The Eagle's Prophecy

by Simon Scarrow

  After a night in the open, and a day clambering along narrow twisting goat tracks, keeping an eye out for any signs of habitation, Macro and Cato found a small cave near the top of a mountain to shelter for the second night. The entrance was narrow and concealed from distant view by a finger of rock that rose close by the entrance. Indeed, they would have missed it entirely had the track they were following not passed right by the entrance. Inside, the cave had a dogleg into a recess which was just big enough for the two men to set a small fire and lay down beside it. They put down their packs and slumped on the ground to catch their breath. At length, Macro shook his head wearily.

  ‘Why us? Why’d he pick us? Has to be someone else’s turn by now.’

  ‘You heard him,’ Cato replied. ‘We’re the best men for the job.’

  ‘And you believed him?’ Macro sniffed. ‘Remind me to sell you a used cart when we get back to Rome.’

  ‘The legate might have meant it,’ Cato replied stiffly. ‘He’s counted on us in the past and we haven’t let him down.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Macro sat up. ‘Far as I recall, you’ve volunteered the both of us, or he’s ordered us to go. So either we’re plain mugs, or he thinks we’re expendable. Either way, it’s not the direction I want my career to take–whatever’s left of it.’

  Cato gave him a wan smile. ‘Come now, you’re telling me that you’re not enjoying this?’

  ‘What? No sleep for two days, twenty miles of mountain hiking, I’m cold and hungry and maybe only a few miles away from the lair of hundreds of bloodthirsty pirates. What’s not to enjoy?’

  ‘That’s my Macro!’

  ‘Oh, piss off…You just enjoy making yourself a home of this damp little hole. Me? I’m going to have a bloody fire.’

  While Macro gathered some wood from the scrub growing on the moutainside and prepared a fire, Cato got the goatskin map, a pen and a small pot of ink from his haversack and spread it out on the cave floor. By the fading light of the cave opening he began to add detail to the sketchy outline of the area that the clerk had copied on to the goatskin from one of the staff maps. Working carefully, Cato marked in the hill range they had travelled across that day, together with the paths they had followed, and then began to examine the vital section of the map they would complete the next day. After climbing to the summit of the mountain above them, he and Macro would examine the entrance to the bay and then descend the slope on the far side of the mountain and rejoin the fleet.

  Behind him, at the back of the cave, Macro was striking a flint over his tinder box. Sparks flashed down on to the charred linen inside. After a few attempts the material took some of the sparks and began to glow. Macro blew over it softly and then transferred the tiny flame to the kindling and continued blowing until it caught light and a crackling sound filled the cave as Macro built the small fire up.

  ‘There!’ He leaned back with a smile. ‘Soon be warm in here.’

  ‘Nice job.’ Cato made himself smile back. He felt guilty for the genuine friendship that Macro shared with him. By implicating Macro in Cato’s supposed knowledge of the Delphic scrolls he had placed his friend in danger. For the sake of Macro, and for the sake of their friendship he owed it to the older man to tell him the truth. He must be made aware of the content of the scrolls, and their significance.

  ‘Macro…’

  The other man looked up from his fire. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘There’s something I have to tell you. About those scrolls Narcissus is after.’

  ‘Oh.’ Macro caught the awkward tone in his friend’s voice. ‘What about them?’

  ‘I’m not sure where to start. I…’

  ‘Just spit it out, man. You can worry about the details and niceties later.’

  ‘All right…’

  Macro shook his head. ‘For fuck’s sake, Cato, get on with it. Anyone would think you were asking for my hand in marriage.’

  Cato laughed. ‘Well, I was wondering about that. Watching you bent over that fire made me realise what a good wife you’d make.’

  Macro wagged a finger at him. ‘Careful, lad. Never take a joke too far.’

  ‘Right, sorry…’

  Macro stared at him a moment, then sighed. ‘The scrolls?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Cato shuffled into a comfortable position and hugged his knees, facing the fire. ‘I found out what they are. You’ve heard of the three Delphic scrolls?’

