The Eagle's Prophecy

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Whatever Vitellius is up to,’ Vespasian said as he strode along the shore, ‘you can be sure that it has something to do with the scrolls.’

  ‘Do you think he’s gone after them, sir?’ asked Cato.

  ‘Yes. Why else take Ajax? But before we act, we have to be sure of our facts. I want you to go to his tent. You have my authority to enter and search it. Assuming he isn’t there see what you can find and then report to me at the causeway. One other thing…’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘That imperial agent you rescued, Secundus–I’ve spoken to him. He knows his way round the citadel well enough. Find him and bring him with you. Once we get inside the citadel we need to find our way to Telemachus’ headquarters as swiftly as possible. You got all that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Macro, I want you to pick two sections of marines for our assault group. The best you can find. Now both of you go!’

  Vespasian was standing at the head of a dense column of marines when Cato came running from the direction of the camp. The onagers had completed their destruction of the gatehouse and were now concentrating on the walls each side of the breach in order to widen the gap before the assault went in. The troops chosen for the attack watched the bombardment closely, willing the walls to crumble so that the gap they had to advance through was as wide as possible. So they paid little attention to the prefect and the small party of marines gathered behind him with Macro and Secundus. The imperial agent had only limited experience of military service and wore his kit awkwardly. As he leaned on the edge of his shield Secundus rubbed the pommel of his sword in such an agitated manner that Macro had to lean over and still his arm.

  ‘Take it easy.’

  ‘Take it easy?’ Secundus turned to him with a startled expression. ‘When we’re about to charge into that nest of pirates. I’ve seen ’em and I know what they’re like.’

  ‘I’ve seen them too,’ Macro smiled reassuringly. ‘And they die just as well as any other men. Besides, once we get inside that wall, they’ll be too busy running for their lives to give us much trouble. You’ll be safe enough. I guarantee it.’

  Secundus looked at him. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Macro smiled, then pointed over the other man’s shoulder. ‘Here comes Cato.’

  Cato had drawn armour and weapons from stores and had them bundled in his arms as he found the prefect and breathlessly stiffened to attention in front of Vespasian.

  ‘Well, Centurion?’

  ‘He’s not there. But I found this.’ Cato placed his equipment on the ground and reached inside his tunic and pulled out a folded piece of papyrus, with a seal over the fold. ‘It’s addressed to you, sir.’

  Vespasian took the letter, broke the seal and scanned the message. When he finished he refolded the letter and stuffed it inside his breastplate as he spoke quietly to Cato. ‘Seems that Vitellius is trying to win himself some glory. He’s taken Ajax and gone into the citadel to spy on the enemy and recover the scrolls. For the Emperor, naturally.’

  Macro frowned. ‘He’s mad. He’ll never do it. Anyway, I thought he’d been injured, sir.’

  ‘Something of a miraculous recovery, it seems.’ Vespasian smiled quickly before he turned back to Cato. ‘Anyone else see the letter?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. As soon as I said you had authorised the search of his tent his clerk handed me the letter…in front of witnesses.’

  ‘Very neat.’ Vespasian smiled grimly. ‘It seems our old friend is attempting to cover his back once again.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Cato glanced at the citadel. ‘But maybe this time he’s gone too far.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Vitellius has a charmed life. I only hope that we can get to the scrolls before he does.’

  ‘And if he gets there first, sir?’

  ‘Then I hope we get to him before he escapes. Because if we don’t, and Vitellius finds somewhere safe to hide the scrolls, then when we return to Rome he can say anything he likes when he reports to Narcissus. And you can imagine how the Imperial Secretary is going to take it if we return empty-handed.’

  ‘I don’t have to imagine, sir. I know. I’ll be a dead man.’

  ‘In which case, we’d better get moving. Get yourself ready, Centurion.’

