‘Of course, that’s possible. Thank you for being frank with me, Capito. Rest assured, our little conversation will go no further than these walls.’
Cato nodded. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Sinius waved a hand dismissively. ‘Think no more of it. Our business here is concluded. You’ll need to draw your kit from the stores then join your cohort. Tribune Burrus’s men are in the barracks in the south-western corner of the camp. Hand this waxed slate over to his clerk when you sign in there, and you’ll be enlisted in Centurion Lurco’s century.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It just remains for me to say welcome to the Praetorian Guard. Perform your duty and keep your noses clean and you’ll find this an excellent posting. The biggest challenge you are likely to face is fighting off all the women who fancy the uniform and the pay and status that go with it. That’s not just the women on the street. There’s more than a few wives of senators who take a fancy to Praetorians.’
Macro could not help smiling at the prospect.
The centurion paused for a moment before he continued in a lower voice. ‘A word to the wise. Avoid any temptation to get overly familiar with any member of the Imperial family, if you take my meaning. You have been warned. Off you go.’
The two men left the room and closed the door behind them. Centurion Sinius stared thoughtfully at the door for a moment and then opened the document chest and took out the waxed tablet he had been examining. He picked up a stylus and made a few notes then replaced it in the chest. He rose from his desk and left headquarters to give some instructions to one of his followers.
CHAPTER SIX
Macro held up the plain white toga and shook his head. ‘This is no good for a soldier. We’re supposed to wear this over the left shoulder and arm, right?’
On the other side of the section room Cato nodded.
‘It’s madness,’ Macro continued. ‘You can’t swing a sword properly with this on. You’d trip over it and do yourself an injury long before you could take down an opponent.’
He bundled the toga up, tossed it on to his bed and sat down with a disgusted expression before glancing over the rest of the kit they had been issued from the camp’s stores. The toga was the formal uniform for the Guard when on duty in the city. A sop to those inhabitants of Rome who still clung to the values of the old Republic when the presence of armed men on the streets was held to be a threat to their liberty. For a similar reason, Claudius had taken to wearing an unadorned toga on many ceremonial occasions, without even the narrow purple stripe of a junior magistrate. The display of humility played well with the mob and the more easily impressed members of the senate. As far as Macro was concerned, the toga was wholly impracticable for those soldiers who were supposed to be guarding the imperial palace.
‘What about the German bodyguards?’ Macro looked at Cato. ‘Do they have to wear this?’
‘No. But then they’re barbarians, from Batavia, I believe. It would offend public sensibilities for them to be seen in togas.’
‘Bollocks,’ Macro mumbled. His gaze returned to the rest of the issued items. In addition to functional armour, there was a brass cuirass, an attic helmet with a decorated crown and slim cheek-guards that served little practical use, and almost no neck guard. Then there were the off-white tunics and light-brown cloaks that would readily pick up the dirt and grime of Rome’s streets and require constant cleaning. At least the short sword, oval shield and heavy javelin looked like proper soldier’s kit. Cato had already folded his toga, tunics and cloak and placed them neatly on the shelf above his bed. With a sigh, Macro began to follow suit.
‘What was all that about the failing spirits of the lads in Britannia?’ he asked.
Cato hissed, then stood up and crossed to the door. He glanced outside. They had been assigned a comfortable room on the upper storey with another two men from the Sixth Century of the Third Cohort, the unit presently assigned to protect the imperial palace and the Emperor’s entourage whenever Claudius emerged on to the streets to visit the senate or enjoy the entertainments of the theatre, arena or racetrack. In the legions the soldiers were obliged to bunk eight to a room, or share a tent on campaign, crowded together. Here in the Guard there were four men to a room, which was airy and well lit by the shuttered window on the wall. Out in the corridor Cato could see a few figures some distance away, leaning on the rail overlooking the avenue of trees that approached the Praetorians’ bathhouse. Even that was on a grand scale compared to the usual offering of a legionary fortress. A suite of chambers was arranged to one side of a sand-covered exercise yard, all contained within a low plastered wall. The other Praetorians ignored him. A few of the doors were open along the corridor but the conversations of those within were impossible to overhear. Cato returned to his bed and sat on the edge.
‘Keep your voice down when we talk. And we have to make sure that we use our assumed names at all times.’
‘I know,’ Macro grumbled, finishing folding the last of his tunics and cloaks. He sat down opposite Cato. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. It’s just that I don’t hold with this going undercover business.’
‘Well, you’d better. We’re spies for the present, and there’s nothing we can do about it until the job is done. If we fail, Narcissus will throw us to the wolves. That’s if we survive the tender mercies of the Liberators.’
‘I know, I know,’ Macro responded wearily. ‘I’ll keep my mind on the work in hand, I swear it. But tell me, Capito,’ he could not help smiling a little at using the assumed name, ‘why did you feed Sinius that line about the situation in Britannia?’
‘I had to tell him something, to make sure he believed our cover story. But then it occurred to me, if I spoke of their discontent, it had to be of interest to the other side. Even if Sinius has nothing to do with the conspiracy, there’s a good chance he’ll talk about what we’ve said with the other officers. That puts our names about and hints that we might be amenable to an approach from those who are opposed to the Emperor.’ Cato puffed out his cheeks. ‘Anyway, that’s what I thought.’
Macro nodded. ‘Sounds good. As ever, you have a devious turn of mind, my friend. No wonder Narcissus likes you so much.’ He gave Cato a searching look. ‘Before too long I imagine you’ll be taking over his job in the palace. You’d be good at it.’
Cato stared at him and responded in a deliberate low, hard voice. ‘I might just do that.’
For a moment they stared at each other and then Macro slapped Cato on the shoulder. ‘You nearly had me there!’
Macro roared with laughter, and Cato joined in. They were still laughing when the sound of footsteps approached and a figure appeared in the doorway. Cato looked round to see a thin man with a narrow face watching them coldly. His skin was badly pockmarked and his hair was streaked with grey. Cato guessed that he was a few years older than Macro. He stood up and offered his hand to the man.
‘The name’s Titus Ovidius Capito. Late of the Second Legion, before I was transferred to the Praetorians.’
‘Capito.’ The man nodded. ‘Glad to see you’re in high spirits. You’re also in my section, as it happens.’ He jerked his thumb at his chest. ‘Name’s Lucius Pollinus Tigellinus. Optio of this century, second-in-command to Centurion Lurco. Your friend there is the other new boy?’
Macro stood up. ‘The friend can talk for himself. Vibius Gallus Calidus. Also of the Second.’
Tigellinus sniffed. ‘An undistinguished unit as far as I recall. You may have impressed your superiors in Britannia but you’re going to have to start all over again to impress me, and Tribune Burrus.’
‘We’ll do our best,’ said Cato.
‘Good, then you’d better get your service tunics on and report to the Tribune.’ Tigellinus pointed at their legion issue. ‘Best get rid of those rags. Sell ‘em in the market, you won’t need ‘em again, and I won’t allow them to clutter up my shelves. I’d move yourselves. The tribune hates slackers.’
He turned away and strode off down the corridor. An instant later a fresh face appeared at the door and entered the room. He was a young man, possibly the same age as the Praetorian who had escorted them to headquarters, but to Cato’s eyes he seemed too fresh faced to be a soldier. The thought caught him by surprise as
