‘It was planned from the outset. I was paid to have my lads provoke the food riot …’ Cestius began to breathe raggedly. ‘Once it was in full swing we were to stand by to ambush the Emperor and his escort … Would have killed our targets too, if you and your friend there hadn’t got in the way.’
Cato felt his heart quicken. ‘Targets? The Emperor and his family?’
Cestius shook his head. ‘The Empress and her son.’
‘Just them?’ Cato felt a cold tingle at the base of his neck.
‘Yes.’
‘No one else? Are you certain?’
‘He was quite clear about it … Just Agrippina and Nero.’
‘Who? Who gave you the order?’
Cestius winced and sucked in a long shallow breath. Cato reached forward and shook his shoulder roughly.
‘Who paid you to do it? Tell me!’
Cestius licked his dry lips again and this time there was blood in his spittle. A thick dark drop trickled down his chin as he replied. ‘A man from the palace. I’ve done jobs for him before. Made people disappear. Put the frighteners on others. Kind of thing I do well.’ Cestius smiled with pride.
‘Enemies of the Emperor?’
‘Not always.’
‘What was his name?’ Cato demanded.
‘Don’t know. Wasn’t part of the arrangement. He just paid me to do what his master needed done, and not ask questions.’
Cato hissed with frustration. ‘Well, what did he look like? The man who gave you your instructions?’
Cestius shrugged. ‘Just a man. Your build. Few years older …’
‘What else?’ Cato snapped. ‘Any scars, anything to make him stand out?’
‘Yes … A mark, a tattoo here.’ Cestius reached up and touched his neck just below the ear.
Cato felt his blood grow cold and he heard Macro swear softly. ‘What kind of tattoo?’
Cestius thought briefly. ‘Only saw it clearly one time. Once, when we met in the public baths. A crescent moon and star …’
Cato knew at once where he had seen the distinctive mark before, the day they had arrived in Rome.
‘That’s Septimus - has to be,’ Macro muttered to Cato. ‘Septimus? What the hell is going on?’
Cato’s mind was filled with a jumble of recollected images and lines of thought that had seemed confusing or came to a dead end. Now they fell into place, one by one. There was a conspiracy lurking in the shadows even deeper than that being hatched by the Liberators. A monstrous scheme that left Cato marvelling at its brilliant deviousness even as it repulsed him and made him aware for the first time of the scale of the deception that both he and
Macro, among many others, had been enduring for years. He stood up quickly and turned to his friend.
‘We have to get back to the palace at once. We must find Narcissus.’
‘Narcissus?’
By the dying flickers of the torch in the sand, Cato looked at his friend intently. ‘We’ve been duped. There’s more than one plot against the Emperor. I suspected there might be. But there’s something else. We have to go, Macro. Now.’
Cestius chuckled.
‘What’s so damned funny?’ asked Macro.
‘Just agreeing with your friend there. Now would be a good time to act.’
Cato rounded on him. ‘Why?’
‘Last word I had from Sinius was that I should be ready to move the grain back to the warehouse first thing tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Cato’s brow creased. ‘Then whatever the Liberators are planning is going to happen tonight …’ His guts were seized by an icy dread. ‘Shit, they’re going to try to kill the Emperor tonight. We have to go, now!’
As Cato turned towards the public entrance there was a plaintive groan as Cestius stirred and raised a bloodied hand. ‘Wait! You promised me a quick death, Praetorian.’
‘So I did.’ Cato turned back and briefly stared down at the gang leader before tossing his dagger down into the sand behind him. ‘There. You’ve used one on other men, striking them from the shadows. Now use it on yourself, if you have the guts.’
Cato began to run towards the public entrance and Macro followed him across the sand.
‘Oi! Oi, you!’ One of the Circus staff called after them. ‘You can’t leave him here! Oi! I’m talking to you!’
The man ran a few paces after the two figures receding into the gloom and then stopped. There was a short grunt from the direction of the imperial box and then a long expiring sigh. By the time he turned to see what had happened, the mortally wounded giant had slumped over on to his side and lay still, the handle of a dagger protruding from his chest.
