Free Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy by Simon Scarrow Page A

through the high doorway into the office of the Imperial Secretary.
    The room was vast. Above, the ceiling rose to the same height as the corridor, and the floor was covered with animal skins, through which the heat of the hypocaust could still be felt. To the right stretched a wall made up of a honeycomb of shelving for scrolls and books. To the left, the wall was covered with a finely detailed painting of a huge bay that stretched out into the distance where it was lost in a faint haze. Looming over the coastal strip was a vast mountain, dwarfing the towns that lined the shores at its feet. On the far wall were four large windows, with spectacular views over the Forum and the sprawling slopes of the Subura beyond. Narcissus had crossed the room and settled himself behind an oak desk whose size was proportionate to the room, if not to the amount of paperwork upon it, which struggled to look burdensome. The Imperial Secretary noticed the admiring looks on the faces of the two centurions as they gazed out over the city, fascinated to see so much of it at once.
    ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ he smiled. ‘It is the first thing that people who visit this office remark on. I find it inspiring and, at the same time, frightening. Terrifying even.’
    He twisted away from Cato and Macro to stare out of the window, and continued in the same reflective tone, ‘The Empire is ruled from here. From this palace. The palace is the mind that directs the muscles and sinews of empire. Down there, in the Forum, is the public expression of that power. The fine temples to scores of Gods. The basilicas where the fortunes of men are made and traded, and regulated by law. People from all over the world come to the Forum to marvel at the scale of our achievement. Together, the palace and Forum constitute a shrine to power and order.’ He paused and raised a hand, pointing across to the rising slope of the Subura, a filthy mass of tile and plaster, poised like a wave about to crash down upon the Forum.
    ‘That slum, on the other hand, is a chaos of poverty and depravity forever threatening to engulf and destroy the order we have created. The Subura is a daily reminder of what we might become if the Emperor and all who further his aims are swept away. The plebs are the barbarians within the gate. As long as they are fed and entertained we have them in our grasp. But let them get an inkling of their own power, or worse, let another person prey upon their baser motivations . . . and their superstitions,’ Narcissus added with heavy emphasis, ‘and they’ll cut our throats.’
    The Imperial Secretary turned back towards the two centurions with a weary expression. ‘So, it is my task, my purpose in this life, to make sure that order is maintained and that Claudius remains in power. That means I have to identify and contain any and all possible threats to the Emperor. And it is your job, as soldiers sworn to obey his will, to aid me in any way I determine. Do I make myself clear?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Cato and Macro replied. Cato hadn’t a clue what the Imperial Secretary was alluding to. But the hint that their services were needed, and no mention of execution, filled his heart with hope.
    Narcissus nodded at their ready obedience, and leaned forward to rest his arms on his desk. ‘Then listen closely. I have a task for you. Of course it’s dangerous and entails great personal risk. But then you have nothing to lose. Isn’t that right, Centurion Cato?’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Don’t play me for a fool, young man. Your life is forfeit. I have but to raise my voice and call in the guards and have them put you to death on the spot. You, and even your friend here. And no one would even ask me the reason. As it happens, I have reason enough. See here.’ He picked up a scroll on his desk.’This arrived yesterday. From Britain. You know who it’s from?’
    Cato’s heart sank. ‘General Plautius?’
    ‘That’s right. And you can guess what he says.’