‘What’s his hurry, I wonder.’ Macro rubbed his cheek. ‘Bad news?’
‘When was the last time there was any good news?’ Cato replied.
They turned back to watch the fight, but Cato could not help wondering what tidings the courier had brought to the Emperor in such haste. The light was beginning to fade as the sun slipped below the horizon. The trumpets sounded again, and according to their strict instructions the surviving ships of both fleets began to disengage and limp back towards the shore on which the pavilion stood. The small ships divided either side of the pavilion and it was
possible to count them and see that the Persians had won the upper hand on this first day of the spectacle. One by one the ships beached and the weary crews and fighters stumbled down the gangways and were swiftly disarmed and herded away to their pens by vigilant auxiliary troops.
Macro nudged Cato and pointed briefly. ‘Look there, isn’t that Septimus?’
Cato looked in the direction Macro had indicated and saw four men loaded down with wineskins under the direction of an individual in the plain purple tunic of one of the servants on the palace staff. A quick glance was enough to confirm the man’s identity.
‘It’s him.’
‘Then what’s he doing here?’
‘Has to be something to do with Narcissus.’
Macro glanced wearily at Cato. ‘I worked that out for myself, thank you.’
They watched as the party moved from one group of Praetorians to the next, working their way towards Cato and Macro. As they approached, Septimus indicated the wineskins and called out, ‘A token of his imperial majesty’s gratitude to his loyal soldiers!’
Septimus clicked his fingers and one of the men began to unsling one of the wineskins. Septimus moved closer to the two soldiers and continued to smile pleasantly as he spoke in an urgent undertone.
‘Narcissus sent me as soon as the courier had passed on his message. It was the only way to get a message to you without attracting attention. Say nothing. Just take the wine and listen.’ Septimus glanced round to make sure that there was no one else close enough to hear, then continued in a whisper, ‘There is news from Ostia. The grain fleet from Sicilia was lost in a storm. Only two ships survived, and they were forced to dump most of their cargo over the side.’
Macro whistled softly. ‘That’s buggered things up.’
‘You don’t say,’ Septimus responded drily. ‘The Emperor was counting on that grain to keep order in Rome once the Naumachia is over. And now …’
He left the sentence unfinished and Cato could readily imagine the chaos that would break loose on the streets of the capital once the people discovered that nothing could save them from starvation. Cato reached for the wineskin that one of the slaves was holding out to him. He spoke to Septimus in a low voice. ‘What does Narcissus intend to do?’
‘There’s not much he can do. It will be up to the Praetorian Guard to keep order on the streets at any cost. Prefect Geta has suggested that he returns to Rome and calls out the rest of the Guard to start preparing the defence of the imperial palace, the senate house and the temples. Claudius will remain here tonight and watch the games in the morning before he and the rest of the imperial family slip away.’
‘What does Narcissus want us to do?’ asked Macro.
‘Nothing yet. Just be ready to act when he sends word.’
‘There is something that we can do,’ said Cato. ‘Something that we have to do now.’
‘Oh?’
‘Find that grain that’s missing from the warehouse.’ Cato stared fixedly into Septimus’s eyes. ‘You tell Narcissus we must find it. The Praetorian Guard won’t be able to hold back the mob for long. Only that grain can save the Emperor now.’
T
he next day, once the spectators’ attention was fixed on the renewal of the fighting on the lake, the Emperor discreetly departed, accompanied by only the Empress, Nero and Britannicus. Most of his retinue remained in the pavilion to cover his absence. Tribune Burrus left the First Century of his cohort behind to guard the pavilion and to add to the deception. The rest of his men formed a column behind the empty prisoner pens and took a little-used path between the foothills before joining the main road leading to Rome. They reached the city gate early in the afternoon and saw at once the measures being put in place by Prefect Geta. The men of the urban cohorts who usually stood guard over the gate and collected the tolls had been sent to patrol the streets and their places were taken by Praetorians.
Inside the city wall the streets were quiet and almost deserted since most of the inhabitants of Rome were enjoying the entertainment at the Albine Lake. Sections of men from the urban cohorts occupied the main crossroads. As the column crossed the Forum and approached the imperial palace, Cato noted that the doors to the temples were closed and wooden barricades comprised of sharpened stakes had been placed about the entrances. Behind the barricades stood more men from the Guard. Similar defences had been erected to protect the palace gates. Once the imperial family and its escort had been safely escorted inside, the gates of the palace were closed behind them and the locking bar was heaved into its receiver brackets for good measure.
‘Place looks like a fortress,’ Macro said quietly as he looked round at the preparations being made for the defence of the palace complex. Wagons had been positioned behind the wall either side of the gate and covered over with planks to provide a fighting
step. Stocks of javelins lay in bundles on the ground beneath the wagons.
Cato shrugged. ‘Maybe, but the Praetorians can’t hope to cover every way in. The walls are easy enough to climb over in many places. It’s just a show of force. The prefect’s hoping to intimidate the common people when they return from the lake.’
‘They’ll behave, once they see soldiers everywhere,’ Macro replied confidently.
‘You think so?’
‘Of course. They’d be mad to go up against the Praetorians and the urban cohorts. They’d be slaughtered.’
‘But they will be mad. Hunger will drive them to it, and they will have nothing to lose. In any case, the Praetorians will also be without food soon. They’ll be weakened, and perhaps even tempted to make common cause with the mob.’ Cato lowered his voice. ‘When that happens, the people who control the grain will become the real power in Rome.’
He looked around at the preparations to defend the palace, and saw more guardsmen higher up the Palatine Hill, posted on the balconies and the garden terraces. The sight provoked an unsettling thought.
‘This may look like a fortress, but it could equally be used as a prison, or a trap.’
