The Eagle's Prophecy

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘This is more like it! Fighting on solid ground again!’

  ‘Look out!’ Cato shouted as one of the pirates dropped down and aimed to swipe his sword at Macro’s shins beneath his shield.

  Macro dropped the shield and the blade rang as it struck the metal trim. Then the shield flew up and out as Macro slammed it into the pirate’s face, knocking the man cold. He slumped on to the ground and the marine to Macro’s left finished him off with a shattering cut to the skull that burst the pirate’s head like a watermelon.

  As more of the pirates were hacked down, their comrades began to edge away from the fight. Then those at the rear began to turn and run, dashing back into the citadel to try to find shelter amid its narrow twisting streets. The panic spread through their ranks like a plague, and moments later Macro and Cato stood side by side, breathing heavily, as they watched the last of the pirates flee.

  Macro glanced round at the marines. ‘Don’t just stand there! Get after ’em!’

  The centurions stepped aside and let the marines past. As their optio emerged through the ruined barricade Cato called him over.

  ‘Take the rest of your men and cut behind these buildings. With a bit of luck you’ll come out behind one of the other barricades, and can take ’em in the rear.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  As the last of the marines tramped past, Vespasian and his squad approached Macro and Cato.

  ‘Well done. Now let’s find those scrolls. Secundus!’

  ‘Sir?’ The imperial agent stepped forward and Cato saw a bloody slash running down the man’s sword arm.

  ‘Lead the way.’

  Secundus swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Follow me.’

  The group set off at a gentle trot, up the street towards the watchtower that loomed over the citadel. Behind then a war horn sounded, to be instantly countered by the distant horns of the marines on the causeway. They passed by the entrances to houses forced open by the marines out to loot the citadel. Cato caught a fleeting glimpse of three marines cutting down a pirate as he attempted to defend his woman and children inside a crumbling hovel. But Vespasian’s men continued on as the woman started screaming in terror and her cries echoed up the street after them. At each intersection Cato glanced left and right and saw more marines breaking in doors, chasing down men, women and children as they tried to flee and hacking at those too slow to escape.

  ‘How much further?’ Vespasian asked breathlessly.

  ‘Almost there, sir.’

  They abruptly emerged into a small square and almost ran straight into a party of pirates advancing in the opposite direction. Both sides slewed to a halt, momentarily shocked into silence. Then Cato opened his mouth and roared at them as he charged forward with sword raised. The pirates took one glance at the bloodied weapon and the savage expression on the centurion’s face and turned and ran, bolting for one of the side streets leading off the square.

  Cato chased after them a short distance, before he stopped and leaned on the edge of his shield to catch his breath. Behind him he heard Macro roar with laughter. The rest of the party joined in and Cato picked his shield up, and returned to them, his cheeks reddening.

  ‘What’s so bloody funny?’

  ‘Nothing!’ Macro shook his head and tried to stop grinning.

  ‘Right!’ Vespasian broke in irritably. ‘Enough! Let’s move.’

  Secundus headed across the square towards an archway, beyond which they could see the watchtower. On the platform above, the crew of a catapult had caught sight of the small group of Romans and began to train their weapon round. The marines hurried after the prefect and Macro and Cato took up the rear.

  ‘Come on, killer!’ Macro grinned as he gave his friend a light shove. ‘Just leave a few for me, eh?’

  As they approached the archway three figures came running out of it, one of them carrying a small box. Cato threw out his arm ‘Sir! Look! Telemachus and Ajax.’ Cato started as he recognised the third man. ‘That’s Minucius!’

  ‘Minucius?’ Vespasian raised his sword. ‘Get them.’

  The three men abruptly turned round and ran back through the archway, as Vespasian and the marines ran after them. But Minucius and the two pirates were not weighed down by armour and had disappeared from sight as Vespasian and the first of his men burst through the archway Macro and Cato had just entered the courtyard beyond when the catapult on the watchtower took its shot. The bolt slammed into the masonry above the arch and dislodged a shower of debris on to Macro and Cato. They emerged, covered in grit and coughing, and ran over to the base of the tower.

