Cato slowed his stride to turn to his friend. ‘What are you thinking? Do you mean to keep that money?’
Macro could not hide his surprise. ‘Of course.’
‘But you know damn well where the silver has come from.’ Cato glanced round to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them. Apart from a handful of clerks chatting several paces ahead of them, the corridor was deserted. Cato lowered his voice even further. ‘It belongs to the Emperor.’
‘Not any more, it seems.’
‘You think Narcissus is the kind of man who will accept that line of argument? He’ll want it back, every coin that can possibly be recovered.’
‘Which is every coin that he knows about. So I’m not going to mention this little lot. Nor are you,’ Macro concluded firmly. ‘Besides, lad, we’ve earned it, several times over. We’ll just quietly bank this for now. If no one asks us for it, then there’s no harm in hanging on to it. Agreed?’
Cato felt a surge of frustration briefly course through his veins. ‘What if Sinius spills his guts when Narcissus moves to crush the plot? What if he tells Narcissus that we have the silver?’
Macro shrugged. ‘Then we’ll just have to make sure that we get to Sinius first when it’s over.’ His expression hardened as he glanced at Cato. ‘If he’s silenced before he can talk, then we might even get our hands on that chest he keeps in his office.’
The anxiety of a moment earlier returned as Cato hissed, ‘You’re playing with fire, Macro. Don’t even think about it.’
‘Why the hell not? I’m sick of doing Narcissus’s dirty work for no reward. No fair reward at least. This is a chance for us to get ahead in life, lad. We’d be fools to duck the opportunity.’
Cato could see the dangerous gleam in his friend’s eyes and knew it would be foolhardy to try to gainsay Macro in his present mood.
‘We’ll talk about it later, all right? I need time to think.’
Macro’s eyes narrowed briefly, then he forced a slight smile. ‘Very well, later.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘That’s the place,’ Cato muttered as he gestured towards the warehouse. Macro and Septimus were on either side of him as they strolled along the wharf. The same guard who had brusquely rebuffed Cato a few days earlier was sitting on a stool beside the gate. He held a small loaf in one hand and a wizened end of cured sausage in the other and his jaw worked steadily as he stared absentmindedly at the barges moored along the quay opposite the line of warehouses. Despite the lack of grain there were still imports of olive oil, wine, fruit, as well as the usual flow of luxury foods for the richest tables in Rome. All of which fetched prices far beyond the reach of the teeming multitude of the capital’s poorest inhabitants.
A short distance along the wharf from the warehouse of Gaius Frontinus a small crowd of ragged people stood watching the unloading of a barge. Several jars of wine had already been landed and now a chain gang was unloading large baskets of dried dates. The gang master was accompanied by a handful of men armed with cudgels who formed a loose cordon around the goods on the wharf and warily kept an eye on the surrounding crowd.
‘Over there,’ Cato said softly. ‘We won’t stand out in the crowd.’
They made their way over to the fringe of the silent gathering of men and women, some with children, and edged round until they could see the warehouse gate and the guard sitting in front of it. A moment before, Cato had not considered what the man was doing, but now he saw it for what it was, a cold-hearted display of cruelty as he ate while others starved.
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Septimus. ‘We can’t just walk in.’
‘We could,’ Macro growled. ‘There’s three of us and one of him.’
Septimus shook his head. ‘If we force our way in, then word will get back to Cestius soon enough and the Liberators will know that we are on to them. We can’t afford to scare them into hiding. It’s just as important to smash the conspiracy as find the grain. Meanwhile we have to get in there and confirm that the grain is actually inside, and then get out without the alarm being raised.’
Cato scratched his cheek. ‘Won’t be easy. The warehouse is built round a courtyard. The wall facing the wharf is the lowest point. The rest of it is built up against the warehouses on either side and behind. There’s no other way in. We have to go in through the gate, or over the wall. If we try and scale that, we’re bound to be seen by the guard.’
Macro ran his eyes over the warehouse and nodded. ‘You’re right. So what do we do?’
Cato looked round the wharf for a moment before fixing his attention on the men unloading the barge, surrounded by the small crowd. ‘We need a diversion. That’s a job for you, Septimus. While Macro and I get inside the warehouse.’
He quickly explained his plan and then, while Septimus worked his way through the crowd towards the edge of the wharf, Cato and Macro moved off, back in the direction of the Boarium. They took care to keep close to the edge of the Tiber in order not to attract the guard’s attention. There was a small danger that he might remember Cato’s face, even though his coarse features and bovine expression hinted at a mind that was not readily accustomed to the retention of information. Once they had covered a safe distance they stopped and looked out across the moored barges to the leaden flow of the Tiber. Cato glanced towards the crowd and saw Septimus standing close to the gangway leading up from the barge. Cato discreetly raised a hand to give the signal.
Septimus edged forward and waited until one of the slaves carrying the baskets of dried fruit struggled up on to the wharf. Then he darted between two of the gang master’s men and thrust his arms out into the slave’s side. The latter tumbled over, his basket flying through the air until it hit the ground and dates exploded across the wharf. At once the waiting crowd surged forward and down, hands scrabbling to scoop up the dried fruit.
‘Get off! Get back, you bastards!’ the gang master bellowed in rage as he laid into them with his cudgel. He looked up at his men. ‘What are you lot waiting for? Get ‘em away from the goods!’
His men were startled into action and they began to lash out at those scrabbling around on the ground at their feet. In the struggle another basket was knocked over, spilling its contents. An excited cry went up as the starving mob closed in.
Cato glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw that the guard outside the warehouse gate had stopped chewing and stood up to get a better view of the action. His lips lifted into a slight smile of amusement, and then he took a few paces away from his station to watch the frenzied violence as the mob and the gang master’s men fought it out over the spilled barley.
‘Come on!’ Cato tugged Macro’s sleeve and they turned to pad across the wharf to the warehouse wall. The guard had his back to them. He tore off another chunk of bread and continued to eat while watching the spectacle. Beyond the struggle Cato glimpsed Septimus backing away now that he had played his part in the plan. They reached the wall and Macro turned and clasped his hands together and braced himself against the rough bricks. Cato placed his right boot in Macro’s hands and as his friend began to lift, Cato straightened his leg and reached up, fingers seeking purchase as he rose up the wall.
‘Get me higher.’
Macro grunted with effort as he lifted Cato up and then groaned as Cato stood on his shoulder.
‘I’m there,’ Cato called down softly and then gritted his teeth as he pulled himself on to the wall and swung one of his legs up. His heart was pounding with the effort and he glanced quickly at the guard and was relieved to see him still watching the chaos on the wharf. Cato dropped down behind the wall and hurriedly unravelled the length of rope tied about his middle and hidden by a fold in his tunic. He tossed one end back over the wall and then grasped the other tightly, leant back and braced one foot against the wall. An instant later he felt Macro’s weight drag at the rope. There was a scuffling sound and a muttered curse before Macro appeared on top of the wall. He hurriedly clambered over and dropped down inside the warehouse yard, dragging the rope over behind him.