  Cato retrieved his equipment and carried it over to where Macro was standing with the assault squad. As his friend helped him with the mail corselet Vespasian ordered the onagers to cease the bombardment. Immediately, a horn sounded the advance and the column of marines rippled forward along the causeway. Ahead of them, the pirates began to scurry out from their shelters and take up position along the remains of the wall either side of the breach. The marines approached the wall in silence, marching at a steady pace. As soon as they were close enough for slingshot the centurions gave the order to raise shields and the men lifted them up, almost to eye level, and stared anxiously at the men waiting for them on the wall.

  The first missiles began to arc up from the citadel, and the steady rattle and thud of their impact slowly increased in intensity as the column tramped further down the causeway. Then there was a distinct crack and both centurions turned to look down the causeway. A dark line streaked towards the marines from one of the pirate catapults that had been quickly manouevred on to a platform behind the wall the moment the Roman bombardment had ceased. The bolt disappeared amongst the marines, a swirl of bodies marking its path through their ranks. But the column did not falter as it continued its advance towards the ruins of the gatehouse.

  Vespasian came striding across to join Macro and the others. He had shed his cloak and carried a shield, and he hefted its weight experimentally.

  ‘Not quite as awkward as a legionary shield, I think.’ He grinned. ‘Ready, Centurion Cato?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Just about.’ Cato fastened his sword belt and made sure that it sat comfortably on his hips with the handle of the sword in an easy position to draw the weapon. Then he jammed on his felt skullcap, lowered the helmet on to his head and fastened the ties. He picked up his shield and drew a deep breath. ‘Ready.’

  Vespasian turned towards the citadel. ‘Let’s go then.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  They set off at a slow trot, equipment jingling and nailed boots crunching underfoot. Vespasian led from the front and kept the pace steady to make sure that they were not tired when they reached the citadel. In any case, the main column of marines still had to fight their way through the breach and Vespasian’s group would have to wait until the wall was cleared before they made their bid for Telemachus’ quarters and the scrolls.

  As they advanced along the causeway Cato looked ahead and saw that the marines had reached the ditch in front of the wall. The column stopped as the first century began to pick their way across the rubble from the gatehouse. Ahead of them, and on either side, the pirates were shooting arrows and slingshot, and hurling rocks and javelins into the packed ranks of the marines. Even as Cato watched, he saw the lead centurion struck down, his red-crested helmet dropping out of sight amid the heaving tangle of armour and limbs trying to scramble across the stone and timber debris filling the ditch. More men went down, but the survivors struggled on, desperate to pass through the hail of missiles and charge into the line of pirates waiting for them beyond.

  The second century was beginning its advance up the rubble slope as Vespasian’s party reached the rear of the column. Vespasian barked an order for the marines to move aside and he led his men closer to the wall. He stopped in the small gap behind the next century waiting to take its turn to advance into the breach. In front of them the second wave of marines was being mauled as badly as the first and the going was made even more difficult by the bodies sprawled across the rubble.

  ‘Look out!’ someone cried to Cato’s right, and he just had time to turn and see another heavy bolt lash into the side of the column, running through a number of marines before it was spent. Cato noticed that the marines around him were grim-faced, s
ome showing clear signs of the fear that knotted their stomachs as they waited their turn to advance. Ahead of them the men of the second century were wavering. Several had already gone to ground and crouched down under their shields, unwilling to go on. The rest had slowed down, instinctively, even though it lessened their chances of surviving, and now began to back away from the breach behind raised shields.

  Vespasian took in the situation at once, and turning his head he bellowed across the ranks of the marines, ‘On my order…general advance!’

  Cato and Macro and every marine in the column tightened their grips on their sword handles and shield grips. Beside him, Cato noticed Secundus was trembling slightly, but the imperial agent had his sword ready and kept his place amongst the prefect’s assault party. This was clearly his first experience of such an action. Cato could remember all too well his first time in action when, as a raw recruit, he had dashed into the heart of a hostile German village at the side of a howling Centurion Macro. He had been in many more fights since then, and yet there was the familiar tightness of his throat, the sickness in the pit of his stomach and a strange giddy euphoria in his head.

  ‘Advance!’ Vespasian bellowed out.

