The Eagle's Prophecy

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Some fucking welcome,’ Macro grumbled. ‘This job is just getting better by the instant. Wonder what’s in store for us next?’

  Cato did not reply. He was looking intently at the sea and for the first time he realised just how afraid he was of this element. Not only was he a poor swimmer, he had suffered acutely from seasickness on the few occasions he had actually been at sea. And now he was destined to spend the foreseeable future on, or worse, in the sea. He felt sick just thinking about it.

  When the wagons at the tail of the convoy had entered the naval base the marines retreated inside and quickly closed and bolted the gates. The watch officer, another centurion, strode up to Minucius’ wagon, grinning widely.

  ‘A fine welcome home that, eh?’

  ‘Great,’ Minucius growled as he reached for his canteen and rinsed his mouth out. He spat the contents to one side. ‘Varro, what the hell’s been going on since I’ve been in Rome? The whole of Umbria’s gone mad with this pirate nonsense.’

  The watch officer’s smile faded. ‘You can’t have heard then?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘They landed near a veterans’ colony at Lissus a few days ago. Sacked the place and slaughtered everyone there. Women and kids put to the sword and all the men impaled. They burned the colony to the ground.’

  Minucius stared at him. ‘Lissus? I know some people there…’

  ‘You did. Not any more.’

  ‘Shit…’ Minucius slumped down on to the driver’s bench. The watch officer reached up and gave his arm a gentle squeeze, before he turned to the other centurions.

  ‘Are you Macro and Cato?’

  They nodded.

  ‘You’re to come with me. The prefect gave orders to send for you the moment you arrived.’

  ‘Just a moment,’ said Cato. He climbed down from the wagon and trotted back to the vehicle carrying Anobarbus.

  The merchant was sitting up and brushing some mud off his cloak. He glanced up at Cato. ‘Nice town, Ravenna.’

  Cato held out his hand. ‘The prefect’s sent for us. I’ll say goodbye for now. Send us word when you’ve found a place to stay.’

  ‘I will.’ Anobarbus clasped his hand. ‘And the drinks will be on me.’

  Cato nodded at his money box. ‘You can afford it.’

  The merchant gave Cato a queer smile and then nodded. ‘I owe you and Macro my life. I shan’t ever forget.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that!’ He winked and hurried back to Macro and Varro, who was twitching his vine cane impatiently.

  The watch officer turned away and strode off towards a massive porticoed building that looked out over the naval base.

  ‘Nice going,’ Macro hissed. ‘You’ve managed to piss them off this side of the gate as well.’

  ‘Maybe, but there’s a drink in it for us.’ Cato jerked his thumb back at the merchant’s wagon. ‘And it’s on our friend.’

  ‘That’s more like it.’ Macro’s contented smile lasted all the way across the parade ground.

  The prefect’s office was imposing–a long room that gave out on to the upper level of the portico, which provided access to all the offices along the second floor of the fleet headquarters building. The view from the prefect’s office took in the broad sweep of the naval harbour, the marine barracks and the sprawl of store sheds and workshops beyond. To one side of the harbour was a timbered hard where men toiled over a beached trireme, covering the bottom with black tar from steaming vats–further evidence of the preparations for the campaign against the pirates.

  Inside the prefect’s office, the floor was laid with an attractive mosaic featuring Neptune skewering some demon of the deep with his trident while the other hand directed a storm to wreck a Punic fleet. Vitellius had a small, but expensive desk by a window at one end of the room, and the other end was covered with a huge map of the fleet’s theatre of operations, painted on to the wall in minute detail.

  Macro and Cato approached the prefect’s desk and stood to attention. He was signing a stack of documents and glanced up at them before turning back to his work and completing it unhurriedly. At length, he replaced his stylus in its holder and looked up at the two centurions.

  ‘Well,’ Prefect Vitellius smiled as he leaned back in his chair, ‘I take it you had a pleasant tour through our idyllic countryside?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Cato replied flatly.

