TimeRiders 05 - Gates of Rome (31 page)

‘People … gathering in the street. Something’s going on.’

Maddy joined her, jostling for shoulder space to crane her neck out over the rough, flaking plaster of the ledge. ‘It’s like a town council meeting.’

‘Something’s happened already.’

Across the tiled rooftops they could see the walls of other narrow streets faintly illuminated from below by torches carried outside; the glow coming from dozens of window shutters opened, spilling light over the top of hunched shoulders and curious, craning necks.

‘It’s like Chinese whispers,’ said Maddy. ‘Something’s going round.’ Rumours in this city seemed to spread even faster than they used to back in her time. She laughed. No need for the Internet or Facebook or Twitter here in Rome, it seemed, when you could apparently just as easily shout through paper-thin walls or gossip across cramped courtyards.

‘Maybe they’ve gone and killed Caligula already.’

‘I don’t know. It can’t have been that easy … surely.’

Maddy looked down, past a shutter banging open directly beneath them and several more curious heads poking out. She could see the entrance to the rat run that led into their apartment block’s inner courtyard. Down there, the unmistakable bulk of Bob moving around.

‘Macro’s right, though … whatever happens over the next few days, it’s going to be complete chaos.’

‘Altogether, lads,’ grunted Macro. Liam and Bob and several other men from the apartment block hefted the cart up on one side. ‘One … two … three … now!’ barked Macro.

The cart clattered over on to its side, forming a rudimentary barricade blocking up most of the entrance to the rat run. There were gaps either side that needed filling and Macro started to bully his tenants into a human chain, ferrying bric-a-brac lying around the courtyard to stack either side of the overturned cart.

Liam stepped on a box and looked over the top, Bob standing beside him watching the gathering people.

‘Can you make out what they’re saying out there, Bob?’

‘I will try.’ He frowned, concentrating for a moment on the growing babble of voices out in the alleyway. ‘They are discussing the news that the Praetorian Guard are leaving the city.’ He cocked his head, listening more intently. ‘There seems to be another rumour that Caligula has been killed by the Praetorians.’

Bob smiled. ‘And there’s another rumour that demons from the underworld have arisen from the sewers and are rampaging through the city.’

Liam watched as a cluster of young men emerged from a doorway further up the alley, all of them clutching knives, hatchets, clubs.

Macro joined Liam and Bob. Shorter even than Liam, he
stood on tiptoes on a crate to peek over the top. ‘It’s begun already, then,’ he said.

‘What has?’ asked Liam.

‘Troublemakers …’ Macro sighed. ‘First sign of a riot and out comes the scum of the earth looking for easy pickings.’ He cursed and spat over the top of the cart. ‘I tell you, if they even think about touching my property …’ He pulled out his butcher’s hatchet from a pouch on the leather apron tied round his waist. ‘I’ll give ’em what for. I’m tellin’ you.’

Liam looked at the glint of light playing across the thick, rusty blade. ‘So you, uh … you saw quite a lot of action when you were a soldier in the legions, Macro?’

Macro grinned a gap-toothed smile. ‘You are joking with me, aren’t you, lad?’

Liam’s bud quickly translated that. But the incredulous look on Macro’s face was more than answer enough.

Cato unrolled a map of the city across a table in the palace gardens, and weighted the corners down with several stones.

‘Gather round, gentlemen,’ he said to the assembled officers, the centurions and
optiones
of the first cohort. His men. Some of them roused from their cots only minutes ago were still bleary-eyed as they fiddled with the straps and buckles of their armour.

They pressed forward around the table as their tribune began to brief them quickly.

‘I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that the rest of the Guard will be mustering outside the Castra Praetoria at first light.’

‘What’s happened, sir?’

Cato looked up at a bull-necked centurion with a flattened boxer’s nose and a fuzz of blond hair clipped short almost to the scalp.

‘It seems the general in charge of the Tenth and Eleventh has decided he’s had enough of our emperor, Rufus. The Guard will be marching out to meet them.’

‘Bit sudden, isn’t it, sir? I thought Lepidus was the emperor’s man.’

