A pungent aroma of spices and the richer undercurrent of sauces and cooked meats filled Cato's nostrils as he and Macro entered the open kitchen area at the back of the great hall. Huge cauldrons simmered over cooking fires tended by sweating slaves, while the cooks laboured over long trestle tables, preparing the plethora of dishes required at an imperial banquet.
'What now?' Cato whispered. 'Just follow my lead.'
The centurion marched up to the timber-framed door leading into the side of the great hall. A burly palace slave in a purple tunic held up a hand at their approach.
'Out of my way!' Macro snapped.
'Stop!' the slave responded firmly. 'No entry without authorisation.' 'Authorisation?' Macro glared back. 'Who says I need authorisation, slave?'
'Only kitchen slaves come through here. Try the main entrance to the hall.'
'Says who?'
'My orders, sir. Straight from Narcissus himself.'
'Narcissus eh?' Macro stepped closer, and lowered his voice. 'We have to see the legate of the Second right now.'
'Not without authorisation, sir.'
'OK then, you want see my authorisation?' Macro reached into his purse with his left hand, and the moment the slave's eyes followed the gesture the centurion piled in a skull-shattering uppercut with his right. The slave's jaw snapped back and he dropped like a sack of stones. Macro shook his hand as he gazed down at the crumpled form at his feet. 'How's that for authorisation, you dumb shit?'
The kitchen slaves were nervously watching the centurion.
'Back to work!' Macro shouted. 'Now! Before you get the same treatment as him. '
For a moment there was no reaction, and Macro took a few paces towards the nearest group of cooks, slowly drawing his sword. At once they returned to their work. Macro glowered round, daring any of the others to challenge him until all the cooks turned back to their duties.
'Come on, Cato,' Macro said quietly and ducked through the door into the great hall. Cato followed him into the shadows behind a stone buttress. A warm fug wrapped itself round them.
'Stay back,' Macro ordered. 'I need to check the lie of the land.' Macro peered round the buttress. The huge space was lit by countless oil lamps and tallow candles fixed to vast timber crosspieces hanging from pulleys up in the dim rafters high above. In their amber glow hundreds of guests were ranged along dining couches on three sides of the hall. Before them lay tables heaped with the best cuisine that the imperial cooks could provide. Loud conversation and laughter overwhelmed the Greek singers battling to be heard from a dais behind the top table, where the Emperor reclined alone. In the space between the tables a bear was chained to a bolt in the floor. It snarled and swiped at a pack of hairy hunting dogs that darted around and snapped whenever the bear presented an unguarded quarter. With a shrill yelp one of the slower dogs was caught by a paw, and flew through the air to crash into a table. Food, plates, cups and wine exploded into the air while a female guest shrieked in horror at the blood that splattered across her pale blue stola.
As the roars of support for the bear died down, Macro turned his gaze to the British contingent sitting to one side of the Emperor. Most of the Britons had succumbed to the Celtic weakness for drink and were being loud and gauche as they cheered on the beast fight. A few, however, were sitting quietly, picking at their food and gazing at the spectacle with barely concealed contempt. On the couch nearest the Emperor sat a young Briton, chewing on a small plaited loaf, staring fixedly at the floor in front of him, quite outside the prevailing mood of the banquet.
'There's our man – Bellonius, I'd say.' Macro waved Cato round and pointed. 'See him?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Think we should rush him?'
'No, sir. We've no proof any more. We have to try and speak to the legate, or Narcissus.'
'The freedman is standing in his master's shadow, but I can't see the legate yet.'
'Over there.' Cato nodded directly across the hall. Vespasian's head was turned away from them as he kissed his wife. Behind them stood Lavinia, laughing happily as she watched the tormented bear. A simmering mixture of jealous loathing and remembered affection bubbled up from the pit of Cato' s stomach. Lavinia looked to one side and smiled. Following her gaze, Cato saw Vitellius sitting with a group of staff officers opposite the Britons. The tribune was looking over his shoulder and smiling back at Lavinia, causing Cato to clench his fists and press his lips together in a thin line.
'There's Vitellius, by the Emperor,' whispered Macro.
'Seen him.'
'What now?' Macro eased himself back behind the buttress and looked at his optio. 'Narcissus or Vespasian?'
'Vespasian,' Cato decided immediately. 'There's too many of those German bodyguards round Narcissus. We'd have no chance of getting a message through that lot. Let's wait for the next change in course and use the waiters as cover to get close to the legate.'
'Wait? Can't afford to. Won't take that lot outside long to recover their balls enough to go for help.'
'Sir, what do you think will happen if we're discovercd in here without any invitation or authority, and carrying weapons?'
'Point taken. We'll wait a little longer.'
As they crouched down behind the buttress, the savage growls and roaring from the beast fight reached a crescendo. The banquet guests cheered and howled like beasts themselves as the bear and dogs tore at each other in a terrifying frenzy. With a final shrill yelp that was abruptly drowned by the triumphant roar of the bear, the fight came to an end and the cheers of the audience subsided into loud conversation. Cato risked a glimpse round the roughly hewn stone buttress and saw the bear being led away in chains by a dozen burly Britons, blood dripping from its jaws and numerous wounds. Its mangled victims were dragged away on hooks.
There was a loud clapping from outside the hall and the doors burst open to admit dozens of imperial slaves who flowed round the sides of the hall.
'Let's go!' Cato hissed, tugging at Macro's arm. The two of them rose and causally joined the slaves making for the far side of the hall, mingling with them as they threaded through the mass of entertainers and party guests. Cato's heart pounded and he felt cold and afraid at the dreadful risk he was taking. If they were discovered, the chances were that they'd be cut down at once, before they had any chance to explain their presence. Cato could see Lavinia standing behind her master and mistress. Not far beyond, Vitellius had lisen from his couch and beckoned to Lavinia. With a quick glance to make sure her mistress wasn't watching, she ran lightly over to the tribune. Cato's heart hardened at the sight and he had to force her from his mind.
With Macro at his side, Cato shuffled into position behind Vespasian.
Just then Flavia glanced round, and frowned as she saw the two soldiers amongst the slaves. Then she smiled as she recognised Cato. She tugged her husband's sleeve.
On the far side of the great hall the head steward clapped his hands, and the slaves moved closer to the guest's laden tables. 'Sir,' Cato said quietly. 'Sir, it's me, Cato.'
Vespasian looked up and exactly reproduced his wife's reaction. 'What the hell is going on, Optio? And you, Macro? What are you doing here?'
'Sir, there's no time to explain,' Cato whispered urgently. He saw Vitellius take Lavinia by the hand and lead her towards the Emperor's table. 'That assassin Adminius warned us about is here.'
'Here?' Vespasian swung his feet to the floor and stood up. 'Who?'
'Bellonius. '
The legate's eyes snapped towards the group of Britons opposite, all of them drunk and shouting now, except Bellonius. He, too, was on his feet, one hand hidden in the folds of his tunic.
'How do you know it's him?' He swung round to face Cato. 'Quickly!' At the Emperor's table, Claudius licked his lips as he ran his eyes over the shapely slave girl standing before him. Far from being nervous at the prospect of being presented to her Emperor, the girl was smiling, coyly.