Read Online Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy by Simon Scarrow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon Scarrow
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quicker if you didn’t dress it up so much. In the legions we call a spade a spade. We have to deal with the real messy stuff.’
‘But we’re not in the legions, are we, sir? In Rome things are done with more style.’
‘Death’s death, lad. There ain’t no hiding that.’
‘You’d be surprised what we keep hidden.’ The Praetorian smiled coldly, then stood aside and gestured towards the door. ‘Now, sirs, if you wouldn’t mind . . .?’
With two guards in front and two behind, their swords drawn, the centurions made their way down the narrow staircase and emerged into the stairwell at the bottom of the tenement block. The guardsmen had been seen entering the building and a small crowd of curious onlookers had gathered outside. As the prisoners and escort clattered on to the paved street,Velina emerged from the bakery. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw Cato and Macro carrying their packs. She stepped out in front of the leading Praetorians.
‘Cato! What’s happening?’
‘Out of the way, lady!’ snapped one of the guards.
Velina looked round his shoulder. ‘Cato?’
She tried to push past but the guard grabbed her arm and thrust her back against the wall of the tenement and then the Praetorians marched off with their prisoners.
They entered the palace through one of the servants’ entrances that opened on to a narrow side street away from well-used thoroughfares. Cato recalled using the narrow gateway a few times as a child, when he had lived in the servants’ quarters of the palace. There were few people around to see them taken inside, and Cato realised how easy this made it for people simply to disappear in the city. Once past the guards stationed at the entrance, the Praetorians took them along a corridor until they reached a stairwell, and then they climbed up through the heart of the imperial palace.
Cato turned to the leader. ‘You’re not taking us to the cells, then?’
The man raised his eyebrows. ‘Evidently.’ Then he relented and relaxed his stern expression for a moment. ‘Look, sir, we were told to take you to Narcissus. That’s all the orders we have, as far as you two are concerned.’
‘You weren’t sent to take us to be executed, then?’
‘No, sir. Just to take you to Narcissus. That’s all. If he decides you’re for the chop, well then, that’s different, and we might have to take you to the lads who get that job done.’
‘Oh . . .’ Cato looked at the man more closely, wondering how he could be so sanguine about his duties. Maybe the Praetorian had simply become used to it. Cato remembered that under Emperor Caligula the Praetorian Guards had been kept busy arresting and executing people throughout the three years of his reign.
After four flights of stairs they emerged on to a wide corridor with an ornate mosaic pattern flowing across the floor. Large windows, high up, admitted broad shafts of light. Cato had never seen the corridor before and as he felt a warm current of air rise up his legs he realised that the floor must be heated.
Macro pursed his lips.’Our man Narcissus knows how to live well.’
The escorted party marched down the corridor towards an imposing door, almost twice the height of a man. The door was flanked by a pair of Praetorian Guardsmen, and in a niche to the left a clerk sat at a large walnut desk. He was neatly turned out in a soft wool tunic and looked up at the sound of echoing footsteps. The leader of the squad nodded to him.
‘Centurions Macro and Cato, as requested by the Imperial Secretary.’
‘He’s in a meeting with the Emperor. You’ll have to wait. Over there.’ He pointed across the corridor with his stylus, to where padded benches lined another niche. The party crossed over and the two centurions gratefully lowered their packs, and took a seat. Two guardsmen stood either side of them. In the austere surroundings of the Imperial Secretary’s suite of offices, Macro felt self-conscious about his unshaven
‘But we’re not in the legions, are we, sir? In Rome things are done with more style.’
‘Death’s death, lad. There ain’t no hiding that.’
‘You’d be surprised what we keep hidden.’ The Praetorian smiled coldly, then stood aside and gestured towards the door. ‘Now, sirs, if you wouldn’t mind . . .?’
With two guards in front and two behind, their swords drawn, the centurions made their way down the narrow staircase and emerged into the stairwell at the bottom of the tenement block. The guardsmen had been seen entering the building and a small crowd of curious onlookers had gathered outside. As the prisoners and escort clattered on to the paved street,Velina emerged from the bakery. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw Cato and Macro carrying their packs. She stepped out in front of the leading Praetorians.
‘Cato! What’s happening?’
‘Out of the way, lady!’ snapped one of the guards.
Velina looked round his shoulder. ‘Cato?’
She tried to push past but the guard grabbed her arm and thrust her back against the wall of the tenement and then the Praetorians marched off with their prisoners.
They entered the palace through one of the servants’ entrances that opened on to a narrow side street away from well-used thoroughfares. Cato recalled using the narrow gateway a few times as a child, when he had lived in the servants’ quarters of the palace. There were few people around to see them taken inside, and Cato realised how easy this made it for people simply to disappear in the city. Once past the guards stationed at the entrance, the Praetorians took them along a corridor until they reached a stairwell, and then they climbed up through the heart of the imperial palace.
Cato turned to the leader. ‘You’re not taking us to the cells, then?’
The man raised his eyebrows. ‘Evidently.’ Then he relented and relaxed his stern expression for a moment. ‘Look, sir, we were told to take you to Narcissus. That’s all the orders we have, as far as you two are concerned.’
‘You weren’t sent to take us to be executed, then?’
‘No, sir. Just to take you to Narcissus. That’s all. If he decides you’re for the chop, well then, that’s different, and we might have to take you to the lads who get that job done.’
‘Oh . . .’ Cato looked at the man more closely, wondering how he could be so sanguine about his duties. Maybe the Praetorian had simply become used to it. Cato remembered that under Emperor Caligula the Praetorian Guards had been kept busy arresting and executing people throughout the three years of his reign.
After four flights of stairs they emerged on to a wide corridor with an ornate mosaic pattern flowing across the floor. Large windows, high up, admitted broad shafts of light. Cato had never seen the corridor before and as he felt a warm current of air rise up his legs he realised that the floor must be heated.
Macro pursed his lips.’Our man Narcissus knows how to live well.’
The escorted party marched down the corridor towards an imposing door, almost twice the height of a man. The door was flanked by a pair of Praetorian Guardsmen, and in a niche to the left a clerk sat at a large walnut desk. He was neatly turned out in a soft wool tunic and looked up at the sound of echoing footsteps. The leader of the squad nodded to him.
‘Centurions Macro and Cato, as requested by the Imperial Secretary.’
‘He’s in a meeting with the Emperor. You’ll have to wait. Over there.’ He pointed across the corridor with his stylus, to where padded benches lined another niche. The party crossed over and the two centurions gratefully lowered their packs, and took a seat. Two guardsmen stood either side of them. In the austere surroundings of the Imperial Secretary’s suite of offices, Macro felt self-conscious about his unshaven
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