Praetorian by Simon Scarrow Page B

else in the room. Tigellinus isn’t much of a talker. Well, he does talk, but mostly to complain about things.’
    ‘So we’ve noticed,’ said Cato as he pulled his red tunic off andslipped on his newly issued Praetorian tunic. ‘Come on, Calidus, better hurry.’
    ‘When you’ve done for the day, some of the lads and I are going out for a drink tonight,’ Fuscius said. ‘Fancy joining us?’
    ‘Sounds good,’ Cato replied as he smoothed the tunic down and fastened his thick military belt round his middle. ‘Calidus?’
    ‘Why not? Could use a decent drink after that filthy muck we drank when we arrived.’
    ‘Good, then let’s find the tribune.’
    Tribune Burrus was an aged veteran. From the number of scars he bore on his face and arms, he had served a good many years in the legions before being appointed to the Praetorian Guard. Aside from a fringe of white hair, he was bald. One eye had been lost and a leather patch covered the socket, tied in place with a thin strap. He was tall and thickset and Cato realised that he must have been a formidable figure in his time. Now, though, he was serving his last few years in the Guard before he took his gratuity and left the army. He might use his elevation to the equestrian class to take up an administrative job in Rome, or one of the other cities and towns in Italia, but Cato guessed that the man would prefer the company of old soldiers to bureaucrats. The tribune would end his days in some military colony, respected by men who knew his quality, even as he grew stooped and frail.
    ‘Well, don’t just dawdle by the bloody door!’ Burrus snapped.
    When Cato and Macro were standing to attention in front of him, the tribune scrutinised them for a moment before he continued, ‘Proper soldiers at last! About damn time. I’ve seen too many of these soft city boys joining the ranks of late. Especially after the casualties we took in Britannia. But you’ll remember that battle outside Camulodunum. It was your legion that saved us from that trap. My, but those bloody Celts were devious bastards. Fought hard, too, and brought out the best in the Praetorians, even though we were roughly handled. So,’ he concluded, ‘it’s good to have two veterans join the cohort. Though I see that one of you is still a bit on the young side, eh? Which one are you?’
    ‘Capito, sir.’
    ‘Age?’
    ‘Twenty-five, sir.’
    ‘You’ll have served seven years then.’
    ‘Nearer eight, sir. I joined about the time I turned seventeen.’
    Burrus frowned. ‘That’s against regs. Eighteen is the minimum age.’
    ‘I was sent to the army by my father as soon as he thought I was ready for it.’ Cato spoke tonelessly as he gave his cover story.
    ‘He must be a proud man indeed. You’ve done well for yourself.’
    ‘Thank you, sir.’
    Burrus turned his attention to Macro. ‘What’s your story? From the look of you, you’re an old sweat. How many years have you served, Calidus?’
    ‘Twenty-three years, sir.’
    ‘Good gods, and still only a legionary? You should have been killed off or promoted to centurion by now, optio at the very least. What’s your excuse?’
    Macro swallowed his bitterness and answered directly. ‘I’m a ranker first and last, sir. Didn’t see any reason to go and get myself promoted. I like plain soldiering. I fight hard and have put down a good many of Rome’s enemies in my time.’
    ‘A good fighter’s one thing, but do you think you can cope with the demands of being a Praetorian? You will be constantly before the eyes of the senators and the people. There’s more to being a good soldier than killing enemies. If you fuck up and embarrass the Praetorian Guard then you’ll embarrass the Emperor and, worse, far worse, you will shame me. If that should happen I will jump on you like a mountain of shit, is that clear, Calidus?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    There was a pause while the tribune let his warning sink in, then he cleared his throat and continued