  Vespasian glanced round the courtyard and then turned to Secundus. ‘Where could they have gone? Is there another way out of here?’

  ‘No, sir. They have to be down in the storerooms, or they’re in the watchtower.’

  ‘Right…’ Vespasian glanced round at his men and pointed to the entrance to the storerooms beside the archway. ‘First section! Over there. Search them thoroughly!’

  Six marines peeled off and scurried across the courtyard and through the entrance, clattering down the steps into the gloom. The prefect turned back to Secundus.

  ‘How do we get into the watchtower?’

  ‘Round the side, sir. There’s a door. Then up the stairs and turn left.’

  Vespasian led the others to the corner of the tower, peered round, then beckoned to his men. When they were gathered around the door he lifted the latch and threw the door back, ready to attack anyone on the other side, but the stairwell was empty and he motioned for the marines to go in and climb the stairs. Only four men of the second section were left. Before they were halfway up the stairs Cato heard the pounding of footsteps from inside the building as the crew of the catapult charged towards the marines.

  He pressed through the doorway close behind Macro and Vespasian, and glancing up, he blinked at the bright light pouring through an open window at the top of the stairs. A figure flickered into view, wielding a light curved blade. It flashed in the light and there was a grunt as the first of the marines was cut down. The man immediately behind him thrust his comrade’s body to one side, raised his shield, sprang up the last three steps and slammed into the pirate at the top of the stairs. The man was knocked off balance, staggered backwards towards the window frame and toppled over with a piercing scream. Before the marine could recover, a second pirate thrust a spear into his side, punching through his chain mail and into his vitals. He dropped on the landing, releasing his sword and shield, and groped for the shaft of the weapon that had mortally injured him.

  Down on the stairs, Vespasian thrust the back of the man ahead of him. ‘Get up there! Move! Or we’re dead!’

  The two marines ducked low behind their shields as they climbed to the landing and turned into the corridor. Vespasian and the others hurried up the stairs behind them, hearts pounding. As he turned the corner Cato could see a long, wide corridor that was lit by shafts of light angling in through the open shutters of the windows along the side of the tower. At the far end was another staircase, leading up to the roof. In between were several pirates, hacking and slashing at the marines’ shields as they forced their way along the corridor.

  ‘Push ’em back!’ Macro shouted, and charged past the prefect and Secundus to add his weight to the marines. The plastered walls echoed and magnified the scrape of blade against blade and the thuds of blows that found only the hard surface of a shield. In the confined space the short swords of the Romans proved their worth, as the first two pirates were quickly cut down and the marines rushed over their bodies to take on the surviving pirates.

  A door opened down the corridor, beyond the pirates, and Minucius stepped into the corridor. He clutched a leather bag to his chest and took one despairing look at the men fighting in the corridor before he ran for the tower staircase.

  ‘That bastard’s mine!’ Macro shouted as he threw his sword arm out and caught one of the pirates in the throat. The man slipped down, a hand clamped to his neck i
n a futile attempt to staunch the jets of blood pumping from his severed blood vessels. But, even as he slid to the floor, he thrust his sword up deep into the groin of Secundus. With an agonised groan the Roman agent slumped down on top of the pirate, driving the blade in even deeper. He fell back against the wall open-mouthed. Vespasian made to step into the gap, but Cato held his arm back.

  ‘No, sir! Let me!’

  Before the prefect could protest, Cato pushed past, thrust his shield out and ran at the pirate immediately in front of him. There was no technique to it. He just crashed into the man, and thrust his blade out, felt the jar of the impact down his forearm, twisted the handle and wrenched it back. The pirate fell away with a grunt and went down on to the floorboards. His sword clattered at his side and he raised an arm, appealing for mercy. Behind him the remaining pirates backed away from the Romans, threw down their weapons and raised their arms.

  Vespasian patted the shoulder of the last marine. ‘You watch them! Macro!’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Go after Minucius.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Macro thrust the pirates to the side, ran to the far staircase and thundered up the wooden steps and out of sight.

