Praetorian (2011)

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  Both men were silent for a moment before Cato hissed with frustration. ‘I can’t see my way through all this. What the hell has Narcissus shoved us into this time? There’s no question about there being a conspiracy … or perhaps more than one conspiracy.’

  Macro groaned. ‘Listen, Cato. This is making my head hurt. What do you mean, more than one conspiracy?’

  Cato tried to put together the information they had been given by Narcissus at the start of their mission and all that they had uncovered since then. ‘Something doesn’t feel quite right about this. There’s too much contradiction and too much that just doesn’t make sense.’ He paused and glanced towards his friend with a rueful smile. ‘You’re right about this line of work not being for us. Give me proper soldiering any day.’

  Macro slapped him heartily on the back. ‘I knew I’d make a professional of you! Come, let’s tell Narcissus we’ve had enough of this bollocks and get back to where we belong. In the legions. Even if it means not getting a promotion. Has to be better than this, skulking around dark streets on a cold night, spying,’ he concluded, his tone laced with disapproval that verged on disgust.

  ‘I wish it was as simple as that. Narcissus won’t let us go that easily. And you know it,’ Cato said bitterly. ‘We’ve no choice in the matter. We have to see this through to the end.’ He hunched forward and gazed towards the entrance to the house. ‘Meanwhile, we wait for Lurco to come out.’

  The hours of the night crept past as they sat in the shadows of the archway. Cato felt the cold more keenly than his friend and his limbs trembled despite his best efforts to will them into stillness. He sat on the cold stone with as much of his cloak bundled up beneath him as possible and then wrapped his arms tightly about his knees. The street remained still and quiet, aside from the occasional passer-by and a covered wagon that trundled along the road in the direction of the Forum. Now and then there was a faint chorus of laughter or cheering from the revellers in the garden. Then, close to midnight, the door of the house opened and a dull shaft of light spilled across the street. A small party of young men and women emerged, loud and raucous, and staggered off. Cato stared at them for a moment, but none was wearing the distinctive blue cloak.

  Macro stirred. ‘What if Lurco is with a group of them when he comes out? What if they go on to somewhere else?’

  ‘Then we follow them and wait again. At some point he’s going to have to head back to the camp.’

  ‘And so do we.’

  ‘As long as we’re back in time for morning assembly, there’s no problem.’

  ‘Other than being cold and bloody tired.’

  Cato turned to him and smiled thinly. ‘Nothing we’re not used to.’

  ‘Hurnnnn,’ Macro growled irritably.

  More of the party guests began to leave the house and their litters appeared out of the side alley, led by slaves bearing torches to light their way home. The two men in the archway across the street scrutinised the departing revellers with strained nerves.

  ‘Bet you Lurco is the last bloody one to leave,’ Macro grumbled. ‘Trust our luck.’

  ‘Shhh!’ Cato hissed, craning forward. ‘There he is.’

  Two men stood on the steps at the entrance to the house. Lurco was conspicuous enough in his cloak, even without the hood being drawn back to reveal his face. The other man was wearing a plain black cloak, with the hood pulled far enough forward to conceal his features. They descended into the street and set off towards the Forum, in the direction of the archway where Cato and Macro were concealed.

  Cato pressed himself against the wall of the arch and Macro crouched low by the door. Cato felt his heart pounding and stilled his breath in case the wisps of exhaled breath betrayed his presence. The boots of the approaching men echoed off the walls of the buildings on either side of the street. They talked loudly, in the way of men who have drunk deeply.

  ‘Good party,’ said Lurco. ‘That Seneca knows how to entertain in style.’

  ‘Style?’ the centurion’s companion snorted. ‘The wine was good but the food was miserly, and I’ve seen better whores.’

  ‘Ah, er, yes. I was actually talking of Seneca himself. Quite the raconteur.’

  ‘Rubbish. Just another poser who thinks he’s a cut above the rest of us because he can swear in Greek. And as for that harlot, Agrippina … I’m pretty broad minded, Lurco, but the damn woman is insatiable. Anything from a slave boy up to a raddled old fool like Seneca is fair game to her.’

