06 The Eagles Prophecy

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Did we do it? Did we lose them?’

  Albinus shrugged.’Can’t say just yet. Wait a moment.’

  Both men went over to the sternpost and stared intently as the squall receded. There was no sign of the pirate ships, and after a moment the trierarch breathed a deep sigh of relief and nodded his satisfaction. He glanced at Cato with a nervous smile. ‘Looks like we-’

  ‘Deck there. Enemy sail in sight!’

  The trierarch and the centurion stared aft, just as three glistening sails emerged from the grey haze at the rear of the squall, less than a mile off. Cato’s sickness subsided as a current of despair welled up inside him.

  ‘Shit!’ Albinus pounded the sternpost with a clenched fist. ‘The bastards second-guessed us. Whoever’s in command of that lot is a clever little sod and no mistake.’

  ‘We’d better get ready for them,’ Cato suggested, still feeling too sick to assume direct command of the ship. ‘You’d better give the necessary orders. I’ll be better in a moment.’

  Albinus nodded, and turned back to his crew, bellowing out orders for the men to arm themselves and prepare to repel boarders. Cato continued to watch the enemy as they closed on the Spartan, sails close-hauled and straining at every seam. The pirate ships seemed to be closing faster than ever, and Cato realised that they had not taken in any reefs. For an instant he cursed Albinus’ timidity, and wondered why the trierarch had not immediately ordered his men to get aloft again to shake out the reef in the Spartan’s broad mainsail.

  Albinus rejoined him, staring anxiously as the enemy clawed ever closer to their prey. Already the foredecks of the smaller ships were packed with men, their armour and weapons glinting in the sunlight that spread across the sea as the clouds dispersed. The pirates sailed in close formation, and only when they were within extreme catapult range did their plan of attack become apparent. Two of the ships began to ease upwind, to close in on the trireme’s right side, while the third dropped a little to windward, to take her from the left. The defenders would have to split their strength to face both attacks.

  ‘All hands! Stand to!’ Albinus bellowed to the crewmen gathered on the deck. They scrambled for their weapons and snatched up shields and helmets from the lockers behind the foredeck. The section leaders formed their men up on either side of the trireme and Cato knew that there were too few of them to hold the enemy off. If they had been trained and armed as well as the marines then they might have stood a chance. But they were sailors first, and warriors a poor second. Their desperation to survive would be their only advantage in the coming fight.

  Stepping back from the rail, Cato reached for the clasp around his neck and wrenched it free from his sodden cloak, which thudded to the deck. Then he shouted an order to the nearest sailor to fetch his helmet and shield from the trireme’s cabin. He turned to Albinus.

  ‘If anything happens to me, and the Spartan wins through, make sure these dispatches reach Rome.’ He slapped the wet haversack at his side. ‘If it looks like the ship’s lost I’ll take care of them. Either way, they must not fall into enemy hands.’

  ‘I understand. Let’s just make sure it doesn’t come to that.’

  Cato smiled. ‘You can be sure I’ll take as many of them with me as I can.’

  ‘We all will.’ Albinus nodded towards his men. ‘They know there’ll be no mercy.’

  ‘Good.’

  There was nothing more to say, and the trierarch and the centurion stood side by side as the pirate vessels closed in, the shouts and taunts of the men in the bows of the pursuing ships carrying clearly across the waves. The sailor returned with Cato’s helmet and shield. With an eye to the approaching enemy, Cato calmly tied the straps of the helmet and took the shield, shifting his grip until it was most comfortable.

  ‘All right then, let’s make sure they don’t forget the men of the Spartan in a hurry.’

  Even as the words faded on his lips there was a distant splintering crack. Cato looked towards the leading ship,just as its mast shuddered for an instant, and then pitched to windward in a graceful arc, sail and rigging leaping to one side as if plucked by a giant invisible hand. The tangled mess of timber, rope and canvas pitched into the sea, immediately dragging the bows round, directly into the path of the ship surging across the waves behind the leader. It was too late to alter course and the second ship rammed the leader at full speed with a jarring crash that threw the men on both ships to the deck.

