As the column moved forward, Macro spoke quietly to Cato, now marching ahead of him. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘You know what I think,’ Cato answered. ‘We keep our eyes and ears open and watch like a hawk.’
The men of the Fifth and Sixth centuries marched up to where Tribune Burrus was waiting, mounted on an immaculately groomed black horse. When the column stood ready he waved a hand towards the gate and the leading rank moved off. They entered Rome and marched down to the palace where the imperial retinue joined the column before it marched back out of the city and headed towards the lake, over ten miles from the capital. The Emperor was attended by fewer advisers than usual, Cato noticed. There was Narcissus, but no sign of Pallas or the Empress, or the two boys.
The rain-washed countryside smelt fresh and the warmth heralded the coming of spring. The first buds were emerging on the branches of many of the fruit trees lining the route. The litters carrying the imperial party were between the two centuries of Praetorians and from the rear Cato could just make them out when he craned his neck to look over the gleaming helmets and javelin tips rippling ahead of him. As the column passed between small villages, the inhabitants came to watch their Emperor pass by and offered a cheer as Claudius raised a hand in greeting. On either side of the litters marched the German bodyguards, their barbarian appearance unnerving the more timorous villagers.
They reached the lake in the early afternoon and the men were allowed to fall out of line and rest while the Emperor and his advisers inspected the preparations for the Naumachia. The imperial grandstand was nearly complete, constructed on an artificial mound that had been raised at the edge of the lake. Along the shore carpenters were hard at work preparing the barges and river craft that had been hauled up from the Tiber to serve as the two fleets that would battle it out on the waters of the lake. Makeshift masts rose from the decks of the vessels with spars, sails and rigging that were more decorative than functional. Rowing benches were fixed along the sides and stout rams attached to the bows of each boat. From a distance they might pass for the warships of the Roman navy, but on a much reduced scale. A quarter of a mile away from the activity on the shore of the lake stood the stockades where those who were to fight were to be held for the duration of the spectacle.
‘Unbelievable,’ Macro commented ruefully as he and Cato surveyed the scene from a rocky outcrop a short distance from where the men of the escort relaxed on the verdant grass either side of the road leading back to Rome. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. It looks more like the preparations for a major campaign than a bloody gladiator show.’
‘I don’t recall there being quite as much effort being put into the invasion of Britannia,’ Cato responded with an ironic grin. ‘But then Claudius was only out to win a new province for the empire. Now he’s out to win the heart of the mob, an objective of far more strategic importance at present – assuming he lives long enough to appease their taste for gladiator fights, not to mention their hunger. I’d say the odds are stacking up against Claudius.’
They turned their attention to the imperial party as the official in charge of organising the spectacle made his report to the Emperor. Even at a distance of over a hundred paces Cato could see that Claudius was giving the man his full attention. Every now and then his head twitched violently as he limped alongside the official.
‘Not such an enviable thing being the Emperor, is it?’ Cato said in a reflective tone. ‘Enemies on all sides, and those closest to him are by far the more dangerous.’
‘You talk utter bollocks at times, Cato,’ Macro responded. ‘You think our lives are any less at risk than Claudius’s? I don’t think so, and I have the scars to prove it, and so do you. In any case, there are one or two perks that go with the job of being the absolute ruler of the greatest empire in the world. I think I might just get used to the occupational hazards.’
‘It’s one thing to face a man with a sword in a straight fight. Quite another to walk into a room full of people, knowing that many of them would as happily stab you in the back as offer you a greeting and promise undying loyalty. Speaking of which, where’s Tigellinus?’ Cato scanned the imperial party, anxiously looking for the centurion.
‘He’s over there, with Burrus and the others.’ Macro pointed towards the handful of men clustered around Tribune Burrus who was still in the saddle. Cato saw the tall figure of the centurion and let out a quiet sigh of relief. Macro heard the soft escape of breath and looked at his friend.