  ‘Good, because the holiday’s over. We’ve got plenty of work to do over the following months. Things have moved on since Narcissus briefed us back in Rome. The situation is far more serious.’

  ‘We noticed, sir.’

  ‘Really?’ Vitellius looked amused. ‘I doubt you have been given the full picture, Centurion Cato. The Imperial Secretary has only provided that to his most trustworthy agents.’

  ‘Meaning you?’ Macro chuckled bitterly.

  The prefect was still for a moment, fighting to control his temper, and Cato feared for a moment that his friend had overstepped the mark, by about a mile. Then Vitellius’ expression eased.

  ‘Please dispense with the uncooperative attitude.’

  There was a pause as the two men stared silently at each other in mutual loathing.

  Finally, Macro nodded. ‘Very well.’

  ‘That’s better. And from now on, you’ll supply the required respect due to my rank. You will call me “Prefect”, or “sir”. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Come over here.’ Vitellius stood up and walked over to the map. He picked up a long cane from a rack beside it and rapped on the coastline of Illyricum. ‘The pirates must be operating out of a base somewhere along this coastline. So far we have gathered only very limited intelligence on them, but we do have a name. The leader is called Telemachus. A Greek. I expect he’s trying to drum up some support from locals. He’s a shrewd man, and won’t be easy to beat.’

  Cato coughed. ‘Getting the scrolls back isn’t going to be easy either, sir.’

  Vitellius turned round and tried to read Cato’s face. ‘What do you know about the scrolls?’

  ‘Enough, to know how valuable they are to the Emperor, sir.’

  ‘Really?’ Vitellius gave him a searching look. ‘I think you’re bluffing, young Cato. Or fishing for information. Nice try. Anyway, it seems that our pirate chief is quite a player. He sent a message to inform us that there are now other parties interested in the scrolls, and they’re willing to match any price that Narcissus will pay.’

  ‘Who are these other people, sir?’

  ‘Telemachus didn’t say.’

  ‘He’s trying to drive the price up.’

  ‘Maybe, but we can’t take the risk that he’s lying. Narcissus wants those scrolls, whatever the price. In men as well as money.’

  ‘But who else would want these bloody scrolls, sir?’ Macro asked.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter. Whoever it is, they can’t be allowed to have them.’

  ‘Look here, sir. It would help us if we had some idea of who we are up against.’

  ‘No doubt,’ Vitellius smiled. ‘But ask yourself, if these scrolls are so vital to the Emperor, then who else would be as interested in them?’

  ‘Aside from you, sir?’

  ‘We’ve been over that, Macro. Don’t try my patience any further.’

  ‘The Liberators: Cato said quietly. The secret organisation of republicans dedicated to the overthrow of Emperor Clandius seemed to be the obvious suspects.

  Vitellius turned to look at him and shrugged. ‘Who else?’

  ‘Great.’ Macro shook his head wearily. ‘That’s all we bloody need. If they’re in on the act we’ll be jumping at our own shadows.’

  ‘Quite.’ Vitellius ran a hand through his oiled hair, and wiped it on the side of his tunic. ‘So you can see we must proceed carefully, on a number of fronts. Firstly, we have to keep the negotiations going for as long as we can. That’ll give us time to try to identify these other parties who are after the scrolls. Then we can s
eize them. In the meantime, we’ll continue preparations for an amphibious campaign along the coast of Illyricum. We must find and destroy the pirate base, and sink or capture their ships. More importantly, we must find those scrolls. It’s possible, likely even, that the Liberators have sympathisers or agents here in the fleet already. When we engage the pirates, it’ll be a dirty and confusing business. That’s when the Liberators are most likely to try and grab the scrolls. That’s what we have to look out for and make sure we get to them first.’

  Macro sighed. ‘Not much to ask for, then.’

  ‘That’s in addition to the tasks you’ll have to carry out for your cover. You and Cato have been assigned to regular duties. I want you to carry out that as conscientiously as if you were back in the legions you so admire. The marines must be as good as you can make them if we’re going to have the edge over the pirates when it comes down to the fighting. Furthermore, when the men and ships are ready to take the offensive, I’ll be appointing each of you to command a ship.’

