and a German fell out, crashing on to the floor. A Praetorian leaped out after him, stabbing down on his sword with his full weight. The blade tore through the German’s stomach and the point burst through his back and struck the marble beneath with a loud crack. The German bellowed with agony and then his face contorted into a snarl as he grabbed the other man’s head in both hands and bit off his nose.
Cato thrust his blade into the Praetorian’s spine as he reached the door and the man gasped, dropping his sword, before he slumped over the body of the German. Rushing inside, Cato saw that he had been right. The shutters that had been drawn across the doors leading out on to the portico and the gardens had been smashed open and the splintered remains hung on the hinges. The main lampstand that stood beside the Emperor’s desk had been knocked over in the fight and the only illumination in the room came from a single lamp holder still casting its wan glow from a small table in one corner.
The room seemed to be filled with leaping shadows as men fought like furies. Cato held his sword out and glanced round, and saw the Emperor back into the wall behind his desk. In front of him stood Narcissus, a dagger held out as he shielded Claudius with his body. A huge German stood to one side a short distance before his master, sweeping the air with a long sword as he screamed out his war cry. There were two more Germans fighting in the room, together with a palace slave. Against them were ranged eight Praetorians, two of whom wore the breastplates of officers. A German, two slaves and two Praetorians were already down on the floor, moaning from their wounds.
Macro reacted to the confused scene first. ‘Form up on the Emperor, lads!’
He led the way, rushing round the side of the room towards Claudius and Narcissus pressed up against the wall behind their German protector. Cato accepted the sense of Macro’s order at once and joined the other men.
‘Stop them!’ a voice cried out. ‘Kill the Emperor! Kill the tyrant!’
Cato recognised the voice – Sinius.
Leaving two of their number locked in combat with the bodyguards in the middle of the study the traitors surged towards the Emperor, rushing round the desk, and one man vaulted over it. The German managed one more swing of his sword, cutting down one of his attackers before the rest swarmed over him, hacking and stabbing with their short swords. He staggered under the impact and then collapsed on to his knees, arms stretched wide as he struggled, even in death, to shield his master. His sacrifice delayed the assassins for only a heartbeat, but it was long enough for Macro to reach the far wall. With a bellow he charged headlong into the men who had killed the German, punching his sword into the face of the first man in his path. As the skull shattered with a wet crack, Macro slammed into the next two men, sending them flying back, one falling at the feet of Narcissus who promptly stabbed him in the back with his dagger, the other stumbling back among his companions.
Cato was close behind his friend and swerved aside to place himself between the traitors and the Emperor as one of the officers thrust his way past the press of bodies caused by Macro’s wild charge. In the gloom Cato could just make out Prefect Geta’s determined expression as he raised his sword and made to strike at Claudius. Cato threw his blade up to deflect the blow and sparks sprang from the expertly forged metal as the weapons struck. He felt the impact of the savage blow travel down his arm and his fingers were momentarily numbed. The prefect’s sword cut through the air to one side of the Emperor and clattered against the wall, gouging a chunk out of the ornately painted plaster. Claudius flinched as a chip of plaster struck him on the cheek. Before Geta could recover his sword to attack again, Cato threw himself forward and slammed his left forearm into the prefect’s chest, throwing him off balance. The Praetorians following on behind Macro and Cato forced themselves between the Emperor and the traitors and the room filled with the desperate grunts and cries of the two sides, together with the scrape of blades as they fought hand to hand.
‘Hold ‘em back!’ Macro bellowed as he fell into place beside Cato.
For a moment the struggle continued and then the first of the traitors retreated, clutching his spare hand to a wound in his sword arm. With no way through to the Emperor, the others backed off one by one. Geta turned to them in fury.
‘Fools! If you don’t kill him now, you are as good as dead. It’s too late to retreat. Strike! Strike a blow for liberty while you still can!’
Geta lashed out with his sword in a series of vicious cuts which Cato parried as best he could until Macro launched himself forward, hammering his sword against the prefect’s, forcing the other man back.
One of the Praetorians made to move forward and help Macro but Cato grabbed his shoulder. ‘Stay where you are! Every man is to hold position. Protect the Emperor until help gets here.’
The two sides drew apart and the din of the fighting was replaced by heavy breathing as the Praetorians and the traitors watched each other warily. Geta glared at the Emperor, then swallowed nervously before he took a half step towards Claudius and the men guarding him. Before he could call on his men to attempt another strike against the Emperor, the sound of shouting and footsteps echoed along the corridor outside the study.
‘That’s Tribune Burrus,’ Cato spoke out to the traitors. ‘Throw down your weapons and surrender.’
‘Surrender and we all die!’ Geta responded loudly. ‘There will be no mercy if we fail now.’
His followers hovered indecisively for an instant before one turned and ran back through the broken shutters. Another made to follow him and then others fled, leaving Geta and Sinius alone. Beyond them, Cato was aware of a third officer, in the shadows by the broken shutters.
‘Cowards!’ Geta yelled bitterly. ‘Cowards all!’
Sinius grabbed his arm and pulled his superior back. ‘There’s nothing we can achieve here, sir! We must go.’
‘Go where?’ Geta asked.
‘There may be another chance, sir. Come!’ Sinius roughly pulled the Praetorian prefect away and then bundled him out of the room towards the gardens. Cato lowered his sword and looked round the room. The wounded were moaning on the floor. Two of the men lay still. Those on either side of him were breathing heavily from their desperate run through the palace and the brief skirmish in the Emperor’s study. The Emperor himself was unhurt but there was no mistaking the terror in his eyes.
‘You men stay here,’ Cato ordered the Praetorians. ‘Macro, with me!’
He tightened his grip on his sword as they strode briskly across the room towards the smashed shutters. They stepped out of the study cautiously, just in case any of the traitors were waiting for them in the colonnade outside. The light of the crescent moon bathed the garden in dark shades of grey and the figures of the traitors were easy enough to see as they fled down the shingle paths through the neat shrubberies and flower beds. Macro started after the nearest of the men but Cato grabbed his arm.
‘No. Leave him. Those are the ones we want.’ He pointed his sword at the three officers running towards the steps leading down to the lower terrace of the garden where there was access to the servants’ quarters beneath the imperial suites. If Geta and the others could reach them, they might lose their pursuers in the labyrinth of service corridors and storerooms before escaping into the city’s streets. Cato and Macro set off after the officers, sprinting down from the colonnade towards the steps. They lost sight of their prey momentarily between two lines of neatly trimmed box hedges and then saw them, a short distance ahead. Geta and his companions dashed down the stairs and headed across a paved area towards the dark entrance to the servants’ quarters. An instant later there was a faint glow there that outlined the stone arch and then the flicker of a torch and the sound of voices.
The three men stopped as they realised there was no escape in that direction. They turned and ran the opposite way, along the balcony that looked directly down on to the Forum. At the far end lay a secluded rose garden surrounded by tall hedges. Cato and Macro chased after them while the first soldiers spilled out from the servants’ entrance. Higher up there were shouts as more men began to search the upper terrace for the traitors. Burrus’s voice carried through the night air as he issued his orders. The three officers hurried round the corner of the rose garden out of sight. Cato stopped and cupped a hand to his mouth.
‘Over here. They’re over here! Hurry!’
He and Macro continued their pursuit, rushing headlong round the edge of the neatly trimmed bushes only to see an empty stretch of path before them, lined with pine trees on one side which filled the air with their rich scent. Cato held up his hand to stop his friend and they stood, hearts pounding, as they strained their eyes to see in the gloom.
‘Where did they go?’ hissed Macro. ‘They have to be close. Best be careful, lad.’
