course, the tricky part is to remove Nero in such a way that there is no suspicion that Narcissus might be behind the assassination. So he used Cestius and his gang. That’s why Cestius spared Britannicus. He was under orders to kill only Nero and possibly his mother. Narcissus was there with us so that it would look like he was in just as much danger as everyone else.’
Macro was silent for a moment as they trod warily across the chamber towards the narrow door leading into the service corridor beyond. ‘By the gods, Narcissus and his friends play some pretty deadly games with each other.’
Cato shrugged. ‘Welcome to life in the imperial palace. Conspiracy, treachery and murder are the diet of those who run the place.’ He turned to Macro with a rueful smile. ‘Now you can see why I was lucky to be sent to join the legions. I doubt I’d have survived for long if I had gone into the imperial service, like my father. At least in the army you know who your enemies are … most of the time.’
Macro snorted. ‘Most of the time, but not in the Praetorian Guard. They’re a bunch of pretty puppets playing at soldiering and politics in equal measure.’
Cato nodded. ‘And that is what makes them so dangerous to the emperors. Tiberius nearly lost his crown thanks to the Praetorians, and Caligula lost his life. The odds are that Claudius and a good many of his successors are going to go the same way.’
‘Unless the Liberators get what they want.’
Cato shot his friend a quick look. ‘I suppose. Anyway, we’d best be quiet from here on.’ He lifted the latch on the door and eased it open. The service corridor was empty, and the only light was from a single torch guttering at the foot of the stairs leading up into the heart of the palace. Cato blew the lamp out and placed it by the door before he and Macro padded down the corridor, passing the doors to several more chambers. The staircase led up to one of the palace’s kitchens where the shelves that were usually filled with luxuries were now mostly bare.
‘It’s quiet,’ said Macro. ‘Haven’t seen or heard a soul so far.’
They passed out of the kitchens into one of the main thoroughfares and made for the private quarters of the imperial family.
‘I don’t like this,’ Cato said softly. ‘We should have run into someone by now. Some of the Praetorians, or the slaves at least.’
At last, as they approached the doors to the private suites of the Emperor and his family, they saw some of the guards. Eight Praetorians stood on watch by the light of a brazier. As Cato and Macro emerged from the gloom they saw a figure step forward and recognised Fuscius.
‘Stop there!’ the optio barked. ‘Identify yourselves.’
Cato muttered to his friend, ‘Time to drop the cover story, I think.’
‘High bloody time,’ Macro agreed with feeling.
As they stepped into the pool of light cast by the brazier, Fuscius swore softly. ‘Calidus and Capito! What have you two been up to? You’re covered in filth.’ His eyes widened as he was struck by a more salient thought. ‘You’re supposed to be on guard! You’ve deserted your posts.’
‘Quiet!’ Cato snapped. ‘Optio, what’s going on? Where are the rest of the Praetorians?’
Fuscius opened his mouth in astonishment at being addressed in this curt manner by a ranker. He puffed out his chest as he took a deep breath to bawl the two men out.
‘There’s no time for lengthy explanations,’ Cato said curtly. ‘All you need to know is that my name is not Capito. I’m Prefect Cato and this is Centurion Macro. Why are there so few men in the palace?’
‘Hold it.’ Fuscius stared at them. ‘What’s going on?’
‘We’ve uncovered a plot to kill the Emperor. We’ve been investigating a plot involving some officers of the Praetorian Guard.’
‘Bollocks. I don’t believe it. You two are on a charge.’
‘Shut your mouth,’ Macro said firmly. ‘Or it’ll be you on a charge, sunshine, at the very least, should anything happen to the Emperor. Now tell the prefect what’s going on. Where are the rest of the Praetorians?’
Fuscius swallowed nervously before he replied. ‘All right, all right then … they’ve been ordered out of the palace to guard the perimeter of the imperial quarter. Only Tribune Burrus and two centuries remain in the palace.’
