barefoot slave boy, flicked his whip once in a while to keep the pace up. Ahead a thick pall of woodsmoke hung over the city as the inhabitants struggled to stay warm through the dreary winter months, adding the output of the communal fires they were permitted to the smoke of the tanneries, smiths and bathhouses that plied their trade in the capital.
Cato wrinkled his nose as a foul odour swept across the surface of the river, blown by the stiff easterly breeze.
‘You forget how bad the place stinks,’ Macro muttered sourly at his side as they stood on the small foredeck of the barge. They were the only passengers. The rest of the available space was piled with jars of olive oil from Hispania. So heavily laden was the barge that there was scarcely a foot of freeboard above the glistening sweep of the Tiber.
‘Oh, it ain’t so bad!’ a cheery voice sounded from behind them and the two soldiers turned to see the captain of the barge approaching them round the jars. The man’s thin frame was evident even under his tunic and thick cloak. A felt cap was jammed on his head from which protruded straggles of dark hair. He smiled, revealing a jagged display of teeth that reminded Cato of a cluster of long-neglected and stained tombstones. ‘They say you get used to it soon enough when you live here. Course, I don’t, seeing as me and the lad there make the trip up from Ostia only five or six times a month.’ He gestured to his son on the steering oar at the rear of the barge, gangly like his father and no more than ten years old. ‘Ostia smells like a bloody perfume market by comparison.’
‘You don’t say,’ Macro responded drily.
‘Too right.’ The barge captain nodded. ‘So, what are you visiting Rome for, my friends? Soldiers on leave, eh? Back from the provinces?’
Macro’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What we are and what our business may be is none of yours – friend.’
The other man raised his hands defensively, but continued smiling. ‘No offence! Not meaning to pry, like. Just a polite question. I could see you was soldiers, soon as you boarded in Ostia. Like I said to my son, them’s soldiers. You can see it in the way they hold themselves. Proud and erect like. Warriors. You can see it from their scars too, I said. It was obvious. So, no offence meant, sirs.’
‘None taken.’ Cato smiled back. ‘And you’re right, we’ve just come back from campaigning in Britannia.’
‘Britannia?’ The man scratched his cheek. ‘Think I’ve heard of it. Where’s that then?’
‘Across the sea from Gaul.’
‘Oh yes, I have it now! That was the place there was all that rumpus about when the Emperor celebrated a triumph some years ago.’
‘Yes.’
‘So what’s this about the campaign still going on? We was told the place was conquered.’
‘We’ve beaten the most important tribes. The army’s just mopping up the remnants,’ Cato explained smoothly. It had been nearly four years since they had been in Britannia and although he had heard fragments of news about the progress of the campaign, it was clear that the barge captain knew far less. Narcissus had promised him a detailed report, along with their documents appointing them to the Praetorian Guard, and forged letters of commendation from the governor of the new province, when they met their contact in Rome. ‘In fact, my comrade and I fought in the decisive battle. We led our legion in the charge and captured a Celt chief. That’s why we’re here. The governor recommended us for an appointment in the Praetorian Guard as a reward.’
The barge captain’s eyes widened and he shook his head. ‘Who’d have believed it? Two bloomin’ war heroes on me barge. Wait till the lad hears this! He’s always wanted to be a soldier when he grows up. I always thought it must be a good life. Nice pay. Looked after well. And there’s the uniform! Turns the ladies’ heads, does that. Then there’s the good outdoor life and the chance for glory and spoils, eh? Isn’t that right?’
‘Oh yes.’ Macro smiled. ‘It’s a great life all right. One long party I thought when I signed up. Never imagined I’d be fighting hairy-arsed barbarians in a frozen, bog-strewn wasteland. Strange how things turn out.’ He winked at the captain. ‘The only thing that keeps me up at night is worrying how I’m going to spend all that money I’m paid.’
‘Ignore my companion,’ said Cato. ‘He got out of bed the wrong side this morning. Literally. He had a skinful last night and smacked his head on the wall when he woke up.’
