‘Ignore my companion,’ said Cato. ‘He got out of bed the wrong side this morning. Literally. He had a skinful last night and smacked his head on the wall when he woke up.’
‘Very funny,’ Macro growled. ‘I had a reason to get drunk, didn’t I? A bloody good reason. I already think I should have stayed where I was.’
The barge captain looked astonished. ‘What, and miss out on being a Praetorian?’
Macro eyed him coldly. ‘I can assure you, if I could avoid it, I would with all my heart.’
Cato intervened quickly. ‘That’s just the hangover talking. I’m sure he’ll get over it. He just needs a little bit of peace and quiet.’
‘I can see that clear enough!’ The barge captain roared with laughter at Macro’s fragile expression. ‘Still, I’d get used to it, if I was you. I’ve seen them Praetorians drink in some of the inns close to the wharves. They don’t half go at it, and they can be a right handful when they’re in their cups, I can tell you!’ He paused and frowned. ‘And heavy handed with it of late.’
‘Oh?’ Cato looked at him inquiringly. ‘There’s been trouble?’
The barge captain nodded. ‘A fair bit these last months. The grain supply has been running low, what with that business in Egypt last year. Price has been rising steadily. The mob don’t like it one bit and there’s been a few shops looted and some grain merchants beaten up. So the Praetorian Guard started cracking heads together. Well, more than that. They’ve gone and killed some people.’ He looked at the two soldiers warily. ‘Had to, I suppose. I mean, you’ve got to have order, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Macro said tersely.
‘Anyway, we don’t want to keep you from your duties.’ Cato nodded towards the rear of the barge.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. The lad can handle it all right up until I heave the mooring ropes ashore.’ He smiled cheerfully. ‘No need to break up the party.’
‘There’s no party,’ said Macro. ‘Now go about your business.’
The barge captain looked surprised, then a little hurt, and he turned and unhurriedly made his way back to the stern.
Cato sighed. ‘Was that necessary?’
‘What? Me getting rid of the chirpy sod? I thought so, before you blabbed every detail of our affairs. The man’s got a mouth as wide as the Tiber. Half of Rome is going to know we’ve arrived before the day is out.’
‘And what’s the problem with that?’ Cato glanced back towards the stern where the captain had taken the steering oar from his son and was staring ahead intently. ‘What’s he going to say? Just that he carried two soldiers upriver from Ostia and that they were on their way to join the Praetorian Guard. That’s not going to harm us in any way. On the contrary. If anyone starts to check up on us then he will be able to confirm the cover story. And anyone who speaks to him is going to realise at once that he’s too guileless to spout a line that he has been told to deliver.’ Cato paused to let Macro think it through. ‘Relax. You have to try not to think like a spy otherwise you’ll stop behaving like a soldier. If that happens the enemy will see through us in an instant.’
‘Enemy?’ Macro puffed his cheeks out. ‘What a fine to-do this is. Here we are pretending to be Praetorians so that we can hunt down and kill some other Roman citizens who just happen to have a different set of political values. At the same time they’re busy plotting the murder of their Emperor and anyone who stands between them and that aim. And all the while the frontier of the empire is teeming with real enemies who would like nothing better than for us to turn on each other. Forgive me for sounding naive, Cato, but isn’t this all just a little fucked up?’
Cato was silent for a moment before he replied. ‘Yes. It’s a mess. But that’s not our concern. We’re here to do one job. Whatever you may think, this isn’t that different from our duties as soldiers. We’re here to scout the enemy out, then infiltrate their position and take them on. Macro, it isn’t the job of soldiers to think beyond that. We don’t get to debate the whys and wherefores of the campaigns we fight for Rome. It’s the same with the job at hand. Right or wrong, we swore an oath to the Emperor and that makes anyone who decides to be his enemy, our enemy. Besides, Rome could do worse than have Claudius on the throne, a lot worse.’
Cato eased himself down on to the foredeck and stared towards the vast sprawl of palaces, temples, theatres, markets, bathhouses, private homes and teeming apartment blocks that covered the hills of Rome. Macro’s bitter expression faded and he chuckled to himself.
‘What’s so damned funny?’
‘Just thinking. When we first met I was the one who was stuck on the certainties of duty, and you who was forever putting the other side of things. By the gods, it used to drive me mad.’
‘People change.’
‘I don’t think so. At least, not that much. No, I think I understand you well enough, Cato. This is all about getting that promotion, so that you get Julia. Funny how a man will try to justify with reason the desires of his heart.’
Cato glared back at him, angry with himself for being so transparent. Then he relented. The thing was, he was shocked to discover that he had half believed what he had said to Macro. The only shred of comfort was that Macro, above all people, knew him well enough to see through his argument. He would have to hope that he played his part well in the coming days. If not, then he would surely be found out and killed.
The barge eased towards the vast warehouses that stood at the foot of the Aventine Hill. In front of the warehouses was the river port where hundreds of barges and smaller craft crowded a wharf that stretched along the bank of the Tiber. In the distance, where the river bent to the west, Cato could see the Sublician Bridge where the swift current flowing beneath the wooden trestles of the footbridge effectively ended the upriver commercial traffic for the barges from Ostia. Dusk was not far off and already some of the details of the city were merging into indistinct grey shapes in the distance.
The mule team reached the terminus at the start of the wharf and the slave untied the yoke and handed the tow cable to a gang of burly men who were waiting to haul the barge on to a mooring. The captain released the steering paddle and then he and his son took some thick timber poles to fend the barge off the vessels that were already moored alongside the wharf. Sometimes the boats were tied up two or three deep so that gangplanks were laid across the sides and the cargoes loaded or unloaded across the intervening hulls. The captain glanced ahead and seeing that there was little sign of a berthing space for some stretch he indicated a single craft a short distance away.
‘There!’ he called, pointing out the spot to the men pulling on the tow rope. Their leader nodded and shortly afterwards the barge was tied up alongside. Cato and Macro picked up their kitbags and marching yokes and waited until the gangways were tied securely before they made to quit the boat.
‘Best of luck with the new posting!’ The captain beamed as he ushered his son towards them. ‘This is my boy. Come to meet the heroes of the campaign in Britannia. Say hello, lad.’
The boy looked up shyly and whispered a greeting that was drowned out by the shouts and cries of the gangs of porters on the wharf. Cato smiled down at him and gently squeezed the boy’s shoulder.
‘Your father says you want to join the legions. Do you think you are tough enough?’
The boy shook his head quickly. ‘Not yet.’
‘I’m sure you will be one day. You should have seen me when I was your age. Nothing but skin and bones, and I turned out all right.’
Macro looked at him with feigned shock, but Cato ignored his friend and continued, ‘Work your body hard and you could be a hero one day, and make your father proud.’
‘Or,’ Macro spoke under his breath, ‘you could end up as the dogsbody of a scheming imperial freedman …’
The barge captain’s smile faded a little. ‘I’m proud of him already.’