‘Yes, sir.’ Tigellinus saluted, and waited for the tribune to stride off before he turned back to the men and drew a deep breath. ‘Sixth Century … dismiss!’
The men turned to the side and then fell out, making for the barrack block, muttering in low voices as they speculated about the absence of the centurion. Cato and Macro returned to the section room with Fuscius and immediately the younger man closed the door. He turned round with an excited expression.
‘This is a turn-up for the books, even for Lurco!’
Macro cocked an eyebrow. ‘The centurion has form, then?’
‘Oh yes. He’s been the worse for wear before but he’s never missed a parade. Where the hell has he got to?’
‘Probably drunk himself insensible,’ said Cato. ‘He’s going to be for the high jump whenever he turns up. Tribune Burrus doesn’t look like the merciful type.’
‘True enough.’ Fuscius grinned as he placed his javelin in the rack. His stomach rumbled plaintively as he stood back. Fuscius winced. ‘By the gods, I’m hungry.’
‘So are we all, lad,’ Macro replied. ‘But we do better than those down in the Subura. At least we get fed regular. Those poor bastards have to hunt for scraps. They’ll be dropping like flies soon.’
Fucsius nodded thoughtfully. ‘It ain’t good. The Emperor’s let us down badly. Won’t be long until we start starving, alongside the mob. Then there’ll be trouble.’
Cato looked at him. ‘Trouble? You think there isn’t enough trouble as it is?’
‘The food riots?’ Fuscius shook his head. ‘That’ll be as nothing compared to what will happen once people begin to starve to death in their thousands. I’m telling you, when that happens the streets are going to be running with blood. The Praetorian Guard will be the only thing that can prevent chaos. The only thing that stands between the Emperor and the mob. And when that happens either Claudius will have to promise us a sizeable fortune to keep us loyal, or …’
‘Or what?’ Macro prompted.
Fuscius shot a nervous glance towards the door to make sure that it was closed, and then continued in a subdued tone, ‘Or we choose a new Emperor. One who can afford to pay for our loyalty.’
Macro exchanged a quick look with Cato before he cleared his throat. ‘That’s treason.’
‘You’ve been in the legions too long, my friend.’ Fuscius smiled. ‘That’s the way we do business in the Praetorian Guard.’
‘And how would you know? You’ve barely served long enough to know one end of a javelin from the other.’
‘I listen to the others. I talk to people.’ Fuscius nodded. ‘I know what’s going on. Claudius may be Emperor for now, but unless he does something to keep the Praetorian Guard sweet, there’ll be those of us who might consider finding a new master.’
‘Easier said than done,’ said Cato. ‘Britannicus is too young. So is Nero.’
‘Nero may be young, but he’s popular. You saw how the guards cheered him at the Accession games.’
‘So, we just chop and change our emperors according to popular whim?’
Fuscius pursed his lips briefly. ‘It’s as good a reason as any. And you can be sure that any new emperor will do all he can to win the Praetorian Guard over as soon as possible. That suits me. And it’d suit you, too, if you were smart enough to realise it.’
Cato did not like the younger man’s fickle understanding of a soldier’s duty. He had seen the unpalatable greed burning in Fuscius’s eyes and felt an overwhelming desire to cut himself free from the venomous snakepit of Rome’s politics. The mendacity and ruthless ambition that filled the hearts of those at the centre of power in the empire was unhindered by any strand of morality. Now that he and Macro had been sucked into this world he longed to return to regular army duties. The need to conceal his true identity and guard his back created a constant and exhausting tension and Cato had no desire to remain in Rome any longer than he could help it. He suddenly realised that marrying into Julia’s family might well embroil him in the dangerous and devious world of the capital. Her father was a senator, a player in the often lethal game of politics. If he became part of that life, Cato realised that he would have to live on his wits all the time.
That was no life for a soldier, Cato reflected, then inwardly smiled with amusement at this ready identification of himself. Until recently he had harboured grave doubts about his ability as a fighting man and felt that he was merely playing the part of a warrior. That no longer troubled him. The hard experiences of years of soldiering had engraved the profession upon his soul, just as the weapons of his enemies had left their marks on his flesh so that all could see him for what he was – a soldier of Rome, through and through.
Even as he took comfort from this certainty, Cato felt a pang of anxiety as he wondered if he could balance that with being a husband to Julia, and one day a father to their children, should the gods bless them with any. Other men managed, but Cato wondered if he could cope with such a compromise. Equally, would Julia tolerate it? Would she be prepared to remain the loyal, loving wife while Cato campaigned alongside Macro to safeguard the frontiers of the empire?
He tried to shake off his doubts and concentrate his thoughts on his reply to Fuscius. It was possible that the younger man was testing him. Perhaps Fuscius was involved in the conspiracy in some way. Or had he overheard something? More worrying still was the possibility that he simply reflected the views of many in the ranks of the Praetorian Guard.
‘A new emperor,’ Cato mused. ‘And you reckon it’ll be Nero.’
‘Who else?’
‘He’s the most likely candidate to replace Claudius,’ Cato conceded. ‘Although, there’s another possibility. Why should we bother with another emperor at all? Why not return to the days of the Republic? Of course, we’d be out of a job. What would be the point of the Guard without an emperor to protect?’
Fuscius stared at Cato for a moment. ‘Whoever it is that rules Rome, you can be sure that they’ll want protection. The senate will need looking after just as much as an emperor. And they’ll be prepared to pay for it.’
Macro laughed. ‘You’re suggesting that the Praetorian Guard enters the protection racket.’
Fuscius shrugged. ‘Call it what you like. The fact is, we’re the real power behind the imperial throne, or whoever else we choose to support.’
‘Do you really think that the army should seize power?’ asked Cato.
A smile flickered across the young guardsman’s face. ‘Not at all. Just think of it as an unofficial check on the power of whoever rules Rome. For which service we will be handsomely rewarded.’
‘Or else,’ Macro added sardonically.
The latch on the door snapped up and the door swung open and all three men started guiltily as they turned to see Optio Tigellinus standing on the threshold of the room. He regarded them curiously.
‘What’s this? You look like a bunch of toga lifters caught in the act.’ He let out a grunt of amusement before he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Calidus, Capito, you’re wanted at headquarters. Centurion Sinius sent for you. Better hop to it.’
‘Yes, Optio.’ Cato nodded. ‘Any idea what he wants?’
‘Not a clue.’ Tigellinus smiled thinly. ‘That’s up to you to find out, my lad.’
Cato discreetly felt the slender bulge of the object in his belt purse. He had been expecting the summons.
Tigellinus began to untie the helmet strap under his chin as Cato and Macro made for the door. Just as they reached the threshold, the optio spoke again.
‘Don’t think that I haven’t noticed how fond you two are of slipping out of the camp. You’d better not be doing anything that’s going to cause me trouble, understand?’
Cato did not reply, but simply nodded, then gestured to Macro and they left the barracks and headed across the camp to headquarters.