  Macro rolled his eyes, and responded with forced patience. ‘Yes. I think I’ve heard of them.’

  ‘And the story behind them?’

  Macro looked doubtful now. ‘They were given to King Tarquin by the Oracle. Weren’t they? A long time ago.’

  Cato nodded. ‘About five hundred years back. But the Oracle didn’t give them to him, she sold them to him. For a fortune. She only sold him three of the books.’

  ‘There were more?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Six in all. Six books that that were supposed to prophesy the entire future of Rome and her people. Quite a prize. So she came to Rome and offered them to Tarquin for a price that would have beggared him. Naturally he refused. So she went away and burned one of the books and came back the next day with five and demanded the same price. He refused again, so she burned another and returned to demand the same price. He refused one last time and she destroyed a third book. When she came before him again he was desperate and paid what she was asking. And that’s what we have in the Temple of Jupiter today. Our priests go to consult them whenever there’s a crisis of some kind and try to work out what will happen. Not easy when you only have half the information in front of you.’

  ‘I see,’ Macro looked into the wavering glow of his fire. ‘So what have these scrolls we’re after got to do with the Delphic scrolls?’

  Cato leaned forward slightly. ‘Don’t you see? They are the Delphic scrolls.’

  ‘What, are you saying the ones in the temple of Jupiter are fakes?’

  ‘No. No. Listen. Think about it. The Oracle knew these scrolls were priceless. So why on earth would she destroy them?’

  ‘Like you said. To get some leverage on negotiations with King Tarquin.’

  ‘Which she did,’ Cato admitted. ‘But wouldn’t the smart move have been to put the scrolls somewhere safe and only say that she had burned them? Later on, along comes a new king, with a new fortune, and the Oracle, or her successor, reveals the existence of the remaining scrolls. By that time the people in Rome would have discovered that the first three books were almost useless on their own. They would be prepared to pay almost anything to possess the last three books to complete the prophecy.’

  ‘So why didn’t she try to sell the books at a later date?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe she felt the time wasn’t right. Maybe she was waiting for Rome to be rich enough to afford the price she wanted. Perhaps she was too good at keeping a secret and died before she could tell her successor about the books and where they were hidden. I don’t know. I’m only guessing. There are stories told of men who claimed to have seen them. I even heard that they fell into the hands of Mark Antony, just before the battle of Actium. He might have beaten Augustus, but for some reason Antony’s nerve failed at the last moment and he abandoned his fleet to its destruction. The story goes that he read the Delphic scrolls on the eve of the battle and that they foretold his defeat.’

  Macro stared at him. ‘Do you think it’s true?’

  Cato chuckled. ‘How can anyone know? His fleet lost because he cut and ran. If he fled because of some prophecy then he’s an even bigger fool than historians take him for. Our destiny is not written in the stars. We make it as we will. The rest is just a story.’

  ‘It might have been true,’ Macro persisted. ‘There are more things in the heavens and the earth than can be found in all those books you read, Cato.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Cato shrugged. ‘Or maybe Antony was as poor at commanding a fleet as he was at selecting a lover.’

  Macro shrugged and stared sullenly into the
fire, and Cato feared he had gone too far in undermining the superstitions that Macro held dear to his heart. He decided to change tack and cleared his throat. ‘It’s clear enough what’s happened since then.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Someone discovered the scrolls and recognised them for what they are. They struck a deal with the Emperor–or Narcissus, more likely. He sent out an agent with the gold to pay for the scrolls and the agent duly headed back to Rome bearing the scrolls that would complete the Delphi prophecies. At last the rulers of Rome would know what the future holds for the Empire and could make their plans accordingly. Assuming there’s any substance to the prophecies.’

  ‘What if they’re wrong?’ Macro asked.

