The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19) Page 8

  Cato felt his guts tighten in revulsion. ‘I am a soldier. Don’t mistake me for an assassin.’

  ‘You certainly have a soldier’s prickly pride. I am not asking you to be an assassin, merely a guard. Amongst other duties.’

  ‘Other duties?’

  Seneca chewed his lip delicately as he collected his thoughts. ‘What do you know about the situation in Sardinia? Not much, I should imagine, as you have only recently returned from the east.’

  ‘I know that there has been a famine for the last two years, and that has hiked the price of grain in Rome. I know that some of the tribes of the hinterland have been raiding estates and settlements. To make matters worse, I know that a plague has broken out in the south of the island.’

  Seneca tilted his head back and laughed briefly. ‘I knew that you were the right man for the job the moment I heard you were back in Rome.’

  ‘What job?’

  ‘Rome needs a resourceful soldier to take command of the garrison on the island and put an end to the depredations of the tribes who dare to challenge the authority of Rome by disrupting the supply of grain and oil. The current governor, Borus Pomponius Scurra, is an indolent wastrel, to be frank. He is not up to the job of dealing with the brigands. He’s not even capable of running the province competently. Since your services are no longer required by the Praetorian Guard, you are available for the task.’

  ‘Why me? There are plenty of other officers here who could do the job.’

  ‘That’s true. But you are not any other officer. You have singular talents and it would be best if those were put to good use rather than be permitted to go to waste while you sit and stew in your resentment from the comfort of your house on the Viminal. Besides, it might be best for you to be absent from Rome for a while. Out of Nero’s sight.’

  Cato thought through the task that Seneca had outlined. It was neatly done, as if the imperial adviser had planned it all out well before Cato had presented himself for the emperor’s judgement. Not only would he serve as the gaoler of Nero’s troublesome mistress, but he would be required to put down the tribesmen and ensure the smooth flow of grain and oil as well. There was no glory to be had in such a mission. It might be true that there were plenty of other officers in Rome who could be handed the task, but few of them would be willing to accept so thankless a command, with little prospect of advancing their careers. If that was true of them, it was equally true for Cato.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I must decline your offer. I’ll take my chances and remain in Rome while I wait for a better opportunity to turn up.’

  ‘Offer?’ Seneca’s brow creased. ‘I think you misunderstand me. I have chosen you for the job. You. No one else. You will do it.’

  ‘And if I choose not to?’

  ‘You can refuse. But if you do, and you reject my offer to be your patron, then I will be in no position to protect you from Nero’s anger . . .’

  The threat was clear. ‘In the event that someone has a word in the emperor’s ear to provoke such anger, you mean.’

  ‘It’s uncanny,’ said Seneca. ‘It’s almost as if you can read my mind. You might as well make the most of it, Cato. It’s a new command after all. I appreciate that it might be something of a comedown after holding the rank of tribune in the Praetorian Guard, but it is the best opportunity you are likely to get to continue serving in the military. Knowing what I do about you, I’d say the army is your life. You are the kind of man who would find civilian life unfulfilling. Maybe not immediately. After all, you have a son to raise and I am sure that would consume much of your time and attention. But give it a few months, or perhaps as long as a year, and you’d be willing to give your right arm for the chance to get back in the field.’ He scrutinised Cato’s expression. ‘Am I wrong?’

  ‘I am sure I could adapt, but then again, I am not going to be given the chance to find out, am I?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid not. You’ll need to make preparations. If you haven’t unpacked your baggage yet, I might have saved you the trouble.’ Seneca smiled at his remark. ‘I’ll let you go now. You’ll have a few days before Claudia Acte is ready to travel. I’ll inform you of the departure date as soon as I can.’

  ‘You’re too kind,’ Cato replied sourly.

  Seneca gave a deep sigh. ‘You’re no fool. You understand life at the imperial court. When a man reaches a certain rank or position in life, he falls into the purview of the emperor. Nero can make or break our fortunes on a whim. A wise man does what he can to make the most of the opportunities and avoid the pitfalls. Today could easily have been your last. As it is, you are alive, and you retain your home and wealth. Moreover, there is still a chance for you to make a name for yourself in Sardinia. Carry out your task well and one day you will look back on this moment as a minor setback.’

