Lurco quickly rose from his bench and beckoned to Tigellinus and then hurried across to the entrance. His men began to follow.
‘What do you think this is all about?’ asked Macro. ‘Is it to do with what I saw?’
‘We’ll know soon enough.’
As they descended the stairs, Cato took a last look into the box. The Emperor and his family had already left their seats, and Narcissus and some others went after them. The rest of the guests remained where they were, trying to look unflustered as the fight continued in the arena.
The men of the Sixth Century gathered around Lurco, while a short distance away the litter slaves were on their feet, ready to take up their burdens the moment the order was given. As Macro, Cato and the last of the men came out of the arena, the centurion called out loudly so that he could be heard over the noise from the arena.
‘The Emperor is returning to the palace. He has just received a report that a food riot has broken out in the Forum. The urban cohorts have the matter in hand but the Emperor wants to take command of the situation in person. Prefect Geta has decided to reinforce the Emperor’s bodyguard with the Sixth Century. This is not ceremonial. Our orders are to protect the Emperor, his family and advisers at all costs. If anyone tries to block our path we’re authorised to use whatever force is needed to get the litters through.’ Lurco paused to draw breath. ‘Fetch your weapons and armour from barracks. Then get back here ready to march. At the double!’
A
thick pall of smoke from the direction of the Forum billowed into the afternoon sky as the column of litters and soldiers made their way down the Viminal Hill towards the centre of the city. Even though news of the riot had spread through the streets, many people were still going about their business and hurried out of the way of Centurion Lurco and the two sections leading the party. The Germans closed ranks around the litters carrying the Emperor, the Empress and the two boys. The rest of the Sixth Century filled in the gaps between the remaining litters and brought up the rear.
Cato, Macro and fourteen other men were under the command of Tigellinus as they marched behind a litter shared by Narcissus and two other advisers, including the man Macro had seen with Agrippina. They were marching four abreast, with Fuscius to Macro’s right and a surly youth beyond him. After a quick look to make certain that the optio was facing forward, Macro spoke softly to Fuscius.
‘See the men in the litter directly ahead of us?’
‘Yes.’
‘I recognise Narcissus, but who are the others?’
‘The one opposite him, the one with the good looks, is Pallas. One of those bloody freedmen the Emperor insists on surrounding himself with. The other one’s Seneca, Nero’s tutor and adviser.’
‘I see.’ Macro glanced to his left at Cato and cocked an eyebrow before realising that it was pointless beneath his helmet. ‘Pallas, eh? I wonder what he’s up to?’
‘Up to?’ Fuscius turned his head to Macro. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’
Before they could say another word, Tigellinus glared over his
shoulder. ‘Silence in the ranks! Keep your bloody mouths shut and your eyes and ears open!’
They progressed in silence and as they drew closer to the Forum the street ahead of them began to empty. A few small groups of anxious-looking civilians hurried by, squeezing past the column with barely a comment or look of surprise as they glimpsed the imperial litter with its barbarian escort. The roar of the mob was clearly audible now, and soon they could discern distinct shouts of anger and even a shrill scream of terror. The smoke was dense and acrid. Wafts reached the column as it entered the square where Cato and Macro had been involved in the brawl a few nights earlier. Cato looked over towards the inn and saw its owner closing the shutters of a window that looked out on to the public fountain, before scurrying inside and closing the doors. A thin and frail-looking woman sat on the edge of the fountain nursing a crying infant with bulging eyes and skeletal arms. She watched the soldiers and litters passing by for a moment before struggling to her feet and limping across to them, holding her free hand out.
‘Spare a sestertius for me baby?’ Her voice was weak and strained. ‘For the love of Jupiter, spare a coin. We ain’t fed for days, sir.’ She made to intercept Tigellinus but the optio turned on her with a snarl.
‘Clear off, you slut! Take your brat with you. Before I use this!’ He brandished his optio’s staff at the woman and she cowered back with a screech of terror.
