06 The Eagles Prophecy

by Simon Scarrow

  06 The Eagles Prophecy

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ‘What’s that?’ Macro pointed up at the mountain. Beside him, on the foredeck of the liburnian, one of the seamen shaded his eyes and squinted for an instant before he replied.

  ‘A pennant, I think, sir.’

  ‘What colour?’ Macro snapped. ‘Quickly, man!’

  ‘I . . . I can’t quite make it out, sir. Seems dark. Might be blue . . . or black.’

  Macro turned round and cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Get the prisoner up here!’

  As the word was passed for Ajax to be brought up on to the deck, Decimus came forward and joined Macro. None of the men on deck wore the uniform or carried the equipment of the imperial navy. Instead they were kitted out from the clothes and weapons taken from the two captured liburnians. Decimus sported a fine silk turban and bright yellow tunic. Macro, true to his nature, had gone for a dour brown cloak and leather breeches, and he shook his head at the extravagant costume of the ship’s trierarch as Decimus climbed up on to the small foredeck. Both men stared up at the tiny shadow flickering against the light of the sun rising behind the mountain.

  ‘He saw our signal then,’ said Decimus.

  ‘Someone did,’ Macro replied quietly. ‘There’s no way of knowing if it’s Cato up there or someone else.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Macro scratched his stubbly chin. ‘I’m not sure. If it’s Cato, then how could he know the correct response? He might have had to run for it after all. That means the lookout post is back in their hands.’

  There was a commotion behind them and the two officers turned to see Ajax being unceremoniously bundled out of the hatch on to the deck. Two marines wrenched him on to his feet and dragged him forward. Below the coaming of the hatch Macro could see the glint of armour from the marines packed below decks and out of sight. As the deck of the liburnian pitched up on the crest of a wave and then swooped down the far side Macro realised how uncomfortable it must be for the marines. But there was nothing he could do about it. They must remain out of sight until the very last moment if the prefect’s plan was going to succeed.

  The marines pulled Ajax up in front of the two officers, pinning his arms behind his back. He looked at them defiantly and Macro shook his head and sighed. ‘Good try, sunshine, but it won’t work with me. I saw them break you. So drop the act.’

  ‘Fuck you, Roman!’ Ajax tried to spit in Macro’s face, but his mouth was so dry with fear that he just made a sharp blowing sound.

  ‘Nice manners,’ said Decimus, raising his fist. ‘Think I should teach him some new ones?’

  The young man’s eyes flashed anxiously to the trierarch and Macro let him suffer a moment’s anxiety before he shook his head.

  ‘No. Leave him. He can catch up on his suffering a little later. Right now I need him in good condition.’

  ‘Shame,’ Decimus muttered as he turned back towards the inlet opening up in front of them, and stretching back into the mountains. They had memorised the location of the bay from Cato’s map and Decimus scanned the base of the most distant mountain for first sight of the citadel.

  ‘Relax,’ said Macro. ‘We won’t be able to see it for some time yet.’

  He turned to the prisoner and pointed up towards the lookout station. ‘See there? That pennant. We made the signal you told us about, and they’ve come back with that. What does it mean?’

  Ajax glanced up, staring hard. He swallowed nervously before he turned his eyes back to Macro, and smiled.’It’s too late, Roman. That’s the black pennant. It’s a warning. They know you’re coming. My father will be gone long before you reach the bay.’

  Macro did not reply. He did not react at all, but just stared at the young pirate and tried to decide if the man was telling him the truth. To one side he was aware that Decimus was shifting uneasily.

  ‘He’s right. It is black. Or as good as . . . Macro?’

  ‘Quiet.’

  ‘It’s black. They’re on to us.’

  ‘So he says …’

  ‘I’ll give the order to turn about.’

  It was at that moment that Macro saw the swiftest look of triumph and relief flash across the prisoner’s face and he knew that Ajax was lying to him.

  ‘Hold your course, Decimus.’

  ‘But you heard him.’

  ‘Hold your course. That’s an order. He’s lying. The signal must mean we’ve fooled them.’

