The Eagles Prophecy

Vespasian was looking thoughtfully at the map and as he stroked his broad forehead Macro realised the commander was exhausted. More than any man in the fleet. One of the many burdens of high rank, he supposed. As Vespasian examined the map Macro found that he was reminded of Cato, whose endless mental activity seemed to be shared by the prefect of the Ravenna fleet. For a moment Macro envied both men the capacity for such elaborate thinking. It was a talent you either had, or hadn't, and Macro fully accepted that he was not gifted in that manner. For him, soldiering was a far more direct and immediate experience, and he liked it that way, even as he knew that it meant that he was unlikely to rise much beyond his present rank. The alternative, the endless deliberation of Cato and his like, struck Macro as being more of a curse than a blessing.

Vespasian tapped the map.'Well, we've got them, provided we close the trap swiftly. There's only one problem – the approach to this bay. Thanks to you and Centurion Cato we can get close without them knowing it, but the moment the fleet appears round the side of this mountain they're bound to see us. They'll have a good hour to make sail and prepare their defences. We need to find a way of getting closer before they're aware of the danger.'

Macro cleared his throat. 'A night attack, sir?'

'No.' Vespasian shook his head. 'Out of the question. It would be hard enough to coordinate in open waters. We'd lose ships on the rocks. The fleet would reach them piecemeal and they'd organise a defence long before we could close on them in sufficient strength to have a realistic chance of victory. It has to be by daylight. By land, perhaps. If we put a force ashore on the other side of the mountain, they could climb across during the night and attack the moment the fleet comes into sight.' Vespasian looked up in excitement. 'That might do it.'

'Beg your pardon, sir, but it won't work.'

'Oh?' Vespasian frowned.'Why not?'

'It's these mountains, sir. Cato and I just about managed to cope with them. Those marines are good lads, but they're not great marchers and that kind of terrain will kill them, sir. Even if they did get over the mountain, they'd take far too long and be too tired for much fighting when they reached the enemy.' He met his superior's eyes and saw that Vespasian looked irritated by his assessment of the terrain. 'Sorry, sir. That's how I see it.'

'All right, then,' Vespasian responded grudgingly.'We have to come up with something else… something to get us in close before they realise they're under attack…some kind of Trojan horse.'

Macro puffed out his cheeks and Vespasian chuckled at the gesture. 'You have a problem with Greek mythology, Centurion?'

'Not as long as it stays in the books, sir.'

'Don't like books, I take it?'

'No, sir. I get enough stories from the other ranks as it is.'

'Well, perhaps you should read a little more, Centurion. Nothing like it for broadening the mind, and inspiring the imagination.'

Macro shrugged. 'If you say so, sir. But I don't think there's really enough time to knock up a wooden horse. Besides, there's the transportation problem. Something big enough to hide a decent-sized force in is going to be an absolute bugger to get on board a ship. Even one this size.'

Vespasian watched him in amusement as Macro explained his misgivings. When the centurion had finished Vespasian couldn't help smiling.

'What have I said, sir?' Macro looked offended. 'I just don't think it will work, sir. However good an idea it might seem,' he added quickly. 'Besides, that's the kind of low crafty trick that only the Greeks would use.'

'Sometimes, even the Greeks did the right thing, Centurion… But, no. You're quite right. It wouldn't work. We'll have to try something else.'

Macro nodded happily, glad that his commander had seen reason. This was the unfortunate side of the creative intelligence of men such as Vespasian and Cato, Macro reflected. Once in a while their imaginations rushed way ahead of their reasoning and needed to be reined in by a fatherly word of restraint, from more worldly heads.

Vespasian took a last look at the map and gave a faint nod, before he met Macro's gaze again, this time with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 'Very well. Not a Trojan horse. A Trojan whale, then.'

Macro winced. What on earth was Vespasian thinking of now?

'Those two pirate vessels you and Centurion Cato captured a few nights back…'

'What about them, sir?'

'I think it's time we put them to good use.'

06 The Eagles Prophecy

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Caius Caelius Secundus woke shortly after sunset and looked round anxiously before memory of the Roman centurion's rescue flooded back to him in a wave of images and emotions. Just above him was what remained of the roof of the shelter. He reached over and picked up a cloak that had been left for him by the bedding and wrapped it around his thin shoulders. With a grunt Secundus rose and, bending low, he moved over to the entrance of the shelter. He paused a moment before cautiously pushing the leather tent flap to one side and peering out. A short distance away a faint glow radiated up from the fire pit on to the face of Centurion Cato. They had spoken briefly after the ambush, when Cato had led him across the plateau to the shelter. Secundus had been exhausted from his long climb up the mountain, and emotionally overcome by his sudden release from captivity. The rage that had burned in his heart at the months of indignity and suffering had exploded in a moment of fury when he had crushed the pirate's head and afterwards he felt numb and spent as Cato had tried to make him comfortable and let him rest.

Now the young officer glanced up as he became aware that he was being watched, and smiled at Secundus.

'Feeling better?'

'Much.' Secundus emerged from the shelter and straightened up. A faint aroma of stewing meat wafted into his nostrils and immediately he was reminded of how hungry he was; how hungry he had been throughout his captivity. Secundus walked stiffly over to the fireplace and sat down opposite his rescuer. Between them, hanging from a small tripod was a battered iron pot filled almost to the brim with a thick bubbling liquid. 'Smells good. What is it?'

'Barley and mule,' Cato replied.'Thought I might as well make the most of the one that got caught under the rock. The other one bolted.'

There was a moment's silence in which Secundus looked round at the night sky and saw that it was quite clear. Away to the horizon there was a broad band of watery orange that quickly faded to a dark blue and then an inky black by the time it reached the opposite horizon. Some of the brightest stars were already out, scattered across the heavens like distant specks of silver. High up on the mountain top the air was cold, and Secundus pulled the cloak tighter about him and shuffled closer to the edge of the fire pit. He looked across at the centurion.

'I haven't thanked you yet, young man.'

Cato winced momentarily at the reference to his age before he tilted his head in acknowledgement. 'You're welcome.'

There was another pause, before Secundus asked, 'So what were you doing up here? It's a strange place to find a centurion, all on his own.'

Cato sensed the suspicion in the other man's tone and smiled to himself. He would feel the same way about such a fortuitous rescue by another Roman. 'We're on a reconnaissance mission.'

'We?'

'My friend and I. Another centurion serving with the Ravenna fleet. We had information that the pirates were somewhere in this area. We were sent in to check. Right now, Macro should be making his report. Then the prefect will head here with his full force and destroy the pirates.'

'You seem very sure of victory.'

Cato grinned.'I'm just very sure about Prefect Vespasian. He doesn't like to waste any time when he's got an enemy lined up for a good kicking.'