Septimus stared at Cato for a moment. ‘You could be right …’
‘Narcissus has to get Lurco and Vitellius out of Rome and keep them out of sight,’ Cato went on. ‘Then we wait to see who is appointed as the new centurion of the Sixth Century, and we watch him like a hawk. See who he talks to and make sure we’re close enough to him to act whenever the century is escorting the Emperor.’
‘That’s taking quite a risk,’ said Macro. ‘I doubt that Narcissus will agree to it. Why not just arrest Lurco’s replacement? And Sinius while we’re at it?’
‘Because they will lead us to the rest of the conspirators,’ Septimus spoke before Cato could reply. ‘And hopefully they’ll lead us to what remains of the bullion stolen from the convoy as well.’
‘That’s right,’ Cato agreed. He paused for a moment. ‘But we have a more pressing issue to deal with before then – making sure that the grain Cestus has stockpiled is still at the warehouse near the Boarium. If we can confirm that then Narcissus can seize it and the Emperor can start feeding the mob. Once the people have food in their stomachs they’ll be offering prayers to him rather than threats. That will knock the wind out of the Liberators’ plans.’
‘Very well,’ said Septimus. ‘We’ll see to that tomorrow. Meet me at the entrance to the Boarium at noon. For now, you two had better get back to the camp and rest. I’ll deal with our two friends.’
‘Deal with?’ Cato arched an eyebrow.
‘They’ll be taken somewhere we can keep an eye on them. I’ll have them released once it’s all over. They won’t come to any harm.’
‘More’s the pity,’ muttered Macro.
‘How are you going to get them out of the city?’
‘I’ve got a covered cart in a lock-up under the aqueduct at the end of the street.’
Cato nodded and he and Macro turned towards the door. Cato paused on the threshold. ‘It just occurred to me. Sinius will want proof that the job’s been done. I need something from Lurco.’
He entered the other room and came back a moment later with the centurion’s equestrian ring. ‘One more touch and that should convince Sinius.’
‘Eh?’ Macro glanced at him. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘You’ll see. Come on.’
Cato led the way out of the two-room apartment on to the landing. Just before he closed the door behind them, Septimus whispered, ‘Until noon at the Boarium, then.’
Taking care to feel their way down the darkened stairwell with its worn and creaking floorboards, Cato and Macro left the tenement block and emerged into the street.
‘Back to the camp then!’ Macro’s tone was light hearted now they had completed their task. ‘We should get a couple of hours’ sleep before morning assembly.’
‘There’s one more thing to do first,’ said Cato.
‘What’s that then?’ Macro asked wearily.
‘Something that’s not particularly pleasant, but necessary.’ Cato steeled himself to face the task, then gestured down the street. ‘Let’s go.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The men of the Sixth Century stood formed up, at ease, waiting for their commander to emerge from his quarters to take the morning parade. Centurion Lurco was late and the men would have fallen to muttering and shuffling their feet had they not been under the cold gaze of Optio Tigellinus as he paced steadily up and down the front rank, his staff tucked under his arm.
Cato could not help feeling conspicuous given that it was thanks to him and Macro that the century was standing in the cold, waiting in vain. By now the centurion, and Vitellius, should have left the city and be on the road to the remote villa where they would be held until Narcissus gave the order for their release.
‘What the bloody hell is keeping him?’ Fuscius whispered fiercely. ‘Bet the bastard’s in his cot sleeping off a skinful.’
‘More than likely,’ Macro replied quietly.
‘Well, it ain’t good enough. Officers should know better than to leave us out in the cold like this.’
‘Legion officers would never get away with this,’ Macro added. ‘They’re made of sterner stuff.’
Fuscius glanced at him and muttered in a sceptical tone, ‘So you say.’
‘I do.’ Macro nodded. ‘And I defy any man to say otherwise.’
‘Who the hell is speaking?’ Tigellinus roared as he strode back down the line towards them. Macro and Fuscius instantly shut their mouths and stared straight ahead. Tigellinus swept by, his eyes ablaze as he searched for any sign of the guilty parties. He carried on down to the end of the line, about-turned, and marched back.
‘I didn’t bloody imagine it. I definitely heard one, or more, of you dumb bastards muttering away like schoolboys on their first visit to a whorehouse! Who was it? I’ll give you one chance to step forward, or the whole bloody century is on latrine duty!’
‘Shit …’ Macro spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Always shit, one way or another.’
He drew a deep breath and stepped forward a pace.
‘Macro!’ Cato hissed. ‘What the hell are you doing? Get back in line before he sees you.’
Macro ignored him and called out instead, ‘Optio! I spoke.’
Tigellinus spun round and strode up to Macro, pushing through the first rank and stopping right in front of him, an enraged expression on his face.
‘You? Guardsman Calidus. I expect more from a veteran of your experience. Or was your precious Second Legion no better than a bloody ladies’ sewing circle? Eh?’
Cato winced. Under normal circumstances his friend would regard such a comment as fighting talk. The fact that he would have outranked Tigellinus if he had not been forced to go under cover would only fuel Macro’s ire. But Macro kept his mouth firmly shut and did not respond to the provocation. Tigellinus paused briefly and then curled his lip as he continued.
‘So much for the fighting spirit of the Second. You’re on a charge, Calidus. I’ll have you on latrine-cleaning duties for ten days. Next time you’re on parade maybe you’ll learn to keep your mouth shut.’
‘Yes, Optio.’
‘In line!’ Tigellinus barked and Macro stepped back a pace.
The optio shot one last scowl at him, then turned on his heel and made his way back down the line.
‘What the hell did you do that for?’ Cato whispered out of the side of his mouth.
‘He heard me. You know his type, Cato. Won’t let a thing lie.’
‘All the same, you haven’t got time to waste shovelling shit.’
Macro shrugged slightly. ‘Right now, I feel I’m wading through the stuff.’
They stood in silence a while longer, and some of the men of other centuries who had been dismissed from morning parade paused as they passed the end of the barracks to look on curiously.
‘What are you gawping at?’ Tigellinis shouted at them, and the guardsmen hurried on their way.
A tall, stocky officer strode past the end of the barracks in the direction of headquarters, glanced at the Sixth Century, and then paused midstride, changed direction and marched towards Tigellinus.
‘What’s all this, Optio?’ Tribune Burrus called out. ‘Why are your men still on parade?’
Tigellinus snapped his shoulders back and stood to attention. ‘Waiting for Centurion Lurco, sir.’
‘Waiting?’ Burrus frowned. ‘What the fuck for? Send for him. Did you send a man for him?’
‘Yes, sir. But the centurion was not in his quarters.’
‘No? Then where the hell is he?’
The question was rhetorical and Tigellinus kept his mouth tightly closed.
Burrus shook his head. ‘Right then, dismiss your men. Send someone to look for Lurco. I want him to report to me the moment he’s found.’ He raised his voice so that everyone in the Sixth Century would hear his words. ‘I don’t give a damn about rank when any man under my command fails in his duty. Centurion Lurco is in for the bollocking of a lifetime when I see him. Optio, carry on!’