The Eagle's Prophecy

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘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 there.’ 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.’ Narcissus smiled faintly. ‘The death sentence is upheld. In addition, the general states that there is enough circumstantial evidence to warrant the execution of Centurion Macro on charges of mutiny and murder. You are both dead already.’

  He let the words sink in, staring at the centurions intently with his dark brown eyes, sunk deep beneath his plucked brow. Cato stared back, angry and afraid, as he knew that he and Macro were being thrust into new perils by the Imperial Secretary. Cato swallowed nervously before he replied.

  ‘Unless we do your bidding.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Narcissus nodded. ‘You’ll do my bidding, or be fodder for the carrion before this day is done.’

  Macro sneered at him. ‘And what is it you’d have us do for you? An assassination? Make someone disappear? What?’

  ‘Nothing so easy,’ Narcissus laughed. ‘I have plenty of men for such menial tasks. No, for what I have in mind, I need two resourceful officers. Ruthless men who are also desperate enough to succeed at all costs. Men who know their lives are forfeit unless they carry out their orders. In short, men like you two. I won’t demean your intelligence by offering the job to you. You’ll do it, or you’ll die here and now. All that remains is to tell you the details. Understand me?’

  ‘Oh, we understand all right…sir.’

  ‘Very well.’ Narcissus leaned back in his chair and drew his thoughts together. ‘A month ago a merchant ship was captured not far from the coast, off Ravenna. It happens from time to time. Someone fancies his chances as a pirate and starts preying on shipping. We can afford to overlook the loss of the odd vessel here and there, but if they get too greedy we send a squadron after them to scare them off. Only this time, the pirates captured a ship which happened to be carrying one of my most trusted agents. He was on a mission of the utmost sensitivity. He was taken prisoner, and tortured. They sent word that they want a ransom for him. Together with his ring finger. I assume that’s some kind of pirate tradition to show they mean business.’

  ‘You want him back?’ Cato asked. ‘Is that it? Is that all?’

  ‘Not quite all. My agent carried within his baggage some items of great value to the Emperor.’

  ‘Treasure?’ Macro frowned. ‘You want to send us on a treasure hunt?’

  ‘Treasure? Yes,’ Narcissus replied. ‘But treasure that has far more worth than all the gold and jewels of Egypt.’

  ‘Really?’ Macro sniffed. ‘I somehow doubt that.’

  ‘What kind of treasure are we talking about?’ Cato interrupted his friend.

  ‘Scrolls.’ Narcissus smiled. ‘Three of them. The pirates want ten million sestertians for the return of the scrolls.’

  ‘Ten million? Just for three scrolls?’ Macro laughed and shook his head. ‘You’re not serious, sir.’

  ‘I’ve never been more serious in my life.’

  Macro’s laughter died in his thoat as he beheld the intent expression on the Imperial Secretary’s face. ‘These scrolls–what’s so special about them?’

  Narcissus stared at him. ‘You don’t need to know. You will be told more, if the situation requires it. Suffice to say that if I gain possession of them then a great danger to the Emperor will be averted. For now, all that need concern you is your mission. You will find and recover the scrolls and bring them to me here. If you can manage it, I also want my agent returned. But if that should jeopardise the safety of the scrolls the agent must be regarded as expendable.’

  ‘Who else knows about this?’ asked Cato.

  Narcissus thought for a moment. ‘The Emperor. My clerk and one other.’

  ‘Who is he, sir?’

  Narcissus smiled and shook his head. ‘You don’t need to know. For now. In the meantime I have arranged for you both to be posted to the naval base at Ravenna. We’re sending a column of marine reinforcements for operations against this new pirate threat. You can join them. The prefect has been told to find and destroy the pirates’ lair. Your job is to make sure that you recover the scrolls, and my agent, once the pirates are defeated. You are also to make sure that any of the pirates who have read, or been in contact with the scrolls, are not taken alive. One last thing.’ Narcissus leaned towards them again. ‘It is possible that the pirates may have approached other parties with a view to selling the scrolls. If that’s the case, my enemies will stop at nothing to get hold of them. You must trust no one. Understand?’

