The Eagles Prophecy

'Where's Centurion Macro?' he asked the nearest marine.

The man gestured across the deck to where the trireme loomed over the other vessels. 'There, sir.'

Vespasian crossed over and climbed the boarding ladder to the larger vessel. It too bore the scars of the recent fighting and, as Macro's last line of defence, was where all the injured had been carried. They lay or sat in long rows to each side of the deck and several marines were busy erecting awnings to shelter them from the sun. Some of the wounded saluted the prefect as he passed by. Descending the steps from the aft deck, Macro marched towards him with a broad smile. The centurion was heavily bandaged around his chest and there was a red-brown crust where blood had seeped through the dressing.

'Good to see you, Centurion.'

'You too, sir.' Macro saluted.'Though you had us worried for a bit.'

'Worried?' Vespasian looked round at the scarred hull and tattered rigging. He could well imagine the desperation of the men who had held out here while the fleet raced towards the bay. He turned back to Macro and smiled. 'Surely you didn't doubt me, Centurion? I'd hoped after the years we have served together you'd have a little more faith.'

'Oh, I knew you'd come, sir. I just wasn't convinced I'd still be around when you got here.'

'Well, you are. I hope you've been looking after young Ajax.'

Macro nodded at the main hatch. 'He's down below, sir. Had him moved there after we took this trireme, since it was the safest place. Centurion Minucius is guarding him.'

'Very good.' Vespasian nodded at the bandage around Macro's chest. 'Not too serious, I hope.'

'Had worse, sir.'

'I don't doubt it. I'm afraid there won't be much time to recover from that. We've still got one last nut to crack, and I'll need your services.'

'I'm up for it, sir.' Macro stiffened.'I won't let you down.'

Vespasian laughed and raised his voice as he continued.'If the empire had just ten legions with officers like you, and men like these marines here, nothing would ever stand in our way.'

It was easy to say, and pretty cheap as rhetoric went, but Vespasian knew military minds well enough to know that praise from above was priceless, and enjoyed a currency that would carry these men through to the end of the campaign. It was also easy to say because it was true, he reflected. But the time for praise was over for the moment. There was work to be done, and his expression hardened into its customary professional veneer.

'If these ships are sound I want them beached. The injured can stay aboard. Order a roll call, and send it on to my staff as soon as possible. Then you and your men can draw rations and rest until tomorrow. Is that clear?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Right. One last thing. I'll need our prisoner. Have him brought to me once the ships are beached. I'll see you at the evening briefing.' Vespasian turned to go.

'Sir?'

Vespasian paused and looked back. 'What is it?'

'Cato, sir. We should send someone to look for him.'

Vespasian nodded. 'Once the camp is ready. Tomorrow, first thing, I'll send a squad up the mountain to find him.'

'Thank you, sir.'

By late afternoon the Ravenna fleet had completed the unloading of equipment and supplies. The marines and their prisoners were finishing the construction of the defences for the camp, running up from the beachhead to include the containment fortifications across the causeway. The components of four large onagers had been carried up to within range of the citadel wall and the engineers were already assembling the weapons. From the fall of the shot of the pirates' artillery pieces earlier in the day the engineers had a good idea of the reach of the enemy weapons and worked a safe distance outside it. Foraging parties had already been sent out to find rocks suitable for ammunition and the pile was steadily growing in size on the ground levelled for the onagers.

Vespasian's impatience was such that as soon as the first siege-weapon was assembled, he ordered that it be rolled forward and commence bombarding the gatehouse. The chief engineer selected five rocks of almost equal proportions and gave the order for the onager to be prepared. With six men heaving on the stout lever the ratchet steadily clanked until the throwing arm came to rest on the loading cradle. Two men heaved one of the rocks into the cup and stood back. The chief engineer made a final sighting, raised his arm to signal that he was going to loose the first shot, and when his men were clear, he dropped his arm. The release lever was thrown and with a creak from the sinews of the torsion cords the arm slammed forwards against the retaining bar, hurling the rock towards the citadel. Vespasian and his staff officers followed its trajectory until the rock fell beyond the wall and out of sight. The dull sound of the impact came to their ears as a thin haze of dust rose above the gatehouse.

'Down two!' the chief engineer called out as his crew began levering the throwing arm back. They counted two less clanks of the ratchet and loaded another rock. As the second shot arced towards the wall, it was noticeably harder to follow in the gathering dusk. The rock impacted a few feet below the battlements of the gatehouse and a small shower of masonry fell into the defence ditch as the onager crew gave a cheer.

'Well aimed!' Vespasian called out to the chief engineer. 'Use up the last three of your rocks. Then have the other weapons erected. I want that wall down by tomorrow morning.'

The chief engineer pursed his lips. 'It ain't going to be easy, sir. We'll be shooting blind. Chances are most will go wide of the target. Be a waste of ammunition, sir.'

Vespasian smiled patiently. 'I didn't ask if it was going to be easy; I just asked for it to be done. Please see to it.'

The chief engineer saluted and turned back to his men. 'Come on! You heard the prefect. Let's get 'em set up.'

Vespasian turned to one of his staff officers. 'Have Centurion Minucius bring his prisoner up. I want two sections of marines for an escort, right away.'

The tribune saluted and trotted off, leaving Vespasian staring at the citadel while three more rocks pounded the walls of the gatehouse. As he watched the prefect pondered his next move. Vespasian suspected that what he was about to do was futile. But it had to be tried, to save time and lives. If Telemachus had a weakness then a father's love and pride in his son might just be it.

A short time later a small party advanced along the causeway. A tribune went on ahead with a trumpeter, who gave a regular two-note blast on his instrument to alert the defenders to their approach. Curious faces lined the battlements and Vespasian ordered the party to halt, just outside of slingshot range. He cupped his hands to his mouth and called out.

'Is Telemachus there?… Telemachus?'

For a moment he wondered if the leader of the pirates had been killed in the fighting. If that was the case, then this attempt to end the siege was doomed to instant failure. But even as the doubt arose Vespasian saw a tall figure appear above the gatehouse.

'I am Telemachus,' the figure cried out in Greek. 'What do you want, Roman? It's not too late for you to surrender. I may yet be merciful!'

The laughter of the defenders reached Vespasian's ears and he could not help smiling at the man's brave attempt to raise the spirits of his men. In different circumstances, the Empire could have used a man with his ability and capacity for leadership. But Telemachus had chosen piracy over service to the Empire, and he must die as a consequence. Vespasian turned towards Centurion Minucius.

'Bring Ajax forward. Make sure they get a good view of him.'