Praetorian (2011)

by Simon Scarrow

  At the top they emerged into a huge vaulted chamber that stretched out in a shallow curve on either side. The chamber was nearly a hundred feet wide and the far wall was pierced by wide arches that reached up some twenty or so feet. The floor of the chamber was covered in sand which extended out beyond the arches into a vast open space that stretched out into the darkness. Cestius sprinted towards the nearest arch, kicking up divots of sand in his wake.

  ‘Come on!’ Cato urged.

  They ran on, hearts pounding and muscles burning with the effort. They passed through the arch and out into starlight.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Macro panted. ‘We’re in the Great Circus.’

  On either side of them the sand stretched away towards the dark mass of the spectator seating on either side. Ahead of them rose the central island with its assorted statues and officials’ platforms. When the chariot races took place, this vast space was filled with the deafening roar of two hundred thousand voices, madly cheering on their favourite teams. Now there was an uncanny and immense stillness, and Cato felt his flesh tingle as he continued to pursue Cestius across the smoothly raked sand of the racetrack.

  ‘We have to catch him before he reaches the far end,’ Macro called to him. ‘If he gets out of the public entrance and on to the streets we’ll lose him.’

  Cato nodded and pushed his tiring limbs on. Then, just as Cestius drew parallel with the raised platform of the imperial box, he stumbled and fell headlong. The torch shot out of his hand and hit the ground in a flurry of sparks. He was down only briefly before he clambered to his feet and snatched up the torch, but it was long enough for Cato and Macro to catch up to him, drawing their swords as they did so. Cato edged to one side, and Macro the other, crouching low and ready to strike as they drew ragged breaths of the cool night air. Cestius could see that the route to the public entrance was blocked and he backed away, towards the base of the imperial box, his sword drawn.

  ‘Give up,’ said Cato. ‘You can’t escape now.’

  ‘No?’ Cestius licked his dry lips. ‘Let’s see if you two have got what it takes to beat me, eh?’

  ‘By the gods, you’re full of it,’ Macro growled. ‘Shove an enema up your arse and they’ll be carrying you to your funeral in a bloody thimble.’ He patted his sword against the palm of his left hand. ‘Come on then, you arrogant shit.’

  ‘Stop.’ Cato held up his hand. ‘I want him alive. Cestius, throw down your sword.’

  ‘No chance!’ Cestius snarled and quickly stepped forward, sweeping the torch round in an arc so that it flared fiercely as it roared past Cato and Macro, forcing them back a pace. He suddenly frowned. ‘I know you … The Praetorians at the inn. And …’

  His rapid recollection was interrupted by distant cries from the starting gates where they had emerged from the storerooms. A handful of figures were trotting across the sand towards them. Staff and officials who worked in the Circus, Cato guessed, come to investigate the disturbance. Cato pointed towards them with his spare hand.

  ‘You can’t escape. If you fight us you will die. If you give up, you may be spared.’

  ‘I’m no fool, Praetorian. I know what fate awaits me.’ Cestius crouched low, sword and torch held out, ready to fight. ‘I’ll not give in meekly. If you want me then you’re going to have to kill me first … before I kill you!’

  He sprang forward, sweeping his torch out towards Macro and then turned swiftly on Cato to make a thrust with his sword. While Macro fell back before the fiery arc, Cato held his ground and parried the attack, and then responded with a feint that forced Cestius to recover his blade and hold it close, ready to counter Cato’s attack. Instead, Cato held his sword up and stared at his opponent, noticing the dark patch of blood on the right shoulder of Cestius’s tunic, where Macro had stabbed him as they had struggled for control of the door at the end of the tunnel. The point of the big man’s sword quivered as his injury caused his arm to tremble. Cato stepped forward and feinted to the right, then cut under Cestius’s blade and stabbed to the left. It was a simple attack, intended to test the other man’s responses rather than draw blood. With a desperate motion Cestius knocked the sword aside and backed away, closer to the base of the imperial box which was a scant few feet behind him. Cato made to attack again, and this time Macro went in from the other side. Cestius warded them off with a flurry from his torch and sword, and then his heel struck the solid wall behind him. There was no room to manoeuvre any longer and Cato sensed that he would react in the only way left to him now, a wild attack.

  ‘Careful, Macro.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I know his kind,’ Macro replied without taking his eyes off Cestius.

