The Eagles Prophecy c-6

by Simon Scarrow

  'Yes, sir.' Macro exchanged a glance with Cato, then turned and marched out of the office, closing the door behind him.

  For a moment Vitellius gazed at the map, and then turned to Cato. 'Let's take a seat.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  They crossed the room back to the prefect's desk and Cato pulled up a chair, wincing slightly as the iron feet grated across the mosaic tiles. He had no idea why he had been kept back by Vitellius and was afraid, because he knew what the scheming aristocrat was capable of.

  Vitellius was a good reader of men's expressions and appraised the young centurion with cold eyes.'I don't mind that you hate me so much, Centurion. I can understand your reasons. But you must accept that I am out of your league. You raise one hand towards me and I'll have you crushed under foot like a cockroach. It would be a shame to have you killed, since you have much to offer in the service of Rome. But I must look to my own interests first, and I have to be sure that I can rely on you and that you pose me no threat.'

  Cato shrugged.

  'Very well, then I propose a truce between us, for the duration of this matter. For both our sakes. There's already enough danger to be faced out there without needlessly adding to our perils. You understand?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Good. Feel free to hate me again the moment we have found those scrolls.'

  Cato shook his head. 'I'll always hate you, and despise you, sir. But I can endure that without it affecting my duties, for a while at least.'

  Vitellius stared at him, and gave the slightest of nods. 'That will have to do, then… Now, there's one other matter to deal with. I need you for something that might be quite dangerous.'

  'How convenient, sir.'

  'Useful rather than convenient. Telemachus' message ended with a demand that we make a payment up front to keep us in the negotiations for these scrolls."A token of our commitment", as he puts it. So, you will meet him, assure him that we're still keen and give him the gold he's demanded.'

  'Why me?'

  'Because it's important that one of us can identify Telemachus by sight. When the time comes to put that bastard in his place, I want to be sure we have the right man. He may be the only one who knows where the scrolls are being kept.'

  'Why send me alone? Surely it would be useful if Centurion Macro was there as well?'

  Vitellius smiled. 'Your friend Macro has many admirable qualities, but diplomacy is not one of them. I dare not send him with you. This job requires more subtle skills. And you're young enough to make our man feel he's dealing with someone lacking in experience and guile. That should put him at his ease.'

  'Where will this meeting take place, sir?'

  'At sea, like last time. He needs to be sure that it isn't a trap. You'll take one of the scout craft. Anything bigger might scare him off.'

  'Anything smaller might put us at risk.'

  'Well, that's a chance I'm prepared to let you take.'

  'Thank you, sir.'

  'You're to meet him ten miles off the cape at Mortepontum shortly after sunrise so he can be sure that you're alone and that he can escape if you're not.'

  'He's a cautious man, sir.'

  'He has to be. You know the saying: there are old pirates and bold pirates but no old bold pirates.'

  Cato nodded thoughtfully and looked Vitellius in the eye. 'You know, sir, this Telemachus sounds like the kind of man you could learn from.'

  'Thanks for the advice, Centurion. But I think I'll cope well enough on my own. Now, I'm sure there's at least one more question you'd like to ask.'

  'When is this meeting?'

  'In two days' time. You're leaving tonight.'

  06 The Eagles Prophecy

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The bireme heaved to before the first hint of dawn. It wallowed in a heavy swell that rose under the stern, lifted it up and then let it fall back with a sickening swoop. Cato leaned on the stern rail, head pitched forward, and vomited into the dark oily abyss below. It had been bad enough while he had been able to see the horizon as a reference point to steady his sense of balance, but as darkness had closed round the small ship the chaotic and nauseous movement under his feet had increased his misery tenfold. All night he had been at the rail, head swimming, with regular bouts of retching that felt as if the pit of his stomach was being ripped up and wrenched out of his throat.

  Cato was glad that Macro had been ordered to stay at Ravenna. Macro's cast-iron constitution took sea travel in its stride with the same blithe confidence and comfort as every other mode of transport. No doubt Macro would have found the chilly sea breeze 'bracing' or some equally annoying sentiment.

  When his friend had heard about the meeting Cato had been roundly accused of keeping secrets. At the time Cato had been secretly flattered to be chosen for this duty; now he would have paid any price to swap places with Macro.

  'Any better?'

  Cato turned from the rail and saw Decimus, the bireme's trierarch, emerge from the darkness. Cato shook his head.

  'I thought you were one of the new centurions appointed to the marines?'

  'That's me.'

  'Well, I hate to be rude, or anything, but you're not exactly taking to the vocation.'

  'I hate the sea.'

  'I assume you're a landsman.'

  'Yes…' A fresh wave of nausea gripped his body and Cato lurched back to the rail and retched until the attack passed, then wiped the stringy spittle from his lips before turning back to Decimus. 'I was transferred from the legions.'

  'Transferred? I see…' Decimus nodded, tactfully avoiding asking the reason for what was in effect a demotion. 'Can't be doing with all that marching and civil engineering nonsense. Give me a simple life on the sea any day.'

  Cato stared at him, thinking that he'd rather build an aqueduct all by himself than spend another moment on the ship.

  Decimus leaned on the rail next to Cato, upwind, and sniffed the air. 'Fresh and salty. We're in for a good day. Bit choppy, but no chance of a storm.'

  'Choppy…' Cato swallowed and tensed his jaw. 'Where are we?'

  'Some miles from the Cape. I gave the order to heave to so that we don't get too close in the dark.'

  'Why not?'

  'Why not?' Decimus laughed. 'You've never seen the Cape before?'

  'I've never seen many things before. Your bloody Cape Mortepontum amongst them.'

  'How do you think it got the name? "The Bridge of Death" – bit of a giveaway, don't you think?'

  Cato glanced round. 'Dangerous then?'

  'More ships are wrecked on the Cape than anywhere else along this entire coastline.'

  'How so?'

  'When the sun rises and we get closer, then I think you'll understand why I give it a wide berth. Now, if you'll excuse me I'll see to my men. They need to be fed and at their stations before first light.'

  'Expecting trouble?'

  'Are you serious?' Decimus shook his head in wonder. 'You've not had dealings with pirates before?'

  'No.'

  'They're as trustworthy as a shark in a sausage factory. And twice as dangerous.'

  Cato raised his eyebrows. 'Colourful. But not entirely coherent.'

  'What?' Decimus frowned.

  'The analogy doesn't work. The shark is not a land creature.'

  Decimus shrugged. 'You obviously haven't met my banker.'

  As the first hint of dawn spread along the eastern horizon Cato could just make out the pale shadow of the mountainous coastline.

  Decimus pointed out a darker patch. 'That's the Cape. We'll move close in.'

  He turned to face the bows and cupped his hands to his mouth. 'Raise the sail! Put a reef in her!'

  Several sailors clambered up the rigging and swung out along the yardarm, bare feet pressing down on the toe-line as they shuffled along. When every man was in place the mate called out an order and the sailors undid the ties and began to unfurl the sail. Its billowing expanse slowly filled up and became taut as more sailors on deck hauled the mai
nsheets in and fastened them to the stout wooden cleats on the ship's side rails. When the rectangular sail had been let out as far as the first reefing lines, the sailors on the yard tied it down and returned to the deck. The motion of the bireme began to settle as it got under way and Cato could hear the rush and hiss of the sea sliding along the waterline.

  '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 to 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.