Tap-tap.
Someone at their door. Maddy softly called, ‘Who’s there?’ before she realized, even if she knew how to ask that in Latin, she wouldn’t have a hope of making sense of the answer. She fumbled in the dark for the babel-bud and found it where Sal had left it on the table. She eased it into her ear, and then quietly — whispering to herself — asked the same question. The bud soothingly translated for her.
She stood beside the oak door. She could see the faint, flickering amber of candlelight coming through the door’s grated hatch and round the loose-fitting doorframe. She could see the shadows of somebody’s feet shuffling impatiently outside. She looked out into the passageway.
It was their landlord. ‘Yes? Can I help?’
‘I’ve got someone here,’ he grunted, ‘who’d like to meet your friend.’
She noticed a man beside him; tall and lean, his dark curls emerged from beneath a hood pulled up to hide as much of his face as possible. By the flickering glow of the candle, she thought at first he looked quite young, but then saw flecks of grey in his dark hair, the traces of lines around his eyes; his was a face that looked like it had seen the better part of thirty or forty years, but he was still very lean and fit.
A soldier perhaps.
Maddy tried the phrase of Latin the bud had whispered in her ear. ‘Who is that?’
The landlord replied in a soft growl, a ragged voice that sounded like it had spent a lifetime being abused. ‘He’s an old friend of mine from my army days. A good man.’
The younger man stepped forward. ‘May I speak to the one who got the better of Varelius’s men?’
‘He’s asleep.’ Which was kind of true.
‘I wish to discuss a matter with him. An important matter as it happens.’
Maddy narrowed her eyes — the only part of her they could see through the door slot. She hoped this expression of suspicion was universal and timeless enough that they’d understand she wasn’t opening this door for them, not on the strength of that.
‘We’re alone out here,’ he added. ‘I just wish to talk. That’s all.’
She peered through the slit both ways. The passage did appear to be empty as far as she could see.
‘About what?’
The tall man looked uncomfortable uttering his business aloud. ‘It would be better discussed inside… in private. Please?’
She looked at them both, wondering how much of a threat they posed. The tall one was athletic for a middle-aged man, but nowhere near as muscular as the thugs Bob had effortlessly despatched earlier. And although his older friend the landlord was thickset and squat with brawn that looked decades old beneath his tanned, wrinkled skin, she doubted Bob would even break into a sweat dealing with him.
‘All right… just a moment.’
She turned round. ‘Bob! You two! Wake up!’
Liam and Sal stirred, sat up groggily. Bob was instantly alert.
‘We’ve got guests!’ said Maddy, gently sliding the door’s bolt aside.
They entered, the landlord’s guttering candle filling the small room with dancing amber light. Bob was on his feet with a sword in his hand, alert, ready for trouble, warily watching as both men came in, closed the door behind them and settled down on wooden stools.
Maddy looked at the tall one. ‘Who are you?’
The men looked at each other, silently communicating. ‘It doesn’t matter if they know my name, does it?’ shrugged the landlord. He turned back to her. ‘I’m Macro. Lucius Cornelius Macro.’
The younger man nodded. ‘And as a gesture of trust, of goodwill, I’ll tell you my name. It’s Cato. Quintus Licinius Cato.’ He lowered his hood so that she could see his face more clearly. ‘I’m a tribune of the Praetorian Guard.’
‘What do you want?’
Both men looked at Bob. ‘We wish to discuss a proposition.’
CHAPTER 41
AD 54, Subura District, Rome
Cato studied them in silence, Bob in particular, before he finally spoke. ‘He is every bit as big as you said, Macro. I thought you were exaggerating.’
‘Never seen a brute this size move so quickly.’
Maddy found herself smiling. The bud in her ear was working hard to find and settle on suitable simulated voices and appropriate translations for the coarse soldiers’ Latin they were using. For Cato, it came up with a cultured-sounding British accent. For their landlord, Macro, it produced the tone, accent and mannerisms of a parade-ground sergeant.
Maddy whispered in a question then parroted the Latin to them. ‘What proposition did you want to discuss?’
‘You are newcomers to Rome, visitors?’
Maddy and Liam nodded. Sal, without a bud translating for her, could only look on in silence.
‘And you?’ Cato directed his question at Bob. ‘Where have you come from?’
‘He’s from Britain,’ said Liam. ‘In fact, we all are.’
Cato stroked his chin. ‘Can he not talk for himself? Is he mute?’
‘I am able to talk,’ replied Bob.
Cato recoiled at his deep voice. Macro laughed. ‘Told you, lad. He’s a monster.’
‘You’ve come here… on what business?’
‘Uh… just to see a bit of Rome, so we did.’
Macro laughed at Liam’s response. ‘With all manner of plagues going on, starvation and riots on the streets, you’ve picked a daft time to be tourists!’
Cato waved him quiet. ‘Macro’s quite right: this is not a good time to be in Rome. There’ll be blood washing the streets soon if matters don’t change.’
‘We noticed on the way in,’ said Maddy. ‘People on crucifixes… hundreds of them.’
Cato frowned. ‘Why do you whisper once before you speak? What’re you saying?’
‘It’s just… just how our, uh… how our tribe talk. It’s a custom.’ She shrugged. ‘We’re odd that way.’
‘Not a custom I’ve ever encountered before,’ grunted Macro.
‘Your emperor’s gone totally insane, hasn’t he?’ said Liam.
Macro barked a cough. Cato stiffened. ‘That’s not something you should say too loudly these days, lad.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There are purges going on in every district. Rival families, the wealthy ones, stripped of their villas, farms and money. Informers rewarded handsomely by Caligula for betraying those who openly doubt his divinity. Many of the collegia are bribed by him. The Praetorian Guard are paid well…’
‘You’re a Praetorian, aren’t you?’ said Maddy.
Cato stopped, nodded with a hint of shame. ‘For my sins, I am.’
‘So why are you here?’ she asked. ‘What’s this proposition?’
She noticed a shared glance between both men. A look that spoke of old friendship. More than that: trust; the kind of trust from which the thread of a life could hang.
‘There are a few of us,’ began Cato, ‘only a few of us left, prepared to meet and discuss this.’
‘Discuss what?’
‘A change.’
Change? Maddy listened to the word whispered into her ear. A word loaded with intent. Danger.
‘You’re talking about removing Caligula?’ she said.
Macro swore under his breath and stepped forward. ‘Foolish woman!’ he hissed. ‘You don’t just blurt it out like that!’
Bob stirred protectively, taking a step towards Macro.
‘It’s OK, Bob. He’s right.’ She turned to the two Romans. ‘Sorry… that was careless of me.’
