He glanced round, and his eyes fell on Cato, warming his thin frame close by the fire. It might be wise to keep that one as distanced from the real project of this operation as possible, the prefect considered. Vitellius needed to claim all the credit available for retrieving the scrolls. Besides, there might be other opportunities to exploit in this situation, and he didn’t want another agent of Narcissus looking over his shoulder. There was Centurion Macro as well, of course, but Vitellius did not consider the older officer as much of a threat. Macro was too guileless for his own good. It might be as well to keep the two separated. Cato would be the one to return to Ravenna, then.
‘Centurion Cato!’
Cato stiffened his back. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘At first light, you and Albinus will take the Spartan back to Ravenna. Her complement of marines will remain here to give you more space on board for the return trip. You’ll bring back the rest of the fleet, with the marines and replacement supplies. I’ll have my clerk draft your authority to act in my name.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Gentlemen! That is all. Centurion Macro is taking the first watch. The rest of you can turn in until your watch is called. Dismissed!’
As the officers rose stiffly around the fire and trudged off towards the campfires of their units, Cato remained behind. He nodded towards Macro and the latter reluctantly joined his friend as they approached the prefect.
‘What do you want?’ Vitellius snapped. ‘Make it quick. I’m tired.’
Macro nodded. ‘I expect every man in the fleet is tired, sir.’
Vitellius ignored him, focusing on Cato alone. ‘What do you want?’
‘Why are you sending me back for reinforcements? Surely I’d be more use to you here, sir? Given our orders from Narcissus.’
‘I have to write a dispatch to the Imperial Secretary,’ Vitellius explained flatly. ‘I have to report on what’s happened. Narcissus will want to know the situation. I need you to make sure it reaches Ravenna and gets sent on to Rome.’
‘Why me?’
‘You I can trust. Those others,’ Vitellius gestured towards the officers dispersing into the night, ‘might not be so loyal to the Emperor. I have to be sure that the message gets through to Narcissus. That’s why it has to be you. As for Macro here, well, I need all my best officers ready for anything that bastard Telemachus decides to throw at us.’
Cato stared at the prefect with cold, bitter eyes. Then he saluted.
‘May I go now, sir?’
‘Of course,’ Vitellius did not return the salute, but nodded in the direction of the tent lines of Cato’s century.’You’re not needed at the moment. Get some sleep. I’ll have the report ready for you before first light, when the Spartan sets sail.’ He turned to Macro. ‘You’d better join your men on watch.’
As the two centurions picked their way through the camp, Cato glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were out of earshot.
‘While I’m gone, watch yourself.’
Macro frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t trust him.’
‘What’s new? No man in his right mind would trust that bastard. What do you think he’s up to?’
Cato shook his head. ‘I don’t know. He’s splitting us up, for some reason. All we can be sure of is it’s nothing to do with getting this message through. So just watch yourself, you hear?’
Macro nodded. ‘You sound just like my mother!’
Cato glanced at him.’While I’m in Ravenna, want me to look in on your mother for you?’
As soon as he had said it Cato wished he had kept his foolish mouth shut. Memories of his calamitous encounter at the Dancing Dolphin flooded back.
‘No. Leave it,’ Macro said quietly. ‘Don’t mention her again.’
They walked in silence for a moment, then Cato changed the subject.’We’d better find this traitor soon. Before he gets another chance to sell us out.’
Macro nodded. ‘But he could be anyone.’
‘He could be,’ Cato agreed.’But then again, he’d have to have some way of getting in touch with the pirates. That narrows things down.’
Macro smiled. He could almost hear Cato thinking. ‘Anyone in mind?’
‘I’m not sure. Not yet. But I have an idea where to start looking.’