  Albinus roared with laughter and slapped Cato on the back. ‘Did you ever see such a sight? Stupid bastards! Oh! Look there!’

  The mast of the second ship wavered a moment and then slid backwards and crashed down on to the men scattered across its deck, eliciting a fresh chorus of cries and screams.

  Albinus’ face was awash with delight at his enemy’s misfortune. ‘That’ll show ‘em.’

  Cato was only just recovering from the stunning reversal of fortune. ‘What happened?’

  ‘What always happens when you have too much sail in too much wind. Snapped their mast clean off!’

  The third ship held its course for a moment longer before its trierarch realised that he could not hope to tackle the trireme alone. He hauled his wind and turned the vessel to go to the aid of his comrades. Albinus rubbed his hands with unrestrained joy.

  ‘Time to finish them off, I think!’

  ‘No.’

  Albinus turned to Cato with a confused expression. ‘Sorry. What was that?’

  ‘Leave them.’

  ‘Leave them? But they’re at our mercy. We just have to turn and run them down. The last one’ll run for it the moment he sees us go about.’ There was a pleading expression in his eyes that Cato could well understand. After the torment of the previous day the chance to exact a crushing revenge would be sweet indeed. Albinus leaned closer and lowered his voice. ‘There’d be no risk, Centurion. I swear . . . I’d bet my life on it.’

  ‘No. We can’t chance it. Our orders are to get back to Ravenna and get reinforcements. I’ll not take any unnecessary risks. Our comrades are counting on us.’ Cato could see that the trierarch was not convinced and he tried another line of thought. ‘Look, supposing we did turn on them and somehow they managed to get men aboard the Spartan. There’s more of them than us. And if we’re lost what becomes of Vitellius and the others?’

  Albinus looked from Cato to the pirate ships, already falling behind, and a look of bitter frustration crossed his features. For an instant Cato was sure that he would have to pull rank on the man. He tensed himself up and drew a deep breath. But before he could speak Albinus turned away from the pirates and called out to his crew.

  ‘Stand down! Stand down!’

  The cries of jubilation and excitement on the main deck died away, and at once a low grumble of discontent rippled through the sailors as they turned to face their trierarch.

  ‘Stand down! Return weapons to lockers and get back to your sailing stations! Now! Section officers! Get your men moving!’

  With a chorus of shouts and rough handling the junior officers dispersed the men, and the off-duty watch was dismissed below, leaving their comrades to stay on deck ready to respond to any new orders.

  Albinus turned to Cato. ‘There. Happy now?’

  Cato stilled his tongue and stared back in silence, until the other man’s gaze faltered, and turned away, over the stern, across the sea to the distant pirate ships slowly rising and falling on the swell.

  ‘Albinus,’ Cato said quietly, ‘we have our orders. Our duty is to carry them out as immediately as we can.’

  ‘I know that, damn you. It’s just that I wanted to see those scum suffer.’

  ‘You will. Not now, but soon enough. Savour that thought.’

  Albinus gave a brief nod and then turned away and strode down the length of his ship in silence, glowering at anyone who dared to cross his path. Cato let out a low sigh of relief, grateful that the man had seen reason in the end. But there would be no restraining him next time, and then the
Gods better show some mercy to the pirates, because Albinus would spare them none in his desire to make them pay for what they had done to his comrades.

  A sudden gust of wind caused Cato to tremble uncontrollably as it cut through his soaked clothing and chilled his flesh to the bone. Then, a dreadful thought struck him and he thrust a hand behind his back and wrenched the haversack round to the front. It was dark with sea water, and his freezing fingers struggled with the straps before at last he could open the flap and peer inside. The scroll with his orders was still in its leather holder and would be dry enough. But the package carrying the report from Vitellius was sodden. As Cato went to lift it out of the haversack, the seal fell off and the wrapping opened a little. Inside he could see the first of the waxed slates that comprised the reports.