Cato shrugged. ‘You know what it’s like with these
equites
… they all think they’re entitled to the job one way or the other. Anyway, to the point. Our cohort is being left behind to guard the city. When everyone wakes up tomorrow morning and hears
of this … and they discover the majority of the Guard have packed up and gone, we’re going to have riots in every district. A complete breakdown of order. So, it’s going to be down to us to protect the city’s infrastructure where we can.’

Cato leaned across the map. ‘Starting with you, Rufus, I want your second century deployed over here in Campus Martius to protect the temple buildings. You as well, Lectus, your century over here guarding the Stratum. Sulla, Marcellus, I want your men protecting the aqueduct here and here. The rest of you, I’ll be assigning perimeter positions in the Palatinus District to protect the government buildings.’ He turned to Fronto. ‘And your men, Fronto, will provide security for the palace itself.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Rufus cocked his head. ‘Just
one
century to protect the emperor?’

Cato looked at him. Rufus was like most of the men in the Guard: tough, but certainly not stupid. ‘The emperor has his personal bodyguards.’

‘The Stone Men,’ uttered one of the
optiones
.

Cato disliked the term. It implied a supernatural quality about them. Now he knew they were just muscle-and-bone devices made by men from a more advanced time, the name smacked of superstition.

‘He will be quite safe as long as he stays in the palace,’ Cato assured them. He nodded at Fronto. ‘Won’t he?’

‘Yes, sir. Perfectly safe, sir.’

Just then they heard a raised voice booming out across the flame-lit palace gardens. ‘What the hell is going on here?!’

The officers all turned to see their
praefectus
, Quintus, striding towards them. He easily identified Cato’s tall outline among the knot of men. ‘Tribune! Who in the name of Jupiter took my authority and ordered the Guard to –’

‘The emperor himself, sir!’

‘What?’ Quintus stopped in his tracks. ‘
Caligula?
But … only
I
have the authority … to …’

‘Quintus!’ Caligula’s voice cut across the darkness. He emerged into the night, flanked by two of his Stone Men. The prefect’s face paled. Nobody but a stupid fool bellowed the emperor’s nickname across the palace grounds.

‘Caesar, I …’

Caligula waved at him to be silent. ‘I exercised my prerogative as emperor to mobilize them, since you were nowhere to be found!’

‘But, sire.’ Quintus swallowed nervously. ‘There … there is a protocol that should –’

‘More precisely, my prerogative as God-in-waiting,’ added Caligula. He smiled. ‘Say another word, Quintus, and I’ll have your tongue removed from your mouth.’

His cool glare left Quintus staring down at the ground like a chastened schoolboy.

‘Now then, where’s that Tribune Cato? Ahhh, there you are!’

‘Caesar?’

‘I have decided that I shall in fact be
leading
the Guard.’

‘What?!’ He almost forgot himself. ‘What’s that, sire?’

‘Yes, I think it’s fitting that I come along. The men should be led by me and, of course, my Stone Men. It will truly inspire them.’

Cato glanced quickly across heads at the only other conspirator present: Fronto. ‘But, sire, it would be much wiser for you to stay in the palace. The people need to see you right here in Rome. They need to see that Lepidus’s …
foolishness
… is nothing that you’re particularly worried about!’

‘Oh, I’m not
worried
.’ Caligula chuckled happily. ‘In fact, I’m actually looking forward to having a splendid big battle! It’s
been too long.’ He sniffed the evening air as if there was a faint scent that only he could detect. ‘One last battle before I ascend to the heavens. How marvellous!’

He turned to one of his Stone Men standing behind him, holding his armour. ‘And I really wouldn’t want to miss seeing that fat, treacherous fool Lepidus grovelling at my feet.’

Cato struggled to keep his voice even. ‘Sire! Please … it will be dangerous –’

‘Dangerous! Oh, hardly!’ said Caligula, lifting his arms up as one of the Stone Men helped him into his bronze cuirass. ‘This is what the people need to see … what they need to realize; that I’m not just a god, but also a warrior, a great general.’

Cato clenched his teeth with frustration. The whole plan, for what it was, had relied on the certainty that Caligula would choose to remain in the comfort and apparent safety of his palace.