Macro gritted his teeth in contempt for the optio and muttered, ‘Glad to see that our optio’s got the guts to stand up to a half-starved woman.’
‘Shhh!’ Cato warned him.
They left the square and continued down the road. A short distance further on, the column came across the first body. An overweight man lay sprawled in the gutter. He had been stripped of all but his loincloth and the mangled stumps on his hand showed where ring fingers had been cut off. His skull had been crushed by frenzied blows. A short distance away was a bakery that had been smashed and looted. The column was passing through the fringes of the Subura, a district of the city that was notorious for its poverty
and crime. The crowded tenement blocks reduced the gloomy light further and the rank air caught in Cato’s throat as their footsteps echoed off the grimy walls.
As they reached the foot of the hill, there was a sudden outburst of shouting from the front of the column and Cato craned his neck to see Centurion Lurco confronting a small crowd of men who had spilled out of a side street into the path of the Emperor and his retinue.
‘Clear the way there!’ Lurco shouted, his high voice carrying above the shouting. ‘Make way for the Emperor!’
‘It’s Claudius!’ a voice responded. ‘Stand firm, boys. Let’s put our grievances to the Emperor.’
Lurco threw up his arm ‘Column, halt!’
There was little co-ordination possible among the Praetorians, Germans and slaves carrying the litters and the column shuffled to a disorderly stop. Over the heads of the men in front of him Cato could see that many of the men in the crowd were armed with staves, axes and clubs. Lurco warily stepped forward to confront the crowd as more people joined it, shouting and gesturing angrily.
‘You will clear the way for the Emperor, now! There will not be another warning!’
‘Claudius!’ the ringleader bellowed. ‘Your people are starving! Feed us!’
‘Get out of the way!’ Lurco bellowed then looked back over his shoulder. ‘Draw swords!’ he ordered.
There was a metallic clatter as the soldiers pulled their swords from their scabbards and held them ready. The ringleader stepped forward and Cato recognised him at once.
‘Cestius.’
Macro looked up at Cato. ‘The big bastard from the inn?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shit. He’s trouble.’
Cestius approached the head of the column and called out loudly enough for all his followers to hear clearly, ‘What’s this? A party on its way to a banquet, I’ll be bound.’ He turned back to the crowd. ‘While we go hungry, while our children slowly starve to death,
this lot stuff their fat faces with delicacies, then throw it all back up, just so they can feed again!’
Some men in the crowd shouted angrily and waved their fists. Cestius turned towards the soldiers. ‘We’re not moving. We want to put our demands to the Emperor. We want bread and grain at a price we can afford. You, Centurion, get out of our way. We demand to speak to Claudius!’
As the mob roared their approval, Lurco withdrew into the front rank of his men and drew his blade. ‘Protect the litters! On my word, advance at the slow step! Optio, call the pace! Shields front!’
The decurion in charge of the Germans formed his men up around the Emperor’s litter while the Praetorians surrounded the others. They angled their shields to screen those huddling down in the litters and held their short stabbing swords level to the ground, elbows bent and weapon ready to thrust. Cato felt his heart beating quickly and the chill in his guts and limbs that always came upon him before a fight. Then he was aware of movement at the periphery of his vision and glanced to the side just in time to see the dim shapes of men filtering down an alley to his right. He looked quickly to the other side and saw more coming from the other direction, and yet more, further back, sprinting across an intersection as they cut round the column to try to surround it.
‘Look there!’ He pointed them out to Macro with his sword. ‘It’s a trap.’
Before Macro could respond, there was a shout from ahead. ‘Advance!’
‘One! Two!’ Tigellinus called the pace and the leading Praetorians moved forward, shield to shield. Behind the first sections came the Germans and the imperial litter, then Narcissus and the advisers, followed by Tigellinus and his men. For a moment the crowd fell silent and then Cestius roared, ‘Kill! Kill them!’
