The Eagle's Prophecy

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Steersman!’ Decimus called out. ‘Heading, three fingers off the port bow.’

  ‘Three fingers off the port bow. Aye, sir.’

  Just behind Cato the powerfully built sailor braced his legs on a foot rail and heaved at the great steering paddle that was suspended over the side of the bireme, a short distance from the stern. Slowly, the vessel began to respond, and the bows turned downwind, towards the distant shore. Then the bireme was running before the wind and left a swirling white wake across the sea behind her.

  Decimus was clearly in his element and turned to Cato with a twinkle of delight in his eyes.

  ‘Feeling better now?’

  ‘Much.’

  ‘We’ll be at the meeting point soon with this following wind. Of course, it’ll be difficult going if we have to beat back towards Ravenna. Might have to take down the sail and get the rowers to work.’

  He nodded at the deck and Cato glanced towards the main grating. The dim forms of men sitting at their benches were just visible in the pale light.

  ‘Will they be fast enough to get the ship out of danger if it’s a trap?’

  ‘They should be. This class of vessel is designed for speed. The real question is how long they can keep it up. I generally keep my men well fed and rested so we have that extra reserve of strength at the oars, should we need it. Let’s just hope we don’t need it, eh?’

  ‘Sail! Away to port!’ the lookout cried down from the masthead, and thrust his arm out, pointing a short distance off the coastline.

  Cato automatically turned and squinted towards the horizon but saw nothing along the unbroken line.

  Decimus called up to the lookout, ‘Can you make anything out?’

  There was a short delay before the report came back. ‘Black sail. I can see the hull now. Big ship.’

  ‘Is that him?’ asked Cato.

  ‘Most likely. There’ll be few ships at sea in winter. Even fewer with pirates out on the prowl.’

  ‘Deck there!’

  Cato and Decimus tilted their heads up towards the masthead. The lookout was pointing to the south. ‘Another sail.’

  Cato felt an icy tingle at the back of his neck. ‘It’s a trap.’

  ‘Calm yourself,’ Decimus smiled. ‘There’s still plenty of time to head back out to sea.’

  ‘Another sail! And another!’ cried the lookout, pointing his arm out over the stern of the bireme.

  Cato nodded in resignation and then forced a smile as he turned back to Decimus. ‘You were saying?’

  The trierarch ignored him, and stretched up on to his toes as he stared out over the swell behind his ship. There, faintly visible on the horizon, were two triangular sails.

  ‘Bloody fine piece of seamanship,’ Decimus growled. ‘They must have been watching us from the east, long before we heaved to last night.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘They’d have been hidden in the dusk while we were silhouetted against the sunset.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘Now?’ The trierarch shrugged. ‘They’ve got us by the balls. Let’s just hope they aren’t planning any treachery. No point in trying to escape. We’ll have to heave to and wait for them to run down to us.’

  The bireme rode out the swell. A small foresail had been set to steady the bows and give just enough forward motion for the steering paddle to bite. Around Cato the deck had been cleared for action and the bireme’s complement of marines were at their stations. The catapult mounted to the foredeck was loaded and the crew were winding back the torsion arms with a steady clank from the locking ratchet. Boarding nets had been rigged and a handful of men armed with bows lined the stern rail. Cato had put on his armour and stood beside Decimus, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He gazed at the four ships steadily closing in on the bireme. Three were not much larger than the bireme, and used a lateen sail of eastern design. They looked sleek and cut easily through the blue-grey rollers sweeping across the sea. Decimus shook his head in despair as the fourth vessel drew close enough for them to make out the details. Even Cato’s unpractised eye was familiar with the silhouette.

  ‘That’s a Roman ship, isn’t it?’

  ‘She was. That’s one of the triremes that went missing.’

  The smaller ships heaved to some distance from the bireme and waited for the fourth ship to close up. The trireme, like the other pirate ships, carried a dark sail, and as they turned on the final tack, tiny figures appeared on the yardarm and hurriedly furled the sail. A moment later the oars were run out and after a brief pause to get the timing right, they dipped down and churned up the sea as the trireme manoeuvred directly towards the Roman ship.