06 The Eagles Prophecy
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘Your orders.’ Prefect Vitellius held out a sealed parchment to Cato as they stood on the shore. A boat was waiting to take Cato out to the Spartan, lying at anchor a short distance out to sea. The trireme was barely more than an outline as the first light of the new day filtered over the mountain peaks. ‘I’ve empowered you to act in my name when you get to Ravenna. Don’t hesitate to take what we need. If any of the locals try to hinder you, you must act ruthlessly. Extreme circumstances call for extreme actions, understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good.’ Vitellius lowered his voice as he held out a small sealed package to Cato. ‘This is the report. Make sure it’s sent on to Rome as soon as you land.’
Cato took the package and tucked it into his haversack.
‘Right, then. That’s all, I think.’ Vitellius nodded to himself. ‘I’ll see you in a few days, with the reinforcements. You’re to rejoin us at the earliest possible opportunity. I’ll hold you accountable for any unwarranted delay.’
Cato returned his look with cold disdain. ‘I understand, sir.’
‘Just as long as you do, Centurion. It would be a shame to have to end our long-standing antipathy. But I’m sure I’d find fresh enemies before long.’
A thin smile flickered across Cato’s lips. ‘I don’t doubt it, sir.’
Vitellius stared at him for a moment and then turned away and strode off. Macro approached Cato as soon as the prefect had disappeared amongst the tents. He extended his hand and the two officers clasped each other on the forearm.
‘Safe journey,’ Macro grinned. ‘With our recent experiences of life at sea, you’ll need all the luck you can get.’
‘Don’t I know it.’ Cato smiled back. ‘Macro, if we ever live through this mess you have my permission to kick my lights out if I ever so much as look at a ship with a fond expression.’
‘You can count on it.’
Cato smiled. In a world determined by the whim of the fates it was reassuring to know that he could rely on Macro’s steadiness. Cato patted his friend on the shoulder and turned towards the waiting boat. He clambered over the transom and the sailors ran the boat out into the gentle surf that rolled and hissed up the shingle. Once through the surf they climbed aboard, took up their oars and rowed Cato out towards the looming hulk of the Spartan. Cato turned his head back for one last glimpse of his friend and saw Macro lift his hand, and turn away, marching back amongst the tents crowded between the beach and the dark line of the rampart.
As the sun rose over the mountains the trireme cleared the bay and set her elegant bows into the open waters beyond. The sky was overcast and the sea was a steely grey with a heavy swell. A stiff breeze was blowing off the coast and the crew had sheeted the mainsail in tightly at an angle across the deck to make the most of the favourable wind. As he stood on the aft deck Cato noted that there was a tenseness amongst the sailors, and they gazed round at the horizon as if expecting a host of pirate ships to come tearing down on them the moment they ventured beyond the safety of the rest of the Roman fleet and clawed their way out to sea. He turned and paced slowly over to Albinus. The trierarch looked as anxious as his men and Cato tried to affect the same fearless calm he had seen so often in Macro.
‘Reckon they’re still out there?’
Albinus nodded. ‘Bound to be. They’ll have left a few at sea to keep an eye on us.’
‘Any danger?’
Albinus looked at him. ‘At sea, there’s always a danger. From them, from the Gods and from the elements.’
Cato smiled faintly. ‘I meant the enemy.’
‘I kno
w you did. But with this heavy sea we should make better going of it than they will.’ Albinus glanced up at the grey clouds overhead. ‘I’d be more concerned about the weather. Looks like we’re in for a bit of a blow.’
‘Bit of a blow?’ Cato raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds like some kind of nautical euphemism, if ever I heard one.’
It was Albinus’ turn to smile.’All right, then. We’re in for a storm. High winds, heavy seas. Bloody horrible all round.’
‘I think I preferred “bit of a blow” after all.’ Cato glanced over his shoulder at the coastline of Illyricum, and saw that the entrance to the bay had already disappeared over the horizon and only the serrated line of mountains was still in sight.
‘Sail ho!’
All across the deck, heads tilted up to the masthead, noted the direction of the lookout’s arm and then turned towards the direction he indicated.
‘Two . . . no, three sails.’
Albinus cupped his hands and shouted up, ‘What’s their heading?’