  There was a short pause as the pair passed Cato and Macro and then Lurco continued in a lower voice, ‘I’d be careful about saying such things. You’re talking treason, especially when you say it in front of an officer of the Praetorian Guard.’

  ‘Pah, you’re nothing but pretend soldiers. I’ve seen better men than you in the worst centuries of the Second Legion, and that’s saying something …’

  Their voices faded as they strode down the street. Macro seized Cato’s arm and whispered urgently, ‘That voice. You know who that was?’

  Cato nodded. ‘Vitellius.’

  ‘What do we do? We can’t risk having that bastard recognising us.’

  ‘Come on.’ Cato rose up. ‘We mustn’t lose them.’

  Before Macro could protest, Cato set off after the two men, keeping to the shadows along the side of the street. With a muted curse Macro followed him. They kept their distance so that their footsteps would not be heard by those ahead of them. As Lurco and Vitellius headed out of the Quirinal district and reached a crossroads, Lurco slowed down and moved off to the wall of a house just before the junction. He hoisted up the hem of his cloak and fumbled under the tunic beneath.

  ‘You go on, Vitellius. I’ll catch you up.’

  The other man glanced back and then nodded and turned the corner, leaving Lurco to sigh with relief as his piss spattered against the base of the wall.

  ‘This’ll do us,’ Cato decided. ‘Let’s get him now, while he’s on his own.’

  Macro nodded and reached for his cosh as the two of them increased their pace, padding along the other side of the street until they were almost opposite Lurco. At the last moment they dashed across the cobbled way and Lurco turned dully at the sudden sound. Cato thrust his shoulders hard, slamming him against the wall. Lurco let out a pained grunt as the breath was driven from him. Macro swung his cosh across the back of the centurion’s skull and his legs gave way and he collapsed into the puddle he had just created.

  Cato was breathing hard and his heart was beating fast. It had been easier than he expected. Now they had to deliver Lurco into the hands of Septimus at the safe house. ‘Let’s get him up. Give me a hand.’

  They reached down and pulled the unconscious centurion up between them, slinging one of his arms over each of their shoulders.

  ‘Ready?’ Cato asked softly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s get away from here before Vitellius comes looking.’

  They had gone no more than a few paces when a voice called out behind them.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Cato looked round sharply and saw Vitellius standing at the corner of the junction, no more than ten feet away. Even though it was night, the sky was clear and the loom of the stars gave just enough light to reveal their faces to each other.

  Vitellius looked confused for an instant and then his jaw sagged a fraction before he called out in astonishment, ‘You!’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Macro was the first to break the spell. He threw Lurco’s arm off and spun round as he reached inside his cloak for the cosh. It was in his hand before he took his first pace towards Vitellius. The former tribune was too stunned to react, and further hampered by the wine he had consumed. Even so he ducked as Macro’s cosh swept through the air and the impetus sent it thudding into the side of the building. Macro’s knuckles cracked against the bricks and he let out a strangled cry of anger and pain as Vitellius stumbl
ed back. Cato dropped Lurco and turned to help his friend but Macro charged on, thrusting his spare hand into Vitellius’s chest and sending him sprawling on to the paving stones.

  ‘Help!’ Vitellius cried out. ‘Help me!’

  Macro fell on him, driving the wind from his lungs. At the same time he drew his bloodied cosh hand back and swung it viciously at the side of Vitellius’s head. The latter sensed the movement and jerked round, taking the blow on his shoulder.

  ‘Oh, sod it!’ Macro growled as he dropped the cosh, balled his hand into a fist and smashed it down directly into the other man’s cheek. Vitellius’s head struck the ground beneath and he went limp, his arms dropping untidily across his chest. Macro drew his hand back to strike again but saw that Vitellius had been knocked cold. Macro struggled up, breathing hard. Cato stood on the other side of the fallen man, staring down.

  ‘Great,’ said Macro. ‘Now what do we do?’

  ‘He’s seen us. He knows we’re in Rome. We can’t let him talk.’

  ‘So.’ Macro smiled cruelly, and drew his dagger out. ‘I’d always hoped it would come to this.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Cato grasped his arm.

  Macro turned to him with a surprised expression. ‘We can get rid of him once and for all. You know what he’s done, to us and others. I can’t think of a man who is more deserving of a knife in the ribs and being left to bleed out in the gutter.’