‘When do you think Tigellinus is going to make his move?’
Cato thought for a moment. ‘He might make an attempt at the first chance he gets, provided he has no regard for his own life. But from what I’ve seen of the man, I doubt he’ll throw it away if there is any hope of saving it. If I were Tigellinus I’d bide my time until I was close to the Emperor, and with as few others surrounding him as possible. Then I might have a chance to escape after striking the blow. So, when the Sixth Century is close to the Emperor, we stay closer still to Tigellinus.’
The Emperor completed his tour of the preparations and returned to his litter. As the imperial retinue began to make its way along the shore to the engineering works at the end of the lake nearest the Tiber, the optio called the men back into formation. The guards swiftly marched to take up their positions around the Emperor and then fell into step with the slaves carrying the heavy gilded litter. The party wound its way along the edge of the lake until it reached the first of the stepped dams that led down towards the tributory of the Tiber, three miles away.
The imperial column halted. A small party of engineers in plain tunics approached and bowed in front of the litter. Claudius swung his legs over the side and hobbled over to the youthful-looking man leading the engineers.
‘My dear Ap-apollodorus!’ Claudius greeted him. ‘How is the work progressing? Nearly completed, I trust? I expect the storm has put you behind schedule.’
The engineer gave a deep bow, as did his companions. ‘No, sire. The works were completed according to schedule. And I have prepared something interesting to amuse the mob when the Naumachia begins.’
‘Oh?’ Claudius cocked an eyebrow. ‘And what would that be?’
‘I’d prefer it to remain a surprise, sire. I’m certain you will be impressed.’
Claudius frowned briefly, and then his expression relaxed. ‘Very well, young man. But you are certain the weather has caused no delays? Be honest n-now.’
‘I would not let a bit of rain and wind cause me to break my word to you.’
‘Good man!’ Claudius beamed and clasped the engineer’s forearm. ‘I wish all m-my officials were as eff- efficient as you.’
The Emperor turned to Narcissus, standing a short distance behind him. ‘You and Pallas could learn much from this young f-fell-fellow.’
The imperial secretary forced a smile. ‘It would be a shame to take such a promising talent under my wing and rob you of the skills of an accomplished engineer, sire. Apollodorus’s undoubted talents are better deployed in the field, rather than the palace – although Pallas might benefit from his expertise.’
‘Pallas?’ The Emperor thought for a moment and then nodded. ‘Yes, yes. He does seem to be r-r-rather off form these days. Tired and distracted.’ Claudius smiled indulgently. ‘I imagine the fellow’s in love. It tends to be a wearisome process.’
‘Yes, sire. Perhaps Pallas should be sent to Capri for a rest. I would be glad to oversee his staff during his absence.’
‘I’m sure you would.’ Claudius smiled. ‘Then again, perhaps you also need a rest, my friend.’
‘Not at all, sire.’ Narcissus stood as erect as he could. ‘My place is at your side. I live only to serve you.’
‘How fortunate I am to have such servants. C-come, Narcissus! Let us learn something of the art of engineering from our d-d-dear Appollod-d-dorus here.’
The engineer bowed his head again, and then began to talk through the procedure he had devised to drain the Albine Lake. Cato listened as best he could to the engineer’s lecture but his eyes were fixed on Tigellinus. The centurion stood at the head of the century, no more than fifty feet from the Emperor. His hand was resting on the pommel of his sword, his fingers drumming against the sword handle. Between him and Claudius stood a loose screen of German bodyguards. The Emperor was safe for the moment, Cato decided.
Apollodorus gestured down the vale leading to the river. ‘As the Emperor can see, I have ordered the construction of a series of dams, each with a sluice, so that we can control the flow of water as we drain the area around the lake. If we had simply cut a channel from the lake to the river, as I believe your adviser, Pallas, originally suggested, then we might well have caused the Tiber to overflow and flood the centre of Rome as the