  The staff of the Circus were much closer now and one of them called out, ‘Oi! What do you three jokers think you’re playing at? You’re not allowed in here. Take your bloody fight somewhere else.’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ Macro yelled. ‘We’re Praetorians.’ He gestured with his sword. ‘That one’s a criminal and a traitor we’ve been hunting. Now you either help us take him down, or you answer to the Emperor.’

  ‘He’s lying!’ Cestius called out. ‘They’re thieves. Tried to rob me before chasing me in here. Save me and I’ll make it worth your while.’

  The officials drew up just short of the confrontation, not sure who to believe. With himself and Macro reeking of sewage and wearing heavily soiled tunics, Cato feared that the burden of proof rested on their shoulders. They could not risk any delay. He snatched a deep breath and shouted, ‘Now, Macro! Take him!’

  With a roar Macro sprinted in, sword held up and ready to strike, while Cato charged from the side. Cestius tried to parry Macro’s sword with his torch but the blazing length was punched aside and down into the sand. Macro rushed on, slamming into Cestius with his shoulder and sending him crashing back against the wall. An instant later Cato cut down into Cestius’s sword arm, slicing through the muscled flesh and down to the bone, severing tendons so that the other man’s fingers released the sword. Cato’s momentum carried him on; he thudded into Cestius’s side and his sword punched home into the giant’s guts with a wet thud. Cestius let out an explosive grunt and his body stiffened for a moment before he sagged and his legs gave way, and he sank on to the sand. Macro and Cato drew back and regarded him cautiously, but Cato could see by the light of the torch still burning where it lay on the ground that Cestius’s wound was mortal.

  He reached down to pick up the gang leader’s sword and toss it to one side, out of reach, before sheathing his own weapon. Macro kept his sword to hand and moved round to confront the other men who looked on in silence. ‘You lot, stay back!’

  They needed no prompting and Cato left Macro to keep a watch on them while he concentrated his attention on Cestius. The big man was slumped against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, his hands clasped over the wound in his side. His eyes were tightly clenched for a moment before he opened them and smiled bitterly at Cato.

  ‘Told you you’d have to kill me,’ he said softly. He closed his eyes again.

  ‘Cestius.’ Cato leant forward and shook his shoulder. ‘Cestius!’

  The giant’s eyes flickered open. ‘Can’t you let a man die in peace?’

  ‘No,’ Cato replied harshly. ‘Not until you answer some questions.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Cato drew his dagger and held it up for Cestius to see. ‘I can make this painful if you refuse to talk, or quick and painless if you co-operate.’

  ‘I’m dying. What difference does it make?’

  Cato smiled coldly. ‘Do you really want to find out?’

  There was a brief silence between the two men before Cestius shook his head faintly.

  ‘Right, then.’ Cato lowered the dagger. ‘First, who paid you to hoard the grain?’

  ‘A Praetorian centurion. Sinius.’

  Cato nodded. ‘What was the arrangement?’

  ‘He paid me in silver. I laundered the money through my gang and used the proceeds
to buy the grain. I used some of the merchants as fronts. The grain cargoes were stored in a warehouse, and then my lads moved it to the cave.’ Cestius smiled thinly. ‘As you know. We were to take a big cut when Sinius gave the word to start selling the grain. That was the deal.’

  Cato nodded. ‘Did Sinius tell you who he was working for?’

  ‘Not my business to inquire into the reasons for anything. Not these days. More trouble than it’s worth. Not that it stopped Sinius blabbing away that it was for a noble cause. All for the good of Rome.’ Cestius sneered, and then his features contorted and he let out a long, keening moan. Cato squatted down beside him, fearing that he might die before he had given up all the information that he wanted. At length Cestius’s pained expression faded and he licked his lips and fixed his gaze on Cato once again.

  ‘Did you meet any of the other conspirators?’

  Cestius was silent for a moment before he responded. ‘Not among the Liberators.’

  Cato leant forward. ‘Then who else?’

  Cestius ignored the question and asked one of his own. ‘Who are you working for, Praetorian? Not the Liberators. I know that. Your master is in the imperial household, I’d guess.’

  Cato said nothing.

  ‘Which means Pallas … or Narcissus.’

  ‘I have one more question,’ Cato said. ‘About the day your gang attacked the imperial party in the Forum. How did you know we were going to be there?’

  ‘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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  By 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 wi
th 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.’