  ‘Cato, with me.’ Vespasian held his sword ready and approached the doorway from which Minucius had emerged moments earlier. Cato looked over the prefect’s shoulder and saw a large room beyond. In the furthest corner, at the end of a large table, stood Telemachus and his son. At the feet of Ajax kneeled tribune Vitellius, his wrists bound, his head yanked to one side so that his throat was exposed to the slim curved blade in Ajax’s hand.

  Vespasian entered the room slowly, with Cato at his side.

  ‘Stop there!’ Telemachus called out. ‘One step closer and your tribune dies.’

  Cato glanced at Vespasian and saw a flicker of a smile before the prefect replied, ‘I suppose you want to try and strike a bargain.’

  Telemachus nodded. ‘The life of your tribune for the lives of my son and me.’

  ‘Really? I think you must be mistaking me for someone who gives a shit about the tribune.’

  Telemachus frowned. ‘I’m telling you, I’ll not hesitate to have him killed.’

  ‘Be my guest. He’s a traitor.’

  For a moment all was still, as Telemachus narrowed his eyes and tried to work out if the prefect was bluffing him. Then he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

  ‘Bleed him a little.’

  With a glint of a smile Ajax nicked the tribune’s neck and Vitellius yelped as a thin crimson trickle of blood rolled down his throat.

  ‘Next time, he dies,’ Telemachus said firmly.

  Vespasian lowered his shield and leaned on the rim. ‘Go on then. Kill him.’

  The tribune glanced at Vespasian in horror and begged in a strangled gasp, ‘For pity’s sake…’

  Vespasian gave a little shrug. ‘Sorry, Tribune. Wish I could help you out. But you know the policy. No negotiating with pirates. Besides, I’ve not come here to save your life. I’ve come for the same thing you were after.’

  Vitellius stared back and whispered. ‘You bastard…’

  Then Telemachus realised that the prefect was prepared to see Vitellius die. He snatched up a flask of lamp oil from the table and hurled it into the fire burning in the grate. The flask shattered amid a whirl of sparks, there was brief hiss and then the flames eagerly fed on the oil and roared up. While the others reeled back from the wave of heat that leaped across the room Telemachus grabbed a small black box, opened it, snatched up the scrolls inside and took three quick strides towards the flames, holding the scrolls out. He turned to Vespasian.

  ‘Very well then! Our lives for these scrolls!’

  Vespasian took a step forward. Telemachus leaned towards the flames. ‘I can’t hold these for long, Roman! The deal is our lives for the scrolls. You let us go. Your word on it now, or the scrolls burn!’

  Vespasian clenched his fingers on the shield trim. ‘I can’t let you go.’

  ‘Then you lose the scrolls.’ Telemachus winced as the heat started to burn his hand. ‘Last chance, Roman.’

  Cato looked from man to man, and saw that each was fixed on his course. For an instant he could not believe that Vespasian would be so reckless. But then the realisation hit him. If the prefect let the scrolls burn, and let Vitellius be killed, it would be possible to place the blame at Vitellius’ feet. He had the tribune’s letter stating his plans, after all. Cato would be dead in any case, as soon as Narcissus knew that the scrolls had been destroyed. No doubt Macro would share the same fate…

  Cato stepped forward. ‘Wait.’

  Telemachus and Vespasian turned towards him as Cato quickly continued, ‘The scrolls in exchange for your son’s life.’

  ‘I’ll make no such deal!’ Vespasian said through clenched teeth.

  ‘Sir! It’s the only way you’ll get the scrolls, and Telemachus…’

  ‘My son…’ Telemachus wondered aloud, then looked sidelong at Ajax, and Cato knew he had been right. That was the pirate leader’s weak spot: his love for his son. Telemachus’ gaze flickered back towards Vespasian.

  ‘My son for the scrolls?’

  Vespasian stared back, his expression cold and merciless. Ajax turned to his father.

  ‘No! I will not allow it! Father, you can’t do this!’

  ‘Be quiet!’ Telemachus snapped. ‘Well, Roman?’

  Vespasian looked at the scrolls for an instant and then nodded slowly.