  Cato considered what he had been told about Sardinia, its internal conflicts and the plague that was spreading across the island. Then there was the small matter of escorting the emperor’s mistress to her estate and making sure that she remained there. He cleared his throat. ‘I accept, on one condition.’

  Seneca smiled faintly. ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘I get to take my cohort with me.’

  ‘It’s no longer your cohort.’

  ‘Reinstate me.’

  Seneca shook his head. ‘Out of the question.’

  ‘Then at least let me ask for volunteers.’

  ‘No. I know what you soldiers are like with your simple code of loyalty. If you ask for volunteers, I dare say the entire cohort will step forward. You can imagine how Burrus and Nero will take that gesture. You can forget it.’

  ‘Let me have ten men,’ Cato countered. ‘If you want my mission to be a success, I must have a cadre of good men I can rely on.’

  Seneca thought it over. ‘Five men. No more than five.’

  Cato felt some small relief over the concession, but there was still the larger unanswered question that weighed on him. ‘And what happens to me if I should fail?’

  Seneca regarded him coldly. ‘You will not fail.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Sardinia?’ Apollonius plucked an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table and took a bite, crunching on the crisp white flesh. ‘Never been there. Should be interesting. It’s a shame you’ll miss out on it, Macro.’

  The centurion did not respond, but turned his gaze towards his wife, who was playing with Lucius by the pond in the middle of Cato’s garden. The warm morning had given way to a stifling afternoon, and the streets had been quiet as Cato made his way home from the palace. He had ordered Croton to set up an awning in the garden so that he could sit in the shade while taking advantage of any light breeze that passed over the city. The three men were lying on couches around the table, where a jug of watered wine brought up from the cellar stood. While Macro filled the silver goblets, Cato’s thoughts were focused on the task Seneca had forced him to accept, and he could not enjoy the comfort and peace of his surroundings.

  Macro coughed and lowered his voice so that Petronella would not overhear him. ‘If you need me to stay in uniform for a little longer, just say the word, lad.’

  Cato looked at his friend and felt a surge of bittersweet affection for him. In truth, there was nothing he would like better than to have Macro continue to serve alongside him. But it would be an act of unconscionable selfishness to exploit his friend’s offer. Petronella would never forgive either of them if Macro went to Sardinia. And, gods forbid, if anything happened to him, Cato would never forgive himself.

  ‘I can’t ask that of you. I won’t. But I thank you for the offer, brother, with all my heart. You have served Rome for long enough. You’ve shed blood for the Empire and you have been loyal to your comrades and to me. The time has come for you to put aside your sword and enjoy your life with Petronella.’

  ‘She’ll understand,’ Macro protested. ‘She knows what it means to me.’

  Apolloni
us laughed and shook his head. ‘I fear you have no idea how a woman’s mind works.’

  Macro scowled at him. ‘I know my wife.’

  ‘Maybe, but if you choose to go to Sardinia, you’re showing her no respect. Women want love, sure, but they want respect more. If you abandon her to go on campaign, you will incur such wrath as the Furies could only dream of.’

  ‘And you’re an expert on women?’ Macro sneered.

  ‘I’m an expert on human nature.’ Apollonius smiled. ‘Otherwise I would not have survived as long as I have in my line of work.’

  ‘I’ll take advice from a spy when I want it, not before.’

  Apollonius’s eyebrows lifted briefly. ‘Your funeral, friend.’

  ‘Enough, you two,’ Cato interrupted firmly. ‘Macro, enjoy your retirement. You’ve earned it a thousand times over.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘The matter is settled. I am not taking you with me.’

  Macro could not help starting with surprise, freezing for a beat and then easing himself back with a betrayed expression. He swallowed bitterly. ‘As you wish, sir.’