  ‘Take command of ships?’ Macro shook his head. ‘Sir, I don’t know the first thing about bloody ships.’

  ‘Then you’d better learn. I wouldn’t worry too much. The trierarchs will be handling the day-to-day running of the ships. You just have to tell them the direction you want to go and act as a kind of figurehead in battle.’ Vitellius smiled. ‘That means being thick and hard, standing at the front of the ship and shouting. Shouldn’t present much of a challenge to you, Macro. At any rate, you’ll meet your marine officers and the trierarchs at tonight’s meeting. You may go now, Centurion Macro. There’s a clerk outside who will take you to your quarters.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Macro exchanged a glance with Cato, then turned and marched out of the office, closing the door behind him.

  For a moment Vitellius gazed at the map, and then turned to Cato. ‘Let’s take a seat.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  They crossed the room back to the prefect’s desk and Cato pulled up a chair, wincing slightly as the iron feet grated across the mosaic tiles. He had no idea why he had been kept back by Vitellius and was afraid, because he knew what the scheming aristocrat was capable of.

  Vitellius was a good reader of men’s expressions and appraised the young centurion with cold eyes. ‘I don’t mind that you hate me so much, Centurion. I can understand your reasons. But you must accept that I am out of your league. You raise one hand towards me and I’ll have you crushed under foot like a cockroach. It would be a shame to have you killed, since you have much to offer in the service of Rome. But I must look to my own interests first, and I have to be sure that I can rely on you and that you pose me no threat.’

  Cato shrugged.

  ‘Very well, then I propose a truce between us, for the duration of this matter. For both our sakes. There’s already enough danger to be faced out there without needlessly adding to our perils. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Feel free to hate me again the moment we have found those scrolls.’

  Cato shook his head. ‘I’ll always hate you, and despise you, sir. But I can endure that without it affecting my duties, for a while at least.’

  Vitellius stared at him, and gave the slightest of nods. ‘That will have to do, then…Now, there’s one other matter to deal with. I need you for something that might be quite dangerous.’

  ‘How convenient, sir.’

  ‘Useful rather than convenient. Telemachus’ message ended with a demand that we make a payment up front to keep us in the negotiations for these scrolls. “A token of our commitment”, as he puts it. So, you will meet him, assure him that we’re still keen and give him the gold he’s demanded.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because it’s important that one of us can identify Telemachus by sight. When the time comes to put that bastard in his place, I want to be sure we have the right man. He may be the only one who knows where the scrolls are being kept.’

  ‘Why send me alone? Surely it would be useful if Centurion Macro was there as well?’

  Vitellius smiled. ‘Your friend Macro has many admirable qualities, but diplomacy is not one of them. I dare not send him with you. This job requires more subtle skills. And you’re young enough to make our man feel he’s dealing with someone lacking in experience and guile. That should put him at his ease.’

  ‘Where will this meeting take place, sir?’

  ‘At sea, like last time. He needs to be sure that it isn’t a trap. You’ll take one of the scout craft. Anything bigger might scare him off.’

  ‘Anything smaller might put us at risk.’

  ‘Well, that’s a chance I’m prepared to let you take.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘You’re to meet him ten miles off the cape at Mortepontum shortly after sunrise so he can be sure that you’re alone and that he can escape if you’re not.’

  ‘He’s a cautious man, sir.’

  ‘He has to be. You know the saying: there are old pirates and bold pirates but no old bold pirates.’

  Cato nodded thoughtfully and looked Vitellius in the eye. ‘You know, sir, this Telemachus sounds like the kind of man you could learn from.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice, Centurion. But I think I’ll cope well enough on my own. Now, I’m sure there’s at least one more question you’d like to ask.’

  ‘When is this meeting?’

