‘Careful, Macro.’
‘Don’t worry, I know his kind,’ Macro replied without taking his eyes off Cestius.
The staff of the Circus were much closer now and one of them called out, ‘Oi! What do you three jokers think you’re playing at? You’re not allowed in here. Take your bloody fight somewhere else.’
‘Shut your mouth!’ Macro yelled. ‘We’re Praetorians.’ He gestured with his sword. ‘That one’s a criminal and a traitor we’ve been hunting. Now you either help us take him down, or you answer to the Emperor.’
‘He’s lying!’ Cestius called out. ‘They’re thieves. Tried to rob me before chasing me in here. Save me and I’ll make it worth your while.’
The officials drew up just short of the confrontation, not sure who to believe. With himself and Macro reeking of sewage and wearing heavily soiled tunics, Cato feared that the burden of proof rested on their shoulders. They could not risk any delay. He snatched a deep breath and shouted, ‘Now, Macro! Take him!’
With a roar Macro sprinted in, sword held up and ready to strike, while Cato charged from the side. Cestius tried to parry Macro’s sword with his torch but the blazing length was punched aside and down into the sand. Macro rushed on, slamming into Cestius with his shoulder and sending him crashing back against the wall. An instant later Cato cut down into Cestius’s sword arm, slicing through the muscled flesh and down to the bone, severing tendons so that the other man’s fingers released the sword. Cato’s momentum carried him on; he thudded into Cestius’s side and his sword punched home into the giant’s guts with a wet thud. Cestius let out an explosive grunt and his body stiffened for a moment before he sagged and his legs gave way, and he sank on to the sand. Macro and Cato drew back and regarded him cautiously, but Cato could see by the light of the torch still burning where it lay on the ground that Cestius’s wound was mortal.
He reached down to pick up the gang leader’s sword and toss it to one side, out of reach, before sheathing his own weapon. Macro kept his sword to hand and moved round to confront the other men who looked on in silence. ‘You lot, stay back!’
They needed no prompting and Cato left Macro to keep a watch on them while he concentrated his attention on Cestius. The big man was slumped against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, his hands clasped over the wound in his side. His eyes were tightly clenched for a moment before he opened them and smiled bitterly at Cato.
‘Told you you’d have to kill me,’ he said softly. He closed his eyes again.
‘Cestius.’ Cato leant forward and shook his shoulder. ‘Cestius!’
The giant’s eyes flickered open. ‘Can’t you let a man die in peace?’
‘No,’ Cato replied harshly. ‘Not until you answer some questions.’
‘Fuck you.’
Cato drew his dagger and held it up for Cestius to see. ‘I can make this painful if you refuse to talk, or quick and painless if you co-operate.’
‘I’m dying. What difference does it make?’
Cato smiled coldly. ‘Do you really want to find out?’
There was a brief silence between the two men before Cestius shook his head faintly.
‘Right, then.’ Cato lowered the dagger. ‘First, who paid you to hoard the grain?’
‘A Praetorian centurion. Sinius.’
Cato nodded. ‘What was the arrangement?’
‘He paid me in silver. I laundered the money through my gang and used the proceeds to buy the grain. I used some of the merchants as fronts. The grain cargoes were stored in a warehouse, and then my lads moved it to the cave.’ Cestius smiled thinly. ‘As you know. We were to take a big cut when Sinius gave the word to start selling the grain. That was the deal.’
Cato nodded. ‘Did Sinius tell you who he was working for?’
‘Not my business to inquire into the reasons for anything. Not these days. More trouble than it’s worth. Not that it stopped Sinius blabbing away that it was for a noble cause. All for the good of Rome.’ Cestius sneered, and then his features contorted and he let out a long, keening moan. Cato squatted down beside him, fearing that he might die before he had given up all the information that he wanted. At length Cestius’s pained expression faded and he licked his lips and fixed his gaze on Cato once again.
‘Did you meet any of the other conspirators?’
Cestius was silent for a moment before he responded. ‘Not among the Liberators.’
Cato leant forward. ‘Then who else?’
Cestius ignored the question and asked one of his own. ‘Who are you working for, Praetorian? Not the Liberators. I know that. Your master is in the imperial household, I’d guess.’
Cato said nothing.
‘Which means Pallas … or Narcissus.’
‘I have one more question,’ Cato said. ‘About the day your gang attacked the imperial party in the Forum. How did you know we were going to be there?’
‘It was planned from the outset. I was paid to have my lads provoke the food riot …’ Cestius began to breathe raggedly. ‘Once it was in full swing we were to stand by to ambush the Emperor and his escort … Would have killed our targets too, if you and your friend there hadn’t got in the way.’
Cato felt his heart quicken. ‘Targets? The Emperor and his family?’
Cestius shook his head. ‘The Empress and her son.’
‘Just them?’ Cato felt a cold tingle at the base of his neck.
‘Yes.’
‘No one else? Are you certain?’
‘He was quite clear about it … Just Agrippina and Nero.’
‘Who? Who gave you the order?’
Cestius winced and sucked in a long shallow breath. Cato reached forward and shook his shoulder roughly.
‘Who paid you to do it? Tell me!’
Cestius licked his dry lips again and this time there was blood in his spittle. A thick dark drop trickled down his chin as he replied. ‘A man from the palace. I’ve done jobs for him before. Made people disappear. Put the frighteners on others. Kind of thing I do well.’ Cestius smiled with pride.
‘Enemies of the Emperor?’
‘Not always.’
‘What was his name?’ Cato demanded.
‘Don’t know. Wasn’t part of the arrangement. He just paid me to do what his master needed done, and not ask questions.’
Cato hissed with frustration. ‘Well, what did he look like? The man who gave you your instructions?’
Cestius shrugged. ‘Just a man. Your build. Few years older …’
‘What else?’ Cato snapped. ‘Any scars, anything to make him stand out?’
‘Yes … A mark, a tattoo here.’ Cestius reached up and touched his neck just below the ear.
Cato felt his blood grow cold and he heard Macro swear softly. ‘What kind of tattoo?’
Cestius thought briefly. ‘Only saw it clearly one time. Once, when we met in the public baths. A crescent moon and star …’
Cato knew at once where he had seen the distinctive mark before, the day they had arrived in Rome.
‘That’s Septimus – has to be,’ Macro muttered to Cato. ‘Septimus? What the hell is going on?’
Cato’s mind was filled with a jumble of recollected images and lines of thought that had seemed confusing or came to a dead end. Now they fell into place, one by one. There was a conspiracy lurking in the shadows even deeper than that being hatched by the Liberators. A monstrous scheme that left Cato marvelling at its brilliant deviousness even as it repulsed him and made him aware for the first time of the scale of the deception that both he and Macro, among many others, had been enduring for years. He stood up quickly and turned to his friend.
‘We have to get back to the palace at once. We must find Narcissus.’
‘Narcissus?’
By the dying flickers of the torch in the sand, Cato looked at his friend intently. ‘We’ve been duped. There’s more than one plot against the Emperor. I suspected there might be. But there’s something else. We have to go, Macro. Now.’
Cestius chuckled.