before sitting.
Macro glanced round and sniffed. ‘Narcissus chose well.’
‘Yes. The kind of place where men can get lost in the crowd. Nice and discreet.’
‘I was thinking it was well chosen because it was my kind of place. Cheap, cheerful and waiting for a punch-up to start any moment.’
‘There is that,’ Cato replied offhandedly. He scanned the room for any sign of their contact. Only a handful of customers seemed to be drinking on their own but none seemed to return his gaze in any meaningful way. A moment later the innkeeper threaded his way over to them.
‘What would you like, gents?’
‘What have you got?’ asked Macro.
‘It’s on the wall.’ The man pointed to a long list of regional wines that had been chalked up on a board behind the counter.
‘Mmmm!’ Macro smiled as he ran his eye down the wines. ‘How’s the Etruscan?’
‘Off.’
‘Oh, all right. The Calabrian?’
‘Off.’
‘Falernian?’
The innkeeper shook his head.
‘Well, what have you got?’
‘Today it’s the Ligurian or the Belgic. That’s it.’
‘Belgic?’ Cato raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought they made beer?’
‘They do.’ The innkeeper scratched his nose. ‘They should stick to beer in my opinion.’
‘I see.’ Cato shrugged. ‘The Ligurian then. One small jar and three cups.’
‘Yes, sir. Good choice.’ The innkeeper bowed his head and turned back to the counter.
‘Is he trying to be funny?’ Macro scowled. ‘Anyway, Ligurian? Never heard of it.’
‘Then tonight should be something of an education for us.’
The innkeeper returned with the wine and the cups and set them down on the table. ‘Five sestertii.’
‘Five?’ Macro shook his head. ‘That’s robbery.’
‘That’s the price, mate.’
‘Very well,’ Cato cut in, fishing the coins out of the small sum that Narcissus had advanced them. ‘There.’
The innkeeper swept the coins off the top of the table and nodded his thanks.
Cato picked up the jar and sniffed the contents. His nose wrinkled at the sharp acidic odour. Then he poured them each a cup of the dark, almost black, wine. Macro raised his in a mock toast and took a mouthful. At once he made a face.
‘By the gods, I hope there’s better inns close to the Praetorian camp.’
Cato took a cautious sip and felt the sour, fiery flow all the way down into his guts. He set the cup down and leant against the wall behind his back. ‘Just have to hope our contact turns up soon.’
Macro nodded. They sat and waited in silence, while around them the locals drank copious amounts of the only available wine, seemingly oblivious to its rough flavour. There was a cheerful atmosphere, except at the table where the two soldiers sat, waiting with growing impatience as night fell outside. At length Macro stirred, drained his cup with a wince, and stood up. He gestured towards the woman still sitting in the alcove.
‘I’m, er, just going over there.’
‘Not now, Macro. We’re waiting for someone. Another time.’
‘Well, he ain’t showed up yet, so I might as well enjoy myself.’
‘We shouldn’t risk drawing attention to ourselves.’
‘I’m not.’ Macro nodded towards the drawn curtains. ‘Just fitting in with the locals, as it were.’
As he spoke, one of the curtains covering the alcoves was gently drawn back and a tall sinewy man with short dark hair eased himself out of the alcove. He had already pulled on his tunic, and held a neck cloth in one hand. Behind him a woman was slipping on the short tunic that signified her trade. He turned and tossed a few coins on to the couch and then made his way out into the middle of the room.
‘There,’ said Macro. ‘No one’s paying him any attention.’
Cato watched as the man glanced round and then saw the two empty stools at their table. He came over. ‘May I?’
Cato shook his head. ‘No. We’re waiting for a friend.’
‘I know. That’s me.’ The man smiled and then sat down opposite the two soldiers. He raised his hand so that they could see his ring and then laid it down close by Cato’s hand so that he could see that the designs were identical. Cato looked at him carefully, noting the dark eyes, smoothly shaven cheeks and the small tattoo of a half-moon and star on his neck, before it was hidden by the strip of cloth he arranged loosely about his neck. Cato felt a stab of mistrust even as the man lowered his voice and spoke. ‘Narcissus sent me.’
‘Really? Then what’s your name, friend?’
‘Oscanus Optimus Septimus,’ he said in a low tone that Cato could just make out. ‘And I’ll have that ring back, if you don’t mind.’ He held out his hand.
Cato hesitated a moment before he took off the ring and handed it over. ‘I assume that’s not your real name.’
‘It serves. And as far as anyone is concerned from here on in, you are Guardsmen Titus Ovidius Capito and Vibius Gallus Calidus, is that clear? It would not be wise to reveal your real identities to me.’
The names were neatly written on the documents that Cato had been given; he had taken the identity of Capito, and Macro had that of Calidus, both veterans of the Second Legion.
‘That mark on your neck,’ Macro commented. ‘I take it you served on the eastern frontier.’
Septimus narrowed his eyes slightly. ‘I might have.’
‘In the legions or the auxiliary cohorts?’
Septimus was silent for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Not that it matters, but I did a stint in a cavalry cohort before I was recruited by Narcissus.’ He gestured towards his neck. ‘That was the cohort’s emblem. Most of the lads have the tattoo. Bit of a pain now as I have to keep it covered up in my line of work.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Macro. He took a deep breath and exhaled impatiently. ‘Anyway, you’re late. Kept us waiting while you saw to your woman over there.’
Septimus frowned. ‘My woman? Hardly. I was using her as a cover.’
‘Whichever way you like it.’
Narcissus’s agent scowled at Macro. ‘If I had a woman, it wouldn’t be one like her. Anyway, her alcove provided a good place to keep an eye on you when you turned up. And the other customers. Just to make sure you weren’t being watched, or followed. Sorry for the wait, but I had to be sure. This business is too dangerous to take any chances. Right, the introductions are over. Let’s go.’
‘Go?’ Cato leant forward slightly. ‘Go where?’
‘To a safe house. Where we can talk without any risk of being overheard. It’s also a place where we can meet and where you can drop off any messages safely. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting to and from the Praetorian camp – the soldiers pass in and out of their barracks freely. That’s how we’ll communicate for the most part.’ Septimus looked round warily. ‘Follow me. But let’s make it look casual. Better finish our drinks first.’
He poured himself a cup and raised his voice. ‘For the road!’
Macro and Cato followed suit and forced down what remained in their cups, then reached for their packs and stood up. By now the inn was filling with customers and they had to push their way to the entrance. Outside the tout was still looking for further custom. He smiled as he saw them. ‘Leaving so soon? The night is barely beginning, sirs. Stay awhile and drink your fill.’
Macro stopped in front of him. He drew a breath and spoke loudly enough so that passers-by could clearly hear him. ‘Anyone who drinks their fill of the slop in this place is going to be staying for more than a while. It’s poison.’
The tout tried to laugh it off and clapped Macro on the shoulder as he turned to join Cato and Septimus. In a flash, Macro spun round and slammed his fist into the tout’s stomach. As the man collapsed, gasping for breath, Macro backed off with a look of bitter satisfaction.