‘Tribune,’ said the emperor, ‘you just make sure everyone behaves themselves while I’m away. I really don’t want to come back to a messy city.’ Caligula let the Stone Man finish tightening the straps at his side then turned to the prefect. ‘Come along, Quintus! Don’t stand around like an old woman! You better go and get your armour on too. We shall be moving out from the Castra Praetoria at first light.’

He turned to Cato and winked at him. ‘I shall leave you three of my bodyguards to help guard the palace. I’m trusting you with my home, Tribune. Do try and keep it nice and tidy.’ He turned back to Quintus and slapped his shoulder impatiently. ‘Off you go, man!’

Cato watched Quintus turn and leave, and Caligula leading his bodyguards towards the imperial stables. He watched until the night swallowed them up then turned to his assembled officers.

‘All right, then, gentlemen, you all have your orders! Dismissed!’

The officers saluted and then turned to gather their men. Fronto dismissed his own
optio
to go and organize the first century. Both men stood silently until they were entirely alone and out of earshot.

Cato cursed.

‘Our plan is already broken so it seems,’ said Fronto.

Cato nodded. The plan had rested on an assumption that Caligula would remain, and hopefully send out most of his Stone Men along with the Guard. Now he’d chosen to go, it was a battle that would probably go Caligula’s way and embolden the madman even more.

‘Unless Lepidus manages to be victorious. Do you think that likely?’

Cato shook his head. The Praetorians with those Stone Men in the vanguard were probably more than a match for Lepidus’s men. ‘All we have managed to achieve with this, Fronto, is to organize a few days’ worth of blood sport for Caligula. That’s all.’

He wondered whether there had been a moment during the last few hours when he could have reached for his sword and dealt the death blow. Certainly he would have been dead within seconds of the emperor. The Stone Men were quick and lethal. Quite probably it would have resulted in an unsuccessful lunge for Caligula, and him being wrestled to the floor and executed then and there.

Truth was, on his return Caligula was probably going to find out one way or another that Crassus had met with fellow conspirators. Cicero and Paulus were two men the emperor would probably have at the top of his list of people he’d like to have a little chat with, for sure. And how long before either of those old men let slip his name?

‘If he wins, Fronto … if he’s victorious and returns, then I shall make a try for him.’ He looked at his First Centurion. ‘Our names will come up soon enough once he gets back.’

‘We will be dead men, then,’ said Fronto.

‘Indeed.’

‘I’ve never seen the streets so quiet,’ said Macro.

Liam nodded as he scanned the empty avenue over the top of their barricade. Not entirely empty, though. Half a dozen bodies littered the cobblestone road. There had been fights all through the night, rival gangs settling old scores, people looting the small businesses that operated from alcoves beneath the apartment building opposite them. And something that had put the fear of God into the stocky old ex-centurion … a fire. Someone had set alight one of the small alcoves, a place selling bolts of linen and silk.

Macro had leaped over the top of their barricade, charged out across the avenue, roughly pushing his way through the mob of brawling young men to stamp the flames out before they got a firm hold of the place. He’d made his way back five minutes later, stinking of smoke, sweating profusely and muttering Latin obscenities to himself.

‘If I’d known how flammable these shoddily-made buildings are … I’d have invested in a vineyard instead.’

It was mid-morning now, the sun spilling down from a smoke-smudged sky on to the cobbles.

‘I suppose none of them food traders will come in today?’ said Liam.

‘No. Any merchant with an ounce of sense will steer clear of
Rome until the Praetorians return and restore some order. People are going to be hungry this morning.’

Liam looked back down the rat run into their courtyard. There was food there. Several sacks of grain bought in at an extortionate price yesterday afternoon, a dozen or so loose chickens and, of course, their two ponies. Liam guessed Macro had about a hundred tenants in his apartment block, a hundred mouths to feed for however many days this crisis was due to last.

‘And they all know we’ve got food in here.’ Macro nodded at faces peering at them from the three storeys of small shuttered windows and balconies opposite. ‘Word’ll spread quickly enough. We’ll be fighting to hold on to it before long.’

Sal worked with the young man, a blond-haired slave from Gaul. She held the wooden stake steady as he sharpened the end into a spike. She guessed he was only fifteen, but it was hard to tell. His arms were all sinew and muscle, his face taut and lean. Not a square inch of flesh on him without a purpose. So unlike the puffy-faced friends she knew back in 2026.