  Decimus opened his mouth to protest, but years of hard discipline bore fruit and he saluted instead. ‘Hold our course, yes, sir…’

  Macro turned to the two marines. ‘Take the prisoner below. Try not to damage him on the way down, eh?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. Couldn’t help it. He’s a bit frisky, like, sir.’

  Macro made an exaggerated show of looking the prisoner over. ‘Well, he’s tied up and a little the worse for wear. I should think he wouldn’t present too much of a challenge, even to a couple of marines.’

  The two marines coloured, and then quickly, but carefully, marched their charge away.

  Decimus nodded towards the signal station. ‘Does that mean it’s not Cato up there?’

  Macro shrugged. ‘I don’t think it can be, unless he’s managed to capture one of the pirates and forced them to reveal the signals system. I think that’s expecting a bit much of him.’ Macro smiled grimly.’Even Cato has to duck a fight once in a while. I just hope he got away safely.’

  ‘He seemed a resourceful enough lad,’ Decimus agreed.

  ‘Sometimes that’s not enough. Sometimes you need a generous helping of luck and Cato’s used up more luck than any man has a right to expect . . . We’ll know, soon.’

  Macro shifted his attention to the mountain on the other side of the inlet, no more than six or seven miles away. The five ships under his command would reach the bay well before noon. Shortly afterwards the Ravenna fleet would appear from down the coastline, in full view of the lookout station, and make for the bay at top speed. At that point he and his small command must strike with devastating speed and impact, and keep the pirates busy until Vespasian could bring the rest of the fleet up. If the prefect was delayed, or the pirates recovered quickly enough to mount a determined resistance, things could go very badly for Macro and his small force of marines and seamen.

  The sun climbed into a clear morning sky, the breeze strengthened and Decimus asked for permission to raise the sails.

  ‘The wind’s favourable. We can make the bay on this course without having to put a tack in.’

  Macro glanced down at the oarsmen straining at their benches. ‘If we keep the men at the oars and raise the sails we should get there a lot more quickly.’

  ‘Too quickly,’ Decimus cautioned him. ‘We can’t risk pulling too far ahead of the fleet, sir.’

  ‘The sooner we reach the bay, the greater the chance we have of taking them by surprise. You know that as well as I do, Decimus.’

  ‘That’s true, sir. But if we exhaust the men at the oars they’ll not fight so well. We’ll have a hard enough job as it is, without tiring the men beforehand. I’m sorry, I know how keen you are to get stuck into them, but that’s how it is.’

  Macro nodded reluctantly.’All right then. Signal the ships to set sail and ship oars. Just pray that they don’t see us coming in time to take any precautions against our little ruse. If they do, then we’re as good as dead.’

  As Macro stood at the prow of the liburnian he stared at the slowly approaching headland and willed his vessel over the intervening waves. Even with his limited imagination Macro could readily visualise some pirate fishing or swimming off the point, away from the fouled waters of the anchorage. Glancing up the pirate would see the five sails making for the inlet and immediately pass word of his sighting on to Telemachus. The pirates would be cautious with a Roman fleet looking out for them. They’d be formed up and armed and the crews on their ships would have the vessels prepared for action. As soon as they saw through the
ruse the Romans would be massacred and the waters of the bay would be stained red with their blood.

  Macro tried to dispel the horrific images playing out in his mind. Vespasian’s gambit stood every chance of succeeding. The pirates had sent the very same liburnians out to seize shipping several days earlier. They would be expecting them to return, and would be overjoyed by the apparent evidence of their success. Better still, if Macro had been correct in his judgement about the black pennant, the pirates would be satisfied that the correct recognition signal had been given and all was well. The odds were on the side of Rome, but Macro still felt the need to beseech the aid of the gods as well. He prayed silently to Mars and Fortuna, and promised them each a votive spear if he came through the coming fight alive, and the Ravenna fleet triumphed.