  The two centurions nodded.

  ‘When do we leave?’ Macro asked.

  ‘You already have. The reinforcements left Rome at dawn. You’ll have to catch up with them once I’ve finished with you.’

  Cato’s mind reeled. ‘What about all the paperwork? Our orders?’

  Narcissus waved away the questions. ‘My clerk has it all in hand. He’ll give you the required documents as soon as you leave my office. Now, if you don’t want to get any unnecessary blisters, I suggest you get moving, gentlemen.’

  ‘Just one thing, sir,’ said Macro.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Money. We’ll need some to cover our expenses as far as Ravenna, sir.’

  ‘I see. Very well. You can draw some petty cash from my clerk.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ Narcissus smiled. ‘You can settle up, if you survive. Now, on your way.’

  Narcissus leaned back and crossed his arms, clearly indicating that the meeting was over. Cato and Macro turned towards the doors. Before they could reach them the doors were swung open by a Praetorian on each side. Narcissus’ clerk was waiting at his table, a wax tablet in each hand. As the centurions marched into the corridor, he held out the tablets. Cato took his and was busy tucking it into his knapsack when he glanced across the corridor and froze. Macro noticed his reaction and glanced round. Seated in the niche opposite was a heavily built man, running to fat. He wore the toga of a senator, and smiled slowly as he recognised the two centurions.

  ‘Why, if I’m not mistaken,’ he chuckled, ‘it’s my old comrades in arms, Centurion Macro and his little pet optio.’ He paused as his eyes fell on the transverse crest of the helmet hanging from Cato’s yoke. ‘Centurion Cato? I don’t believe it.’

  Cato dipped his head in formal acknowledgement of the other man’s rank, and he replied in an unusually cool voice, ‘Tribune Vitellius, I wondered if we would meet again.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘What the hell was that bastard Vitellius doing there?’ Macro grumbled as he shifted his pack and adjusted his stride. ‘I hoped I’d never lay eyes on him ever again, after that business back in Britain. Just goes to show. When you’ve really fallen in the shit, you can always count on someone to pile on another load.’

  Cato grunted his assent at his friend’s quirky fatalism. Life was like that. He’d already seen enough of it to know. Macro was right to be worried. The fact that the man had been waiting to see Narcissus immediately after them implied some kind of connection with the mission they had been forced to undertake. It might be a coincidence, Cato reflected. After all, Narciss
us must be overseeing many operations. Even so, Cato could not shake off the feeling that their presence and that of the treacherous former tribune of the Second Legion were somehow linked. They had foiled a plot by Vitellius to assassinate Emperor Claudius, but after the event the wily tribune had left them with no evidence to bring against him, and so compelled their silence. Cato was certain that Vitellius was merely biding his time before he arranged for fatal accidents to befall Macro and himself.

  The revival of this danger added to his existing fears, and Cato could not shake Vitellius from his mind as he and Macro trudged along the Flaminian Way. Even though it was a cold day, and a chilly breeze cut through the air, there were only patches of cloud in the crisp blue sky. After the first mile on the road, the exercise had warmed their muscles and Cato no longer shivered. They had left Rome at noon, pausing at the Sanqualian Gate to fill their canteens, and only with the walls of the city falling behind them had Macro felt safe enough to speak his mind. On either side of the broad paved road, tombs and mausoleums jostled with more modest memorials to the generations of the dead who had been buried outside the walls of the city.

  The traffic on the Flaminian Way was heavy, with a constant stream of wagons and carts loaded down with farm produce, goods and luxuries heading for the great markets of the capital. Trundling in the opposite direction were empty vehicles. The two centurions marched past as swiftly as possible to catch up with the reinforcement column that had left the city hours before and was well on the way to Ocriculum. The column would make good time as traffic would clear the way for them as they passed, whereas the two centurions, being far less conspicuous, would have to weave their way through the other road users.

