Gates of Rome

CHAPTER 73

AD 54, Imperial Palace, Rome

Macro finished threading the loops of leather through the fastenings and tightened up the lorica segmentata round his thick torso. It was snug, but he nodded with satisfaction that his portly gut could still be contained by the one-size-fits-all segmented armour.

‘All right, lads!’ he barked as he put on a helmet. ‘Those girls across the garden are probably more frightened of you than you are of them!’

A grim cackle of laughter rippled among the men.

‘Without their horses, they’re just a rabble of rank amateurs. So let’s not worry about ’em too much, eh?’

The red stain of twilight bathed the gardens with their stone pathways and small bushes, young olive trees and the decorative scattering of bodies. The evening was strangely quiet and still. After the last fifteen minutes of fighting, the clash of arms and the roar of raised voices, the silence seemed almost complete.

But Macro heard a low murmur of voices, from men still outside the imperial compound. A low murmur rolling forwards and spreading across the men inside like a wave riding up a shingle beach.

What’s going on out there?

Then he saw movement, over between the stone columns of the gateway, several men on horseback picking their way through the men filing in. All of them roaring support as they suddenly recognized the men on horseback.

Macro cursed as he realized who they were.

Caligula and the Praetorians’ prefect, Quintus.

‘Cato!’ He turned round and looked up the steps. ‘What are you up to?’ he muttered under his breath.

The equites on the far side of the gardens roared with glee at the sight of their emperor and praefectus. Macro watched as they dismounted and disappeared among the mass of men, only to appear a few moments later as the front rank of soldiers parted respectfully to let them through.

Caligula walked slowly towards them, flanked by two of his Stone Men. Quintus had dropped back a dutiful three steps behind.

A dozen yards away he stopped, raised his hands to quieten the equites behind him. An obedient hush swiftly settled across the gardens.

‘I wonder now… what are you lot doing in my home?’ He looked around at the grounds, littered with bodies, the shafts of javelins poking out of the dirt. Divots of displaced soil and trampled flowerbeds.

‘What an awful mess you’ve made!’ He sighed. ‘On any other day, I’d be quite annoyed. But today… today has been a very good day. Soon — very soon now — something truly wonderful is going to happen. I will transform from a man to a god! And Rome will be showered with riches once more. Today… I defeated the last few men who doubted me. Two legions of fools, commanded by their foolish general… wiped out.’

‘Praetorians!’ He took a step closer. ‘My good men,’ he said with hands spread. ‘I hear you have done your duty well, defended my home against those you thought had come to ransack it. For that I thank you all… and I forgive you.’

Macro took a step back from his line of men, climbed the half-dozen steps up to the portico entrance. He saw Cato deep in conversation with the others.

‘But I’m afraid you have been misled… tricked,’ continued Caligula. ‘Tricked by officers who were in league with General Lepidus. Conspirators, fellow disbelievers, traitor-’

Macro put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Cato looked up. Caligula paused and an expression of irritation at the rude interruption flashed across his face. The three ranks of sweating, grim-faced and blood-spattered soldiers on the steps swivelled their heads to look up at Macro.

An entire battlefield frozen in a moment, silent, and every pair of eyes on him.

Macro shrugged then grinned. ‘Load of bollocks!’ he roared loudly.

It sounded like a breeze rustling through the small orchard of baby olive trees. But in fact, it was a ripple of gasps spreading among the men on both sides.

‘You’re not going to be a god. You’re just an idiot!’

That rustling breeze again. Followed by a silence. He could see the ‘o’s of mouths open, aghast, in every direction.

Stuff this.

He spotted an unused javelin on the floor nearby. And in one swift movement bent down, picked it up and hurled it towards Caligula. It arced lazily through the air, every pair of eyes on the seemingly endless trajectory of the wobbling wooden shaft and glinting iron tip until it dug into the dirt between Caligula’s planted feet with a dull thud.

Caligula stared wide-eyed at the shaft as it wobbled in front of him. He reached out for the wooden shaft, pulled it free of the ground and then tossed the javelin to one side. His face split with a grin as he laughed with delight.

‘Do you see now? No one can kill a god.’

Fronto’s men began to stir and fidget unhappily.

Macro backed up across the entrance portico towards the others, nearly tripping over and losing his footing on the legs of one of the dying.

‘A full pardon for all you men!’ cried out Caligula. ‘And a thousand sestertii for the one who brings me that man’s head!’

‘I think we’d better run!’ rasped Macro.

Cato nodded. ‘I think you’re right.’

Together they turned and headed back into the dimly lit halls of the palace as some of the quicker-witted Praetorian Guards began to climb the steps in hungry pursuit of their bounty.