  There was an awkward silence before Apollonius swung his legs over the side of the couch and held out his arms.

  ‘This heat is unbearable. I’m going for a dip in the bathhouse pool. Anyone care to join me? No? Very well, alone then.’

  He walked away quickly, leaning down to the pond to splash Lucius and Petronella as he passed by. Lucius laughed with surprise while Petronella shot the agent a scowl. Apollonius quickened his pace and disappeared from view between the hedges either side of the path leading to the bottom of the garden.

  ‘You’re taking him with you,’ said Macro.

  ‘He’s good in a fight and he’s just as skilful at knifing a man in the back as sticking a sword into his chest. I have a feeling that kind of talent is going to be useful to me in Sardinia.’

  ‘As long as it’s not your back.’

  ‘Why would it be? Apollonius has no reason to betray me.’

  ‘I wonder. Why do you think he has attached himself to you? He was Corbulo’s creature before. You shouldn’t trust him. For all you know, he could be in someone else’s pay. Someone who wants to destroy you.’

  ‘And who would that be?’ Cato asked wearily. ‘Most of our enemies are dead, like Narcissus, or have been removed from positions of influence, like Pallas.’

  ‘What about Vitellius?’

  Cato recalled the scheming aristocrat they had crossed swords with years before.

  ‘There’s always Vitellius,’ he conceded. ‘But he’s keeping to himself for now.’

  ‘Biding his time, no doubt. But we both know his type. He will never forget, nor will he forgive.’

  ‘And if he comes looking for trouble, he’ll find me ready, with my sword in my hand,’ Cato responded defiantly.

  ‘That’s not going to do you much good if Apollonius’s knife is between your shoulder blades, my lad,’ Macro said with a resigned shrug. ‘Look, I see I can’t stop you taking him. But be careful. Keep an eye on him at all times. And if you have any doubts about him, stick him with a blade double quick. That’s what I’d do.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice.’ Cato could not help smiling at his friend’s fatherly anxiety. ‘I’ll watch him closely. I promise.’

  He reached for the jug and topped up their goblets before settling back to watch Lucius and Petronella, who had kicked off their sandals and were now splashing their feet, sending up spouts of glittering water in the sunlight while Cassius pounced from side to side and barked at them.

  ‘What are your plans for the boy?’ asked Macro. ‘Are you going to take him with you?’

  ‘No. There’s a plague in Sardinia, so Lucius remains here in Rome. I’ll find a tutor for him.’

  ‘Isn’t he a bit young for that?’

  ‘Possibly, but it will keep his mind occupied so that he doesn’t miss me. Or you and Petronella, for that matter.’

  ‘We’ll miss him . Petronella particularly.’

  ‘It’s not going to be easy for any of us,’ Cato mused. ‘We’re as good as family, the four of us. And the dog.’

  ‘The mutt you can keep,’ Macro sniffed. ‘I don’t know what you see in that mongrel. He’s no good at hunting, is as likely to lick a thief as bite him, and he’s a waste of rations.’

  ‘Which is why I am leaving him here in Rome. I imagine you held similar views about me when I turned up with the other recruits to the Second Legion. But Cassius turned out well, just like I did.’

  ‘Don’t polish your tits too much, lad. You’ve done well enough as an officer, but the gods only know what would happen if you turned up for kit inspection on my parade ground.’

  ‘Ah, bollocks to that. Perfection’s never good enough for any of you veteran centurions.’

  ‘True enough.’ Macro took a sip of his wine. ‘Things were tougher when I joined up. But these days? Just a steady stream of clods and mother-coddled cry-babies we have to try and turn into men. Breaks my fucking heart, so it does. Just as well I’m getting discharged so I won’t have to witness that sorry display.’

  Cato had heard the grumpy refrain before on many occasions, but this time Macro was finally quitting the army, and all that would remain of his long years of service were the memories. The campaigns they had shared and the men they had known, good and bad, most of whom had died or been left behind as Cato and Macro had been transferred to other units. He raised his goblet. ‘To our absent brothers.’

