Cato.’
They eased their way through the room as the other officers started to talk again, low voices swiftly rising to the former level of drunken good humour. Macro drew up in front of the table and nodded at the men seated on the far bench. ‘Evening.’
They nodded back.
‘Chatty lot, aren’t you? Mind telling me who you are? Who you work for?’
They exchanged glances before one of them cleared his throat. ‘We’re not at liberty to discuss that, sir.’
‘Let me guess.’ Macro cocked his head to one side as he appraised the men. ‘Too well dressed to be common legionaries. And too afraid of a fight to be anything other than Praetorian Guards. Am I right?’
The man nodded, then spoke quickly. ‘Yes, sir. And you know the regulations. We raise a fist against a superior, even one from the legions, and we’re dead men.’
Macro smiled.’What do you say we go outside and settle this without any question of rank? Just us and you three.’
‘Settle what exactly, sir?’
‘This.’ Macro indicated the mud plastered to his tunic.’A little souvenir from the ditch you madmen forced us into back on the Flaminian Way a couple of hours ago.’
The guardsman’s eyes widened as he recalled the incident. ‘That was you? I thought you two must be tramps. Please accept my apologies, sir. No harm done.’
‘Not yet. Now then, are you going to settle this like a man?’
‘Settle what, Centurion?’ a voice called from the doorway leading into the dark corridor. Macro and Cato turned round and saw a dim figure emerging from the shadows. The man paused.
‘Well, well. It is a small world indeed. Wouldn’t you agree, Centurion Macro?’
‘Vitellius . . .’ Macro whispered.
‘That’s right.’ Vitellius chuckled lightly as he emerged into the full glow of the mess room. The guardsmen leaped to their feet, the bench grating across the floor beneath them as it was forced away from the table. ‘But I would prefer it if you addressed me by my proper rank. I take a dim view of insubordination. You’d do well to remember that.’
‘Oh, really . . . sir?’
‘Yes. Really.’ Vitellius fixed him with a cold stare for an instant, before the calculating smile returned to his lips. ‘I gather you wanted a word with me. Something to do with my carriage, I understand.’
‘Your carriage?’ Cato’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
‘Yes, mine. Good evening to you too, Centurion Cato. Good to see you here. Both of you. Just like old times. We must have a drink. Barman!’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘A jar of your best wine and three goblets. Goblets, mind.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Vitellius waved a hand at his bodyguards. ‘Get up and leave us alone. Make sure my friends and I are not disturbed.’
The guards saluted and hurriedly made for another table nearby, yet not so near as to permit them to overhear what was said between Vitellius and the two centurions.
‘Sit down please, gentlemen.’ Vitellius waved at the vacant bench.
Macro shook his head. ‘No thank you, sir.’
‘That wasn’t a request, Centurion. Now sit down. Both of you.’
With a pause just long enough to mark their distaste and a measure of defiance, Macro and Cato took their seats. Vitellius smiled at them and then eased himself down on the bench opposite. The barman arrived with the drinks and poured the wine into three silvered goblets, before setting the jar down on the table and leaving them to their discussion.
Macro spoke first. ‘What are you doing here, sir?’
‘I’m on my way to take up my next appointment.’
‘Appointment?’ Macro frowned. ‘You’re returning to active service? Which legion is going to be cursed by your treachery this time, Tribune?’
‘Tribune?’ Vitellius put on a shocked expression. ‘What makes you think I’m resuming that rank? I’ve moved on to bigger and better things now that Claudius himself is my patron.’
Macro leaned forward and lowered his voice.’If he knew how far you had conspired
They eased their way through the room as the other officers started to talk again, low voices swiftly rising to the former level of drunken good humour. Macro drew up in front of the table and nodded at the men seated on the far bench. ‘Evening.’
They nodded back.
‘Chatty lot, aren’t you? Mind telling me who you are? Who you work for?’
They exchanged glances before one of them cleared his throat. ‘We’re not at liberty to discuss that, sir.’
‘Let me guess.’ Macro cocked his head to one side as he appraised the men. ‘Too well dressed to be common legionaries. And too afraid of a fight to be anything other than Praetorian Guards. Am I right?’
The man nodded, then spoke quickly. ‘Yes, sir. And you know the regulations. We raise a fist against a superior, even one from the legions, and we’re dead men.’
Macro smiled.’What do you say we go outside and settle this without any question of rank? Just us and you three.’
‘Settle what exactly, sir?’
‘This.’ Macro indicated the mud plastered to his tunic.’A little souvenir from the ditch you madmen forced us into back on the Flaminian Way a couple of hours ago.’
The guardsman’s eyes widened as he recalled the incident. ‘That was you? I thought you two must be tramps. Please accept my apologies, sir. No harm done.’
‘Not yet. Now then, are you going to settle this like a man?’
‘Settle what, Centurion?’ a voice called from the doorway leading into the dark corridor. Macro and Cato turned round and saw a dim figure emerging from the shadows. The man paused.
‘Well, well. It is a small world indeed. Wouldn’t you agree, Centurion Macro?’
‘Vitellius . . .’ Macro whispered.
‘That’s right.’ Vitellius chuckled lightly as he emerged into the full glow of the mess room. The guardsmen leaped to their feet, the bench grating across the floor beneath them as it was forced away from the table. ‘But I would prefer it if you addressed me by my proper rank. I take a dim view of insubordination. You’d do well to remember that.’
‘Oh, really . . . sir?’
‘Yes. Really.’ Vitellius fixed him with a cold stare for an instant, before the calculating smile returned to his lips. ‘I gather you wanted a word with me. Something to do with my carriage, I understand.’
‘Your carriage?’ Cato’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
‘Yes, mine. Good evening to you too, Centurion Cato. Good to see you here. Both of you. Just like old times. We must have a drink. Barman!’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘A jar of your best wine and three goblets. Goblets, mind.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Vitellius waved a hand at his bodyguards. ‘Get up and leave us alone. Make sure my friends and I are not disturbed.’
The guards saluted and hurriedly made for another table nearby, yet not so near as to permit them to overhear what was said between Vitellius and the two centurions.
‘Sit down please, gentlemen.’ Vitellius waved at the vacant bench.
Macro shook his head. ‘No thank you, sir.’
‘That wasn’t a request, Centurion. Now sit down. Both of you.’
With a pause just long enough to mark their distaste and a measure of defiance, Macro and Cato took their seats. Vitellius smiled at them and then eased himself down on the bench opposite. The barman arrived with the drinks and poured the wine into three silvered goblets, before setting the jar down on the table and leaving them to their discussion.
Macro spoke first. ‘What are you doing here, sir?’
‘I’m on my way to take up my next appointment.’
‘Appointment?’ Macro frowned. ‘You’re returning to active service? Which legion is going to be cursed by your treachery this time, Tribune?’
‘Tribune?’ Vitellius put on a shocked expression. ‘What makes you think I’m resuming that rank? I’ve moved on to bigger and better things now that Claudius himself is my patron.’
Macro leaned forward and lowered his voice.’If he knew how far you had conspired
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