  For a moment he was still, as the first temptation to do what he knew he should not flickered across his mind. It would be easy enough. He could wait until they reached Ravenna. Then, as the remaining biremes were loaded with men and supplies, Cato could take the opportunity to read the prefect’s report, and then reseal it before sending it on to Narcissus back in Rome. It would be a simple thing, and then he would know what Vitellius was up to. Maybe there would be something in the text about the scrolls; something to explain why they were worth the lives of so many men. For a moment some voice inside him reminded Cato that it would be a breach of trust for him to read the report. If it was ever discovered that he had pried into an official imperial dispatch there would be dangerous consequences.

  Then he recalled that he was dealing with Vitellius, after all.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Cato muttered to himself, as he refastened the flap. He decided to read the report the moment he reached Ravenna.

  06 The Eagles Prophecy

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The people of Ravenna were angry. A crowd had gathered at the gate to the naval base and men were hurling abuse at the sentries in the tower above the entrance. The gates themselves had been closed and a locking bar lowered into the brackets. There was no point in taking any chances with the mob, Cato decided. They may not like the situation but there was nothing he could do about it, given his orders. Inside the base the marine centurions and the trierarchs of the remaining biremes were working their men at a feverish pace to complete the loading of food and equipment.

  Cato had resolved to return to Illyricum as soon as he could, despite the pleas of the town council. A deputation had been sent to him to demand an explanation for stripping the town of its defenders. Their spokesman, a wasted figure of a man, had been full of the usual haughty arrogance of provincial officials. Cato had listened to Rufius Pollo as he expressed the council’s outrage, then Cato apologised politely and said he was bound by his orders.

  As word spread through the port all the opinionated idlers who hung around the wine shops staggered down to the harbour front to shout colourful insults at the men behind the closed gate. They were joined by children, keen to see what all the fuss was about, and before night fell on the day that the Spartan had sailed into port, the wide thoroughfare between the quay and the warehouses was filled with enraged townspeople.

  ‘Want me to send a century out to disperse them?’ asked Centurion Metellus, standing beside Cato as they peered over the battlements at the mob.

  Cato considered the offer for a moment and then shook his head. ‘No need for that. They’ll disperse soon enough, once they realise they’re wasting their time. No point in provoking any more bad feeling than we already have.’

  ‘Fair enough, sir.’ Metellus tried to hide his disappointment. ‘Still, we’ll need to teach them a lesson one day. Can’t let that rabble think they can get away with it. They’ve been mouthing off at us ever since those pirates first came on the scene.’

  ‘Someone else will have to teach them a lesson,’ Cato said wearily. ‘But not now. Not us. We’re too busy.’

  Metellus shrugged. ‘If you say so, sir.’

  ‘I do.’ Cato turned to his subordinate.’Make sure none of your men does anything to provoke those people. They’re here to guard the gate. That’s all. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ll be in my quarters. If there’s any change in the situation send word to me at once.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ They exchanged a salute and Cato turned away and descended the narrow staircase to the street behind the gate. As he crossed the parade ground he glanced out over the naval harbour. Four biremes were moored bow to stern along the dock, with two more anchored a short way out, waiting for their turn to be loaded. A continuous flow of men moved between the ships and the storehouses, driven on by the harsh shouts of their officers. At this pace the ships would be loaded before nightfall, ready to leave at first light the following day. The northerly wind had reduced to a steady breeze, and if it held then Cato and the reinforcements would reach Vitellius five days after the Spartan had set out from Illyricum.

  There were a few things Cato would have to see to first. His thoughts went back to the prefect’s report, spread out on a table in a locked room at the headquarters building. As soon as he had given his orders to the officers in charge of the garrison, Cato had retreated to Vitellius’ study and opened the unsealed package, taking care to preserve both the linen wrapper and the seal. The message on the tablets had not been damaged by the water, and Cato arranged them in order before he tried to read the report. Unfortunately it made no sense. There were words all right, but they were comprised of meaningless arrangements of letters. A code then. Understandable, given that the message might have fallen into enemy hands before it reached Ravenna.

