his knees. At once Cato pressed his advantage, striking each side of the head before the man slumped on to his side, dazed.
A quick glance revealed that Macro was still attacking Cestius, slamming fist after fist against the man’s head and body in a flurry of powerful blows. Incredibly the gang leader was weathering the assault and had raised his fists to block Macro’s punches. Cestius shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision and then went for Macro with a deep growl that Cato heard above all the other groans, grunts, cries and crashes that filled the inn. Cestius lashed out with his left, a boxer’s punch that caught Macro on the shoulder and knocked him back a step. The right swung out and round in a sweeping blow that Macro had plenty of time to duck and get an upper cut of his own in. Cestius’s head juddered but he stepped forward and punched Macro again, this time catching him full in the ribs with the first and striking him below the left eye with the second, snapping his head back. Macro reeled away, against the table he had been sitting at shortly before. The cups and jugs shot off the top of the table and crashed to the floor. Macro was dazed, blinking wildly, as the giant loomed over him. Cestius grinned cruelly and punched him again in the stomach and then on the mouth, splitting his lip.
Cato realised that unless he moved quickly Macro was going to be severely beaten. He thrust aside one of the Praetorians as he desperately tried to make his way to his friend’s side. Cato never saw the blow, but his head jerked to one side and he instantly had double vision. Instinctively he lowered his head and raised his fists protectively and the next punch glanced off his elbow. Ahead he saw Fuscius had downed an opponent and was beating the man with the leg from a shattered stool.
‘Fuscius!’ Cato shouted. The young guardsman looked up and Cato shouted, ‘Save Macro!’
Fuscius frowned and Cato felt a cold tremor of fear in his guts as he realised what he had said. He drew a sharp breath and cried out again. ‘Look out for Calidus!’ He raised his arm and pointed to make sure his instruction was clear. Fuscius turned and saw the gang leader throw another punch; he tightened his fist round the stool leg and came up behind Cestius, raising the leg high over his head.
‘Watch it, chief!’ someone cried and Cestius began to turn. But it was too late and the stool leg cracked down on the top of his head. His jaw dropped in a groan and Fuscius hit him two more times. Blood streamed down, plastering his hair to his scalp. Fuscius changed tactics and now rammed the end of the leg into the giant’s stomach, doubling him over.
‘That’s it!’ Cato called out, crouching as he backed towards Macro. He exchanged a few blows and kicks with two of the gang and then he was beside Macro. Meanwhile Fuscius kneed his opponent in the face and then struck him about the head a few more times until the gang leader tumbled on to his back, arms flailing as he took two men down with him in a sprawling heap of limbs.
‘Look out!’ a voice cried. ‘Someone’s called for the urban cohort! Let’s get out of here!’
The first of the gang members peeled away from the brawl and headed for the entrance. Others, bowed and staggering, struggled after them.
‘The chief! He’s down. Here, you, help me!’
Two of the gang hurried to their dazed leader and grasped him under the arms. Fuscius went to hit the downed giant again, then paused, as if unsure of the ethics of hitting a defenceless man. By the time the desire to take advantage of the situation had won out, the gang leader had been dragged halfway to the door and his boots were scrabbling for purchase as he tried to stand. By now both sides had mutually decided to break up the fight and were warily drawing apart, leaving tables and benches knocked over amid the shards of broken pottery and puddles and splatters of wine. The innkeeper covered his face with his hands and shuddered.
Cato knelt down by his friend’s side. Macro was slumped against a pillar, eyes flickering as blood coursed from cuts to his brow, nose and lip.
‘Hey, Calidus?’ Cato said loudly. ‘You hear me?’
‘Wheerrrgghh.’ Macro licked his split lip and winced, then spat out a gobbet of blood. ‘What the fuck happened? What hit me?’ His eyes opened wide and he recognised Cato. ‘Lad! We’re under attack! To arms!’
‘He’s lost it.’ Fuscius chuckled as he knelt beside Cato. ‘Knocked senseless.’
Cato nodded. He was afraid that in his dazed state Macro might say something that would give them away. ‘Fuscius, get me a jug of water. Now.’
‘Right.’ The guardsman rose up and made his way over to the innkeeper to make his request. While the innkeeper sighed and went to do as he was bid, Cato leant close to Macro’s ear and whispered, ‘You’ve been in a fight and were knocked down. But you’re all right. Just remember the mission. Don’t say a word until you can think straight. Got that? Macro! Did you get that?’
‘Yes … Fight. Keep much shut.’
‘Good man.’ Cato sighed and patted him on the shoulder. He stood up as Fuscius returned with a pitcher of water and handed it over. Cato stepped back and took aim before slinging the contents of the pitcher in Macro’s face. The torrent of water caused Macro to jolt up and splutter. His eyes opened wildly and he looked as if he might attack the first thing he saw. Then he recognised Cato and opened his mouth to speak, frowned as he remembered his friend’s warning and clamped his jaw shut instead. He breathed deeply for a moment before he spoke thickly. ‘The other bloke?’
‘Is out for the count. Thanks to Fuscius here. Otherwise you’d be on the way to the Underworld by now. Fuscius, help me get him up on his feet. Before the urban troops arrive.’
But it was too late. The sound of boots drumming on the paved street echoed round the square. The Praetorians were helping their injured up when the first of the troops entered the inn. An optio with a long staff strode in and looked around. ‘What’s this then? What’s going on here? I was told it was a brawl.’
‘No,’ Cato protested. ‘We were just having a drink when the Viminal gang charged in and started beating the place up.’
‘A likely story!’ The optio snorted. ‘Bloody Praetorians think you can pull the wool over my eyes.’
‘It’s true, man!’ Cato shouted at him. ‘They’ve only got a short start on you. They’ll be making for the bottom of the Viminal. If you go now and stop wasting bloody time, you can still catch ‘em.’
‘You catch ‘em!’ the innkeeper cried out to the optio. ‘Someone’s got to pay for all this!’
‘And it won’t be us,’ Cato said firmly. ‘Not if the Emperor has anything to say about it. He’ll not take sides against his Praetorians. Better to go after the gang.’
The optio bit his lip and then turned and left the inn.
‘Come on, boys!’ Cato heard him call out and then the sound of their boots hurrying off filled the air.
Cato eased Macro up on to his feet and slung his friend’s arm across his shoulder. Fuscius took the other side.
‘Praetorians!’ Cato called out. ‘We are leaving!’
They stumbled outside and then in a loose column headed out of the square and up the street in the direction of the Praetorian camp.
‘Thanks for helping him out,’ Cato said to Fuscius through gritted teeth. ‘You probably saved Calidus’ life.’
‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ The young guardsman’s voice filled with pride. ‘Do you think he’ll be all right?’
‘He will. Trust me, he’s had worse in his time.’
‘Good.’
They went on in silence for a moment before Fuscius spoke softly. ‘By the way, who’s Macro?’
Cato felt his heart miss a beat. ‘Macro? Must have had a bit too much to drink. Macro was a mate of ours back in Britannia. Slip of the tongue. That’s all.’
‘Oh, right,’ Fuscius responded vaguely. ‘Slip of the tongue then.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Right then, since you two have got such a nice shiner each, you’re bound to draw attention to yourselves. If any of the imperial family speak to you, be ready to respond with the appropriate form of address.’ Tigellinus sighed impatiently as the century, dressed in their duty togas, crossed the Forum towards the palace gates two days later. ‘One more time. The Emperor?’ He was marching beside Macro and Cato and had been running through some of the basic protocols since they left the camp.
