‘How will we know him?’ asked Cato.
Narcissus pulled a ring from the little finger of his left hand and passed it to Cato. ‘Wear this. My agent will have its twin.’
Cato held the ring up to examine it and saw that a design had been artfully carved into the red stone: a depiction of Roma astride a sphinx. ‘Nice.’
‘Of course I’ll have that back once it’s served its purpose.’ Narcissus looked at them both. ‘Well then, any further questions?’
‘Just one.’ Macro leant forward. ‘What happens to us if we decline your kind offer of employment?’
Narcissus fixed him with a cold stare. ‘I haven’t considered that yet. For the very good reason that I cannot imagine you would be so foolish as to refuse the job.’
‘Then you had better start considering.’ Macro sat back and folded his arms. ‘Find some other mugs to do your dirty work. I’m a good soldier. There’ll be an opening for me sometime or other. I can wait.’
‘For how long, I wonder? Perhaps not for as long as I might wish to keep you rotting here.’
Macro’s expression darkened. ‘Fuck you. Fuck you and your nasty little schemes.’ Macro bunched his hands into fists and for a moment Cato was afraid his friend might take it into his head to pulverise the imperial secretary. The same thought occurred to Narcissus who flinched back. Macro glowered at him for a moment then stood up abruptly. ‘Cato, let’s go and get a drink. Some other place. The air’s foul here.’
‘No,’ Cato answered firmly. ‘We have to do it. I’m not staying in Ostia any longer than I can help it.’
Macro stared down at his comrade for a moment and then shook his head. ‘You’re a fool, Cato. This snake will get us killed. Why should we succeed in uncovering the Liberators when the Emperor’s agents have failed all these years?’
‘Nevertheless, I’ll do it. And you’ll come with me.’
‘Bah!’ Macro threw up his hands. ‘I thought I knew you. I thought you were smarter than this. Seems I was wrong. You’re on your own, Cato. I’ll have no part of this.’
Macro strode to the door and wrenched it open, slamming it behind him. Cato heard his footsteps receding with a sinking feeling in his heart. Macro was right about the dangers, and Cato realised that he had little confidence that he could see such a mission through without the tough and dependable Macro at his side. For the first time in many months, he felt a pang of fear. The prospect of facing the Emperor’s shadowy enemies on his own was daunting.
‘I shouldn’t worry about him.’ Narcissus chuckled. ‘Now he’s had a chance to unleash his anger at me, he’ll come round soon enough.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Trust me, I can read almost any man like a scroll. And our friend Macro is a somewhat less challenging read than most. Am I wrong? You know him well enough.’
Cato reflected for a moment. ‘Macro is capable of surprising turns of thought. You should not underestimate him. But yes, I think he’ll come with me. Once he’s had a chance to simmer down and reflect on the fact that you might make his life very difficult. I take it you meant that.’
Narcissus’s thin lips twisted into a faint smile as he rose to leave. ‘What do you think?’
‘Fair enough. But I have one piece of advice for you, if you want this mission to go well.’ Cato paused. ‘Never ever call him a friend to his face again.’
CHAPTER FOUR
The surface of the Tiber was dotted with flotsam and patches of sewage as the barge approached Rome late in the afternoon. A team of mules was towing the vessel against the current and their driver, a skinny, barefoot slave boy, flicked his whip once in a while to keep the pace up. Ahead a thick pall of woodsmoke hung over the city as the inhabitants struggled to stay warm through the dreary winter months, adding the output of the communal fires they were permitted to the smoke of the tanneries, smiths and bathhouses that plied their trade in the capital.
Cato wrinkled his nose as a foul odour swept across the surface of the river, blown by the stiff easterly breeze.
‘You forget how bad the place stinks,’ Macro muttered sourly at his side as they stood on the small foredeck of the barge. They were the only passengers. The rest of the available space was piled with jars of olive oil from Hispania. So heavily laden was the barge that there was scarcely a foot of freeboard above the glistening sweep of the Tiber.
‘Oh, it ain’t so bad!’ a cheery voice sounded from behind them and the two soldiers turned to see the captain of the barge approaching them round the jars. The man’s thin frame was evident even under his tunic and thick cloak. A felt cap was jammed on his head from which protruded straggles of dark hair. He smiled, revealing a jagged display of teeth that reminded Cato of a cluster of long-neglected and stained tombstones. ‘They say you get used to it soon enough when you live here. Course, I don’t, seeing as me and the lad there make the trip up from Ostia only five or six times a month.’ He gestured to his son on the steering oar at the rear of the barge, gangly like his father and no more than ten years old. ‘Ostia smells like a bloody perfume market by comparison.’
‘You don’t say,’ Macro responded drily.
‘Too right.’ The barge captain nodded. ‘So, what are you visiting Rome for, my friends? Soldiers on leave, eh? Back from the provinces?’
Macro’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What we are and what our business may be is none of yours – friend.’
The other man raised his hands defensively, but continued smiling. ‘No offence! Not meaning to pry, like. Just a polite question. I could see you was soldiers, soon as you boarded in Ostia. Like I said to my son, them’s soldiers. You can see it in the way they hold themselves. Proud and erect like. Warriors. You can see it from their scars too, I said. It was obvious. So, no offence meant, sirs.’
‘None taken.’ Cato smiled back. ‘And you’re right, we’ve just come back from campaigning in Britannia.’
‘Britannia?’ The man scratched his cheek. ‘Think I’ve heard of it. Where’s that then?’
‘Across the sea from Gaul.’
‘Oh yes, I have it now! That was the place there was all that rumpus about when the Emperor celebrated a triumph some years ago.’
‘Yes.’
‘So what’s this about the campaign still going on? We was told the place was conquered.’
‘We’ve beaten the most important tribes. The army’s just mopping up the remnants,’ Cato explained smoothly. It had been nearly four years since they had been in Britannia and although he had heard fragments of news about the progress of the campaign, it was clear that the barge captain knew far less. Narcissus had promised him a detailed report, along with their documents appointing them to the Praetorian Guard, and forged letters of commendation from the governor of the new province, when they met their contact in Rome. ‘In fact, my comrade and I fought in the decisive battle. We led our legion in the charge and captured a Celt chief. That’s why we’re here. The governor recommended us for an appointment in the Praetorian Guard as a reward.’
The barge captain’s eyes widened and he shook his head. ‘Who’d have believed it? Two bloomin’ war heroes on me barge. Wait till the lad hears this! He’s always wanted to be a soldier when he grows up. I always thought it must be a good life. Nice pay. Looked after well. And there’s the uniform! Turns the ladies’ heads, does that. Then there’s the good outdoor life and the chance for glory and spoils, eh? Isn’t that right?’
‘Oh yes.’ Macro smiled. ‘It’s a great life all right. One long party I thought when I signed up. Never imagined I’d be fighting hairy-arsed barbarians in a frozen, bog-strewn wasteland. Strange how things turn out.’ He winked at the captain. ‘The only thing that keeps me up at night is worrying how I’m going to spend all that money I’m paid.’