  Cato shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. All Narcissus has to do is let on that he has all the scrolls, and most of his enemies won’t dare to act against him for fear that he already knows their intentions. That’s quite a useful political tool. Almost a treasure in its own right…Only, the scrolls never made it back to Rome. A short distance from Ravenna, the ship on which Narcissus’ agent was travelling was attacked and captured by Telemachus and his pirates. When it dawned on Telemachus what he had got his hands on he knew he could demand a vast ransom for the scrolls. Better still, if other parties were made aware of the scrolls’ existence he could sell them to the highest bidder. The Emperor and Narcissus won’t be the only ones after the scrolls. There’ll be others. Like our friends, the Liberators. So Telemachus played one off against the other and forced the price up. Only he got too greedy and Narcissus decided that he must get the scrolls back at any cost. So he sent us out, and the Ravenna fleet, with orders to stop at nothing until the pirate menace is eliminated.’

  ‘And the scrolls are recovered.’ Macro nodded. ‘So this whole thing is about the scrolls?’

  ‘Not quite. They’d have to deal with Telemachus and his men at some point. But a campaign against the pirate threat would be a good enough cover for the real operation to retrieve the scrolls. The only difficulty is that the Imperial Secretary would have to keep that side of things a secret, for fear of alerting his rivals not only to the existence of the scrolls, but also their whereabouts.’

  ‘I see. But if it’s such a big secret, how do you know about it?’

  Cato flushed. ‘I read Vitellius’ report. The one he sent back to Rome.’

  Macro looked horrified. ‘You did what?’

  ‘Well, there was a storm. The seal got wet and broke. I didn’t trust him, so I read the report…’

  Macro stared at him wide-eyed. This was a breach of protocol of the most severe nature. A legionary could be executed on the spot for many lesser offences. He swallowed nervously. ‘So go on then. What did it say?’

  ‘Knowing our friend Vitellius you won’t be surprised that he lied through his teeth about that sea battle and the shit situation he left us in. He tried to blame me for the losses we suffered.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Why not? He needed to shift the blame off his shoulders. And with me out of the way, then there’d be only you and him in the know about those scrolls. If anything happened to you, he’d be able to make up any story he liked and keep the scrolls for himself.’

  ‘Why do that?’

  ‘So he could sell them on. Or, better still, use them to advance his own interests. You know how ambitious he is.’

  ‘I know that all right,’ Macro replied with feeling. ‘The bastard.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Cato smiled, ‘I made a few alterations to the report before I sent it off to Rome.’

  Macro was astonished, and felt sick over what Cato had just told him. ‘You altered it?’

  ‘I had to.’ Cato shrugged. ‘I was dead if I didn’t. So I just changed it so it told the truth.’

  Macro glanced up sharply. ‘That’s why they sent Vespasian here.’

  Cato nodded.

  ‘Fuck, Cato. You really do take some chances. If this ever gets out they’ll break every bone in your body.’

  ‘At least…’ Cato looked at his friend in embarrassment. ‘Look, I’m really sorry about this. Sorry that I’ve got you involved.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I sort of tricked Vespasian into telling me about the scrolls. I saw the reference to the Delphic scrolls in Vitellius’ report and made out that I knew the full story when I was briefing Vespasian about the situation here. He swallowed it, and before I knew what I was saying I said that you knew about the scrolls as well.’

  Macro frowned and shook his head. ‘So? So what?’

  ‘Until this is all over, anyone who knows about the scrolls is going to be in great danger. The stakes are too high to risk having any loose ends.’

  ‘I see.’ Macro nodded. ‘Thanks, mate. Thanks a lot. Much as I like you, Cato, and think that you’ve turned out to be a damn fine soldier, there are times when I really do wish that I’d never met you. Fifteen years, I’d served, before you turned up. Sure I’d been in some bad scrapes, but in the last two years you’ve nearly got me killed more times than I can care to think about. Now this…’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Stop apologising. It’s too late to do anything about it now.’ Macro scrunched his haversack up into a tight bundle and lay down beside the fire, back towards Cato. He was silent for a moment before he muttered, ‘Just promise me, one thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If we get out of this mess, no more adventures.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Huh…’

  In the morning, they rose with the first light of day glimmering off the walls of the cave. Macro stretched his stiff limbs and coughed as the cold air swept into his lungs. Cato kept quiet, still a little shamed by his confession of the previous evening. They packed their provisions back into the haversacks, put on their boots and emerged from the cave. The sky was leaden and a cold wind blew up the side of the mountain, clammy with the threat of rain.