  Decimus glanced at Cato. ‘The moment of truth, I think.’

  ‘Yes.’ Cato’s eyes were fixed on the approaching warship and he wondered if the real reason Vitellius had picked him for this task was the hope that he wouldn’t come back.

  When the trireme was no more than a hundred paces away, it began to turn up into the wind, and the oars stopped moving and were neatly drawn back into the hull. Almost at once, a small skiff was lowered over the side and it bobbed across the gap between the two ships, steering clear of the catapult in the bow of the bireme. It stopped and stood off a short distance from the beam of the Roman ship.

  A tall, thin youth with curly black hair poking out from under a Phrygian cap sat on the aft thwart of the skiff. He cupped a hand to his mouth and called across to the bireme in fluent Greek.

  ‘Is the negotiator on board?’

  Cato moved over to the rail and raised a hand. ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Do you have the money with you?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You will come with us.’ The man called an instruction to his oarsmen and the skiff darted over the water towards the bireme and one of the pirates took a firm hold of the boarding ladder.

  Cato turned to the nearest marine. ‘Go down to the cabin. There’s a chest under my bunk. Bring it here.’

  The marine saluted and hurried over to the hatch coaming that led down to the small cabin in the stern. Cato gripped the side rail and swung himself over, his boots scrabbling for the steps on the boarding ladder.

  ‘Roman!’

  Cato glanced round and saw the man in the skiff wagging a finger at him. ‘No sword!’

  Gripping tightly to the rail with one hand Cato drew his sword and tossed it up on to the deck of the bireme. Decimus eyed him anxiously. ‘Is that wise?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Cato responded bleakly. Then he realised that the trierarch was probably even more nervous than he was. He made himself smile up at Decimus. ‘I’ll have that back when this is over.’

  He looked round, timing the rise and fall of the skiff beneath him, and then dropped down heavily. The little craft rocked from side to side, and for a moment Cato was sure it was going to turn over and pitch them all into the sea. In his armour, he was sure to sink like a stone. But then the young man in the stern grabbed at his shoulder and steadied the centurion.

  ‘Sit down, you fool! Where’s the gold?’

  ‘Coming.’

  A moment later the marine appeared at the side of the bireme and lowered the box in some netting. The pirate stood up, with the instinctive balance of a man who has spent many years at sea. He stretched up his arms to the chest and steered it down into the bottom of the skiff. He dragged it free of the netting, before placing the chest under the thwart in the centre of the boat, then nodded to his oarsmen. The skiff turned and made for the trireme as Cato squatted down, icy sea water sloshing over his boots and breeches. He had thought the motion of the bireme unsettling enough, but now the sea seemed to be almost level with his face and the boat bobbed up and down in a terrifying manner. When they reached the trireme he grasped the rope that was lowered to him as if it was a lifeline and scrambled up the side and on to the broad deck in a most undignified manner. The relative firmness of the deck beneath him went someway towards calming his nerves as Cato rose t
o his feet and stiffened his back. An instant later the chest was heaved up and placed by his feet. The young man from the skiff scrambled up and stood beside Cato.

  ‘Welcome!’ a voice called out from the stern, and Cato turned and saw a man striding towards him. He was tall and broad-chested, with the unmistakable features of a Greek. A gold earring gleamed from each side of his face, which was so terribly scarred that Cato could not help but stare at it. The pirate smiled as he stood before the centurion, and stretched out his hand. Cato had not expected anything resembling a warm welcome and was momentarily thrown off guard. Then he swallowed, and was determined to play the part of a true Roman. He glanced coldly at the outstretched hand and shook his head.

  ‘I regret to say I am under orders not to fraternise with pirates.’

  The Greek stared at him in surprise for an instant and then roared with laughter. ‘I’ve never known such a stiff-necked people! Aren’t you Romans taught any social graces?’