‘Very funny,’ Macro growled. ‘I had a reason to get drunk, didn’t I? A bloody good reason. I already think I should have stayed where I was.’
The barge captain looked astonished. ‘What, and miss out on being a Praetorian?’
Macro eyed him coldly. ‘I can assure you, if I could avoid it, I would with all my heart.’
Cato intervened quickly. ‘That’s just the hangover talking. I’m sure he’ll get over it. He just needs a little bit of peace and quiet.’
‘I can see that clear enough!’ The barge captain roared with laughter at Macro’s fragile expression. ‘Still, I’d get used to it, if I was you. I’ve seen them Praetorians drink in some of the inns close to the wharves. They don’t half go at it, and they can be a right handful when they’re in their cups, I can tell you!’ He paused and frowned. ‘And heavy handed with it of late.’
‘Oh?’ Cato looked at him inquiringly. ‘There’s been trouble?’
The barge captain nodded. ‘A fair bit these last months. The grain supply has been running low, what with that business in Egypt last year. Price has been rising steadily. The mob don’t like it one bit and there’s been a few shops looted and some grain merchants beaten up. So the Praetorian Guard started cracking heads together. Well, more than that. They’ve gone and killed some people.’ He looked at the two soldiers warily. ‘Had to, I suppose. I mean, you’ve got to have order, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Macro said tersely.
‘Anyway, we don’t want to keep you from your duties.’ Cato nodded towards the rear of the barge.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. The lad can handle it all right up until I heave the mooring ropes ashore.’ He smiled cheerfully. ‘No need to break up the party.’
‘There’s no party,’ said Macro. ‘Now go about your business.’
The barge captain looked surprised, then a little hurt, and he turned and unhurriedly made his way back to the stern.
Cato sighed. ‘Was that necessary?’
‘What? Me getting rid of the chirpy sod? I thought so, before you blabbed every detail of our affairs. The man’s got a mouth as wide as the Tiber. Half of Rome is going to know we’ve arrived before the day is out.’
‘And what’s the problem with that?’ Cato glanced back towards the stern where the captain had taken the steering oar from his son and was staring ahead intently. ‘What’s he going to say? Just that he carried two soldiers upriver from Ostia and that they were on their way to join the Praetorian Guard. That’s not going to harm us in any way. On the contrary. If anyone starts to check up on us then he will be able to confirm the cover story. And anyone who speaks to him is going to realise at once that he’s too guileless to spout a line that he has been told to deliver.’ Cato paused to let Macro think it through. ‘Relax. You have to try not to think like a spy otherwise you’ll stop behaving like a soldier. If that happens the enemy will see through us in an instant.’
‘Enemy?’ Macro puffed his cheeks out. ‘What a fine to-do this is. Here we are pretending to be Praetorians so that we can hunt down and kill some other Roman citizens who just happen to have a different set of political values. At the same time they’re busy plotting the murder of their Emperor and anyone who stands between them and that aim. And all the while the frontier of the empire is teeming with real enemies who would like nothing better than for us to turn on each other. Forgive me for sounding naive, Cato, but isn’t this all just a little fucked up?’
Cato was silent for a moment before he replied. ‘Yes. It’s a mess. But that’s not our concern. We’re here to do one job. Whatever you may think, this isn’t that different from our duties as soldiers. We’re here to scout the enemy out, then infiltrate their position and take them on. Macro, it isn’t the job of soldiers to think beyond that. We don’t get to debate the whys and wherefores of the campaigns we fight for Rome. It’s the same with the job at hand. Right or wrong, we swore an oath to the Emperor and that makes anyone who decides to be his enemy, our enemy. Besides, Rome could do worse than have Claudius on the throne, a lot worse.’
Cato eased himself down on to the foredeck and stared towards the vast sprawl of palaces, temples, theatres, markets, bathhouses, private homes and teeming apartment blocks that covered the hills of Rome. Macro’s bitter expression faded and he chuckled to himself.
