Macro made for the stairs and began to climb. After a pause, Cato followed. Back in the section room Fuscius had turned on to his back and was snoring lightly. The other men removed their boots and lowered themselves onto their cots without another word. As usual Macro was asleep within moments and added his deeper, more guttural snores to those of Fuscius. Cato folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, trying hard to ignore the din. He tried to focus his mind on the twists and turns of the conspiracy that he and Macro had been struggling to unravel for the last two months, with limited success.
Before long Cato’s mind began to wander, lighting upon one aspect of the conspiracy after another. Then, without warning, his mind filled with the feral expression on Cestius’s face as he thrust Britannicus aside during the food riot and made to strike at Nero. Cato frowned at the memory. Something about it did not fit with the other aspects of the conspiracy. He strained his mind to make the connection but was too tired to concentrate effectively. At length he shut his eyes and a vivid memory of the moment the wave struck filled his mind. He had been certain that he would die. That they would all die, swept away and drowned by the deluge. But the gods had been merciful. He still lived, as did Macro, the Emperor and most of the men caught by the wave. The conspirators had failed to kill Claudius, just as they had failed back in the Forum. One thing was certain. They would try again, and soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The next day the two depleted centuries of Burrus’s cohort were brought up to strength by men from the other units of the Praetorian Guard. The tribune himself was awarded a grass crown by the Emperor for saving the life of another Roman citizen. The ceremony was performed in the courtyard of the palace with all the men under the tribune’s command formed up on three sides to face the Emperor as he expressed his gratitude. Standing to attention on the left flank of the Sixth Century, Cato had a good view of the imperial party surrounding Claudius as they tried with various degrees of success to look as if they were enjoying the Emperor’s laboured rhetoric.
Immediately behind Claudius were his family. Agrippina struck a suitably maternal pose between Britannicus and Nero, her hands resting on their shoulders. While she lightly caressed her natural son, Cato noted that her fingers worked rather more firmly on the shoulder of Britannicus, edging gradually towards the exposed flesh of his neck. At one stage he winced and looked up at her sharply and was rewarded with a vicious glare. When she at last dropped her arm to the side, Britannicus took the opportunity to shuffle out of his stepmother’s reach.