  ‘Of course. We just don’t consort with criminals. I assume you are Telemachus.’

  ‘I am.’ The Greek bowed his head. ‘And this is my lieutenant, Ajax.’

  The young man beside Cato nodded, as Telemachus continued. ‘We’ll have to make this quick, Roman. I have business to attend to.’

  ‘Business? Is that what you call piracy and pillaging?’

  ‘You can call it what you like, Centurion…I didn’t catch the name?’

  ‘I didn’t mention it.’

  Telemachus shrugged. ‘Please yourself. Is this our retainer?’ He tapped the box with the toe of his boot.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Good. Then I have a message for your masters. Tell them that the merchandise is still with me, but that other parties have also demonstrated their interest–in gold. They will be paying their retainer in the next few days.’

  ‘Who are they?’ Cato asked.

  ‘You know I can’t tell you that. They wish to remain anonymous, and alive.’

  ‘The Liberators,’ Cato sneered. ‘Who else could it be?’

  ‘You tell me. It’s not as if the world is short of people who have every cause to hate Rome and all it stands for.’

  ‘How do I know that you’re not bluffing just to drive the price up?’

  ‘You don’t,’ Telemachus grinned. ‘But can your masters afford to call my bluff? Given the nature of the merchandise, I doubt it. Now then, you will tell them that the competition has offered me twenty million sestertians. Your masters have two months to improve on that.’

  Cato struggled to contain his astonishment at such a vast demand. It was a fortune, enough to ransom a kingdom, let alone a king. He stared at Telemachus. ‘When you say the merchandise, you are referring to the scrolls, aren’t you?’

  The pirate chief exchanged a glance with his lieutenant and chuckled. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But no scroll is worth such a sum.’

  Telemachus poked the centurion in the chest. ‘These scrolls are. Believe me.’

  ‘Why?’

  Telemachus stared at Cato with amusement. ‘You have no idea what they are, do you?’

  Cato thought about trying to deceive the pirate chief, and then realised he would be seen through in an instant. ‘No.’

  ‘But you would like to know?’

  Cato stared back at him for a moment, but could no longer deny his curiosity.

  Telemachus nodded before the Roman could reply. ‘I thought so. If I told you what they were…if I told you any detail of what they contain, you would be in mortal danger, Roman. Be content in your ignorance. If you want to survive.’

  He watched Cato closely to make sure the young officer understood the peril, then continued, ‘Now, before you run along, there’s one other message I’d like you to carry back.’ He clicked his fingers and a Nubian came trotting up with a small wicker casket, which he handed to the pirate leader. Telemachus flipped the lid open and tilted it towards Cato. Inside there was a shock of black hair plastered down on to a scalp. ‘May I introduce you to the former governor of the former colony at Lissus? Gaius Manlius, I think his name was. Take this back to Ravenna as a little memento of our meeting. Tell your masters that I will begin to raid more colonies from now on, unless I am paid a tribute of ten million sestertians a year, in gold.’ Telemachus looked at him closely. ‘Can you remember all that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The pirate chief looked a little uncertain. ‘How old are you, boy?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘Why did they send you?’

  ‘I’m expendable.’

  ‘Indeed you are,’ Telemachus replied as he scratched his chin. The rasping noise drew Cato’s eyes and there was a blur of motion and then a curved dagger was at the centurion’s throat. Cato froze, and Telemachus leaned closer, dark eyes narrowing to slits. He spoke softly. ‘I’ll remember you, you arrogant young pup. I could cut your throat right now and send your head back as a companion piece.’ He leered into Cato’s face, and the warm odour of fish sauce filled Cato’s nose. Then the dagger dropped away. ‘As it happens I want to close negotiations reasonably soon and I’m not prepared to wait until you Romans send out an envoy with some manners. If we meet again, I swear I’ll gut you with my own blade. Now, take that.’ He thrust the casket towards Cato. ‘And get off my ship. If you make any attempt to follow us once this meeting is over, we’ll turn on you, sink your ship and kill any survivors. Go.’