  ‘No.’ Cato shook his head. ‘That’s not in our orders.’

  ‘Then it’s a bonus.’ Macro pulled his hand free.

  ‘No. Think about it, Macro. Witnesses saw him leave with Lurco. Narcissus is bound to hear of it. If he turns up dead, then Narcissus will know it was us.’

  ‘So? He’s no friend of Narcissus either.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean Narcissus won’t use it against us. You don’t go and kill the son of one of the most influential men in Rome without there being consequences.’

  Macro was silent for a moment. ‘Then let’s just make him disappear. Drop him into the Great Sewer.’

  ‘What if his body is found and recognised?’

  Macro held up his dagger. ‘I can make sure that he won’t be recognised.’

  ‘Put that away, Macro,’ Cato said firmly. ‘We have to take him with us.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Macro grumbled. ‘Won’t be easy carrying ‘em both.’

  ‘We’ll manage. Keep watch while I see to them.’ Cato drew some thick twine and a few strips of cloth from the side bag under his cloak. He tied the hands of both men and then stuffed their mouths with the cloth. No one was about, and only the familiar sounds of the capital broke the silence. Cato helped lift Vitellius on to Macro’s shoulders and then lifted Lurco, who was more slightly built than his companion.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Cato. ‘Let’s go.’

  It was at least half a mile to the safe house and they kept to the side streets as they struggled under their burdens. At one point Vitellius began to stir and Macro was obliged to crack his head against a wall to keep him quiet.

  ‘Don’t get a taste for that,’ Cato warned him as they continued up the slope of the hill into the Subura district. Just before they reached the safe house they ran into a rowdy group of young men and had to make up some story about their mates not being able to hold their drink. The two parties parted with good-humoured laughter. At last they staggered into the insula and dumped Vitellius in the vestibule before labouring upstairs with the centurion. Septimus opened the door for them, backing into the room which was illuminated by an oil lamp.

  ‘Good work.’ He nodded approvingly as he made to shut the door.

  ‘Wait,’ Cato gasped. ‘One more … to come.’

  ‘One more? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Explain later … Come on, Macro.’

  When they returned with Vitellius, the imperial agent stared at the second body in surprise, and then shock as he recognised his features.

  ‘Are you mad? Good gods, do you know who this is? What the hell is he doing here?’

  ‘He was with Lurco … when we took him,’ Cato explained between breaths. ‘We didn’t have any choice.’

  ‘You didn’t have to bring him here. Why not leave him in the street?’

  ‘He recognised us.’

  ‘How?’

  Cato exchanged a wary look with Macro before he replied. ‘I take it that Narcissus has not told you about our past history.’

  ‘Only what I needed to know,’ Septimus replied stiffly. ‘It is dangerous to possess too much knowledge in my line of work.’

  ‘In that case, it’s enough for you to know that we served with Vitellius in the Second Legion in Britannia. We didn’t see eye to eye on a few issues.’

  Macro chuckled. ‘To put it fucking mildly.’

  ‘In any case,’ Cato continued, ‘we can’t afford to have him at liberty. He can link us to the disappearance of Lurco. Until our job is done, he has to be kept out of sight. He’ll have to go with Lurco.’

  ‘Or we could get rid of him,’ Macro suggested and then raised a hand to placate Cato as his friend glared at him. ‘Just trying to think through the options.’

  Septimus sucked in an anxious breath. ‘Narcissus is not going to like this. Matters are already slipping out of our control. Vitellius must be dealt with.’

  There was a groan and the three men turned to see that Vitellius was stirring.

  ‘He has to be blindfolded,’ Cato said quietly to Septimus. ‘He’s seen more than enough already. We don’t want him to identify you.’

  ‘Quite. Deal with it and put him in the other room while we talk to Lurco. We need to find out what he knows about the Liberators’ plot.’

  Macro took out his dagger and cut a strip from Vitellius’s cloak which he wrapped twice round Vitellius’s face before tying it off securely. Then he put his hands under the former tribune’s shoulders and hauled him into the next room where he dumped him on the floor. The shock of the impact brought Vitellius to full consciousness and he mumbled into his gag as he writhed on the ground. Macro pressed his boot down on Vitellius’s shoulder.