  ‘We’re not going to catch them before nightfall,’ Cato grumbled. ‘Not at this rate.’

  ‘We might,’ Macro replied, glancing over his shoulder at Cato. ‘If we can keep the pace up. Come on, lad, no dawdling.’

  Cato gritted his teeth and lengthened his stride, until he drew alongside his friend. ‘You ever had any dealings with the marines before?’

  ‘Marines?’ Macro spat on the ground. ‘Yes, I’ve come across a few. On the Rhine squadron. They used to take leave in Argentorate, same as us legionaries. Idle wankers, the lot of them. Spent all their time dossing about on the decks of their ships while we got on with the real soldiering.’

  Cato smiled. ‘I take it there’s no love lost between legionaries and marines.’

  ‘None,’ Macro replied emphatically. ‘We were at each other’s throats from the off.’

  ‘You do surprise me. Still, now we’ve got a posting to the marines, we’d better forgive and forget, eh?’

  ‘Forgive and forget?’ Macro raised his eyebrows. ‘Fuck that! I just hate the bastards. Every legionary does. Mark my words, there’s no such thing as a good marine. Idlers, wasters and the scrapings of the street. Anyone with any worth has upped and joined the legions. We’ll have to cope with the leavings.’

  ‘Not looking forward to a bit of drilling then?’

  ‘Cato, my lad, there’s drilling and then there’s the kind of chaotic scrabbling about that is the specialism of your average marine.’

  ‘So, when it comes to soldiering, they’re all at sea?’

  Macro closed his eyes briefly. ‘Cato, that’s the kind of crack that ruins friendships.’

  ‘Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.’

  ‘Well, don’t. All right? Things are hard enough for the pair of us without you trying to joke about it.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Cato glanced up as a column of wagons ground by on the other side of the road. Each wagon carried several men, well-muscled and looking at the peak of physical fitness. He nudged Macro. ‘Could do with a few more like them in the legions.’

  Macro looked round. ‘Them? Gladiators. No, they’re the last thing you want in the army. They think they know all that there is to know about fighting. That it’s all down to fancy footwork and a nimble blade. Your bog-standard barbarian would knock ’em flat while they were still out to win points for style. Gladiators…’ Macro shook his head wearily. ‘So far up their own arses they hardly see the light of day from one month to the next. If you want someone at your shoulder that you can rely on, pick a legionary every time. And, if you can’t find a legionary, then an auxiliary will do.’

  Cato stared at him. ‘You’ve really got it in for the marines, haven’t you? Any particular reason? One of them run off with your sister, or something?’

  Macro shot a look at his friend. ‘Sister? No. Much closer than that. My mother.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  Macro nodded. ‘A trireme turned up at Ostia for refitting. Crew came ashore for a few days. One of the smooth bastards chats my mum up and she drops the rest of us in the shit and sails off into the bloody sunset with her marine and is never seen again. I was not much more than a kid at the time. That was twenty years ago.’

  Cato was stunned. In the two years that he had known Macro, his friend had rarely mentioned his background. And now this. Having grown used to the tales of old soldiers he could not help being suspicious. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Have I ever lied to you?’

  Cato shrugged helplessly. ‘Well, yes. Frequently, as it happens. Soldiers’ stories and all that. “The barbarian that got away”, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Oh.’ Macro pursed his lips. ‘This one’s true. So I hate marines,’ he concluded simply.

  Cato felt a heavy weight settle on his heart. If Macro carried such prejudices with him all the way to Ravenna then life with the marines was going to be very difficult. The inter-service rivalry was bad enough without Macro adding his personal crusade against marine-kind to the situation.

  Cato tried to reason with his friend. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit harsh to judge them all by the conduct of one?’

  ‘No.’

  Cato hissed with frustration. ‘That’s hardly fair.’

