‘Quite a rider,’ said Cato. ‘I wonder who he is.’
Macro shrugged. ‘Just another bloody spoilt brat showing off.’
The rider raised his hands to undo the chinstraps and then quickly lifted the helmet to reveal his face. There was a surprised gasp from the crowd and then a tumultuous cheer split the air as they saw that it was Nero.
Cato glanced at the Emperor and dimly recalled seeing his stepson drift towards the rear of the box a while earlier. Nero’s mother was on her feet clapping her hands with delight while the Emperor beamed. The Praetorians’ cheering gradually synchronised into a repeated roaring of his name. ‘Nero! Nero! Nero!’
The boy made a slow circuit of the arena, sitting haughtily in his saddle as he revelled in the cheers. Macro nudged Cato and pointed to the imperial box.
‘There’s one who is not so happy.’
On the dais, beside his father, was young Britannicus; his expression hardened into a cold scowl and his right hand balled into a tight fist. He only relaxed when his rival finally left the arena and the Praetorians ceased cheering. Noon had passed and the editor announced a short interlude while the targets were removed and the arena prepared for the main entertainment of the day, ten gladiator bouts culminating with a fight between a secutor known as the ‘Dove’ – the current darling of the mob – and the ‘Neptune of Nuceria’, a retiarius. A handful of those in the imperial box hurried down the steps to relieve themselves or take refreshment in the area beneath the box.
‘I’m going for a quick piss,’ Macro announced, standing up.
Cato nodded as his friend squeezed past and made his way down the stairs and along to the head of the staircase leading out of the arena. Cato’s mind was still preoccupied with the expression he had caught on Nero’s face just before he had left the arena. There was no mistaking the light of ambition that burned there. It had been a calculated performance in front of the Praetorians and for the moment he was their darling.
Macro shook himself off and lowered his tunic. The latrine block was filled with men who were taking advantage of the intermission. He made his way outside towards the gate giving out on to the parade ground. He picked his way through the litters and the slaves squatting silently beside them until he came to the enclosure beneath the imperial box. Two German guards stood either side of the heavy red curtain flaps that covered the entrance. As Macro approached, one of them held out his hand and spoke in his harsh tongue.
‘Easy there, Herman,’ Macro growled. ‘Just passing by. Don’t get your beard in a bloody twist.’
At that moment a gust of wind whipped back the curtains and Macro had a clear view of the man Narcissus had been sitting next to in the imperial box. One of his arms was wrapped round a woman as he kissed her arched neck. His other hand was under the folds of her stola, between her legs, and her mouth gaped in ecstasy. They looked round sharply as the curtains flapped and their eyes met Macro’s for what seemed a long moment. Then as abruptly as it had come, the gust died and the curtains dropped back into place. Macro had not moved and the German called out another warning.
‘I’m going,’ he muttered before hurrying back inside the arena. A cold tremor of anxiety ran down his spine. The woman he had just seen in the throes of ecstasy was Agrippina. The last thing he wanted was to be a witness to the infidelity of the Empress. This was dangerous knowledge. Agrippina was sure to have learned from her predecessor’s mistakes and would realise the need to remove anyone who could denounce her to the Emperor.
Macro climbed the steps to rejoin Cato and sat down quickly, leaning back on his bench to make sure that he could not be seen from the imperial box.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ asked Cato. ‘You look as white as a toga.’
‘I’m fine … fine.’
‘What is it?’ Cato had rarely seen his friend look so worried.
Macro shook his head. ‘I can’t tell you now.’ He indicated the men sitting in front and on either side of them. ‘Not here.’
Down in the arena the first pair of gladiators had made their salute to the Emperor and now squared off, lowering themselves into a poised crouch as they waited for the signal to begin. The editor milked the tension for as long as he dared before shouting the command, ‘Engage!’
The smaller, more lithe of the two fighters charged in and launched a ferocious attack on his opponent and the sounds of blades clashing and the thud of sword strokes on shields echoed around the arena. Then both men parted and began to circle each other warily. Cato smiled at the small piece of theatre the gladiators had used to open the fight with a flash of excitement. Around them the Praetorians were avidly watching, muttering comments about the two gladiators’ physiques and fighting styles as they placed bets. Cato leant towards Macro and spoke as loudly as he dared.
‘It’s safe to speak now. Everyone’s concentrating on the action.’
Macro glanced round Cato to look into the imperial box. No more than thirty feet away the Empress had resumed her seat and was staring down into the arena, her face composed. The man who had been groping her was not in view. Macro quietly related what he had seen.
‘Are you sure they saw you clearly?’ asked Cato.
‘Well enough to recognise me if they saw me again.’
‘Shit.’ Cato frowned. ‘That’s not helpful.’
‘Well, pardon me,’ Macro growled.
Cato scratched his chin as he tried to think through the implications. If Agrippina had already taken a lover from among the Emperor’s retinue then she was playing a dangerous game indeed. Unless she was using the man to further some other purpose. But what? And did it have any connection with the conspiracy that Narcissus was attempting to uncover and defeat?
As Cato sat in contemplation, Macro saw Narcissus approach the Emperor and bend down close to his ear. Claudius listened and then turned in his seat and looked up at Narcissus in concern. There was a brief conversation before the Emperor nodded and waved him towards Prefect Geta. Moments later, guardsmen hurried out of the pavilion to carry messages to the officers in the arena. Many of the Praetorians close to the imperial box were watching curiously as Tribune Burrus stood up and cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Sixth Century! Form up outside the arena at once!’
Lurco quickly rose from his bench and beckoned to Tigellinus and then hurried across to the entrance. His men began to follow.
‘What do you think this is all about?’ asked Macro. ‘Is it to do with what I saw?’
‘We’ll know soon enough.’
As they descended the stairs, Cato took a last look into the box. The Emperor and his family had already left their seats, and Narcissus and some others went after them. The rest of the guests remained where they were, trying to look unflustered as the fight continued in the arena.
The men of the Sixth Century gathered around Lurco, while a short distance away the litter slaves were on their feet, ready to take up their burdens the moment the order was given. As Macro, Cato and the last of the men came out of the arena, the centurion called out loudly so that he could be heard over the noise from the arena.
‘The Emperor is returning to the palace. He has just received a report that a food riot has broken out in the Forum. The urban cohorts have the matter in hand but the Emperor wants to take command of the situation in person. Prefect Geta has decided to reinforce the Emperor’s bodyguard with the Sixth Century. This is not ceremonial. Our orders are to protect the Emperor, his family and advisers at all costs. If anyone tries to block our path we’re authorised to use whatever force is needed to get the litters through.’ Lurco paused to draw breath. ‘Fetch your weapons and armour from barracks. Then get back here ready to march. At the double!’
CHAPTER TEN
A thick pall of smoke from the direction of the Forum billowed into the afternoon sky as the column of litters and soldiers made their way down the Viminal Hill towards the centre of the city. Even though news of the riot had spread through the streets, many people were still going about their business and hurried out of the way of Centurion Lurco and the two sections leading the party. The Germans closed ranks around the litters carrying the
