The Eagles Prophecy

Cato's bireme was one of the ships that had sunk, and his century was transferred on to the Spartan, a trireme. The unit that boarded ahead of him was commanded by Minucius. The veteran still bore the livid bruises from his encounter with Macro and was not pleased to see Cato.

'We're overloaded. Get your men forward. I'll keep mine aft. That should help the ship's trim.'

Cato stared at him a moment before passing the order on to his optio. Then, as the men shuffled forward of the mast and sat down beside their packs, he turned back to Minucius.

'A word, if I may?'

Minucius shrugged as Cato stepped closer to him so that they would not be overheard.

'I don't care about the issue between you and Macro. It's none of my business.'

'Just keep him away from me. Next time he won't be so lucky.'

'Lucky?' Cato smiled. 'You should consider yourself lucky still to be walking. Macro's not known for handling people with kid gloves.'

'So his mother says. Sounds like he's always been a right little thug.'

'Then I'd say he's found the right vocation. Wouldn't you? Take my word for it, he's good at what he does. So steer well clear of him. I'll do what I can to talk him round. We've got enough trouble on our hands with these pirates, without any family feuding.'

'We're not family,' Minucius replied through clenched teeth.

'As good as.' Cato winked. 'So I'll see what I can do.'

Minucius glared at him a moment, then his expression softened. 'Fair enough. For his mother's sake.'

'That's settled then. There's one other matter.'

'Oh?'

Cato stiffened his back so that he could look down at the marine officer. 'I'm a legionary centurion. I have seniority here.'

Minucius chuckled. 'Don't tell me you're pulling rank?'

Cato nodded.

'For fuck's sake, you're barely a man. I was in this job before you were even born.' Minucius' eyes glinted angrily. 'Who the hell do you think you're talking to?'

Cato's face was expressionless. 'You respect the rank, not the man, Minucius. And you will call me "sir" from now on. In front of the men.'

'Sir?' Minucius laughed. 'I'll do no such thing!'

'Then you leave me no choice. I'll have you charged with insubordination. Unless you'd prefer that to be mutiny?'

'You wouldn't dare…'

Cato drew a breath and called out over his shoulder. 'Optio Felix!'

Cato's subordinate hurriedly rose from the deck and marched towards the two centurions. A look of uncertainty flashed across Minucius' face and he poked a finger at Cato.

'All right. You win, sir.'

The optio stood to attention beside Cato, waiting for orders. Cato said nothing for a while, to make Minucius sweat it out. Then he turned to the optio.

'Tell the men not to move about. The centurion here tells me that we're overloaded. No sense in making the ship any more unstable than she already is. See to it.'

'Yes, sir.' Optio Felix saluted and made his way forward. Cato fixed his eyes on those of Minucius.

'I know you have far more experience than me. I'll look to you for any advice that I need. But while I'm on this ship, I'm the senior officer. Understand?'

'Yes… sir.'

'Good.'

'May I go now, sir?'

'Yes.'

Minucius saluted and turned away, marching stiffly towards some of his men who were leaning on the side rail. 'What's the matter? Never seen the bloody sea before? Get inboard, you dozy bastards!'

Cato watched him for a moment, awash with relief. He had been afraid that the veteran would see through him and call his bluff; dare him to exert his authority. In the end, despite his outrage, Minucius had known that Cato was right. Legionary rank took precedence over auxiliary rank and there was nothing Minucius could do about it. Now, thanks to Cato's assertion of his seniority, there would be a gulf between them. That suited Cato perfectly. He would sooner have the man's resentment focus on the difference in authority, rather than any simple personal animosity due to Cato's friendship with Macro. Of course, it was likely that Minucius would be hostile to him on both counts. Cato could live with that. Just as long as their relationship maintained a thoroughly professional edge. He nodded his satisfaction with the situation, turned and made his way forward to join his men.

The prefect was the last man to join the fleet, striding up the gilded ramp that led up to the wide deck of his flagship, the quinquireme Horus. Vitellius climbed the narrow gangway to the aft deck and acknowledged the salute of the trierarch of the flagship.

'Signal the fleet to leave the harbour.'

'Yes, sir.'

'They're to form up on the flagship as soon as we make open sea.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I'm going below. Make sure I'm not disturbed. Carry on.'

Without waiting for the man to reply Vitellius ducked through the low hatch into the cabin that ran the width of the quinquireme's stern. He ignored the boxes of scrolls awaiting his attention at the desk built round the sternpost, and flopped down on the narrow cot at the side of the cabin. Like most of his men he had not slept much the night before, but unlike them, he had the luxury of command and could permit himself this indulgence. Feet pattered across the deck as the crew of the flagship eased the vessel away from the quay, ran the oars out and began to get the quinquireme under way.

Sporting a long purple pennant that lifted lazily in the light airs, the flagship slowly made its way through the naval base, and out to sea through the gap in the overlapping moles that sheltered the harbour. As the great bronze ram cut into the gentle swell the men at the oars gritted their teeth and bent to the task, thrusting the large warship towards the ocean beyond. Behind the Horus the rest of the fleet put to sea under the gaze of the small garrison left behind, and a crowd of townspeople, who had gathered along the harbour front of Ravenna. Most of them were the families and sweethearts of the men in the fleet, and they waved their sad farewells as the warships pulled out to sea, took up position behind the tall stern of the flagship and headed slowly towards the distant horizon.

06 The Eagles Prophecy

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

For a few hours it seemed as if the storm was merely drawing its breath before sweeping back across the sea. There was an unnatural calmness to the gentle swell, and a stillness and tension in the air. The sky remained a gloomy grey and veiled the sun so that only a vague patch of lighter haze indicated that it was there at all. The sailors on Cato's ship had had enough experience of the sea in winter to know just how swiftly it could change and they watched the weather with considered apprehension. The marines caught their mood and so there was little of the usual conversation aboard the Spartan as she followed in the wake of the flagship, oars rising and cutting back into the sea in an endless rhythm.

Cato tried to ease his growing sense of dread by walking slowly around the deck, his hands clasped behind his back. He tried to divert his mind but each time he paced by the mast and headed aft, the presence of Minucius loomed at the periphery of his vision, and in the end Cato gave up and joined the trierarch on the aft deck.

'How long do you think the crossing will take?'

Titus Albinus pursed his lips for a moment before replying, 'That depends, sir. With no wind, we have to rely on the oars. We can keep the men shift on shift for a while yet. If we can keep this pace up then we should make the coast of Illyricum by late afternoon tomorrow. Assuming that the weather doesn't break.'

As he glanced round at the other warships, a sudden thought struck Cato.'What happens when it gets dark? Isn't there a risk of the ships colliding or getting lost?'

Albinus smiled and nodded towards the stern of the trireme. 'Soon as it's dusk, each ship hoists a lantern. It'll keep us in formation until dawn. At least, that's the theory.'