Macro turned to him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The imperial family are surrounded by Prefect Geta’s troops. The senate house has been sealed up and I’ll bet there will be a curfew imposed on the streets until the crisis is resolved, one way or another. Anything could happen to the Emperor and his family and Geta would be able to tell the outside world whatever story he liked. And once that hidden grain is released to the mob, they’d be grateful to whoever saved them from starvation. By the time Geta lifts the curfew, Rome might well have a new emperor, or no emperor at all.’
Macro thought for a moment before he responded. ‘You’re jumping at shadows again, lad. This is happening because the grain convoy from Sicilia was lost in that storm. The Liberators can’t have foreseen that.’
‘No, but they are prepared to take advantage of the opportunity it presents to them. Trust me, Macro, if they intend to strike, they’ll do it soon. Very soon.’
Cato looked over to where Tribune Burrus was conferring with his officers. Beyond them Prefect Geta appeared from a small entrance beneath the wide flight of stairs that ascended to the lofty portico of the palace’s main entrance. Burrus and the others stood to attention as they became aware of his approach. Geta issued a rapid series of commands and then returned to the palace as the group split up. Tigellinus strode across the courtyard to his century and called for their attention.
‘Men, the prefect says there will be trouble on the streets of the capital in the coming days. The riot we saw earlier was merely a taste of what we can expect. The food supply in the city is all but exhausted. There is barely enough left in the palace to feed us on half rations for more than two days. From tonight, rations will be cut to a third.’
There was a groan from some of the men, and a handful of angry mutters before Tigellinus snatched a deep breath and roared at his men, ‘Silence in the bloody ranks! I don’t like to go short any more than you do, but we have orders to carry out, and our duty is to protect the Emperor. The Sixth Century will take up position in the imperial accommodation suite. Apart from those barbarian thugs of the German bodyguard, we are the last line of defence.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘You will be vigilant. You will carry out your orders without question. Without question, gentlemen. This is an uncertain time, a dangerous time. When it is over, the only thing that will matter to us is that we did our duty. Optio Fuscius will take you to your stations. The cohort will be relieved at dawn. That is all.’
Tigellinus handed a set of waxed tablets to his optio and stood aside as Fuscius stepped forward and puffed out his chest to give the order. ‘Sixth Century, follow me!’
As the guardsman marched past their centurion, Tigellinus briefly fell into step alongside Cato and Macro. ‘Be ready to act on my order. Whatever that order may be. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cato muttered, and Tigellinus stepped away from
the column and watched the rest of his men file past.
The optio led the way up the wide stairs and through the main entrance into the palace. There was evidence of the prefect’s preparations on all sides: checkpoints at the entrance to every audience chamber and banqueting suite, and at the doors to the slave and servants’ quarters. Some entrances had been closed off and the doors barricaded by heavy items of furniture. The imperial accommodation was at the highest point of the Palatine Hill, overlooking the Forum. It comprised a range of sleeping chambers, studies and terraced gardens. There was one entrance to the suite from within the palace but a determined man could scale the walls from below and Fuscius positioned men to guard against such a threat. The optio consulted the waxed tablets that Tigellinus had handed him and pointed to Macro.
‘Calidus! You and Capito here, on the balcony outside the Emperor’s study.’
Macro nodded and he and Cato climbed the steps up on to the colonnaded balcony. Fuscius waved the rest of the men on to the largest of the terraced gardens. As they marched off, Macro turned to Cato.
‘What was Tigellinus’s little pep talk all about? The only thing that matters is that we obey orders.’ Macro puffed his cheeks. ‘Looks like you might be right about what’s going on. The Emperor’s in danger.’
At that moment there were footsteps inside the study and Macro and Cato quickly stood to attention, backs against the pillars on either side of the door leading from the balcony into the study. Out of the corner of his eye, Cato saw Claudius limp over to his desk and sit down on a padded stool. Two of his German bodyguards silently took their places on either side and a short distance behind their master. In front of the desk stood Prefect Geta, Narcissus and Pallas, together with Agrippina. Narcissus glanced towards the men guarding the access from the balcony and for an instant there was a look of surprise in his thin features, before he forced his face to assume its customary neutral expression.
Claudius flicked a finger at Geta. ‘Make your r-report, Prefect.’
‘Sire, I have six cohorts in the palace precinct. Three on duty
until the morrow and three resting. The other cohorts have taken control of the city gates, the Forum and the senate house. I have ordered that the senate’s proceedings be halted until the crisis has passed.’
‘Oh?’ Claudius looked at him sharply. ‘In whose name did you give such an order?’
‘Yours, sire. You were still on your way back to the city at the time. I thought it best to act at once rather than risk any delay. For the safety of the senators.’
Claudius considered this and nodded. ‘Very well, but I will not have my officers take such d-d-decisions in my name again. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sire. My apologies.’
There was an awkward pause before Claudius spoke again. ‘So, gentlemen, what are we to do? There are a m-million people in Rome, and almost nothing to f-f-feed them with. I trust that orders have been sent to every town and village for at least a hundred m-miles to send what food they can?’
Narcissus nodded. ‘Yes, sire. I sent out messengers the moment I heard about the loss of the convoy. They carry orders to requisition whatever food and transport is available to supply Rome.’
‘On my authority as well, I dare say.’
‘Yes, sire,’ Narcissus replied. ‘As the prefect stated, there was no time to waste.’
‘I see.’ Claudius sniffed. ‘It would appear that the government of R-r-rome can continue perfectly well in my absence.’
There was another awkward silence before Claudius spoke again. ‘Anyway, even if food is requisitioned, it will not arrive in sufficient quantities to save the m-mob from starvation. Is that not true?’
‘Alas, yes, sire,’ said Narcissus. ‘That is why you and your family should leave Rome until the danger has passed.’