permission. When Lurco surfaces he’s going to be broken to the ranks, and Tigellinus’s appointment will be made permanent. Just as mine will.’ Fuscius puffed out his chest. ‘I’m the right man for the job, just as Tigellinus said when he chose me.’ Fuscius’s smile faded and he stared hard at Cato and Macro. ‘That means that you two will call me optio from now on. Is that clear?’
‘You?’ Macro shook his head. ‘You’re the best man that Tigellinus could have picked? The most promising ranker in the century? I find that hard to believe.’
‘Believe it!’ Fuscius said fiercely. ‘And I’ll not warn you again, Guardsman Calidus. You will show me the respect due to my rank or I’ll have you on a charge.’
‘Yes, Optio.’ Macro contained his smile. ‘As you command.’
Fuscius strode up to him and glared at Macro for a moment, as if hoping to make the older man flinch. Macro met his gaze frankly and fearlessly, then with a brief snort of derision Fuscius strode out of the door, his staff of office clutched firmly in his hand.
Macro shook his head slowly. ‘There goes a boy who thinks he’s ready to take on a man’s job … Reminds me of you, actually. That day you joined the Second Legion thinking that you were just going to stroll right into an officer’s boots. You recall?’
Cato wasn’t listening, he was deep in thought. He stirred as he became aware of the questioning tone in Macro’s words.
‘Sorry, I missed that.’
‘Don’t worry. Not important. What’s on your mind?’
‘Tigellinus. Acting Centurion Tigellinus that’s what.’ Cato’s brow creased. ‘The Sixth Century is tasked with protecting the Emperor and his family and the Liberators now have their man within striking distance of the imperial family. They’ve finally managed to penetrate the screen of bodyguards that surrounds Claudius.’
Macro pursed his lips and winced. ‘You think Tigellinus will be the assassin?’
‘What else? Why else have Lurco removed? They wanted to place Tigellinus close to the Emperor. That has to be it. And when the time is right, and the opportunity is there, Tigellinus will strike.’
‘He won’t get away with it,’ said Macro. ‘He’ll be killed on the spot. Or taken and questioned.’
‘That won’t matter. With Claudius dead there will be chaos … confusion. That’s when the rest of the conspirators will make their move. They’ll use the Praetorian Guard to move into the city and take control, and then announce a new regime, headed by the leadership of the Liberators. I’d stake my life on it,’ Cato said grimly.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As so often happens in April, a violent thunderstorm swept in from the west during the night and for the next two days and nights ominous dark clouds crowded the sky above Rome. The streets were shrouded in gloom, except for when brilliant bursts of lightning lit them up for an instant. Rain pelted down, hammering the tiled roofs, window shutters and paved streets. Rushing torrents swept down the streets and alleys of the capital, washing the dirt away and tumbling into the drains that fed the Great Sewer snaking beneath the heart of Rome before it joined the Tiber.
The population of the city sheltered indoors and for two days the streets were empty of the scavenging bands of the impoverished looking for scraps of food. The Emperor and his family did not venture out either. They remained in the palace and the men of Burrus’s cohort of the Praetorian Guard took it in turns to march from the camp to the palace through the downpour, huddled in their cloaks. Despite the animal fat worked into the wool to render them waterproof, the rain found its way through and into the tunics beneath the armour, chilling the flesh of the guardsmen as they stood on duty, shivering, until they were relieved in turn and marched back to their barracks in the Praetorian camp.
There was no chance for Cato and Macro to check the safe house for any messages as the new acting centurion of the Sixth Century refused to allow any of his men to leave the camp when off duty. At his first morning parade as their new commander Tigellinus announced that the century’s discipline had become lax under his predecessor. Henceforth, there would be an evening parade and extra drill, as well as their usual guard duty at the palace. The new optio was also relishing his promotion and bawled out his commands in emulation of Tigellinus. Tigellinus moved into Lurco’s quarters and left Macro and Cato to cope with Fuscius, who now decided everything in the section room, from what time the lamp was extinguished at night to which pegs were reserved for the optio’s use alone.
Macro did his best to keep his simmering irritation hidden. Cato, meanwhile, continued to ponder the mystery of the missing grain. He went over every detail of the search that he and Macro had conducted at the warehouse, as well as the information he had gleaned from the grain merchants’ guild and the clerk at the offices of Gaius Frontinus. How could so much grain disappear into the city without any apparent trace? It was a maddening puzzle for Cato which vexed him as he polished his kit and spread his cloak and tunics out to dry on the small wooden rack that was set up close to the section room’s compact brazier. Meanwhile, Macro dutifully headed out each evening to carry out his punishment in the latrines at the end of the block nearest the wall of the camp.
At last, on the third morning the storm blew away, leaving a clear blue sky in its wake and the sun soon began to heat the roofs and streets of Rome, sending tendrils of vapour twisting languidly into the air before they dispersed. The people began to emerge on to the streets, and once more the bodies of those who had starved to death or succumbed to an illness in their weakened state were carried out of the city gates in carts to be added to the many hundreds that had been placed in mass graves along the roads leading out of Rome.
Word arrived from the palace that the Emperor and his retinue would set out to inspect the engineering works and the preparations for the spectacle up at the Albine Lake. Burrus gave the command for the Fifth and Sixth centuries to form up and Tigellinus stormed through the barracks bellowing at his men to get their kit and form up ready to march. The soldiers of each section scrambled out, some still fastening chinstraps and buckling on their armour. When the last man was ready Tigellinus called them to attention and then inspected the ranks, pulling his men up on every minor infraction while Fuscius noted the crime and punishment on a waxed tablet. When the inspection was complete Tigellinus moved back and faced his new command, his fists resting on his hips.
‘No doubt some of you are still wondering what’s become of Lurco. As far as you’re concerned he’s dead. As far as he’s concerned he might as well be, once Tribune Burrus gets his hands on him.’ Tigellinus paused while some of the men chuckled. Then he drew a deep breath and continued, ‘I’m your centurion now. I set the standard and I will command the best century in the entire Praetorian Guard. That means I will be hard on you. I will have discipline. I will have smartly turned-out soldiers and I will have heroes, if the need arises. Any man who falls short of my requirements had better be ready to transfer out of the Guard to some lesser formation. If such a man chooses to stay then I will break him. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir!’ the men responded unevenly.
‘I didn’t bloody hear you!’ Tigellinus bellowed. ‘You sound like a bloody rabble! I said, is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir!’ the soldiers shouted in one voice that echoed back off the wall of the opposite barrack block.
‘That’s better.’ Tigellinus nodded. ‘You’ve already proved to the Emperor that you are good in a fight. He has honoured us by making this unit his personal escort. I mean to keep that honour for the foreseeable future, gentlemen. Whenever the Emperor leaves the palace I want my men to be guarding him. I want us to remain his first and last line of defence. We will be the shield and sword at his side. He will continue to put his faith in us, to trust us with his life, and the lives of his family. I need hardly remind you how grateful emperors can be to those who give them good service. Do your duty and we’ll all do well out of this. Don’t let me down.’ He ran his eyes along the ranks of his men and then turned to Fuscius. ‘That’s all. Have the men form up by the main gate, ready to march, Optio.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Fuscius stood to attention, and remained there until Tigellinus had left the small parade ground. Then he called out, ‘Sixth Century, left face!’
The two lines turned and stood ready for the next order.
‘March!’