B
y the flickering glow of the same oil lamp they had used to light their way out of the imperial palace Cato and Macro emerged from the secret tunnel leading towards the Circus Maximus. Macro shook his head as he considered the situation.
‘I don’t get it. Why would Narcissus want Nero and Agrippina killed?’
Cato cautiously tried the door that Narcissus had led them to two hours earlier. It was still unlocked and he eased it open and peered out into the chamber where the fuel was stored for the palace’s main bathhouse. Neatly stacked logs lined the walls. Cato waited a moment but there was no sound or sign of movement, so he beckoned to Macro to follow him. ‘Think about it, Macro. After all, you should know the answer.’
‘Don’t play cute,’ Macro grumbled. ‘Just tell me.’
‘It was you who saw Agrippina and Pallas together, remember?’
‘How could I forget? The wife of our Emperor in the paws of some greasy little Greek freedman is hardly an edifying sight.’
‘Quite.’ Cato smiled. ‘Nevertheless, there’s no avoiding the truth. Agrippina has taken Pallas as a lover. His fortune is linked to hers, and that of her son. Pallas is positioning himself for the day when Claudius puts in his application for divinity. If, as looks likely, Nero becomes the new Emperor then Pallas would be in a very powerful position as the lover of Agrippina.’
‘Obviously,’ Macro sighed.
‘So where do you think that leaves Narcissus?’
Macro paused midstride. ‘Wait, are you saying he’d dare to make an attempt on the son of the empress?’
‘Why not? It’s the most sensible thing to do. If he just killed Pallas, then Agrippina would be sure to find herself a new lover
soon enough and then Narcissus is back to square one. If he kills Nero, then Britannicus will have no rival for the throne and Agrippina’s influence will diminish, and Pallas’s fortunes along with hers. Of course, the tricky part is to remove Nero in such a way that there is no suspicion that Narcissus might be behind the assassination. So he used Cestius and his gang. That’s why Cestius spared Britannicus. He was under orders to kill only Nero and possibly his mother. Narcissus was there with us so that it would look like he was in just as much danger as everyone else.’
Macro was silent for a moment as they trod warily across the chamber towards the narrow door leading into the service corridor beyond. ‘By the gods, Narcissus and his friends play some pretty deadly games with each other.’
Cato shrugged. ‘Welcome to life in the imperial palace. Conspiracy, treachery and murder are the diet of those who run the place.’ He turned to Macro with a rueful smile. ‘Now you can see why I was lucky to be sent to join the legions. I doubt I’d have survived for long if I had gone into the imperial service, like my father. At least in the army you know who your enemies are … most of the time.’
Macro snorted. ‘Most of the time, but not in the Praetorian Guard. They’re a bunch of pretty puppets playing at soldiering and politics in equal measure.’
Cato nodded. ‘And that is what makes them so dangerous to the emperors. Tiberius nearly lost his crown thanks to the Praetorians, and Caligula lost his life. The odds are that Claudius and a good many of his successors are going to go the same way.’
‘Unless the Liberators get what they want.’
Cato shot his friend a quick look. ‘I suppose. Anyway, we’d best be quiet from here on.’ He lifted the latch on the door and eased it open. The service corridor was empty, and the only light was from a single torch guttering at the foot of the stairs leading up into the heart of the palace. Cato blew the lamp out and placed it by the door before he and Macro padded down the corridor, passing the doors to several more chambers. The staircase led up to one of the palace’s kitchens where the shelves that were usually filled with luxuries were now mostly bare.
‘It’s quiet,’ said Macro. ‘Haven’t seen or heard a soul so far.’
They passed out of the kitchens into one of the main thoroughfares and made for the private quarters of the imperial family.
‘I don’t like this,’ Cato said softly. ‘We should have run into someone by now. Some of the Praetorians, or the slaves at least.’
At last, as they approached the doors to the private suites of the Emperor and his family, they saw some of the guards. Eight Praetorians stood on watch by the light of a brazier. As Cato and Macro emerged from the gloom they saw a figure step forward and recognised Fuscius.
‘Stop there!’ the optio barked. ‘Identify yourselves.’
Cato muttered to his friend, ‘Time to drop the cover story, I think.’
‘High bloody time,’ Macro agreed with feeling.
