The Eagles Prophecy

'I can't believe this,' Macro muttered to Cato.

'We'd better,' Cato replied, struggling to hide his anxiety. 'He's quite serious.'

Vitellius smiled. 'Your little friend has it right, Macro. Now that we understand the situation, and each other, I think it's time for a little toast.' Vitellius picked up the jug and filled each of their goblets to the brim. Then he raised his and smiled at them across the glimmering surface. 'Gentlemen, I give you partnership! At last, it seems, we are on the same side.'

He raised the goblet and drained it steadily, his eyes fixed on the two centurions. When he had finished he set the cup down and gazed at the two goblets standing untouched on the table in front of Macro and Cato. He smiled.

'As you wish, gentlemen. I'll indulge your insolence on this occasion. But mark my words well. The next time you give me one shred of defiance or discourtesy, you'll pay for it.'

06 The Eagles Prophecy

CHAPTER NINE

The column assembled in the yard at dawn. A centurion, assisted by a team of optios, had been appointed to lead the marines across to Ravenna. These officers stormed into the general barracks and began turfing the men off their sleeping mats and screaming abuse into their faces. Amongst the marines terrified recruits hastened out into the cold dawn air, many half dressed and shivering. Dazed by their rough handling, the men stumbled into line, some still struggling into their clothes. As they readied their packs for the march, Macro cast a critical eye over them.

'Not exactly an impressive bunch, are they?'

Cato shrugged. 'No better or worse than the batch I joined the Second Legion with.'

'And you can tell, of course.' Macro shook his head. 'Trust me, Cato. I've seen 'em come and go for years and this lot are from the bottom of the barrel.'

Cato turned towards him. 'Is that experience talking, or prejudice?'

'Both,' Macro smiled. 'But we'll see who's right soon enough. I'll bet you that we lose a quarter of these men before we reach Ravenna.'

Cato looked over the men gathering by the wagons. The majority of the recent recruits certainly looked like poor specimens. A few had no boots at all and most were thin and drawn, and clothed in little more than rags. They were, as Macro had said, the dregs of the city: men with little hope of employment and no prospects for a better life. And now, in an act of desperation, they had volunteered for the marines. No legion would have had them, that's for sure, Cato reflected. And a good few of them would still be thrown out of the marines before training was completed. So this was their last chance. Men in such circumstances either caved in quickly, or found some last reserve of strength and determination from deep inside themselves. As Cato once had. He turned back to Macro.

'How much?'

'You'll take the bet?'

Cato nodded.

'More fool you,' Macro smiled. They had made wagers before, and Macro had won more often than not, his experience triumphing over Cato's attempts to rationalise the odds. It was typical of the lad to persist, and Macro was touched by Cato's confidence in his own judgement. But not touched enough to refuse the chance of easy money.

'All right then. The first month's pay.'

Cato stared back at him.

Macro arched an eyebrow. 'Too rich for you?'

'No. No. Not at all. A month's pay it is.'

'Done!' Macro grasped his friend's hand and shook it firmly before Cato could think of changing his mind.

A shout from the centurion in charge of the convoy drew the marines up in their ranks and they stood silent and shivering as the optios strode down the column and dressed the ranks with their long wooden staffs, clipping the odd unfortunate who failed to move with sufficient alacrity. Macro and Cato made their way over to the front of the column. They had already introduced themselves to the centurion, a skinny veteran by the name of Minucius. He was a friendly enough man and told them that he had transferred back to the marines, with a promotion, after a stint in the auxiliaries many years before. Clearly, Minucius had remained true to the hard training of his former service arm and showed no pity for his new charges. Once the introductions had been made and Macro and Cato had shown him their orders, Minucius offered them space in the lead wagon. There was one vehicle in front of the recruits and another three behind, carrying rations and tents for the journey, a small chest of money for expenses and a parcel of letters.

Cato looked round.'Where's Vitellius?'

Centurion Minucius glanced at Cato. 'Gone. He left an hour ago, with his escort. Seems that the prefect is in a tearing hurry to take up his new command. So, I'm afraid we'll be denied the pleasure of his aristocratic company for the rest of the journey. Shame that.' He grinned.

'You don't know the half of it,' Macro said quietly.

Minucius looked at him searchingly.'Something I should know?'

'No,' Cato interrupted. 'It's nothing.'

'Nothing?'

'We've served with Vitellius before. Back in Britain.'

'And?'

Cato frowned. 'And what?'

'What's he like?' Minucius observed the two centurions as they exchanged a wary look. 'Come now, lads. We're grown-ups. We'll be serving together for months, maybe years. If you've got some information on the prefect you should share it. After all, who's going to show you the ropes when we get to Ravenna, eh?'

Cato coughed.'Let's just say that we didn't see eye to eye with Vitellius on a few issues.'

'Didn't see eye to eye, eh?' Minucius looked at the other centurions shrewdly. 'He's a thorough-going bastard then?'

Cato pursed his lips and shrugged.

'You could say that,' Macro said softly. 'But you didn't hear it from us. Right?'

'Got you.' Minucius winked good-humouredly.'Forewarned is forearmed. I'll watch my back around our new prefect.'

'Yes,' Macro added, as Minucius strode off to make sure that the convoy was ready to set off, 'so will we all.'

From Ocriculum the Flaminian Way led north, the landscape became more hilly, and the column marched through great vineyards that rolled down the hillsides either side of the road. Everywhere, the stark brown of leafless trees and shrubs of winter looked bleak and depressing, and frequent showers of icy rain lashed down on the hapless recruits. But no one dropped out of the line of march for the first few days, much to Macro's frustration.

On the fourth day after leaving Rome, the column reached the foothills of the Appennines, and crossed torrential streams that fed into the upper reaches of the Tiber. The road then wound its way up to the town of Hispellum. The villas of the rich were closed for the season and would not open again until the summer heat drove the owners up into the cooler air of the mountains, so the streets were quiet as the column tramped through the town to the barracks beyond the far gate.

From the situation of the barracks and the unfriendly glances from passing townsfolk, it was clear that the good people of Hispellum wanted little to do with passing military traffic. Not that Cato could blame them. The soldiers of the Emperor were inclined to regard themselves as being above the law in some respects, a view that was encouraged by the emperors themselves, who had been wise enough to realise that the military were the ultimate guarantor of their power and authority. The odd theft, drunken brawl and non-payment for goods or services were overlooked – mostly because any victims of such crimes were loath to make things worse for themselves by seeking recourse to the law. The people in the towns that lined the main military routes just kept their heads down each time a column appeared, and prayed that it would pass through without causing too much trouble.