  ‘In two days’ time. You’re leaving tonight.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The bireme heaved to before the first hint of dawn. It wallowed in a heavy swell that rose under the stern, lifted it up and then let it fall back with a sickening swoop. Cato leaned on the stern rail, head pitched forward, and vomited into the dark oily abyss below. It had been bad enough while he had been able to see the horizon as a reference point to steady his sense of balance, but as darkness had closed round the small ship the chaotic and nauseous movement under his feet had increased his misery tenfold. All night he had been at the rail, head swimming, with regular bouts of retching that felt as if the pit of his stomach was being ripped up and wrenched out of his throat.

  Cato was glad that Macro had been ordered to stay at Ravenna. Macro’s cast-iron constitution took sea travel in its stride with the same blithe confidence and comfort as every other mode of transport. No doubt Macro would have found the chilly sea breeze ‘bracing’ or some equally annoying sentiment.

  When his friend had heard about the meeting Cato had been roundly accused of keeping secrets. At the time Cato had been secretly flattered to be chosen for this duty; now he would have paid any price to swap places with Macro.

  ‘Any better?’

  Cato turned from the rail and saw Decimus, the bireme’s trierarch, emerge from the darkness. Cato shook his head.

  ‘I thought you were one of the new centurions appointed to the marines?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Well, I hate to be rude, or anything, but you’re not exactly taking to the vocation.’

  ‘I hate the sea.’

  ‘I assume you’re a landsman.’

  ‘Yes…’ A fresh wave of nausea gripped his body and Cato lurched back to the rail and retched until the attack passed, then wiped the stringy spittle from his lips before turning back to Decimus. ‘I was transferred from the legions.’

  ‘Transferred? I see…’ Decimus nodded, tactfully avoiding asking the reason for what was in effect a demotion. ‘Can’t be doing with all that marching and civil engineering nonsense. Give me a simple life on the sea any day.’

  Cato stared at him, thinking that he’d rather build an aqueduct all by himself than spend another moment on the ship.

  Decimus leaned on the rail next to Cato, upwind, and sniffed the air. ‘Fresh and salty. We’re in for a good day. Bit choppy, but no chance of a storm.’

  ‘Choppy…’ Cato swallowed and tensed his jaw. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Some miles from the Cape. I gave the order to heave to so that we don’t get too c
lose in the dark.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not?’ Decimus laughed. ‘You’ve never seen the Cape before?’

  ‘I’ve never seen many things before. Your bloody Cape Mortepontum amongst them.’

  ‘How do you think it got the name? “The Bridge of Death”-bit of a giveaway, don’t you think?’

  Cato glanced round. ‘Dangerous then?’

  ‘More ships are wrecked on the Cape than anywhere else along this entire coastline.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘When the sun rises and we get closer, then I think you’ll understand why I give it a wide berth. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ll see to my men. They need to be fed and at their stations before first light.’

  ‘Expecting trouble?’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Decimus shook his head in wonder. ‘You’ve not had dealings with pirates before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They’re as trustworthy as a shark in a sausage factory. And twice as dangerous.’

  Cato raised his eyebrows. ‘Colourful. But not entirely coherent.’

  ‘What?’ Decimus frowned.

  ‘The analogy doesn’t work. The shark is not a land creature.’

  Decimus shrugged. ‘You obviously haven’t met my banker.’

  As the first hint of dawn spread along the eastern horizon Cato could just make out the pale shadow of the mountainous coastline.

  Decimus pointed out a darker patch. ‘That’s the Cape. We’ll move close in.’

  He turned to face the bows and cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Raise the sail! Put a reef in her!’

  Several sailors clambered up the rigging and swung out along the yardarm, bare feet pressing down on the toe-line as they shuffled along. When every man was in place the mate called out an order and the sailors undid the ties and began to unfurl the sail. Its billowing expanse slowly filled up and became taut as more sailors on deck hauled the mainsheets in and fastened them to the stout wooden cleats on the ship’s side rails. When the rectangular sail had been let out as far as the first reefing lines, the sailors on the yard tied it down and returned to the deck. The motion of the bireme began to settle as it got under way and Cato could hear the rush and hiss of the sea sliding along the waterline.