As they stepped into the pool of light cast by the brazier, Fuscius swore softly. ‘Calidus and Capito! What have you two been up to? You’re covered in filth.’ His eyes widened as he was struck by a more salient thought. ‘You’re supposed to be on guard! You’ve deserted your posts.’
‘Quiet!’ Cato snapped. ‘Optio, what’s going on? Where are the rest of the Praetorians?’
Fuscius opened his mouth in astonishment at being addressed in this curt manner by a ranker. He puffed out his chest as he took a deep breath to bawl the two men out.
‘There’s no time for lengthy explanations,’ Cato said curtly. ‘All you need to know is that my name is not Capito. I’m Prefect Cato and this is Centurion Macro. Why are there so few men in the palace?’
‘Hold it.’ Fuscius stared at them. ‘What’s going on?’
‘We’ve uncovered a plot to kill the Emperor. We’ve been investigating a plot involving some officers of the Praetorian Guard.’
‘Bollocks. I don’t believe it. You two are on a charge.’
‘Shut your mouth,’ Macro said firmly. ‘Or it’ll be you on a charge, sunshine, at the very least, should anything happen to the Emperor. Now tell the prefect what’s going on. Where are the rest of the Praetorians?’
Fuscius swallowed nervously before he replied. ‘All right, all right then … they’ve been ordered out of the palace to guard the
perimeter of the imperial quarter. Only Tribune Burrus and two centuries remain in the palace.’
‘Who gave the order?’ Cato demanded.
‘Prefect Geta. Less than half an hour ago, I’d say. Same time that he ordered the German bodyguards to be confined to quarters.’
Cato felt his blood go cold. ‘Where is Tigellinus?’
Fuscius glanced from one to the other briefly, his mouth working helplessly. Then he shook his head. ‘The centurion’s not here.’
‘Where is he then?’ Cato demanded.
‘He went off with Prefect Geta and another officer, Centurion Sinius, and a squad of men.’
Cato stabbed his finger into the scale armour on the optio’s chest. ‘Where did they go?’
‘I don’t know. They were making for the gardens. Doing the rounds of the sentries, I think the prefect said.’
Cato exchanged an anxious glance with Macro before he addressed Fuscius again. ‘Where’s the tribune?’
‘He set up a command post in the entrance hall, sir.’
‘Then you go to him at once. Tell him to bring every man he can to the imperial quarters immediately. Tell Burrus that the Emperor’s life depends on it. We’ll take these men with us.’ Cato saw the optio was on the verge of indecision again and he took a step towards the man and grasped him by the shoulders. ‘Get a grip on yourself, Fuscius! You have your orders, now go!’ Cato gave him a firm shove away from the entrance and Fuscius hurried away towards the main entrance of the palace, the clatter of his nailed boots echoing off the high walls.
Turning back, Cato faced the remaining Praetorians. Their expressions were as shocked and surprised as the optio’s. He needed them to accept his authority and obey his orders without question. Cato drew a calming breath as he looked at them. ‘I meant what I said about the danger to the Emperor. There are traitors in our ranks. Men who would break their sacred oath. The only hope we have of stopping them is if you obey my orders, and those of Centurion Macro, without question. Is that clear?’ He looked at each man in turn, daring them to defy him. There were no dissenters and Cato nodded.
‘Very well. Draw your swords and follow us.’ He gestured to Macro, and with a light scrape of his blade, Cato drew his sword and trotted through the entrance of the imperial quarters with Macro at his side. With a chorus of steely rasps the Praetorians drew their weapons and fell in behind the two officers.
As they ran down the long corridor connecting the main part of the palace to the more private and comfortable suites occupied by Claudius and his family, Cato hurriedly thought through the layout of this part of the palace complex. There would still be some men of the Sixth Century at their stations, and perhaps a handful of the German bodyguards who had been with the Emperor when their comrades had been quietly removed from the scene. Therefore the logical route for the assassins to take would be through the terraced gardens and then a final assault through the colonnade that ran along the side of the gardens. It would take them longer than the direct route, but it would avoid having to bluff, or fight, their way through each checkpoint. There was still a chance that they might reach the Emperor first.