The Eagles Prophecy

'Sorry.'

'Stop apologising. It's too late to do anything about it now.' Macro scrunched his haversack up into a tight bundle and lay down beside the fire, back towards Cato. He was silent for a moment before he muttered, 'Just promise me, one thing.'

'Yes?'

'If we get out of this mess, no more adventures.'

'Well, I'll do my best.'

'Huh…'

In the morning, they rose with the first light of day glimmering off the walls of the cave. Macro stretched his stiff limbs and coughed as the cold air swept into his lungs. Cato kept quiet, still a little shamed by his confession of the previous evening. They packed their provisions back into the haversacks, put on their boots and emerged from the cave. The sky was leaden and a cold wind blew up the side of the mountain, clammy with the threat of rain.

'Which way?' asked Macro.

'Straight up. We should have a view of their anchorage and base from the peak of the mountain.'

'If the information's accurate,' Macro said gloomily. 'Chances are, it won't be.'

'We'll know soon enough.' Cato thrust his haversack behind his back and started along the track that wound up the rock-strewn slope. A moment late, mouthing a foul curse, Macro set off after him.

As they rose higher, a mist closed in. Then they seemed to be up into the base of the clouds themselves and a chilly drizzle pattered around them. Slowly, the ground began to level out and tussocks of windblown grass struggled to get a purchase amid the boulders and gravel.

'Nice,' said Macro. 'But I'm sure the view is worth it.'

'View?' Cato glanced round. 'Don't count on it.'

Macro shook his head. 'Thought you were the one who had mastered irony?'

Cato smiled. 'Sorry.'

'There you go again…'

They found some shelter from the wind and rain under a rocky overhang and sat down, huddled inside their military cloaks, chewing on some of the dried beef from their haversacks. The hours passed and still the sky remained grey and foreboding. Then late in the afternoon, Cato estimated, the clouds thinned and a faint glow of sunlight bloomed across the mountain top. The rain stopped, and patches of clear blue sky broke through the clouds. Below them, the mountainside slowly became visible until there was even a hint of sea far below where its foot dipped into the bay. At last the bright breeze blew away the last of the cloud cover and the two centurions had a fine view of the other half of the Gates of Stone – the mountain on the far side of the opening to the bay. From there the ridge swept far inland and circled round and finally climbed up to the mountaintop where Cato and Macro were sitting. Below them the waters of the bay glittered serenely and out at sea tiny whitecaps danced across the tops of the waves.

'All right, I admit it,' said Macro.'The view was worth it.'

'Yes,' Cato replied. 'Especially when you consider that aspect.'

He raised his hand and pointed at the mountain opposite. At its base a small spur of rock curved out into the bay. At the end, overlooking the bay was a small fortified village, while in the calm waters below were the tiny slivers of galleys, anchored in two neat rows.

06 The Eagles Prophecy

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

'That's it!' Macro thumped one fist into the other. 'Has to be those bloody pirates!'

Cato squinted down into the bay, scanning the ships. Two were definitely triremes, and the liburnian rigs of most of the others were the same as the ships that had attacked the Ravenna fleet, like the two ships they had captured several nights ago. He nodded.

'It's them all right.' He reached behind him for his haversack, dragged it round and undid the straps. Macro glanced down in surprise.

'I don't think this is the best time for a snack. The sooner we get back and report this to Vespasian the better.'

Cato shook his head as he took out the map and his stylus set. 'Not until I've mapped it.'

'All right,' Macro conceded. 'But do it quickly.'

Cato did a fair approximation of the bay with its causeway and fortifications and the layout of the ships, and then packed away his equipment.

'Let's go.'

The summit of the mountain was only a short distance above them and the two men bent forward and climbed up the track, feeling far more cheerful than they had for what seemed a long time. If all went well, the Ravenna fleet would sail into the bay and crush the pirates within a few days. Then they could return to Rome in triumph and Narcissus would lift the charges against them and, who knew, maybe reward them into the bargain. Life was starting to feel good again and Macro was tempted to sing. He began by humming a marching song that had been popular among the legions in Britain shortly before he and Cato had been forced to leave the island. Macro took a breath and began to sing.

'Oh, when I was a young lad,

A brave soldier I wanted to be,

To travel the world, fight the foe

And screw every-'

Cato grabbed his arm and hissed, 'Quiet!'

Macro wrenched his arm free and turned angrily on his companion. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

'Shhh!' Cato glared at him desperately. 'Listen!'

They crouched down on the track and Macro tilted his head and strained his ears. Almost at once he heard the faint sound of talking not very far away, from the crest of the mountain. The centurions both looked up, their eyes following the track, which disappeared round a boulder no more than fifteen paces away. Someone called out in a strange tongue, then again, as if waiting for a reply. They heard boots scrabbling on loose stones and then the voice called out again, nearer this time.

'Shit!' Macro whispered. 'Must have heard me.'

'He's not raised the alarm yet.' Cato thought quickly, glancing around the surrounding slope. But there was little cover. In any case, the man had heard them, and from the tone of his voice, did not expect to find any enemy lurking down the track. Cato pointed towards the boulder.

'Up there! Quick!'

They moved as swiftly and quietly as they could up the track, and had almost reached the weathered mass of the boulder when a man strode round it and stopped dead no more than five paces away. He was dark-featured and wrapped in a thick cloak over which he had belted his sword, a heavy falcata. The pirate stared at them, mouth gaping, but no sound issuing from it. For an instant all three were still. Cato reacted first, throwing his pack down and snatching at his sword as he threw himself at the pirate. With a gasp of terror the man's hand dropped to his weapon, but his scrabbling fingers merely fumbled at the pommel. Cato slammed into him, left hand clawing for the pirate's throat as the tip of his sword punched through the man's cloak and into his stomach with all the force Cato could throw behind it. The pirate doubled over the blade with an explosive groan and tumbled back on to the stony path, Cato crashing down heavily on top of him. The impact drove the remaining breath from his lungs so that the only sound that came from his lips was a rattling gasp for air. Even as he knew he was doomed, the pirate threw his hands towards his attacker's face, scratching at Cato's eyes, stubby cracked nails gouging at the flesh on the Roman's cheeks.

Cato was close enough to smell the reek of onions and wine on the pirate's breath, but he ignored the stench and thrust harder with his sword arm, aiming up into the ribcage, probing for the man's heart to end his struggles swiftly. The pirate suddenly flailed with his arms and legs and drew his knees up hard in a last desperate spasm, catching Cato in the groin. Then his body tensed for a moment, before slowly growing limp.

As Macro scrambled up, Cato released his grip on his sword and rolled to one side clutching a hand to his balls as a wave of nausea swept up through his guts.