out, ‘Commanding officer present!’
The men stood to attention with a loud crash of nailed boots on the paving stones. Burrus strode out to stand in front of his command, hands clasped behind his back as he puffed his chest out and ran his good eye over the lines of men standing in their centuries.
‘Most of you know the drill. There’s quite a few who have joined our ranks since the last Accession games. I’ll spell it out so that we all know what is expected of us. The Emperor, his family and selected guests of the imperial court will be spending the day with the Praetorian Guard. As the unit that will be in closest proximity to the imperial party we are the standard by which the
rest of the Guard will be judged. You are on your best behaviour and I will have the balls off any man who gets drunk or acts in any way that discredits the honour of the Praetorian Guard.’ He paused a moment and then continued in a less harsh tone. ‘As we know, the Emperor has his funny ways. He is inclined to stammer and when he gets excited he has a tendency to slobber at the mouth. It is not the most edifying of sights, I grant you. However, Claudius is the Emperor and we have all sworn an oath to honour and obey him. So there will be no laughing, nor even the faintest of tittering, if the old boy gets going. Is that clear? I can assure you it will be no laughing matter for any man I catch mocking the Emperor.’ Burrus turned and paced a short distance before turning back.
‘There’s one other thing. The new Empress will be joining the games for the first time. Now, I am certain that some of you are still a little surprised, shocked even, by the fact that the Emperor has decided to marry his own niece.’
There were discreet murmurs from some of the guardsmen and Cato was aware of the men stirring uncomfortably on either side of him. Burrus raised a hand to silence them.
‘Whatever your feelings, the marriage was sanctioned by the senate and so it is lawful. The morality of the situation is not our concern. We are soldiers and we obey orders, right or wrong, and that is the end of it. So, if any of you harbour any misgivings about the Emperor’s new wife, keep them to yourselves. That is an order. I don’t want to hear one word of discontent pass your lips.’ He paused again to let his words sink in. ‘One last thing. Today is supposed to strengthen the ties between the Emperor and the Praetorian Guard. Claudius is paying for the entertainment and the feast that follows it. Therefore it would be polite of us to express our gratitude at every occasion. You will cheer for him and his family as if your lives depended on it. That should please the old boy no end. A happy emperor is a generous emperor. Every time you applaud him, it’s money in the pay chest. Or will be, whenever he gets round to presenting the next donative to the Guard … The imperial party is expected to arrive at the camp two hours after sunrise. Every man is to be in his seat before then, suited and booted. That’s all!’
As the tribune turned back towards the entrance to the barracks, the senior centurion bellowed, ‘Cohort, dismissed!’
As the command echoed back from the walls of the barracks, the men stood at ease and then began to fall out of formation. Macro was staring after the retreating tribune.
‘Well, that was pithy and to the point.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Might be an idea to fetch our cloaks before we get some decent seats.’
By the time they had climbed the stairs at the back of the temporary arena, hundreds of men had already settled in their places. Burrus and his men had been assigned the seats flanking the imperial box which rose above the northern side of the arena to take whatever warmth was offered by the sun. Unlike the raked seating erected for the Praetorians, the imperial box was constructed on a platform level with the rearmost seats. Cato pointed them out.
‘Up there.’
‘But if we want a good view of the entertainment we should go to the front,’ Macro protested.
‘It’s the Emperor and his party we want a good view of. That’s the best spot.’
Macro muttered something under his breath, took a sorrowful look at the empty seats right by the arena and then turned to follow his friend up the steep stairs between the rows of seating. At the top Cato looked into the imperial box and then shuffled a short distance from it to allow the curve of the seating to afford a better view of the imperial party. Satisfied, he sat down. Macro looked at the rapidly filling ranks of benches stretching out in front of him and sighed.
‘Nice view,’ he said flatly.
‘It’s good for our purposes,’ Cato replied, pulling his cloak on and easing the hood back so that his head was exposed.
Around them the Praetorians streamed in through the entrances and hurried towards the best of the remaining seats. The air swelled with good-natured conversation as the light slowly strengthened. The sky was still overcast, but a lighter patch marked the position of the sun as it struggled into the heavens and shed a little more warmth over the city and the surrounding countryside. The officers
were among the last to enter, picking their spots in the front row and displacing the rankers who were already seated there. Macro smiled at the sight, instinctively enjoying their disappointment. Directly below them Tribune Burrus and his centurions took their places and behind them sat the optios and standard bearers. Cato watched Lurco settle down close to the imperial box, but not so close as to be out of sight of those sitting at the fringes of the Emperor’s entourage. He wore an eye-catching gold bracelet on his left arm and no doubt hoped to draw the attention of a prospective patron to further his career. Tigellinus was sitting behind and to one side of his centurion and Cato could read the contempt in his expression as the optio turned to regard Lurco.
At the appointed time the uneven tramp of boots from the direction of the Viminal Gate announced the approach of the imperial party. Mounted German bodyguards led the way, and then came the first of the litters bearing the Emperor’s guests. Slaves, neatly dressed in fresh tunics, laboured under the load of the carrying spars, while those inside the litters chatted freely. A section of eight more German guards on foot came into view through the city wall, their bushy beards and strange armour making them appear barbaric. Then came the litter carrying Agrippina and Nero, and behind that the litter bearing the Emperor himself, accompanied by Britannicus. More litters followed carrying the rest of the party: Narcissus, Pallas, Seneca - Nero’s new tutor, recently recalled from exile - and lastly those senators and their wives honoured with an invitation to join the Emperor.