  Cato hurried down the side of the trireme and back into the skiff, and the casket, with the lid fastened, was tossed down to him. Cato quickly tucked it under the thwart and tried not to think about what it contained.

  Ajax watched him with an amused expression. ‘You’ve got guts, Roman. There’s not many people who speak to Telemachus in such a manner, and live to tell the tale.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Cato looked at him for a moment before he continued. ‘You can’t have served him for long enough to know the man.’

  A strange smile flickered across Ajax’s face. ‘You’re wrong. I’ve known him all my life. He’s not the dandy you think he is. If you meet again, he will kill you.’

  ‘Not unless I kill him first.’

  The pirate laughed. ‘Roman arrogance. I’ve never known anything like it.’

  As Decimus helped Cato on to the deck the centurion passed the casket to the marine he had sent to fetch the chest. ‘Put this in the cabin, but don’t open it, unless you want to be flogged. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cato crossed the deck to the far rail and threw up.

  ‘What happened over there?’ Decimus asked.

  ‘Don’t ask. Just take the ship back to Ravenna. Get me out of this place.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Prefect Vitellius looked up from Cato’s report. ‘He gave us two months?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Vitellius closed his eyes and thought aloud. ‘That gives us enough time to send a message back to Rome, and for Narcissus to make a decision about his offer, and send us a reply to pass on to Telemachus.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir but do you think it’s likely that the Imperial Secretary will top the opposition’s offer?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He has to. If the scrolls fall into the wrong hands, they could make life very difficult for Rome…’ Vitellius looked up and saw Cato shake his head. ‘You don’t believe me.’

  ‘How can I, sir? I have no idea what’s in these scrolls. It all seems too farfetched.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about it. You’re a soldier, and you must obey orders. That’s all you do. Your superiors can deal with the finer details.’

  Vitellius glanced back at the wax tablets. ‘Now, to this other matter. The tribute he’s demanding for not attacking our colonies. That’s his first big mistake.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Telemachus is getting too greedy. The scrolls are one thing, but this demand for tribute is quite another. There’s no question of us paying it. The Emperor would never stand for it.’r />
  ‘Why not, sir? We already pay off any number of tribes in Germany to keep the peace.’ Cato was struggling to work through the logic of the situation. Rome would pay upwards of twenty million sesterces for some scrolls, yet balk at half that for saving the lives of thousands of her people and dozens of her colonies.

  ‘That’s different. The Germans act as a buffer between the Empire and other barbarians of an even more violent and distasteful disposition. Pirates are different–no more than a gang of thieves and murderers.’

  ‘It would seem they have grown to become more than just a gang, sir.’

  ‘True. But I can tell you now that Claudius will not demean himself by permitting these pirates to run a protection racket. He’ll give orders for them to be found and destroyed, and we’ll not be allowed to rest until that has been carried out.’

  ‘Even at the risk of losing the scrolls, sir?’

  ‘Maybe we can combine the two tasks.’ The prefect rose from his chair and crossed the office to the map. Cato followed him. Vitellius stared at the Illyricum coastline for a moment before he spoke.

  ‘Centurion, where would you position your base if you were Telemachus?’

  Cato concentrated on the detailed map as he collected his thoughts, and then offered an answer. ‘Going on what you’ve let me read of the intelligence reports, it would have to be somewhere off the trade routes, by land and sea. He couldn’t afford to be near any spot where a passing merchant vessel might beach for the night. So that rules out the Liburnian coastline, and there, further to the south, in Macedonia–far too many colonies and ports. At the same time he needs to be sufficiently close to the trade routes to prey on them. Some of his ships carry oarsmen. If he provisions his ships like we do then that gives him an operating radius of five or six days’ sailing at most. That places him somewhere between Flanona and, say, Dyrrachium. Most probably in one of those inlets, or on one of the small islands just off the coast. Could be hundreds of them.’ Cato turned from the map. ‘That’s my best guess, based on the information I’ve seen, sir.’