  ‘Your word, Roman! Give me your word!’

  ‘You have my word…’

  ‘Ahhh!’ Telemachus let out a cry of pain as he snatched his hands back from the flames and threw the scrolls on to the floor.

  ‘Get those!’ Vespasian barked and Cato hurried forward and gathered the scrolls, and then backed away, cradling them in his arms.

  Telemachus gestured to his son. ‘Let the tribune go. Cut him free.’

  Ajax looked at his father in numbed horror, the blade trembling in his hand. Then he looked down at Vitellius with an expression of bitter hatred. For an instant Cato was certain he was going to cut the tribune’s throat…then he leaned forward, reached down and sawed through the ropes around Vitellius’ wrists. As soon as the bonds parted Vitellius scrambled away from the pirate towards the other Romans. Once he reached a safe distance he rose stiffly to his feet, breathing heavily as he faced Vespasian.

  ‘As long as I live,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll not forget.’

  ‘Nor will I.’ Vespasian smiled faintly. ‘A lost opportunity, to be sure.’

  Cato kept his eyes from the two aristocrats. There was an extremely dangerous tension in the room and he fervently wanted to remain as unobtrusive as possible. As Cato clutched the scrolls to his chest he glanced at the two pirates. After a moment’s hesitation Telemachus stepped over to his son and gently placed an arm about his shoulders. Ajax stared at him, wounded and despairing, and his eyes glistened with tears, before he dropped his knife and held his father as all the grief of defeat, all the torment he had suffered at Vitellius’ hands, and the terrible sacrifice of his father finally overwhelmed him. With an animal groan, his chest heaved and he poured his sorrow into the folds of cloth on his fathers shoulder.

  As Macro emerged on to the roof he moved warily, glancing around the doorway before he sprang through it and quickly turned round, sword poised to strike at the first sign of danger. But there was only one other person on the roof of the watchtower. From the far corner Minucius smiled uncertainly at him.

  ‘Macro. I’d hoped it would be you.’

  ‘Really?’ Macro kept his sword up and slowly approached the traitor.

  ‘Oh yes! You see, there isn’t much time.’

  ‘Wrong.’ Macro shook his head. ‘You’ve run out of time, Minucius. You’re dead meat.’

  ‘Wait!’ Minucius raised a hand. His fist was clenched about the cords from which hung a leather bag. ‘There’s a fortune in here! Precious stones, some gold. It’s yours!’


  ‘Mine?’

  ‘If you help me escape.’

  Macro laughed. ‘Escape! You’re mad.’ He waved his spare hand out across the citadel. Marines were running down the streets, intently searching for as much of the pirates’ loot as possible. ‘Soon they’re all going to know how you sold them out. And then you’re dead the moment you show your face. There’s no escape for you, Minucius.’

  ‘You can hide me. Disguise me. Get me out of here. Do it and you’ll be a rich man!’

  Macro pressed his lips together for a moment, to fight the disgust he felt welling up inside him. ‘There are some things a man can’t be allowed to survive. Betraying your mates is one of them. Now, put the bag down and draw your sword.’

  Minucius stared at him, then lowered the bag to his side. ‘All right then, don’t do it for the money. Do it for Portia. Do it for your mother instead. She loves me, you know? She needs me.’

  ‘Put the bag down.’

  ‘For her sake, Macro. Do it for her. Don’t do it for me.’

  ‘Put the bag down.’

  ‘If anything happens to me, it’ll break her heart.’

  ‘PUT THE FUCKING BAG DOWN!’ Macro didn’t wait to hear any more. He crouched, turned the shoulder of his sword arm towards Minucius and closed in on the traitor.

  ‘Wait!’ Minucius cried out. ‘What does this prove? We both know you’re the better fighter! I don’t stand a chance!’

  ‘Then you’ll die.’

  Minucius dropped the bag, and slumped on to his knees, stretching his arms out towards Macro. ‘For pity’s sake! Think of your mother!’

  Macro raised his sword, determined to kill him there and then. For a moment he stood over the wretched traitor, then he clenched his teeth and lowered the blade.