After a short pause the lookout made his reply, with a weary fatalism that was evident to all on deck. ‘Closing to intercept us, sir! I can make ‘em out more clearly now. It’s them pirates again.’
‘Very well. Call down the moment they make any course changes!’
Trierarch Albinus dropped his hands to his side, and clenched them tightly before he thrust them behind his back where they would not betray his state of mind to anyone but Cato and the steersman.
‘Three of them,’ Cato mused. ‘Enough to take us on?’
‘More than enough, if they’re handled well. They’ve got the wind gauge, and they’ll try and close in on us at an angle.’
‘Can’t we outrun them?’
Albinus pursed his lips as he calculated the relative speeds of his ship and those of the pirates. ‘Not unless the weather worsens. Otherwise they’ll catch us before noon. They’ve the edge in terms of speed and numbers. But they’ll have to board us. It’s too dangerous to try and ram anyone in these conditions. Besides, the Spartan’s a tough ship. She’s got firm sides; made from well-seasoned wood.’ The trierarch nodded to himself with pride. ‘They’ll not hole us.’
There was a degree of certainty in his voice that went beyond mere bravado, and Cato was slightly reassured. He crossed back to the other side of the deck and, with the rest of the crew, kept an eye out for the first sign of the pirates’ sails on the horizon.
Less than an hour later he saw them, three tiny dark triangles, pitching in and out of sight as the trireme rose up on the crest of each wave, then disappearing as the warship surged down into the trough.
Albinus kept an anxious watch on the enemy’s progress, and as soon as they had closed enough that their sails were always in view he called out to his crew,’Hands aloft! Shake out the last two reefs!’
Some of the crew glanced at him doubtfully before they threw themselves on to the rigging and scrambled up towards the peak where the main yard hung across the deck. They quickly inched themselves out along its length and bent over to work the reefing knots loose. The sail, already taut as a drum, wrenched the heavy leather from their grip with a rippling crack and then, as the loosened sail flapped in the wind, the crew hauled in the sheets and tied them off on the deck cleats. Under the additional pressure the trireme heeled further over to windward and Cato gripped the rail as he glanced down into the foaming sea racing past a scant few feet below the side of the ship, almost submerging the oar ports. The increase in speed was immediately apparent and as Cato watched the pirates’ sails for a short while he was sure that the Spartan was slowly drawing ahead of them. He moved up the canted deck towards the trierarch, blinking away the salty spray that stung his face as the bows crashed through a wave.
‘Isn’t this a bit risky?’
Albinus patted the side rail. ‘She can take it. Unless the wind gets any stronger. Then we’ll have to take those reefs back in, if we don’t want to lose the mast.’
‘Oh.’ Cato looked forward and saw that every rope was taut and vibrating under the strain of the mainsail, every scrap of it exposed to the northerly wind. Then he glanced back at the pirate ships and slapped a hand down on the side rail with a cry of triumph.
‘We’re drawing ahead of them!’
Albinus nodded. ‘Yes. But two can play at that game. Look!’
He pointed towards the pirate ships and Cato could see tiny figures swarming aloft to take the reefs out of their sails. Shortly afterwards the enemy was slowly gaining ground on them once again.
Cato turned to Albinus. ‘What now?’
‘We’ll have to make a run for it. Head down wind and hope that we’ve got the more weatherly ship.’
He turned to the steersman. ‘Take her before the wind.’
‘Aye, sir.’
As the trireme’s bow started to swing away from the pirates Albinus shouted orders to his crew and the mainsail sheets were cast off until the wind came from directly behind the ship. Then they strained to haul the sheets in tight and cleat them home. Sailing downwind, the wind passing over the decks moderated and Cato felt a wash of pure exhilaration as the trireme coursed down one wave and climbed the next. For the first time he could sense something of the attraction that the sea held for men like Albinus and his crew. Then he glanced aft and saw that the pirate ships had changed course and were now directly behind the Spartan, barely a mile off. Cato’s hand unconsciously went for the pommel of his sword.