  The column edged forward at a slow pace as the first rank edged up the slope of rubble towards the twenty-foot-wide gap in the wall. Cato, like the men around him, raised his shield at an angle above his head and picked his way forward along the gravel of the causeway. Then the gravel gave way to crushed stone and chunks of rock as he reached the scattered rubble at the edge of the ditch. Cato had to keep his eyes down as he picked his way up the slope. Above them he could hear the jeers and cries of the pirates as they pelted the column with missiles that clattered and thudded on to the attackers’ shields. An arrow struck Cato’s shield boss with a sharp ring and deflected to one side. All around him he could hear the grunts of the marines as they laboured up the slope, boots scrambling for purchase on the loose masonry. But the pirates were finding their targets, and men stumbled and fell with gasps and cries of pain. Together with the dead and the litter of arrow and javelin shafts, they slowed the advance of their comrades as they struggled up and forward into the breach.

  ‘Keep going!’ Vespasian yelled above the din. ‘Keep going!’

  ‘Come on, Cato!’ Macro shouted, a few paces ahead. ‘Stay with us.’

  Cato forced himself on, sheathing his sword to save a hand for clambering over the rubble. Then the ground evened out. Raising his shield to one side he found himself squinting up at the dusty silhouettes of men on the crumbling wall, black against the pale dawn sky. At once something zipped through the air close to his head as a slingshot splintered a chunk of masonry and a fragment gashed Cato’s cheek, just below the eye socket.

  ‘Shit!’ He faltered at the red-hot burning sensation, but knew at once that he must not stop, and scrambled on, over the debris and down into the citadel. Below them, through the heaving tangle of armoured bodies and shields, he could see the pirates waiting for them. The marines had passed through the deluge of missiles and now lowered their shields to the front as they scrambled and slid down the rubble towards the enemy. Beyond the ruined gatehouse was a wide street, and the pirates had blocked off the routes leading into the citadel with a crude breastwork constructed from rubble, barrels and piles of furniture. The entrances to the buildings had been sealed with stout timbers nailed across the doorways. A handful of marines already lay dead and injured in front of the barricades; the few men from the first two centuries to survive the ordeal as they passed through the breach.

  ‘Re-form lines!’ the prefect bellowed. At once, the centurions and the optios relayed the orders and the marines moved into place, forming tight ranks with shields to the front, and javelins held ready.

  ‘Those men on the wall!’ Vespasian pointed up to the pirates crammed on to the ramparts either side of the breach. ‘Take them down!’

  The marines inside the citadel turned on the pirates above them, drew back their javelin arms and unleashed a volley of iron-tipped shafts. The pirates had been tightly packed together, and there was no time to turn and flee. Scores went down, pierced by the javelins, and they tumbled from the walls. With the danger from above lifted the column of marines poured forwards through the breach. Before they could pile into the ranks of the men already inside, Vespasian shouted the order to advance and the marines moved steadily towards the enemy sheltering behind their barricade. Those marines who still had javelins now hurled them into the dense ranks of the pirates packed into the streets beyond the barricades, then drew their swords and gripped them firmly, ready to strike.

  Cato and Macro were standing to one side, with the rest of the prefect’s assault squad and Vespasian forced his way through the advancing marines to rejoin them.

  ‘Secundus! Which way?’

  The imperial agent glanced round the square and pointed towards a narrow thoroughfare to the right-hand side of the square. ‘There.’

  Vespasian nodded. ‘Right! Macro, Cato, take some men and clear that barricade.’

  The two centurions trotted over to the century of marines that had just entered the citadel. Their optio, a weathered-looking veteran, was busy dressing their line, as if he was on a parade ground, and shouting abuse at a hapless youngster. ‘You are a fucking disgrace! Get that chin-strap tied before I throw you to the bloody pirates!’

  ‘Optio!’ Macro called out.

  The officer turned and straightened to attention, barely stirring as an arrow loosed from behind one of the barricades whipped close overhead. ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘I need four sections, right now. Form them up in front of that barricade over there.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ The optio turned away and shouted out a string of orders to the nearest group of men scrambling through the breach. Macro and Cato looked towards the barricade, shields raised, and inspected the enemy defences.