  ‘Don’t move,’ he growled, ‘and we might let you live. Cause any trouble and I swear, by all the gods, that I’ll cut your throat. Understand?’

  The other man stopped struggling and laid still, chest rising and falling. He nodded.

  ‘There’s a good patrician,’ Macro said, with contempt. He turned away and returned to the other room where Cato and Septimus had propped the other captive up against the wall. Septimus pulled up his hood to conceal his features. Lurco was moaning faintly and Cato reached forward to pull the gag from his mouth. Lurco retched and an acidic waft of breath struck Cato’s face. The centurion mumbled incoherently as his eyes flickered and Cato slapped him.

  ‘Come on! Wake up!’

  ‘Whharr … What?’ Lurco blinked and jerked his head back against the wall with a sharp crack. He winced and let out a pained groan.

  ‘Oh great,’ Macro mumbled. ‘All we need is for the idiot to get knocked out again.’

  ‘Shhh!’ Cato hissed irritably. He leant forward and roughly shook Lurco’s shoulder. ‘Lurco … Centurion Lurco!’

  The man groaned and opened his eyes again, blinking as he struggled to focus. He glanced at the faces in front of him and his eyes widened in surprise. ‘I know you. Of course I know you. Guardsmen Capito and Calidus. The new recruits.’ He frowned as he tried to make out Septimus’s face, but it was shadowed by the hood of his cloak and Lurco gave up and returned his attention to Cato and Macro.

  ‘By the gods, I’ll have you both crucified for this! Assaulting a superior officer and kidnapping him. You’ll be shown no mercy.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Cato snapped, raising his fist threateningly. ‘You’re the one in trouble. Unless you answer our questions truthfully.’

  For the first time Lurco looked uncertain, then scared. He swallowed anxiously and licked his lips before responding in a soft voice. ‘Question
s?’

  ‘Don’t play the innocent,’ snapped Septimus. ‘We know you’re part of the conspiracy.’

  Lurco’s brow creased. ‘What do you mean? What conspiracy?’

  Septimus kicked him in the stomach, then, as Lurco gasped for breath, he stabbed a finger at him. ‘No more warnings. We ask, you answer. Clear?’

  ‘Yes …’ Lurco whispered. ‘Quite clear.’

  ‘Right then. You were named by a traitor who recently fell into our hands. He gave you up before we finished with him. Said that you were one of the ringleaders of the plot to overthrow the Emperor.’

  ‘It’s a lie!’ Lurco shook his head desperately. ‘I’m not a traitor. For Jupiter’s sake, I swore an oath of loyalty!’

  ‘So did the man we questioned. Didn’t stop him betraying Claudius. Nor you.’

  ‘No. It’s a mistake.’

  ‘True enough,’ Septimus replied and nodded to Macro. ‘See what you can do to loosen his tongue, or his teeth.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Macro smiled coldly and bunched his fists. He hooked his right into the centurion’s cheek and Lurco’s head jerked hard to the side. A fiery stab of pain shot down Macro’s arm, adding to the existing pain following his earlier contact with the wall when he had felled Vitellius. Lurco let out a deep groan. He turned, dazed, to face his questioners again; their shadows, distorted and menacing, played over the far wall of the room. He spat out a bloody gobbet then spoke with quiet sincerity. ‘I’m innocent, I tell you.’

  ‘I see,’ Septimus sneered. ‘Then why were you named as a traitor?’

  ‘I-I don’t know. But I swear it’s a lie.’

  ‘Pah! You’re the liar, Lurco. And a pretty poor one at that. I want the truth. Macro!’

  Lurco’s eyes snapped towards Macro, wide and pleading. This time Macro struck him with his left, and Lurco took it just above the ear as he tried to move his head out of the way. The centurion winced and his eyelids fluttered for a moment.

  ‘Please … please. I’m innocent,’ he mumbled.

  Septimus regarded him in silence and then stretched up to his full height, narrowly missing one of the beams in the low ceiling. He regarded the centurion for a while and then scratched his nose. ‘What do you think, lads? Is he being straight with us?’