  ‘Which way?’ asked Macro.

  ‘Straight up. We should have a view of their anchorage and base from the peak of the mountain.’

  ‘If the information’s accurate,’ Macro said gloomily. ‘Chances are, it won’t be.’

  ‘We’ll know soon enough.’ Cato thrust his haversack behind his back and started along the track that wound up the rock-strewn slope. A moment late, mouthing a foul curse, Macro set off after him.

  As they rose higher, a mist closed in. Then they seemed to be up into the base of the clouds themselves and a chilly drizzle pattered around them. Slowly, the ground began to level out and tussocks of windblown grass struggled to get a purchase amid the boulders and gravel.

  ‘Nice,’ said Macro. ‘But I’m sure the view is worth it.’

  ‘View?’ Cato glanced round. ‘Don’t count on it.’

  Macro shook his head. ‘Thought you were the one who had mastered irony?’

  Cato smiled. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘There you go again…’

  They found some shelter from the wind and rain under a rocky overhang and sat down, huddled inside their military cloaks, chewing on some of the dried beef from their haversacks. The hours passed and still the sky remained grey and foreboding. Then late in the afternoon, Cato estimated, the clouds thinned and a faint glow of sunlight bloomed across the mountain top. The rain stopped, and patches of clear blue sky broke through the clouds. Below them, the mountainside slowly became visible until there was even a hint of sea far below where its foot dipped into the bay. At last the bright breeze blew away the last of the cloud cover and the two centurions had a fine view of the other half of the Gates of Stone–the mountain on the far side of the opening to the bay. From there the ridge swept far inland and circled round and finally climbed up to the mountaintop where Cato and Macro were sitting. Below them the waters of the bay glittered serenely and out at sea tiny whitecaps danced across the tops of the waves.

  ‘All right, I admit it,’ said Macro. ‘The view was worth it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cato
replied. ‘Especially when you consider that aspect.’

  He raised his hand and pointed at the mountain opposite. At its base a small spur of rock curved out into the bay. At the end, overlooking the bay was a small fortified village, while in the calm waters below were the tiny slivers of galleys, anchored in two neat rows.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ‘That’s it!’ Macro thumped one fist into the other. ‘Has to be those bloody pirates!’

  Cato squinted down into the bay, scanning the ships. Two were definitely triremes, and the liburnian rigs of most of the others were the same as the ships that had attacked the Ravenna fleet, like the two ships they had captured several nights ago. He nodded.

  ‘It’s them all right.’ He reached behind him for his haversack, dragged it round and undid the straps. Macro glanced down in surprise.

  ‘I don’t think this is the best time for a snack. The sooner we get back and report this to Vespasian the better.’

  Cato shook his head as he took out the map and his stylus set. ‘Not until I’ve mapped it.’

  ‘All right,’ Macro conceded. ‘But do it quickly.’

  Cato did a fair approximation of the bay with its causeway and fortifications and the layout of the ships, and then packed away his equipment.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  The summit of the mountain was only a short distance above them and the two men bent forward and climbed up the track, feeling far more cheerful than they had for what seemed a long time. If all went well, the Ravenna fleet would sail into the bay and crush the pirates within a few days. Then they could return to Rome in triumph and Narcissus would lift the charges against them and, who knew, maybe reward them into the bargain. Life was starting to feel good again and Macro was tempted to sing. He began by humming a marching song that had been popular among the legions in Britain shortly before he and Cato had been forced to leave the island. Macro took a breath and began to sing.