For a moment both men stood breathing heavily, ears straining for any indication that they had been discovered. Cato looked round the interior of the warehouse yard. A paved area approximately a hundred feet by forty ran between the high walls of the massive building which enclosed the yard on three sides. Several doors faced the yard, all of them closed. There was no sign of life, and the yard felt oddly quiet after the din of the fight on the wharf. A handful of small handcarts stood against the wall. Cato took a deep breath and indicated the carts. ‘At least getting out is going to be easier than getting in.’
‘If you say so,’ Macro replied. ‘That depends on Septimus doing his job.’
‘He did well enough to get us in. We can count on him. Come on.’ Cato stepped towards the nearest door and saw that it was secured with a heavy iron bolt. A quick glance round the yard was enough to see that all the others were also bolted. Cato took up the lever and tested the bolt. With a lot of effort it began to move, giving a loud squeal as it did so. Cato stopped at once.
‘Shit.’
‘Easy there, lad,’ said Macro. ‘The noise outside will cover any that we make. And we can shift the bolts nice and slow.’
They took firm hold of the iron bolt and began to heave again. With a gentle rasp the bolt moved and a moment later slipped free of the receiving bracket. Fearing that the hinges might be as noisy as the door, Cato pulled it open carefully, just wide enough to admit himself and Macro. The light spilled across an empty stone floor and cast long shadows before the two men as they slowly entered, squinting into the shadows as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. It was a large space, eighty feet deep by half as much in width. Overhead the beams were high above the floor and a latticework of timbers supported a tiled roof. There were two narrow slits in the wall, high up, to provide light and ventilation, but not wide enough for even a child to squeeze through.
Cato bent down and scraped up some of the dust and grains from the floor. ‘Looks like there has been wheat here.’
Macro nodded as he glanced around. ‘If every chamber in this place is as big as this one, then there’d have been enough here to feed Rome for months. Let’s try the next one.’
They worked their way round the warehouse yard, but every chamber was empty like the first. The only contents were a few coils of rope, blocks and tackle for unloading heavy items from the beds of wagons and a pile of torn and grimy sacking in the corner of the yard. In every chamber there was the same evidence that wheat had been stored there, and from the condition of the grain scattered on the floor, recently at that. When they closed the last of the doors Cato stepped back into the middle of the yard and folded his arms, frowning.
‘Where has it gone?’
‘Cestius must have thought this place was not safe,’ Macro reflected. ‘He must have figured that Narcissus and his agents would eventually discover where the grain was stockpiled. It’s been moved on.’
‘Without anyone noticing? You don’t shift that much grain without drawing attention to it.’
‘Unless you did a small amount at a time. Not enough for people to take notice.’
Cato thought briefly. It did not seem possible for Cestius to relocate his entire stock in limited movements in the time available. Even then there was another question that would need answering. ‘Where would he put it all?’
‘Another warehouse, perhaps?’
‘Someone would have seen something.’
‘In barges then, taken downriver to Ostia and stored there as soon as they bought each grain consignment.’
‘It’s possible. But then why are there signs of grain in every one of the storage chambers? It looks to me like they had all of it here before they moved it on. So why did they do it …?’ Cato chewed his lip. ‘They must have been worried that it would be discovered. They’re playing safe. After all, we discovered the location readily enough. In any case, I’m certain that the grain is still here in Rome.’
‘Where then, smart-arse?’
‘That’s the question.’ Cato looked round at the silent walls of the warehouse. ‘It would have to be another place like this.’
‘Cato, there must be scores of warehouses along the wharf on this side of the river alone. Not to mention those on the other side of the Tiber, and the warehouses behind the Forum, and the other markets in the city. We can’t search them all.’
‘Not without alerting the other side,’ Cato conceded. ‘As soon as they got wind that we were on to them they’d have to make their move and put whatever they’re planning into effect.’
‘So what do we do?’
Cato sighed. ‘Tell Septimus to report back to Narcissus. What else? Now let’s get out of here.’
They returned to the wall where one of the handcarts had been left a short distance to one side of the gate. Macro climbed up on to it and again lifted Cato up on to the wall. He cautiously peered over the top to where the guard had returned to his stool to continue his meal. Beyond, the fight over the spilt fruit had ended. The gang master and his thugs had re-established their cordon and the unloading of the barge had resumed. Several bodies lay on the ground about them, most moving feebly and a few lying still. Those who had managed to gather some of the dates had already fled the scene while the rest continued to watch the unloading of the barge, hoping for another chance to snatch something to eat. Cato looked for, and then saw, Septimus. The imperial agent raised a hand in acknowledgement and then made his way along the wharf to the gate. He stopped a short distance from the guard.
‘Spare me some of that?’ Septimus pointed to the bread and sausage resting in the man’s lap.
‘Fuck off.’
‘Come on, friend. I’m hungry.’
‘That’s not my problem. And I’m not your friend, so like I said, fuck off.’
While Septimus took another step forward and asked again, more forcefully, Cato heaved himself up on to the wall and reached down to help Macro up. Then, making sure that the guard’s attention was fixed on Septimus, they lowered themselves down the other side of the wall, straining the muscles in their shoulders and arms, and let go. Their boots crunched audibly on the filth and rubbish that had gathered at the foot of the wall. The guard started and looked round quickly. His eyes widened and in an instant he snatched up his club and was on his feet, his meal tumbling to the ground in front of the stool.
‘I see! Thought you’d play a trick on me, eh? One comes from the front, while his pals take me from behind, eh?’
He lowered himself into a crouch, backed against the gate and swung his club to and fro. Cato could see that there were nails driven through the end of the club and could well imagine the damage those vicious points could do to a man’s flesh. He raised a hand.
‘Easy there. Our mistake. Come on, lads, this one’s too tough for us. Let’s be off.’
Septimus circled round the guard to join the others and then the three men backed away and turned to walk quickly along the wharf in the direction of the Boarium. The guard laughed nervously and blew a loud raspberry after them.
‘Yes, piss off then, you wankers! If I see your faces round here again then you’ll feel the kiss of my little Medusa here!’ He thrust the head of his club after them.
‘Bastard could do with a lesson in manners,’ Macro grumbled, slowing his pace until Cato grasped his shoulder and urged him on.
‘Not now. Let’s get out of here before he remembers me.’
Septimus turned to Cato. ‘Did you find anything?’
Cato briefly explained what they had seen and the imperial agent’s expression became anxious. ‘Damn. We need that grain.’