A brick hurtled over the gap between the soldiers and the mob and glanced off a shield before thudding on to the thick fabric covering the Emperor’s litter. There was a cry of terror from within. More missiles filled the air: bricks, fragments of paving and lumps
of filth scooped up from the gutter. More came from the sides, hurled from the alleys at the flanks of the column caught in the narrow street. Step by step they moved forward. Ahead of them the mob held their ground until the last moment and then began to press back, but those behind who could not see the Praetorians did not move and blocked their retreat. Men scrambled to the side of the street in panic and pressed into the arches and doorways of the tenements. Some managed to escape down the side alleys but a number were caught in the path of the Praetorians.
‘Don’t stop for anything!’ Lurco shouted.
With Tigellinus steadily calling the pace, the Praetorians reached the mob and thrust forward with their shields, battering the nearest men. Then the first sword stabbed out, tearing into the side of a struggling figure. He screamed in agony before slumping down on to the street. At last those at the rear of the crowd realised the danger and began to fall back. But it was too late for those at the front. The Praetorians pushed their shields forward relentlessly, stabbing into the flesh of those before them. Some of the wounded fell to the ground where the soldiers trod over them, others were caught tight in the suffocating press of bodies and were stabbed again and again, screaming with pain and terror.
Over the top of his shield Cato saw the tall figure of Cestius push his way through to an alley where he disappeared with several of his men. Ahead, the mob at last began to break up, leaving several dead and injured bodies in its wake. Those who had had enough fled from the scene to find shelter, or easier pickings. But over a hundred remained, staying beyond reach of the swords as they hurled whatever came to hand at the imperial party. The missiles thudded and cracked off shields and helmets, but the slaves carrying the litters had no protection and already four of them had been felled. One was knocked cold by a blow to the head and blood gushed from a long tear in his scalp. Two of the others had also received head wounds. They released their hold on the litters and staggered to the side of the street before collapsing. The last was clutching his smashed elbow and groaning through clenched teeth. The remaining slaves were struggling under their increased burden and their way was impeded by bodies sprawled across their
path. Then one of the slaves carrying the imperial secretary’s litter stumbled and the litter thudded down, almost pitching Narcissus into the gutter. Cato saw that the slaves could not hope to make any speed along the street.
‘Get out of the litter!’ he ordered Narcissus. ‘You and the others. You have to abandon the litter. Keep your heads down and stay behind the Praetorians.’
Narcissus nodded and the Emperor’s advisers slithered off the cushioned interior and their expensive boots squelched down into the filth-caked street.
‘Who gave that order?’ Tigellinus yelled from the other side of the litter.
‘Me, sir. Capito.’
‘Are you the bloody centurion, Capito? You don’t give orders, you obey them.’ Tigellinus ducked down to peer through the other side of the litter at the freedmen. ‘Best get back in. I’ll have some of my men make up the slave numbers.’
Narcissus shook his head. ‘They’d only go the same way as the slaves. Your man is right, we have to abandon the litters. I’ll tell the Emperor.’
Tigellinus shot a furious glance at Cato and then nodded. ‘As you wish, sir.’
‘You, Capito, and the short fellow.’ Narcissus beckoned. ‘I need protection. Cover me with your shields. Let’s go.’
With Cato and Macro on either side, holding their shields over the imperial secretary, Narcissus emerged from the ring of Praetorians and the three men made their way the short distance to the Germans screening the imperial litter. Cato winced as a brick struck his shield. At their approach the Germans parted to let them through. Cato saw that five of the twelve slaves carrying the ornately decorated litter had already fallen, and the others could barely keep the litter off the ground. He turned to Narcissus. ‘You have to get the Emperor and the others out, or we won’t be able to move.’
‘I understand.’ Narcissus nodded nervously, ducking as a turd flew close overhead. He drew back the curtain to reveal the Emperor protecting Britannicus in his embrace. Next to him sat
the Empress cradling Nero’s head in her lap. Claudius looked up anxiously and his head twitched.