  ‘What’s fairness got to do with it? One of the bastards ran off with my mum. Now the boot’s on the other foot and I’m going to stick it to them. And I’ll have none of your nonsense about fairness.’

  ‘Prejudice never solved anything,’ Cato replied calmly.

  ‘Bollocks! Which one of your fancy philosophers came up with that? Prejudice solves everything, and quickly too. As long as you’ve got the balls to see it through. How else do you think we got ourselves an empire? Through playing fair with a bunch of hairy-arsed barbarians? Think we talked ’em into throwing down their weapons and surrendering their lands? No. We regarded them as ignorant and uncivilised. All of them. And rightly so, in my opinion. Made kicking their heads in a lot easier at the end of the day. You start arguing with yourself about the pros and cons of their point of view and you’ll be dead in a flash. Act as you find and life becomes simpler, and longer, probably. So, Cato, spare me your feelings about fairness, eh? If I want to hate marines, that’s up to me. Makes my life easy. You want to cosy up to them, then that’s up to you. But leave me out of it.’

  ‘Well, if you insist.’

  ‘I do. All right? Now let’s change the subject.’

  Cato could see that his friend would not budge on the issue. Not right now, at least. Perhaps Macro could be persuaded to be more reasonable over time; a few carefully chosen words here and there and their posting to the marines might be less of an unpleasant experience. If Narcissus was right, then this mission was going to be dangerous enough for Cato and Macro without having to worry about the loyalty of the men around them.

  Cato leaned forward, adjusted the weight of the yoke on his shoulder, and marched on in silence. The Flaminian Way began to incline as it met a low ridge to the north of the capital. As the road evened out, Cato stepped off the road into the shade of a copse of tall cypress trees and set his pack down for a moment. Macro strode on a few paces, then paused, and reluctantly trudged off the paved surface and joined his friend.

  ‘Not tired already?’

  ‘A bit,�
� Cato admitted. ‘I’m out of training for route marches.’

  ‘Really?’ Macro smirked. ‘I’ll make a marine of you yet.’

  ‘Very funny.’ Cato took a sip from his canteen and stared back down the road towards Rome, sprawling across its seven hills and spilling out on to the surrounding landscape. Having lived in the tight confines of the city for some months, it felt strange to Cato to encompass the city of a million souls in one glance. The vast edifice of the imperial palace complex was clearly visible, even at a distance of several miles, but now it looked tiny, like some construction of a child’s set of building blocks. For a moment Cato wondered at the smallness of human achievement in a wider context. All the grand politics of the palace, all the petty prejudices and aspirations of the densely packed streets of the capital–all seemed futile and insignificant viewed from a distance.

  Cato looked at his friend. For Macro it was different. He survived in the gritty world of immediate details and focused on the challenges right in front of him. It was an enviable perspective, Cato felt–one that he wished he could develop for himself. He spent far too much time thinking about abstract issues. In the legions that could cost lives, he reflected, and the abyss of self-doubt that plagued him yawned once more. Now that he was a centurion he was more conscious than ever about his failings, and yearned for the verities of the life that he assumed Macro enjoyed.

  ‘If you’ve had enough of the scenery,’ Macro broke into his thoughts, ‘would you mind if we got on?’

  ‘Right.’ Cato pushed the stopper back into his canteen, took a deep breath and heaved the pack back on to his shoulders. ‘I’m ready. Let’s go.’

  As the afternoon wore on, the scattered clouds thickened and blotted out the sky, eventually concealing the sun itself behind a miserable curtain of a dirty grey haze. As the centurions marched further from Rome and left the immediate belt of farms and factories that fed their wares into the capital, the traffic began to thin out. The slopes of the surrounding hills were more forested and there were fewer farms and other buildings. As dusk began to gather it started to rain; icy drops that stung the skin and quickly soaked the two centurions. Macro and Cato stopped at a small roadside tavern and bought two cups of heated wine while they got out their waterproofed capes and draped them over their shoulders.