cascaded off the rising object, Macro shook his head in wonder. ‘What the hell is that?’
Cato smiled. ‘That is Apollodorus’s little crowd-pleasing opener, I think.’
Now it was clear what the object was – a huge likeness of Neptune, painted gold, and as the counterweight sank to the bottom of the lake, the impressive device that the engineer had promised Claudius stood a good twenty feet tall, water lapping at the feet as if the structure was standing on the surface. A great cheer rose up from the far shore and a flickering shimmer rippled along the slopes overlooking the lake as the crowd waved coloured strips of cloth to emphasise their approval.
‘Oh, that’s good!’ Macro grinned in delight. ‘Very clever.’
Meanwhile the crews of the two barges were rowing frantically for the shore, anxious to get clear of the two fleets before they clashed. Another blast from the trumpets provided the signal for the Naumachia to begin. There was a brief defiant cheer from each of the two fleets of twenty vessels and then the steady sound of drumbeats from the timekeepers on each ship. The oars stroked the water in a clumsy rhythm as the small warships gradually gained speed. Some were faster than others and the lines quickly became ragged, made more chaotic still by the inability of a handful to steer a straight course.
‘Not the most impressive display of nautical skills I’ve ever seen,’ commented Cato. ‘Even the greenest crew in the fleet would run rings round that lot.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Macro responded irritably. ‘Why don’t you stop coming the seasoned veteran with me and just enjoy the show, eh?’
Cato glanced at his friend. ‘The calm reserve of old hands …’
‘Shhh!’
The leading ships were within missile range of each other and now Cato could make out a thin waft of smoke from the decks of each vessel. An instant later an arrow from one of the blue-pennanted ships traced a fiery arc across the open water, leaving a fine smoky trail behind to briefly mark its passage. The arrow plunged into the lake a good fifty feet short of the bow of the nearest enemy ship.
‘So much for eastern archery,’ Macro chuckled. ‘That was way off.’
The failure of the first shot to reach the target did not stop the inexperienced archers on both vessels from loosing off more arrows and the surface of the lake was peppered with tiny splashes as the two ships closed on each other. There was no attempt to manoeuvre into a better position to use the ram and the two crashed into each other, glancing off as they struck bow to bow. The makeshift mast of the Greek ship snapped close to the deck and pitched forward, rigging snaking behind it, toppling on to the fighters crowded on the foredeck. An excited cheer came from the far shore. As the men struggled to free themselves from the rigging, their opponents hurled grappling hooks across and hauled the ships together before the first men scrambled aboard. From the shore the distant glint of swords and armour told little of which side had the upper hand.
More ships clumsily made their way into the fray and those that had been slowest to get off the mark now reaped the benefit of being able to pick a target to ram in the beam. The first such attack was crudely handled and the speed was too slow for the ram to break through the hull. The crew backpaddled a short distance to try again, only to be caught by one of their foes full on. Slivers of wood from shattered oars burst into the air as the small ship reeled under the impact, pitching men into the water. A handful of those in armour managed to remain briefly on the surface before the weight dragged them under. The shocking impact of the ramming ship also proved to be its undoing as the brazier used for lighting the fire arrows tipped over, spilling burning embers across the deck which quickly set fire to the tarred rigging. Soon the vessel was ablaze and flames, fanned by the gentle breeze blowing down the lake, spread to the ship that had been rammed. The fighting ceased as the men of both sides made to save themselves, desperately stripping off armour before grabbing anything that might give them buoyancy and jumping over the side.
‘Poor devils,’ Cato muttered as the vast audience cried out with delight.
Within two hours of the signal for the battle to begin the surface of the lake was littered with debris from the ships. One vessel had sunk and three more were on fire. The rest were locked in a series of duels and tangled melees, to the cheers of the crowd as they tucked into the food issued to them earlier in the day by the Emperor’s officials. Watching them, and hearing the occasional loud comments from the pavilion, Cato conceded that the spectacle was succeeding admirably as a diversion from the difficulties besetting the capital. If the entertainment and provisioning could be eked out for another day or two then the Naumachia had succeeded in its purpose.
The sound of hoofbeats drew his attention away from the lake and he turned to see an imperial courier galloping along the shore from the direction of the road leading back to the capital. The rider was bent low over his mount, urging it on as the foam spattered back from either side of the bit in its mouth. He reined in sharply in front of the pavilion and swung himself down from the saddle before running towards the stairs leading up to the Emperor’s box.
‘What’s his hurry, I wonder.’ Macro rubbed his cheek. ‘Bad news?’
‘When was the last time there was any good news?’ Cato replied.
They turned back to watch the fight, but Cato could not help wondering what tidings the courier had brought to the Emperor in such haste. The light was beginning to fade as the sun slipped below the horizon. The trumpets sounded again, and according to their strict instructions the surviving ships of both fleets began to disengage and limp back towards the shore on which the pavilion stood. The small ships divided either side of the pavilion and it was possible to count them and see that the Persians had won the upper hand on this first day of the spectacle. One by one the ships beached and the weary crews and fighters stumbled down the gangways and were swiftly disarmed and herded away to their pens by vigilant auxiliary troops.
Macro nudged Cato and pointed briefly. ‘Look there, isn’t that Septimus?’
Cato looked in the direction Macro had indicated and saw four men loaded down with wineskins under the direction of an individual in the plain purple tunic of one of the servants on the palace staff. A quick glance was enough to confirm the man’s identity.
‘It’s him.’
‘Then what’s he doing here?’
‘Has to be something to do with Narcissus.’
Macro glanced wearily at Cato. ‘I worked that out for myself, thank you.’
They watched as the party moved from one group of Praetorians to the next, working their way towards Cato and Macro. As they approached, Septimus indicated the wineskins and called out, ‘A token of his imperial majesty’s gratitude to his loyal soldiers!’
Septimus clicked his fingers and one of the men began to unsling one of the wineskins. Septimus moved closer to the two soldiers and continued to smile pleasantly as he spoke in an urgent undertone.
‘Narcissus sent me as soon as the courier had passed on his message. It was the only way to get a message to you without attracting attention. Say nothing. Just take the wine and listen.’ Septimus glanced round to make sure that there was no one else close enough to hear, then continued in a whisper, ‘There is news from Ostia. The grain fleet from Sicilia was lost in a storm. Only two ships survived, and they were forced to dump most of their cargo over the side.’
Macro whistled softly. ‘That’s buggered things up.’
‘You don’t say,’ Septimus responded drily. ‘The Emperor was counting on that grain to keep order in Rome once the Naumachia is over. And now …’
He left the sentence unfinished and Cato could readily imagine the chaos that would break loose on the streets of the capital once the people discovered that nothing could save them from starvation. Cato reached for the wineskin that one of the slaves was holding out to him. He spoke to Septimus in a low voice. ‘What does Narcissus intend to do?’
‘There’s not much he can do. It will be up to the Praetorian Guard to keep order on the streets at any cost. Prefect Geta has suggested that he returns to Rome and calls out the rest of the Guard to start preparing the defence of the imperial palace, the senate house and the temples. Claudius will remain here tonight and watch the games in the morning before he and the rest of the imperial family slip away.’
‘What does Narcissus want us to do?’ asked Macro.
‘Nothing yet. Just be ready to act when he sends word.’
‘There is something that we can do,’ said Cato. ‘Something that we have to do now.’
‘Oh?’
‘Find that grain that’s missing from the warehouse.’ Cato stared fixedly into Septimus’s eyes. ‘You tell
