The Eagles Prophecy

'If you've had enough of the scenery,' Macro broke into his thoughts, 'would you mind if we got on?'

'Right.' Cato pushed the stopper back into his canteen, took a deep breath and heaved the pack back on to his shoulders. 'I'm ready. Let's go.'

As the afternoon wore on, the scattered clouds thickened and blotted out the sky, eventually concealing the sun itself behind a miserable curtain of a dirty grey haze. As the centurions marched further from Rome and left the immediate belt of farms and factories that fed their wares into the capital, the traffic began to thin out. The slopes of the surrounding hills were more forested and there were fewer farms and other buildings. As dusk began to gather it started to rain; icy drops that stung the skin and quickly soaked the two centurions. Macro and Cato stopped at a small roadside tavern and bought two cups of heated wine while they got out their waterproofed capes and draped them over their shoulders.

Cato looked out through the curtain of drips that splattered down from the thatched shelter that gave out on to the road. 'This isn't going to pass quickly. How much further to Ocriculum?'

Macro thought a moment. 'Three hours.'

'It'll be dark in three hours.'

'Sooner than that with this weather.'

Cato glanced back at the inn.'We could stay here for the night; catch up with the column tomorrow.'

Macro shook his head. 'I'm not paying to stay here when there's decent barracks just down the road. Besides, if we stay we'll have to push it to catch up with the column in the morning. No point in that. Drink up, and let's go.'

Cato shot him an angry look, then relented. It would be easier to endure a wet and discomforted Macro for the next few hours than put up with his grumbling for the rest of the night and the following morning. With a sigh of resignation he downed the rest of his cup, savouring the warm glow in his belly, and then shouldered his pack and trudged out of the inn. The rain was falling harder than ever, like silver rods, and veiled the surrounding landscape as it hissed on the paved surface of the road. They were alone on the road, Cato realised, and with a last longing look at the warm glow of the hearth at the inn, he turned and followed the dark shape of Macro.

A mile down the road, the air momentarily turned a blinding white, and almost at once their ears were deafened by a crashing roll of thunder.

Cato winced and called out to Macro, 'We should find shelter!'

His words were drowned out by a fresh detonation in the heavens and Cato trotted forward a few steps and grabbed Macro's shoulder. 'Let's find shelter!'

'What?' Macro grinned. 'Shelter? What for? Just a bit of rain, that's all.'

'A bit of rain?'

'Sure. What's the matter? You gone soft from too much city living or something?'

'No.'

'Well, come on then!' Macro shouted back above the din, and turned round and strode away.

Cato stared at him a moment, then with a shrug of resignation he set off in his friend's footsteps. The thunder grumbled above and echoed off the slopes of the surrounding hills. And so they never heard the clatter of horses' hoofs and the grind of the carriage wheels until the small mounted party was almost upon them. They came out of the dusk at speed, right behind the two centurions, and Cato just had time to turn, see the danger and throw himself to one side with a shouted warning to Macro as the cloaked horsemen swerved their mounts at the last instant. Macro leaped off the road and crashed into the drainage ditch a short distance from Cato. Above them flitted the shapes of two horsemen, a team of horses, drawing a light covered coach, and then two more horsemen. They ignored the two travellers they had driven from the road and clattered on without stopping.

'Oi!' Macro raised himself up on one arm.'You bastards!'

His words were lost in the storm and moments later the gloom had swallowed up the coach and its escort, as Macro continued to hurl abuse after them. Cato raised himself up from the mud and retrieved his pack before going to help Macro. Once both men were back on the road, soaked and filthy, Macro calmed down a little.

'You all right, Cato?'

'Fine.'

'If we catch up with those bastards I'll give them a hiding they won't forget in a hurry.'

'We won't catch them. Not at the rate they're going.'

Macro glared down the road. 'Maybe they'll shelter for the night at Ocriculum. Then we'll see what's what.'

'Come on then, or we'll never get there.'

They raised their drenched packs and continued along the road, glistening in the teeming downpour.

Night came, swallowing up the last vestiges of daylight almost without them being aware of it, so dark had the storm become. They did not reach Ocriculum for nearly another two hours, and emerged into the wavering glow of covered torches at the town gate looking like beggars, drenched and streaked with mud from their tumble into the drainage ditch.

The gatekeeper slowly rose from a sheltered bench inside the lofty arch and stuck his thumbs into the top of his belt.

'Well, well, well,' he grinned. 'What have we got here? I assume you two vagrants can pay the entrance fee?'

'Get stuffed.' Macro growled. 'And let us through.'

'Now then.' The gatekeeper frowned and slid his right hand round towards the pommel of his sword.'No need for that. You pay your dues and you can enter the town. Otherwise…' He nodded back down the road.

'Nothing doing, friend,' Macro replied. 'We're centurions, on active service. Let us through.'

'Centurions?' The gatekeeper looked doubtful, and Macro drew back his cape to show his army-issue sword and the unmistakable shape of his marching yoke. The gatekeeper glanced at Cato, who, in his soaked state, looked even younger than his years. 'Him too?'

'Him too. Now let us in.'

'Very well.' The gatekeeper nodded to a pair of men at the far end of the arch, and they pushed one of the gates in just enough to admit the two travellers. Macro nodded his thanks and trudged past the gatekeeper.

The marching barracks were a short distance from the town gate. A small arch led into an open yard lined with stables on one side and barrack blocks along the other three walls. Light glowed through cracks in the window shutter and spilled on to the flagstones in dull slants. A handful of covered torches provided enough illumination to show where they were going as Macro and Cato gave their details to the clerk at the gate and were given directions to one of the officers' rooms. As they crossed the yard Macro glanced at the vehicles in the wagon park: a neat line of supply wagons and there at the far end, a smaller more refined shape. He drew up so suddenly that Cato walked straight into his back.

'Shit! What did you do that for?'

'Quiet!' Macro snapped. He raised his hand and pointed. 'Look!'

Cato glanced round. 'Oh…'

There stood the carriage. Its lines were unmistakable. It was the same one that had sent them sprawling into the ditch a few miles down the road to Rome.

06 The Eagles Prophecy

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cato hurried after Macro as his friend crashed through the door of the barrack block and strode into the mess. It was a large room, lit and heated by wall-mounted iron braziers. There was a bar and several tables at which a score of officers were sitting. Every one of them had turned to look at the man who had made such a dramatic entrance. A flash of lightning silhouetted Macro's stocky shape in the door frame, while Cato's bleached image stood out behind him. Then the lightning was gone and Macro's expression was lit by the rosy glow of the braziers. He smiled.

'Evening, gents! Centurion Lucius Cornelius Macro at your service. Now, can one of you tell me which cunt owns the fancy carriage parked outside?'