  ‘How are we going to do this?’ asked Cato.

  ‘Same as ever, straight through the centre and roll right over them.’

  ‘Ah, the master of tactics speaks.’

  ‘Got a better idea, smart-arse?’

  ‘No…’

  With a loud clatter of nailed boots on cobbles the optio brought up his men and formed them into a tight block, shields raised and ready to go into action. Beyond them Cato could see the rest of the marines piling into the enemy barricades; a heaving mass of armoured men and weapons, while stones and lumps of wood flew overhead in both directions as the rearmost ranks of pirates and marines exchanged shots.

  Macro waited until the formation was still, and then waved his sword arm aloft to get their attention above the din of battle echoing off the buildings in the square.

  ‘We need to clear that barricade. Go in hard! When they break go after them. No prisoners. Once that’s done, you’re free to help yourselves to the loot!’

  The marines raised a cheer for that and then braced themselves for the next order.

  ‘Forward!’ Macro yelled, and he and Cato slipped into the front rank as the small formation tramped towards the barricade.

  The pirates watched them come on with a mix of expressions. Cato noted that some men looked cold and contemptuous, some were wild-eyed and shouting and spitting with pent-up rage. A few looked just as terrified as he felt.

  ‘Shields up!’ Macro shouted, and Cato just had time to raise his when a hail of stones cracked and rattled off the shields in the front rank. But they could do little harm against the wide curved surfaces of the marines’ shields, and the formation did not even slow down under the barrage. Macro called them to a halt as they reached the barricade and the stones gave way to thrusts from spears and slashes from the heavy curved blades of the pirates’ swords.

  ‘Cato! Give me a hand here.’

  Macro pointed down at the base of the barricade. There was a large tool chest. A heavy brass handle protruded from the front of the chest and Macro sheathed his sword and grasped it. Cato too put his sword away and join
ed his friend.

  ‘Ready?’ Macro glanced at him. ‘One…two…heave!’

  They pulled with all their strength and the wood grated on the cobbles as it began to shift.

  ‘Come on!’ Macro growled through clenched teeth. ‘Pull!’

  The handle suddenly sprang from the face of the wooden chest, nearly sending the two centurions sprawling on their backs. Macro recovered his balance and swore as he saw, round the edge of his shield, that a large section on the front of the chest had come away with the handle. He clenched his fist in momentary frustration and was about to look for another handhold to try, when there was a groan of protest and the lid gave way, collapsing into the chest and bringing down a section of the makeshift barricade with it.

  ‘That’s it!’ Macro shouted in triumph. ‘Now clear it away and let’s get at those bastards!’

  The pirates desperately aimed blows at the Romans, but with little effect as the second rank of marines leaned forward to cover their comrades with their shields, Macro and Cato pulled away pieces of the barricade and thrust them towards the side where marines threw the wreckage back into the square. In short order, the barricade was little more than a ruin between the two sides and Macro straightened up.

  ‘Advance!’ he shouted, ripping his sword from his scabbard and stepping up on to the meal bags piled behind the chest. Cato drew his weapon and clambered up beside his friend. In front of them was a sea of hostile faces and shimmering blades. Cato threw his weight behind his shield and jumped to one side, right on top of some of the waiting enemy. He landed on a short, thick-set man stripped to the waist, his skin gleaming with oil that mixed with his sweat to create a foul musty smell that filled Cato’s nostrils for an instant before the pirate collapsed under the impact and Cato thrust his sword into the man’s stomach. Before the pirates could respond, more marines piled through the gap and jumped down amongst the pirates, smashing their shields into the enemies’ faces and thrusting at any exposed flesh that came within reach of their short swords. Even though the pirates tried desperately to hold their ground they were no match for the weight and momentum of the heavily armed marines. Step by step they were driven back from the barricade and up the narrow street beyond. Cato found himself alongside Macro again and the veteran flashed him a grin.