‘Who gave the order?’ Cato demanded.
‘Prefect Geta. Less than half an hour ago, I’d say. Same time that he ordered the German bodyguards to be confined to quarters.’
Cato felt his blood go cold. ‘Where is Tigellinus?’
Fuscius glanced from one to the other briefly, his mouth working helplessly. Then he shook his head. ‘The centurion’s not here.’
‘Where is he then?’ Cato demanded.
‘He went off with Prefect Geta and another officer, Centurion Sinius, and a squad of men.’
Cato stabbed his finger into the scale armour on the optio’s chest. ‘Where did they go?’
‘I don’t know. They were making for the gardens. Doing the rounds of the sentries, I think the prefect said.’
Cato exchanged an anxious glance with Macro before he addressed Fuscius again. ‘Where’s the tribune?’
‘He set up a command post in the entrance hall, sir.’
‘Then you go to him at once. Tell him to bring every man he can to the imperial quarters immediately. Tell Burrus that the Emperor’s life depends on it. We’ll take these men with us.’ Cato saw the optio was on the verge of indecision again and he took a step towards the man and grasped him by the shoulders. ‘Get a grip on yourself, Fuscius! You have your orders, now go!’ Cato gave him a firm shove away from the entrance and Fuscius hurried away towards the main entrance of the palace, the clatter of his nailed boots echoing off the high walls.
Turning back, Cato faced the remaining Praetorians. Their expressions were as shocked and surprised as the optio’s. He needed them to accept his authority and obey his orders without question. Cato drew a calming breath as he looked at them. ‘I meant what I said about the danger to the Emperor. There are traitors in our ranks. Men who would break their sacred oath. The only hope we have of stopping them is if you obey my orders, and those of Centurion Macro, without question. Is that clear?’ He looked at each man in turn, daring them to defy him. There were no dissenters and Cato nodded.
‘Very well. Draw your swords and follow us.’ He gestured to Macro, and with a light scrape of his blade, Cato drew his sword and trotted through the entrance of the imperial quarters with Macro at his side. With a chorus of steely rasps the Praetorians drew their weapons and fell in behind the two officers.
As they ran down the long corridor connecting the main part of the palace to the more private and comfortable suites occupied by Claudius and his family, Cato hurriedly thought through the layout of this part of the palace complex. There would still be some men of the Sixth Century at their stations, and perhaps a handful of the German bodyguards who had been with the Emperor when their comrades had been quietly removed from the scene. Therefore the logical route for the assassins to take would be through the terraced gardens and then a final assault through the colonnade that ran along the side of the gardens. It would take them longer than the direct route, but it would avoid having to bluff, or fight, their way through each checkpoint. There was still a chance that they might reach the Emperor first.
Two flights of stairs led up to the highest level of the palace where the sleeping quarters and the gardens overlooked the heart of the city. As they climbed breathlessly up the final set of stairs, Cato heard a cry of alarm, then a shout and the unmistakable clatter of sword blades.
‘On me!’ he called, taking the last three stairs in a frantic leap. The corridor was lit by oil lamps and was some ten feet wide, with doors opening off each side. It stretched the full length of the top level of the palace, and the Emperor’s sleeping chamber and private study were halfway along on the left. The sound of voices and the clash of blades were louder now. As Cato, Macro and the Praetorians sprinted along the marbled floor, a door opened just ahead of them and Britannicus stepped out, bleary eyed. His sleep-clouded mind cleared in an instant as he saw the soldiers pounding towards him, swords drawn.
‘Get back inside!’ Cato shouted as he slithered to a halt. He turned to the nearest of the Praetorians. ‘You! Stay with the Emperor’s son. Lock the door and guard him with your life.’
Without waiting for the man’s response, Cato ran on again. The sounds of the fighting echoed dully off the corridor walls and then, when they were no more than twenty feet from the Emperor’s study, the door burst open