  They were no more than a mile from the headland when he saw two figures watching the approaching vessels from the cliff top above the headland. As the ships approached Macro waited for them to turn and run, but they remained standing, gazing at the five ships. As the vessels closed to within half a mile one of the watchers raised an arm and waved a greeting. Macro swallowed nervously and waved back, suspecting some kind of test. But still there was no sign of alarm, and the ships began to pass round the headland. Far behind them, Macro knew, the signal was being given for the rest of the fleet to get under way and race towards the bay as fast as wind and oar could carry Vespasian’s warships.

  A thin haze of smoke hung in the air beyond the end of the cliff and then the rocky promontory, on which the pirates’ citadel sat, began to ease into view around the cliff face. On the deck around him, Macro sensed the tension run through the crew like a skewer and he turned to them with an angry growl.

  ‘Take it easy, blast you. As far as they know, we’re all good friends. So smile and wave at them for all you’re worth. Understand?’

  The disguised sailors and marines on deck nodded at him uneasily and continued about their duties, or lined the side and stared as the bay opened up before them. At first sight the expanse of water seemed filled with enemy ships. Then Macro counted them, and saw that there were only the same number as he and Cato had marked on the map two days ago. There was barely any swell on the surface of the sea and the reflections of the pirate galleys glimmered unevenly under the dark hulls, only a few hundred feet away now. Curious faces appeared along the sides of the nearest vessels and most waved in celebration at the sight of the captured biremes sailing between the two liburnians. Beyond the enemy vessels the citadel loomed above the bay and Macro could make out the frames of several catapults mounted along the wall, and on a handful of platforms overlooking the anchorage. But there was no tell-tale trickle of oily smoke that indicated incendiary missiles being prepared. So far, so good, Macro comforted himself. He turned aft, caught Decimus’ eyes and nodded.

  ‘Lower sails!’ Decimus called out in Greek.’Unship oars!’

  One by one the other four vessels followed suit and turned slowly in towards the anchorage pirate ships. While the sailors unhurriedly furled the sail and attached the ties, the stroke was kept nice and slow to allay the pirates’ suspicions, and make it seem that the new arrivals were simply making their final approach. To encourage the deceit, Decimus gave the order for the deck crew to prepare the anchor cable as the liburnian glided into the bay. In the gloom below the open deck hatch Macro saw anxious faces peering up into the sunlight, ready to surge up and into battle. Not just yet, Macro cautioned himself. He must give the order at the very last possible moment and get as close to the enemy ships as he could before they dropped the disguise.

  Decimus had orders to make for a trireme first, and whispered softly to the steersman to steer close to, but not at, the pirate flagship. Over the side, the regular movement of the oar blades swept up, forward and down into the calm waters of the bay, churning up the refuse and sewage that floated on the surface.

  ‘Ajax!’

  The shout made Macro jump and he looked up to see a smiling face on the aft deck of the trireme. The man called out again, in some unintelligible tongue that might have been Greek as far as Macro could tell. He made himself smile and open his arms in an expansive gesture of friendly greeting, even as his heart pounded against his chest. The man repeated what he said just a moment before and Macro laughed heartily, causing the pirate to frown in confusion. He looked from Macro to the other men on the deck, who avoided his eye, and then he straightened up, staring intently at the deck of the liburnian - at the hatch leading into the hold. Macro turned away from the trireme, cupped his hands and drew a deep breath.

  ‘NOW!’

  06 The Eagles Prophecy

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Before the sound of his voice even echoed off the face of the cliff, orders were being screamed out across the decks of all five ships. As the marines swarmed from the holds, the crew snatched up grappling hooks and the oarsmen steered towards their target ships. Macro indicated one of the triremes and Decimus nodded and passed on the order to the steersman. On each beam the long oars swept forwards, down, were hauled back and swept forward again as the galleys picked up speed over the rapidly narrowing stretch of water that separated them from the pirate ships. At first there was no immediate reaction from the other side as the pirates stared in uncomprehending surprise, then horror, at the ships heading straight for them. The marines had been ordered to keep silent as the ships closed in and an eerie quiet hung over the bay.