  As soon as Cato realised he was looking at a coded message he recalled that the agents at the imperial palace preferred to use an Augustan code: the transposition of letters in the alphabet according to an agreed key. Simple, but effective enough to deter those who lacked the intelligence to work out the key. Cato had spent most of the morning experimenting with single value transpositions, with no luck. So the code had to be made up of alternating values, and by mid-afternoon he had discovered the values; four, two and five. With a hastily written copy of the alphabet Cato had already decoded all but the last tablet.

  The prefect’s report began with a shrewd anticipation of the council leader’s protest to Rome. Vitellius explained that he had been obliged to strip the port of its garrison in order to guarantee a swift and overwhelming defeat of the pirates. He provided a brief description of the sea battle, claiming to have driven off the pirates with substantial losses on both sides. Cato had smiled bitterly as he read that part. Vitellius went on to outline his current strength and intentions. That was as far as Cato had got before Metellus had called him to the main gate to see the growing mob gathering outside. Apart from the blatant misrepresentation of the disastrous first encounter with the pirates, and a rather optimistic schedule for future operations, there was nothing remotely sinister in the report so far. And, infuriatingly, no detail about the scrolls for which so much blood had already been shed.

  Now, Cato was eager to return and complete the decoding, before he had to risk a trip into the port to deal with the other pressing matter. He entered the headquarters building and hurried upstairs to the prefect’s suite of offices. Only a handful of clerks were still at their desks, drafting inventories of the supplies being loaded on to the biremes. Cato strode through them, groping for the key in his purse. He fitted it to the lock, turned the key, opened the door and entered. He glanced at the nearest clerk.

  ‘I’m not to be disturbed. Not unless there’s an emergency.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cato closed the door and sat down in the prefect’s finely carved chair. There was still some watered wine in the cup he had poured earlier and Cato took a quick sip before taking up his stylus and starting work on the final tablet. Each letter in the report corresponded to another letter further down the alphabet and as Cato decoded he made a copy of the message on a blank tablet he had taken from the prefect’s st
ationery locker. The gist of the message was becoming quite clear, and Cato felt a chilling sense of fear, which gradually gave way to a desire for revenge. When he reached the end he set his stylus down and read through his copy.

  In conclusion, our forces have achieved a qualified success so far, in no small part due to the diligence with which I have carried out the planning, preparation and execution of the operation. It is therefore, with great regret, that I have to report that an early resolution of the pirate threat and possible recovery of the Sybilline scrolls was compromised by the actions of Centurion Cato during the naval engagement mentioned above.

  At a critical point of the battle, as the enemy flagship was in full retreat and being pursued by the Horus and the trireme squadron, Centurion Cato ordered his ship to break off the pursuit and turn on the lighter enemy vessels engaging our bireme force. A charitable explanation of his action might be that the centurion had gone to aid some of our ships who were in some slight difficulties at the time. However, it is possible that Centurion Cato’s desire for personal glory overrode his obedience to orders. It is also possible that he deliberately chose to close with an enemy of less impressive force than the enemy’s flagship.

  In any event, his ship broke formation, and a number of the other triremes followed his lead.This left me with insufficient forces to close with the pirate commander and I was obliged to break off the pursuit.

  As a consequence of Centurion Cato’s recklessness, the operation will take considerably longer than I had anticipated. I therefore request your permission to have the centurion removed from my command and returned to Rome for disciplinary proceedings. Given the sensitive nature of the mission you asked me, and Centurions Cato and Macro, to complete, I cannot proceed with any certainty of success while encumbered with a man who has neither the experience nor the courage required for the job. It pains me to report to you in these terms, Narcissus, since I know you have some regard for the abilities of the individual in question. Nevertheless, with the stakes being as high as they are I am sure you will understand my grave concerns and give your assent, as speedily as possible, for the removal of this burden, one way or another.