The Eagles Prophecy

'They've been captured?'

'They've not returned from patrol. No one knows what's happened to them. So you can see,' Minucius concluded wearily,'we've got our hands full. But we'll track 'em down in time. We always do, without much help from Rome. Until now.'

'Oh?'

'Someone high up has finally noticed the good work we're doing. That's why Rome has authorised the raising of several new centuries of marines, and transferred two squadrons from the fleet at Misenum. This latest gang of pirates has really rattled them. And if we don't stamp them out soon, they might start interfering with the grain convoys from Egypt. Once that happens they can pretty much hold Rome to ransom.'

Cato leaned back.'I had no idea the situation was so serious.'

'It is serious,' Minucius smiled. 'It's got the wind up the powers that be and they're not keen for word to get out. Last thing the Emperor needs is grain riots in the capital. We've been told to have everything in place for a major operation as soon as spring comes. So, a busy time for all concerned.' Minucius reached for the wine jug and frowned when he discovered it was empty. 'Hang on, lads. I'll get us another.'

As the old centurion weaved his way unsteadily towards the stack of jars leaning against the far wall, Cato moved closer to Macro.

'We're in trouble.'

'I heard.'

'No, I mean it. Forget the offensive against these pirates. That's bad enough. But how the hell are we supposed to get our hands on those bloody scrolls? That's why we're here.'

Macro shrugged.'I suppose Vitellius must have a plan.'

'You can count on it,' Cato replied.

06 The Eagles Prophecy

CHAPTER TEN

The next day the column began to climb up into more mountainous terrain where the road was hemmed in by pine forests as it traced a winding route through gorges and up the sides of precipitous slopes. The marines had to lend a hand with the wagons when the slope became too steep for the mules alone. There followed hours of back-breaking labour as the wheels ground up the road and wooden wedges had to be driven under the wheels whenever a stop was called. By noon they had passed beyond the snow line, and slush and then ice made the going far more exhausting and hazardous. The branches of the trees were laced with fine crystals, and as they climbed higher the snow had drifted in places and a passage had to be cleared by the recruits.

The weariness and discontent in the men's faces raised Macro's spirits by the hour. He was now certain that he would win the bet. A few more days of this hard-going and he'd be home and dry. Well, not quite dry, he smiled to himself. As soon as Cato had paid up he was going to get as drunk as possible. He almost felt pity for his friend's rashness in taking the bet in the first place. One day the lad would learn…

As night drew in Minucius called a halt when they reached a patch of level road with some open ground off to one side. Ahead the road disappeared round a rocky outcrop; part of the large hill rising up beyond the ground Minucius had chosen for their camp site. The wagons rumbled off the road and the marines slumped on to the snow beside them.

'What the fuck are you ladies doing?' Minucius roared at them.'Back on your feet! Get the tents up. You try and sleep without any cover and half of you will freeze to death by the morning. Now move yourselves!'

The men dragged themselves to their feet and trudged over to the equipment wagons where the optios handed them their tents, guy ropes, wooden pegs and mallets. It began to snow, heavy white flakes that swirled out of the darkness and muffled the sounds of the men toiling away with the leather folds of the tents, and then struggling to drive the pegs far enough into the hard ground to keep the tents up. So it was long after dark by the time the tents had been erected in standard rows and the men had piled inside with their blankets and pine branches cut from the nearby trees to provide some comfort and insulation from the frozen ground. All about them was the easy sweep of snow and the boom and flap of tent leather.

There had not been time to light a fire, and rations were issued cold. The recruits sat hunched in their blankets, chewing on hard biscuit and strips of dried mutton.

In the centurions' tent Minucius finished his meal and gathered his cloak about his shoulders.

Cato looked up in surprise. 'You're going out in this weather?'

'Of course I am, lad. Have to set the watch for the night.'

'The watch?' Cato shook his head.'We're hardly likely to be attacked by a pack of mountain goats.'

'Not goats. Brigands. The people who live in these mountains are pretty lawless. There's even supposed to be a few hidden settlements inhabited by descendants from the slaves of Spartacus' army.'

'You don't believe that, surely.'

'That's what people say. Personally, I think it's bollocks. Anyway, I have to set a watch. Better get the men used to the idea.'

Minucius undid the fastenings on the flap and the other centurions narrowed their eyes as an icy blast of wind gusted into the tent and swelled its sides, straining the seams. Macro shuffled over and struggled to get the pegs back into their slots.

'What's the point?' Cato muttered. 'He'll be back soon.'

'Well, there's no point in us freezing our balls off while we wait, is there?'

Cato shrugged and clutched his blanket more tightly about his thin frame. He doubted there would be any sleep for him that night. It was just too uncomfortable, no matter how tired he felt. Soon his teeth were chattering and Macro shot an irritable glance at him before turning round and curling up, inside his waterproof cloak on a thick bed of branches.

Minucius returned shortly afterwards and nodded a good night at Cato before he took to his makeshift bed, and soon both of the veterans were asleep and snoring loudly.

'Shit,' Cato muttered, bitter with envy. He shuffled around, trying to find a comfortable position, but lying on either side left the other exposed to the icy chill that somehow reached through the entrance of the tent and clutched at him with frozen fingers. He endured over an hour of this torment, becoming steadily more miserable, before he gave up and rose into a sitting position, hugging his knees tightly to his chest and rubbing his shoulders vigorously to try to get some warmth back into his muscles. Outside, the wind was dying down, only rising to a keen moaning on the occasional gust. But that was small comfort to Cato, shivering in his tent.

He tried to think about something else, anything else, and his mind turned again to the mysterious scrolls that meant so much to Narcissus. More important, it seemed, than the pirate menace itself. The operation being mounted to deal with the pirates was largely a front, a disguise to hide the real object of Rome's attention. If that was Narcissus' game then the scrolls must be worth the lives of a good many men. But what could be so important? Lists of traitors? State secrets from Parthia? It could be anything, Cato decided in frustration.

The wind died away completely for a moment and the sides of the tent hung limply about him. Then Cato heard a scream – short, shrill and some distance off. It seemed to echo off the mountainside for an instant, and then the wind rose again and the sound was gone. He threw back the blanket from his head and strained his ears to try to catch the sound again. And there it was: a thin tortured cry, just audible above the moaning wind and irregular slap and thud of tent leather. He reached over and shook Macro's shoulder. There was no response and he shook again, harder this time, and pinched his fingers into the bulk of Macro's muscles. The older centurion stirred into startled consciousness.

'What? What is it? Where's my sword?' His hand immediately went for the blade, then he focused on the dark outline of Cato, squatting beside him.

'Quiet!' Cato said softly. 'Just listen!'

'Listen? What for?'

'Shhh! Just listen…'

Both men stayed still, ears straining, but all that they could hear was the sound of the wind outside. Macro gave up.