  Then, after what seemed a long pause, the pirates began to respond to the attack. Their officers shouted out orders and men scrambled across the decks to find their weapons. Over on the beach, where the three vessels were still being caulked, the enemy were slower to react and watched in silence as the Roman vessels swept into the attack. Then from the citadel came the long flat blast of a horn, sounding the alarm, and only then did the pirates fully realise what was happening. But it was already far too late for those vessels closest to Macro’s small squadron.

  At the last moment the steersman thrust hard against his giant paddles and the port-side oars stopped dead in the water, causing the liburnian to swing round and fetch up against the side of the trireme with a jarring thud that trembled through every timber of the smaller ship.

  ‘Grappling lines away!’ Decimus yelled from aft, and the three pointed iron hooks sailed up and over on to the deck of the trireme. The seamen quickly pulled the lines tight and cleated them before snatching up their lighter weapons and swarming up the ropes on to the enemy vessel. The marines, more heavily armed, hurriedly raised boarding ladders and clambered up after their comrades. Macro pushed his way through the packed ranks to the nearest ladder and climbed up. He grasped the side rail of the trireme and swung himself on to its deck. He landed heavily, legs braced, and snatched out his sword from under his cloak.

  The fight for the trireme was already decided. Only a skeleton crew was aboard, as Vespasian had foreseen. The rest must be ashore, billeted in the citadel or amongst the shelters stretching up the slope beyond the beach. Three bodies lay sprawled on the deck. A fourth man was slumped against the mast, coughing up jets of blood. Two men were trying to surrender just beyond the mast, but the marines cut them down without mercy and charged down the gangway leading below the deck. The orders had been made clear to every man of the assault party: no prisoners were to be taken. They could not afford to waste men to guard them, and any time taken to deal with prisoners would kill the impetus of the attack.

  Some of the pirates who had managed to escape the first wave of Romans had run to the far side and were diving into the sea. They swam for the shore as fast as possible while Macro’s men threw anything at them that came to hand: belaying pins, pots and jars and even the pirates’ own weapons, abandoned in their terrified bid to escape their attackers.

  Macro left his men to it and ran aft to the steering deck, taking the small staircase in a single bound. He ran to the rail and looked over the water to see how his small squadron was doing. The closest bireme had nearl
y seized its prey, and beyond, across the decks of the other ships, the fight was well underway. He thumped his fist down in satisfaction at the success of the start of the attack. But he must keep up the momentum. Leaning over the side he spotted Decimus and waved his sword to attract the trierarch’s attention.

  ‘Make ready to move! Get the crew back aboard. I’ll deal with the marines!’

  Decimus saluted and shouted orders to his men at once. Macro ran back on to the main deck.

  ‘First two sections, with me! The rest of you, back to the ship.’

  Due to the frantic excitement burning through their veins it took a moment before the first men responded to Macro’s order and made their way back to the boarding ladders. As the first boarders returned on deck from the hold, Macro grabbed their optio by the arm.

  ‘Take some men. Get back below and get some fires started. Make ‘em good. Then get back to our ship.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We can’t wait for you.’ Macro nodded to a small boat tied on to the deck. ‘You’ll have to take that. Go!’

  He turned away, clambered over the side and climbed down to the liburnian. The deck was filled with excited, grinning marines flushed with the thrill of their easy victory. Macro made his way over to Decimus as the grappling hooks were retrieved and the boarding ladders taken down.

  Decimus grinned at him.’One down, just twenty or so to go.’

  ‘Piece of piss,’ Macro laughed. He turned and pointed to a bireme, inshore of the vessel they had just taken. ‘That one’s next. Get us alongside as fast you can.’

  The men at the oars pushed the liburnian away from the side of the trireme before they got the vessel under way again. As they left the large warship in their wake Macro saw a thin wisp of smoke drift up from the deck, before it thickened into a swirling cloak of smutty grey as the flames began to take hold. Ahead of them the crew of the bireme were making what preparations they could to repel boarders. While the brief assault on the trireme had been taking place these pirates had time to arm themselves and take up position along the side of their ship. Several were armed with bows, and javelins had been snatched up and hastily leaned against the side, ready for use. As before, only a fraction of the crew were aboard but Macro counted nearly twenty of them. Enough to put up a spirited defence.