The Eagles Prophecy

Macro sighed. 'Not much to ask for, then.'

'That's in addition to the tasks you'll have to carry out for your cover. You and Cato have been assigned to regular duties. I want you to carry them as conscientiously as if you were back in the legions you so admire. The marines must be as good as you can make them if we're going to have the edge over the pirates when it comes down to the fighting. Furthermore, when the men and ships are ready to take the offensive, I'll be appointing each of you to command a ship.'

'Take command of ships?' Macro shook his head. 'Sir, I don't know the first thing about bloody ships.'

'Then you'd better learn. I wouldn't worry too much. The trierarchs will be handling the day-to-day running of the ships. You just have to tell them the direction you want to go and act as a kind of figurehead in battle.' Vitellius smiled. 'That means being thick and hard, standing at the front of the ship and shouting. Shouldn't present much of a challenge to you, Macro. At any rate, you'll meet your marine officers and the trierarchs at tonight's meeting. You may go now, Centurion Macro. There's a clerk outside who will take you to your quarters.'

'Yes, sir.' Macro exchanged a glance with Cato, then turned and marched out of the office, closing the door behind him.

For a moment Vitellius gazed at the map, and then turned to Cato. 'Let's take a seat.'

'Yes, sir.'

They crossed the room back to the prefect's desk and Cato pulled up a chair, wincing slightly as the iron feet grated across the mosaic tiles. He had no idea why he had been kept back by Vitellius and was afraid, because he knew what the scheming aristocrat was capable of.

Vitellius was a good reader of men's expressions and appraised the young centurion with cold eyes.'I don't mind that you hate me so much, Centurion. I can understand your reasons. But you must accept that I am out of your league. You raise one hand towards me and I'll have you crushed under foot like a cockroach. It would be a shame to have you killed, since you have much to offer in the service of Rome. But I must look to my own interests first, and I have to be sure that I can rely on you and that you pose me no threat.'

Cato shrugged.

'Very well, then I propose a truce between us, for the duration of this matter. For both our sakes. There's already enough danger to be faced out there without needlessly adding to our perils. You understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Feel free to hate me again the moment we have found those scrolls.'

Cato shook his head. 'I'll always hate you, and despise you, sir. But I can endure that without it affecting my duties, for a while at least.'

Vitellius stared at him, and gave the slightest of nods. 'That will have to do, then… Now, there's one other matter to deal with. I need you for something that might be quite dangerous.'

'How convenient, sir.'

'Useful rather than convenient. Telemachus' message ended with a demand that we make a payment up front to keep us in the negotiations for these scrolls."A token of our commitment", as he puts it. So, you will meet him, assure him that we're still keen and give him the gold he's demanded.'

'Why me?'

'Because it's important that one of us can identify Telemachus by sight. When the time comes to put that bastard in his place, I want to be sure we have the right man. He may be the only one who knows where the scrolls are being kept.'

'Why send me alone? Surely it would be useful if Centurion Macro was there as well?'

Vitellius smiled. 'Your friend Macro has many admirable qualities, but diplomacy is not one of them. I dare not send him with you. This job requires more subtle skills. And you're young enough to make our man feel he's dealing with someone lacking in experience and guile. That should put him at his ease.'

'Where will this meeting take place, sir?'

'At sea, like last time. He needs to be sure that it isn't a trap. You'll take one of the scout craft. Anything bigger might scare him off.'

'Anything smaller might put us at risk.'

'Well, that's a chance I'm prepared to let you take.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'You're to meet him ten miles off the cape at Mortepontum shortly after sunrise so he can be sure that you're alone and that he can escape if you're not.'

'He's a cautious man, sir.'

'He has to be. You know the saying: there are old pirates and bold pirates but no old bold pirates.'

Cato nodded thoughtfully and looked Vitellius in the eye. 'You know, sir, this Telemachus sounds like the kind of man you could learn from.'

'Thanks for the advice, Centurion. But I think I'll cope well enough on my own. Now, I'm sure there's at least one more question you'd like to ask.'

'When is this meeting?'

'In two days' time. You're leaving tonight.'

06 The Eagles Prophecy

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The bireme heaved to before the first hint of dawn. It wallowed in a heavy swell that rose under the stern, lifted it up and then let it fall back with a sickening swoop. Cato leaned on the stern rail, head pitched forward, and vomited into the dark oily abyss below. It had been bad enough while he had been able to see the horizon as a reference point to steady his sense of balance, but as darkness had closed round the small ship the chaotic and nauseous movement under his feet had increased his misery tenfold. All night he had been at the rail, head swimming, with regular bouts of retching that felt as if the pit of his stomach was being ripped up and wrenched out of his throat.

Cato was glad that Macro had been ordered to stay at Ravenna. Macro's cast-iron constitution took sea travel in its stride with the same blithe confidence and comfort as every other mode of transport. No doubt Macro would have found the chilly sea breeze 'bracing' or some equally annoying sentiment.

When his friend had heard about the meeting Cato had been roundly accused of keeping secrets. At the time Cato had been secretly flattered to be chosen for this duty; now he would have paid any price to swap places with Macro.

'Any better?'

Cato turned from the rail and saw Decimus, the bireme's trierarch, emerge from the darkness. Cato shook his head.

'I thought you were one of the new centurions appointed to the marines?'

'That's me.'

'Well, I hate to be rude, or anything, but you're not exactly taking to the vocation.'

'I hate the sea.'

'I assume you're a landsman.'

'Yes…' A fresh wave of nausea gripped his body and Cato lurched back to the rail and retched until the attack passed, then wiped the stringy spittle from his lips before turning back to Decimus. 'I was transferred from the legions.'

'Transferred? I see…' Decimus nodded, tactfully avoiding asking the reason for what was in effect a demotion. 'Can't be doing with all that marching and civil engineering nonsense. Give me a simple life on the sea any day.'

Cato stared at him, thinking that he'd rather build an aqueduct all by himself than spend another moment on the ship.

Decimus leaned on the rail next to Cato, upwind, and sniffed the air. 'Fresh and salty. We're in for a good day. Bit choppy, but no chance of a storm.'

'Choppy…' Cato swallowed and tensed his jaw. 'Where are we?'

'Some miles from the Cape. I gave the order to heave to so that we don't get too close in the dark.'

'Why not?'

'Why not?' Decimus laughed. 'You've never seen the Cape before?'

'I've never seen many things before. Your bloody Cape Mortepontum amongst them.'

'How do you think it got the name? "The Bridge of Death" – bit of a giveaway, don't you think?'