Gates of Rome

CHAPTER 68

AD 54, Imperial Palace, Rome

Centurion Fronto heard the impatient clatter of hooves; nonetheless his optio called out the obvious. ‘Horses, sir!’

‘I can hear them.’ He stepped towards the iron gate and looked out on to the Vicus Patricius. An hour earlier there had been several hundred citizens gathered out there, pleading to be let in, begging for food and water. No rough-talking plebeians these, but the better-off citizens, well-to-do merchants, friends and hangers-on of the court.

They’d been there grasping the iron bars and rocking the gate menacingly. He’d had to muster several sections of his century to form up inside the palace compound, open the gates and present an advancing shield wall to flush them away. They’d dispersed eventually, but not before a few of them had felt the probing tip of a gladius between their ribs.

Since then, it had been relatively quiet outside. Little but the occasional shout and scream echoed from back streets and across rooftops, the faint rasp and clang of blades here and there as collegia and neighbourhood militias fought each other.

He looked through the iron bars and saw a column of cavalry making their way hastily up the Vicus Patricius towards them. For a moment he wasn’t sure if it was an advance party of scouts from Lepidus’s legions or their own Praetorian cavalry squadron.

‘Septimus? Can you make them out?’

The optio squinted. The sun was approaching the skyline of roofs and terraces; the men on horseback were a jiggling, silhouetted mass of helmet plumes, oval shields and the bucking heads of horses.

‘Not sure, sir.’

But as they drew closer, Fronto caught a flash of purple tunic. His heart sank. Imperial purple. They’re ours. That didn’t bode well. If those had been red tunics, they’d be horsemen from the Tenth and Eleventh. It would mean Lepidus had won and Caligula was finished.

The column of horsemen drew up outside the gates and a decurion dismounted quickly, striding towards the gates. Fronto ordered the gates open and went outside to meet him. The young officer stopped and saluted him.

Fronto acknowledged the junior officer. ‘Make your report. What’s happened?’

‘Sir!’ The young man gasped for breath. Clearly he and his men had ridden hard. ‘General Lepidus… has been beaten, sir!’

Fronto nodded, forced a grin on to his face. ‘That is good news. And the general?’

‘He’s dead, sir.’

Fronto struggled to contain a sigh of relief. Dead, at least Lepidus wasn’t going to be able to tell Caligula anything. Name any names. Hopefully he’d done the honourable thing and taken his own life before he could be captured alive.

‘Sir! I have orders from the prefect.’

‘Yes?’

The decurion seemed hesitant.

‘Come on, what is it?’

‘Your tribune… Tribune Cato.’

‘What about him?’

‘I have orders for his immediate arrest, sir.’

‘What?’

‘You are to arrest him immediately. The prefect… the emperor himself… wants him taken alive, sir!’

Fronto stroked his chin. His mind racing. ‘My tribune? My commanding officer? He’s… you’re telling me he’s a traitor?’

‘Just have those orders, sir.’

‘Right.’ He nodded. ‘Right, I… I’ll have to…’

‘He’s to be taken alive.’

‘Yes… yes, I understand. I’ll have to…’ He turned hesitantly to look at his men, watching from inside the open gate. All of this was out of their earshot. He could see an expectant look on their faces, eager to hear whatever news the messenger had just brought.

‘Wait here, Decurion. I’ll see to his arrest personally.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Fronto turned on his heel and strode smartly back to his men. He picked out his optio and spoke in a lowered voice. ‘Close the gates!’

‘Sir?’

‘Those men outside?’ Fronto thumbed over his shoulder. ‘They’re traitors. They’ve turned against the emperor.’

The optio ’s eyes widened. So did those of the other men close enough to hear.

‘They’re a part of General Lepidus’s plot. They are not to be admitted into the imperial compound under any circumstances! Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir!’

Further down the avenue he could see another couple of turmae of cavalry arriving. A single squad — a turma — accompanying a messenger was quite normal. But others arriving? He wondered if Praefectus Quintus had despatched the entire cavalry wing.

‘Close the gates!’ the optio barked to his men. Several men dropped their shields and worked the iron gates closed.

The decurion called out something. Confused.

‘TAKE ANOTHER STEP FORWARD AND YOU’LL GET A JAVELIN!’ roared Fronto through the bars.

The decurion stopped in his tracks. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Septimus!’

‘Sir?’

‘Send someone into the palace to find the tribune. Tell him we’ve got company out here.’

‘Yes, sir!’ The optio turned sharply and picked one of his men to take the message.

Fronto watched the decurion standing outside in the avenue, shrugging with bewilderment at the gate being closed on him. Fronto wondered how long he was going to maintain this confusion among his own men. Sooner or later they were going to question his orders.

‘Lads!’ he barked so that they could all hear. ‘Those men outside have turned against our emperor! They are traitors! The emperor was victorious this morning… and our boys are already on the road back to Rome! We must protect the palace until then!’

His men eyed him uncertainly.

‘No one is to enter!’ roared Fronto. ‘Not a single man… until our emperor returns! Until our emperor approaches up that avenue! Is this clear!’

His men chorused a ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good!’

He looked through the bars at the decurion. The young man had caught most of what he’d just bellowed. His eyes met Fronto’s and he shook his head gravely; he was perfectly clear on what the situation was now. That it wasn’t just Tribune Cato who was to be taken alive. The decurion shook his head again. It said more than a mouthful of words could convey, a warning from one officer to another.

You are a stupid fool… sir.