As they reached the entrance to the barracks, Tigellinus was waiting for them. He jerked a thumb towards the centurion’s quarters.
‘Lurco is back. He wants to see you.’ Tigellinus smirked. ‘He sent for you over an hour ago. Shame I couldn’t find you – the centurion is not a man who is inclined to tolerate delay.’ The optio gave a dry laugh before he sauntered off to the squad’s room. ‘Good luck.’
Macro’s lips pressed together as he waited until Tigellinus was out of earshot, then he hissed through clenched teeth, ‘Bastard. He knew where we were. He’s set us up.’
Cato shrugged. ‘Nothing we can do about it now. Come on.’
They made their way to the door of the small office adjoining the centurion’s private quarters and saw that it was open. Lurco was standing at the window, looking out across the wall of the camp and over the city, illuminated by the twinkling sparks of torches and lamps. He stood quite still as he stared in the direction of the imperial palace, his back dimly lit by the single oil lamp glimmering on his desk. Cato gestured to Macro and they stood directly outside the door frame. Taking a deep breath, Cato rapped on the wooden frame.
‘You sent for us, sir?’
Lurco turned quickly and Cato saw that the centurion was younger than he had been expecting, in his mid-twenties. His hair was dark and artfully arranged in oiled curls above a finely featured face that was on the pretty side of handsome. His good looks hardened into a frown.
‘Are you the new men? Capito and Calidus?’ he asked in a thin, high-pitched voice.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Don’t just stand there. Enter.’
They strode in and stood before their commander’s desk. He was taller than Cato and by tilting his head back slightly he gave even more of an impression of looking down on the other men.
‘Where have you been? I sent for you ages ago. Why weren’t you in the barracks?’
‘Beg your pardon, sir, but we were in the bathhouse,’ Macro explained.
‘Shirking some duties no doubt.’
‘No, sir. We’re veterans. We’ve been excused fatigues.’
‘Veterans?’ Lurco sneered. ‘So, you think the world owes you a living? You think you’re better than the rest of us no doubt. Just because you’ve got some mud on your boots, and a few scratches.’ He flicked his hand dismissively in the direction of Cato’s face. ‘I don’t care if you’re veterans. The men of my century are all the same as far as I am concerned. And now it seems you all depend on me so much that I have been ordered to cut my leave short and return to the camp for tomorrow’s tedious little show put on for the Emperor. I could have been at a party in the city having a good fuck with some senator’s wife or daughter, but no, I’m stuck here in the camp. So if I have to give up my friends to be here, then the bloody least you can do is have the damned good grace to come when you are summoned.’
Cato felt an instinctive dislike of the man, and was suddenly painfully conscious of the scar that had ruined his own face. Lurco, with his finely arranged good looks, was the kind of young officer who would be a success with the capital’s ladies. Possibly the kind of person that a woman like Julia might encounter and take a fancy to. It was a foolish thought, Cato told himself, angry that he had relaxed his hold on the feelings he had been struggling to suppress.
‘We came as soon as we were told you wanted to see us, sir,’ said Macro.
‘Well, that’s not soon enough,’ Lurco snapped. He stared at them, his nostrils flared. ‘Well, now we know each other, and you know what I stand for. In future when I give an order I expect you to obey it at once. Fail to do so and I will see to it that your veteran status is revoked, and I’ll have you up to your necks in shit doing latrine fatigues for the rest of the year. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Macro and Cato replied.
Lurco stared at them. ‘Tomorrow we play host to the Emperor. Our cohort will be placed either side of the imperial box. That means I want a good turnout. My century will be the smartest unit in the entire Praetorian Guard, or I’ll know the reason why. Don’t you dare let me down. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then leave me. Go. Get out of my sight.’
They saluted, turned, and Macro led as they strode out of the room. They made their way to the stairs and Macro’s breath escaped with a hearty sigh. ‘What a complete bloody arsehole. I’ll bet the uppity bastard has been turned down by some woman. Now he’s taking it out on us. As for that bollocks about veterans … Damn! The man owes us a little more respect.’ He fumed for a moment before continuing, ‘It’s all down to Tigellinus. He knew where we were. He was in the room when we left for the baths. I’ll have words with the optio, so help me.’
‘Better not,’ Cato responded. ‘Not if we want to avoid being punished for insubordination.’
‘I was thinking of something a little more forceful than insubordination,’ Macro said darkly. ‘He needs seven shades kicked out of him. I know his type. He’ll set us up at every opportunity. He’s the kind of optio who will do all he can to pull the ladder up behind him now that he’s sitting pretty waiting for his appointment to the centurionate.’
‘Forget it,’ Cato said calmly. ‘We’re not going to be here long enough for him to make our lives a misery. So, we’ll ignore him and keep our minds on the job, yes?’
Macro grunted. ‘If it turns out that our dear optio is part of any conspiracy then I shall be sure to offer my services to anyone who gets to interrogate him.’
At dawn Tribune Burrus gave orders for his cohort to assemble outside the barracks. The sky was overcast and the air felt damp and clammy as the soldiers formed up in the centuries and stood at ease. Macro and Cato were among the first to fall in and watched as the other guardsmen stumbled out of the building, some still fastening their belts about their tunics. Centurion Lurco was one of the last to emerge, bleary eyed and pale faced.
Cato leant towards Macro. ‘He’s been drinking.’
‘Poor lad must have had his heart broken,’ Macro responded without a trace of sympathy.
Tigellinus, positioned two paces in front of the first rank, turned his head and bellowed, ‘Silence! Next man who utters a single fucking word is on a charge!’
Lurco winced at the sound as he shuffled into place in front of the optio and the century’s standard bearer. When the last men of the cohort were in place, there was a short silence before the sturdy figure of Tribune Burrus stepped out of the main entrance of the cohort’s barrack block. The senior centurion of the cohort, the trecenarius, drew a deep breath and called out, ‘Commanding officer present!’
The men stood to attention with a loud crash of nailed boots on the paving stones. Burrus strode out to stand in front of his command, hands clasped behind his back as he puffed his chest out and ran his good eye over the lines of men standing in their centuries.
‘Most of you know the drill. There’s quite a few who have joined our ranks since the last Accession games. I’ll spell it out so that we all know what is expected of us. The Emperor, his family and selected guests of the imperial court will be spending the day with the Praetorian Guard. As the unit that will be in closest proximity to the imperial party we are the standard by which the rest of the Guard will be judged. You are on your best behaviour and I will have the balls off any man who gets drunk or acts in any way that discredits the honour of the Praetorian Guard.’ He paused a moment and then continued in a less harsh tone. ‘As we know, the Emperor has his funny ways. He is inclined to stammer and when he gets excited he has a tendency to slobber at the mouth. It is not the most edifying of sights, I grant you. However, Claudius is the Emperor and we have all sworn an oath to honour and obey him. So there will be no laughing, nor even the faintest of tittering, if the old boy gets going. Is that clear? I can assure you it will be no laughing matter for any man I catch mocking the Emperor.’ Burrus turned and paced a short distance before turning back.