‘How much longer before they catch us up?’
Albinus squinted at their pursuers for a moment. ‘Four hours, if we’re lucky. Before nightfall, at any rate.’
As the chase continued across the white-capped expanse of grey sea the wind steadily increased in strength and the rigging of the trireme fairly hummed under the strain. Albinus went forward and rested his hand on the mainsheets, and anxiously stared up at the taut seams of the sail. Yet when he returned to the aft deck and glanced at the pirates it was clear that they were steadily closing, and that there was no chance of taking in a reef. Behind the pirates a grey film had closed in over the horizon and the sky above it was a filthy dark grey.
‘What’s that?’ Cato pointed. ‘A storm?’
‘Squall, more likely. Rain and wind, that’s all. Still . . .’ The trierarch’s expression suddenly tightened in firm concentration. He gauged the distance between the Spartan and the pirates before fixing his eyes beyond the three vessels, staring into the fast-approaching gloom. Then he turned and grinned at Cato. ‘We might be in luck. As soon as that squall closes round us, I’ll alter course. We might lose our friends, or at least gain enough distance to see us into the night, and try and lose them then.’
The veil of rain swept across the sea towards the pirates, suddenly swallowing them up and hiding them from the sight of those aboard the trireme. The crew stood to the mainsheets and braces, ready to move swiftly as soon as the trierarch gave the command. Just before the grey haze was upon them Cato sensed a freshening of the wind and it veered wildly, causing the mainsail to flap and boom for a moment before the wind direction steadied with a low keening moan through the rigging. The rain struck with almost no warning, and glinting shafts thundered down on the deck and exploded in a shimmering carpet of spray about the crew’s feet. Cato hunched down inside his cape, holding the hood over his head with his spare hand as he clutched the side rail.
‘Loose sheets!’ Albinus roared out close by, his voice straining to be heard above the sudden din of the squall. ‘Steersman! Bring her about!’
The trireme lurched round, heading for the Italian coast once more. The mainsail flapped and thundered like some vast bird.
‘Hands aloft! Take in a reef!’
Cato watched anxiously as the sailors climbed the rigging, and inched their way along the yardarm. Below them the deck rolled from side to side, threatening to pitch the sailors into the raging sea. When all the men were in position along the yard the trierarch shouted an order and they began to draw the sail
in, until the first reefing tie was within reach. They hauled the ties in and hurriedly fastened them around the yard before making their way back to the mast and clambering down the rigging, chests heaving with the exertion and excitement of the moment.
‘Well done, lads! Now sheet her home and let’s get as far from those bastards as we can!’
With the wind across her aft quarter the trireme pitched and rolled at a sickening angle as she clawed her way through the squall. Cato’s stomach began to churn. He lurched towards the side rail.
‘Not that side!’ Albinus yelled, thrusting an arm out towards the far side of the ship. ‘Downwind!’
Cato pivoted round, clamped a hand over his mouth and half ran, half slid, down to the left-hand side of the ship and vomited over the rail. There seemed to be no end of it, and for an age he stood, hunched over the side rail, gripping the rough wooden surface as tightly as he could, racked by bouts of sickness that wrenched his body right down to the very pit of his stomach. All the time the rain lashed down, drenching his cloak and the tunic beneath, finally fetching up cold and clammy against his shivering skin.
After a while, he noticed that the air about him seemed brighter, and the torrential pounding of the rain on his shoulders began to subside. Cato raised his head and glanced round, just as the grey shroud of the squall began to pass, and then it was gone, just as suddenly as it had fallen upon them. The hiss of the rain subsided and then it was beyond earshot as the squall raced away to the south. After the savage intensity of the howling wind and rain, it seemed unnaturally quiet as the trireme surged across the rolling sea. A shaft of sunlight pierced the overcast, falling across the patch of sea the Spartan was traversing, and the water dripping from the rigging gleamed like diamonds. Cato wiped the acrid spittle from the corner of his mouth and turned towards Albinus.
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