CHAPTER THREE

'Centurions Macro and Cato?' The Praetorian Guardsman frowned as he scanned the slate lying on the desk in front of him. 'You're not on the list.'

Macro smiled at him.'Have another look. A good look, if you know what I mean.'

The guardsman heaved his shoulders in a weary sigh, to make it quite clear that he had been down this route many times before. He leaned back from the desk and shook his head. 'Sorry, sir. I've got my orders. No admittance to the palace unless your names are on the list.'

'But we are on the list,' Cato insisted. 'We have an appointment at the army bureau. With the procurator in charge of legion postings. Right now, so let us through.'

The guardsman raised an eyebrow.'You know how many times someone's tried that one on me, sir?'

'It's true.'

'It's only true if you're on the list, sir. You ain't on the list so you don't have an appointment.'

'Wait a moment.' Cato concentrated his attention on the guardsman.'Look here, there's obviously been some kind of mistake. I assure you that we have an appointment. I arranged it with the procurator's clerk yesterday. Demetrius was his name. Send word to him that we're here. He'll confirm the story.'

The guardsman turned towards a small group of slave boys squatting in a niche to one side of the columned entrance to the palace. 'You! Go to the army bureau. Find Demetrius and tell him these officers here say they have an appointment to see the procurator.'

'Thank you,' Cato muttered, and pulled Macro away from the guardsman's desk, steering his friend towards the benches that lined the walls each side of the entrance.

As they sat down Macro grumbled,'Officious little prick. Gods! I'd love to have him on a parade ground for a few hours of hard drill. Soon see how tough he is. Bloody Praetorians! Think the world owes them a living. And the palace guard are the idlest bastards of 'em all.'

They waited in silence for the messenger to return and Cato looked up at the vast edifice of the palace looming above them. Built on to the side of the Palatine Hill, there were several tiers of accommodation rising high over the Forum. He had been raised within those walls. They had been almost the whole world to him – until his father died and Cato had been sent to join the legions over two years ago. Now, the once-familiar walls and columns felt like strangers, and seemed smaller, somehow. Of course, he reasoned, he had left the palace as little more than a boy, and had travelled across the Empire, across the sea, and had seen the horrors of battle. It was bound to have changed him, and made him see the world differently. But to feel like a stranger before the colossal walls that held so many memories for him made Cato's heart heavy. He suddenly felt far older than his years and shivered, clutching his military cloak tighter about his shoulders.

When the messenger boy returned there was a quiet exchange of words with the Praetorian Guardsman before he turned round and beckoned to the two centurions.

He nodded at Cato.'Seems you were right, sir. Demetrius will see you now.'

'Oh, he will, will he?' Macro sniffed.'That's bloody good of him.'

The Praetorian made a wry smile. 'You can't imagine. Anyway, follow this boy.'

They marched through the entrance portico, across a small yard and into the main body of the palace. Inside, the iron nails on the bottom of their thick leather boots echoed sharply off the high walls on each side of the passage. They passed wide doorways through which they could see the scribes and the clerks working at the endless record-keeping that kept the wheels of the Empire turning. The walls of the offices were lined with racks of scrolls and slates, every pigeonhole neatly marked with a numeral. Light poured into each room through latticed windows high up on the wall and Macro wondered what it must be like to spend long years working in such a confined space, with no view of the outside world.

They reached a narrow staircase at the end of the passage and climbed four flights before taking another corridor. The rooms leading off this corridor were bright and spacious, and most had windows that must provide fine views across the city. The slave boy drew up outside a wide doorway and rapped on the wooden frame.

'Enter!' a high-pitched voice called out.

Before they passed through the door Cato quickly whispered to his friend, 'Let me do the talking. I know my way round these palace types.'

The slave boy led the two centurions inside and they found they were in an ante-room. Two benches were arranged along the wall opposite three windows that let in plenty of light and air. Too much, thought Cato, as he felt the chill. At the far end of the room was a closed door. To one side of it was a large desk made of some dark wood, and behind it sat the clerk Cato had met briefly the day before. Demetrius was a slight man in a plain but freshly laundered tunic. He had the classic Greek profile and his thinning hair was carefully arranged in dark oiled curls. His whole bearing spoke of the power and influence he thought he wielded. Beside him stood a brazier, glowing warmly. Three other officers were sitting on the bench nearest to the heat.

Demetrius glanced up from a scroll and beckoned to them.'Centurions Macro and Cato? You're late.'

Macro puffed out his cheeks, but Cato responded before his friend could protest. 'We were held up at the entrance. The guard had no record of our meeting.' Cato smiled.'You know what they're like. I hope we're not too late for our meeting with the procurator.'

'You've missed it,' Demetrius said tonelessly.

'Missed it?' Macro jabbed a finger at him. 'Now, just you look here-'

'Come back tomorrow.'

'Not on your life.'

Demetrius shrugged. 'Your loss.' He glanced at the messenger boy. 'Please show these two gentlemen the way out of the palace.'

'We're staying!' Macro growled. 'And we will see the procurator. You'd better make sure of that.'

'The procurator's a busy man. You should have been here at the appointed time.'

Macro leaned over the desk and glared at the clerk. 'And you should have made sure our names were on that list.'

'Not my problem.'

'Then I'll make it your problem.' Macro reached for his sword, and Demetrius glanced down at the pommel as the first length of blade emerged from the scabbard. He flinched and his eyes flickered back to meet Macro's cold, determined expression.

'You wouldn't dare.'

'Try me.'

For a moment Demetrius wavered, and glanced to the other officers in a silent appeal for help, but they just smiled back and didn't move. 'I'll call the guards.'

'You can,' Macro nodded.'But long before they get here, I'd have lobbed your scrawny arse out of the window. Must be a long way down…' He smiled at the clerk. 'Now can we please have our meeting with the procurator?'

Demetrius swallowed and fumbled for a waxed slate on his desk. 'Yes, er, let me see. He could spare you a few moments at the end of his current meeting, I suppose.' He looked up desperately. 'If you'll just take a seat…'

Macro straightened up and nodded with satisfaction. 'Thank you.'

As he and Cato joined the other officers on the bench he glanced at Cato and winked. 'I'll do the talking from now on. Think I've got the measure of these palace types.'

The other officers craned round to introduce themselves. Two of them were veterans; grizzled and scarred beneath coarse hair that was going grey. They each had a chest full of medallions on their harnesses and one wore a gold torque on his wrist. The third officer was a young man, recently kitted out and with not one decoration on his harness. He looked awkward and uneasy in the company of the vastly more experienced men.

One of the veterans nodded over towards Demetrius. 'Nice job, Centurion… is it Macro or Cato?'