  Macro pursed his lips briefly as he recalled their faces in swift succession. ‘Absent brothers.’

  The next morning, Macro and Cato entered the Praetorian camp and made their way to the barracks of the Second Cohort. Cato wore a simple tunic, as he did not want to draw attention to himself and risk someone reporting his presence to Burrus. Even though Seneca had agreed that he could take five men from the cohort with him, there was no guarantee that he had informed the commander of the Praetorian Guard yet. In Cato’s judgement, the senator was the kind of man who would promise something one day without any desire to honour it the next.

  When they reached the tribune’s quarters at the end of the barracks, Macro stood to one side to let his friend enter first. Cato smiled and shook his head.

  ‘After you, brother. It’s your cohort now.’

  ‘Only for the next few days.’ Macro clicked his tongue. ‘Tribune Macro, commander of the Second Praetorian Cohort. It does have a ring to it. If only my dad could see me now. Always said I’d never make much of myself. Ah well.’

  He led the way inside and they made for the office. Macro sent one of the clerks to round up the centurions and optios.

  ‘Let’s hope they’re in a volunteering mood,’ he said as he pulled a spare bench in from the clerks’ room and shoved it against the wall. Bunching his fists in the small of his back, he arched his spine with a groan.

  ‘You all right?’ asked Cato.

  His friend eased forward and loosened his shoulders. ‘The usual twinges and aches I’ve been getting for a while in my back and my knees. All those bloody years trudging around with a laden marching yoke on my shoulder are to blame. Still, I may be growing old and slowing down, but I can wield a sword better than most men half my age, and use my fists better than almost anyone else outside an arena.’

  Cato regarded his friend briefly. While Macro’s hair was grey at the temples and the once dark locks were now streaked with silver and noticeably thinning, his arms and legs were thickly muscled and he was clearly still a force to be reckoned with. ‘Let’s hope there’s not much call for it when you settle in Londinium.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll keep myself busy throwing out the drunks and making sure none of the local gangs think they can muscle in on our business.’ He spoke with a gleam in his eye. ‘I’m good for a while yet.’

  The sound of footsteps echoed along the corridor and a moment later the first of the officers entered and greeted Cato with salutes and ready smiles.<
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  ‘Good to see you, Ignatius. You too, Porcino. How was the voyage back from Tarsus?’

  Ignatius, a thickset veteran, sucked his teeth. ‘A cargo tub is not the most comfortable of billets, sir. Spent most of the time puking my guts up over the side.’

  Cato nodded sympathetically. He himself suffered from appalling seasickness in the lightest of swells. He looked to the other man. Porcino was in his mid twenties. He had lost a lot of his ponderous bulk over the last two campaigns and was now lean and fit-looking. He sat down on the bench next to Ignatius.

  ‘What’s this about, sir? Are you being put back in command of the Second Cohort?’

  ‘You got a problem with the current management?’ Macro demanded, then winked.

  ‘No,’ Cato responded directly. ‘My service with the Praetorian Guard is over.’

  ‘The lads will be sorry to hear that. They’re hoping Burrus will come to his senses and reinstate you.’

  ‘I’m sorry to disappoint them, but it’s out of our hands.’

  The other centurions and their optios arrived and crowded into the modest office, exchanging greetings with Cato before sitting down. Macro closed the door behind them and took his place at Cato’s shoulder as his friend ordered his thoughts.

  ‘The good news is that there won’t be any formal investigation into my handling of the cohort. The emperor decided it was enough to strip me of my command. I can live with that, given the alternative of not living at all. Still, it pains me to be forced to leave you all. We’ve been through some hard marches and tough battles together. Now that’s over for most of the men, and it’s back to the soft life in Rome. Cheap wine, easy women who like a nice uniform, plenty of coin from the emperor, and chariot races and gladiator bouts to keep them entertained. They – you – have earned those rewards.’

  ‘And you too, sir,’ said Metellus, the most recently promoted of the centurions. His courage and quick wits had caught Cato’s attention while he had been serving as an optio.