The Eagles Prophecy

Cato nodded. 'About five hundred years back. But the Oracle didn't give them to him, she sold them to him. For a fortune. She only sold him three of the books.'

'There were more?'

'Oh, yes. Six in all. Six books that that were supposed to prophesy the entire future of Rome and her people. Quite a prize. So she came to Rome and offered them to Tarquin for a price that would have beggared him. Naturally he refused. So she went away and burned one of the books and came back the next day with five and demanded the same price. He refused again, so she burned another and returned to demand the same price. He refused one last time and she destroyed a third book. When she came before him again he was desperate and paid what she was asking. And that's what we have in the Temple of Jupiter today. Our priests go to consult them whenever there's a crisis of some kind and try to work out what will happen. Not easy when you only have half the information in front of you.'

'I see,' Macro looked into the wavering glow of his fire. 'So what have these scrolls we're after got to do with the Sybilline scrolls?'

Cato leaned forward slightly.'Don't you see? They are the Sybilline scrolls.'

'What, are you saying the ones in the temple of Jupiter are fakes?'

'No. No. Listen. Think about it. The Oracle knew these scrolls were priceless. So why on earth would she destroy them?'

'Like you said. To get some leverage on negotiations with King Tarquin.'

'Which she did,' Cato admitted. 'But wouldn't the smart move have been to put the scrolls somewhere safe and only say that she had burned them? Later on, along comes a new king, with a new fortune, and the Oracle, or her successor, reveals the existence of the remaining scrolls. By that time the people in Rome would have discovered that the first three books were almost useless on their own. They would be prepared to pay almost anything to possess the last three books to complete the prophecy.'

'So why didn't she try to sell the books at a later date?'

'I don't know. Maybe she felt the time wasn't right. Maybe she was waiting for Rome to be rich enough to afford the price she wanted. Perhaps she was too good at keeping a secret and died before she could tell her successor about the books and where they were hidden. I don't know. I'm only guessing. There are stories told of men who claimed to have seen them. I even heard that they fell into the hands of Mark Antony, just before the battle of Actium. He might have beaten Augustus, but for some reason Antony's nerve failed at the last moment and he abandoned his fleet to its destruction. The story goes that he read the Sybilline scrolls on the eve of the battle and that they foretold his defeat.'

Macro stared at him. 'Do you think it's true?'

Cato chuckled. 'How can anyone know? His fleet lost because he cut and ran. If he fled because of some prophecy then he's an even bigger fool than historians take him for. Our destiny is not written in the stars. We make it as we will. The rest is just a story.'

'It might have been true,' Macro persisted. 'There are more things in the heavens and the earth than can be found in all those books you read, Cato.'

'Maybe.' Cato shrugged. 'Or maybe Antony was as poor at commanding a fleet as he was at selecting a lover.'

Macro shrugged and stared sullenly into the fire, and Cato feared he had gone too far in undermining the superstitions that Macro held dear to his heart. He decided to change tack and cleared his throat. 'It's clear enough what's happened since then.'

'Oh?'

'Someone discovered the scrolls and recognised them for what they are. They struck a deal with the Emperor – or Narcissus, more likely. He sent out an agent with the gold to pay for the scrolls and the agent duly headed back to Rome bearing the scrolls that would complete the Sybilline prophecies. At last the rulers of Rome would know what the future holds for the Empire and could make their plans accordingly. Assuming there's any substance to the prophecies.'

'What if they're wrong?' Macro asked.

Cato shrugged.'It doesn't matter. All Narcissus has to do is let on that he has all the scrolls, and most of his enemies won't dare to act against him for fear that he already knows their intentions. That's quite a useful political tool. Almost a treasure in its own right… Only, the scrolls never made it back to Rome. A short distance from Ravenna, the ship on which Narcissus' agent was travelling was attacked and captured by Telemachus and his pirates. When it dawned on Telemachus what he had got his hands on he knew he could demand a vast ransom for the scrolls. Better still, if other parties were made aware of the scrolls' existence he could sell them to the highest bidder. The Emperor and Narcissus won't be the only ones after the scrolls. There'll be others. Like our friends, the Liberators. So Telemachus played one off against the other and forced the price up. Only he got too greedy and Narcissus decided that he must get the scrolls back at any cost. So he sent us out, and the Ravenna fleet, with orders to stop at nothing until the pirate menace is eliminated.'

'And the scrolls are recovered.' Macro nodded. 'So this whole thing is about the scrolls?'

'Not quite. They'd have to deal with Telemachus and his men at some point. But a campaign against the pirate threat would be a good enough cover for the real operation to retrieve the scrolls. The only difficulty is that the Imperial Secretary would have to keep that side of things a secret, for fear of alerting his rivals not only to the existence of the scrolls, but also their whereabouts.'

'I see. But if it's such a big secret, how do you know about it?'

Cato flushed. 'I read Vitellius' report. The one he sent back to Rome.'

Macro looked horrified. 'You did what?'

'Well, there was a storm. The seal got wet and broke. I didn't trust him, so I read the report…'

Macro stared at him wide-eyed. This was a breach of protocol of the most severe nature. A legionary could be executed on the spot for many lesser offences. He swallowed nervously. 'So go on then. What did it say?'

'Knowing our friend Vitellius you won't be surprised that he lied through his teeth about that sea battle and the shit situation he left us in. He tried to blame me for the losses we suffered.'

'You?'

'Why not? He needed to shift the blame off his shoulders. And with me out of the way, then there'd be only you and him in the know about those scrolls. If anything happened to you, he'd be able to make up any story he liked and keep the scrolls for himself.'

'Why do that?'

'So he could sell them on. Or, better still, use them to advance his own interests. You know how ambitious he is.'

'I know that all right,' Macro replied with feeling. 'The bastard.'

'Anyway,' Cato smiled, 'I made a few alterations to the report before I sent it off to Rome.'

Macro was astonished, and felt sick over what Cato had just told him. 'You altered it?'

'I had to.' Cato shrugged.'I was dead if I didn't. So I just changed it so it told the truth.'

Macro glanced up sharply.'That's why they sent Vespasian here.'

Cato nodded.

'Fuck, Cato. You really do take some chances. If this ever gets out they'll break every bone in your body.'

'At least…' Cato looked at his friend in embarrassment. 'Look, I'm really sorry about this. Sorry that I've got you involved.'

'What do you mean?'

'I sort of tricked Vespasian into telling me about the scrolls. I saw the reference to the Sybilline scrolls in Vitellius' report and made out that I knew the full story when I was briefing Vespasian about the situation here. He swallowed it, and before I knew what I was saying I said that you knew about the scrolls as well.'

Macro frowned and shook his head. 'So? So what?'

'Until this is all over, anyone who knows about the scrolls is going to be in great danger. The stakes are too high to risk having any loose ends.'

'I see.' Macro nodded.'Thanks, mate. Thanks a lot. Much as I like you, Cato, and think that you've turned out to be a damn fine soldier, there are times when I really do wish that I'd never met you. Fifteen years, I'd served, before you turned up. Sure I'd been in some bad scrapes, but in the last two years you've nearly got me killed more times than I can care to think about. Now this…'