The Eagles Prophecy

He turned up the thoroughfare that led into the seedy part of Ravenna, and passed a drunken crowd of merchant sailors celebrating the defeat of the pirates. For a moment he was tempted to stop and tell them how it really was. How their freedom to renew their trade had been bought with the lives of hundreds of good men. But it was to be expected, he realised. The flip side of victory was the price it had exacted on the victors. Moreover, he smiled grimly, to stop would be yet another delay in carrying out his task.

Too soon, Macro found himself standing on the opposite side of the street to the Dancing Dolphin. He stopped and stared. He wasn't yet prepared for it. Then Macro clenched his fists irritably and strode across the stepping stones that ran across the grime and filth of the street. He drew a deep breath and stepped into the bar.

There was only a handful of customers sitting about the room, and he saw Portia at once. She stood at an angle to him, setting up the cups for the evening's customers, unaware of his entrance. Macro swallowed and crossed the room as quietly as he could, but a loose board betrayed him before he could reach the counter, and she turned to look.

Their eyes met, and each stood still and speechless for a moment. Then her face wrinkled up and she leaned on the counter for support.

'No… no… no…' Her fingers pressed into the wooden surface and the knuckles went white. Macro strode the last few paces and gently took her shoulders.

'Mother, I'm so sorry.'

Her head drooped and Macro felt her thin frame shudder in his hands. He looked up and saw that the customers were watching curiously.

'Mother, come with me. Back there.'

He shuffled awkwardly round the counter, put his arm across her shoulders and helped her through the doorway to the small storeroom at the back of the bar. There, he eased her down on to the stool at the small desk where she did her accounts. For a while Portia clasped her hands to her face as her body was racked with sobs. Macro remained silent, holding her with one arm. He hesitantly raised his spare hand and then gently stroked the wispy grey hair.

After a while the crying subsided, and then a little later Portia suddenly lowered her hands, stiffened her back and pulled out a bar cloth to dab around her eyes.

'What happened?'

'He was killed in the final assault.'

'He didn't suffer?'

'No. It was quick. He wouldn't have felt anything.'

'I see.' She nodded, as if that somehow made it more acceptable.'That's good. I wouldn't have liked him to suffer. I wouldn't…' Her face screwed up again and more tears were wrenched from her old frame before she managed to recover a measure of composure. 'He was a good man.'

Macro was silent, and she immediately sensed something wrong in his mood.

'What's the matter, Macro?'

'It's nothing. Shall I get you a drink?'

'A drink?' Portia eyed him shrewdly. 'That's what men say when they want to avoid a subject.'

Macro looked at her helplessly.

'What happened?' she asked quietly, but firmly. 'Tell me.'

'This isn't the time.'

'Tell me!'

Macro swallowed, tried to meet her intent gaze, and wavered. He looked down and spoke softly.'Minucius was a traitor. He was selling information to the pirates. He'd been doing it for months.'

'No.'

'Yes. How else do you think he had come by the money for all those retirement plans of his?'

'He said he'd inherited it.' She looked confused. 'He couldn't have been a traitor. How could he be? I'd have known.'

'Are you saying you never suspected him?'

Portia glared back and slapped him hard.'How dare you!'

Macro reached up and rubbed his cheek. His mother shook her head, trembling with rage and grief, and despair. 'Macro… what's to become of me?'

'I've taken care of it, Mother.' He lifted his haversack on to the desk, unfastened the ties and, reaching inside, he drew out the leather bag Minucius had carried up to the roof. 'This was his. I think you should have it now.'

Portia stared at the leather bag. 'What's in it?'

'Gold, some gems, some silver. More than enough to keep you in comfort. You can still have that small estate in the country.'

Her eyes remained fixed on the bag.'How did you come by this?'

Macro winced. 'It was with him when he died.'

Her eyes flickered up. 'You were there?'

Macro nodded.

'So what happened?'

When her son did not immediately reply a look of horror seeped across her features. 'What did you do to him? What did you do to him?'

She grasped his arms and tried to shake him. Macro looked at her woodenly. 'I offered him a choice. Either I'd kill him, or let him kill himself. He did the best thing. He took his own life.'

Portia looked straight at her son.'Swear you didn't do it! Swear it.'

'I promise you, Mother. I didn't kill him.'

'I hope so, for your sake.' She looked away, shrunken and despairing. 'You've no idea what you would have done.'

Macro frowned, not understanding what she meant. But Portia kept her silence for a little longer, as she stared at the floor. Macro cleared his throat.

'You know, you could come back to Rome with me. It's not far from there to Ostia… Father's still alive, as far as I know.'

Portia looked up at him, and suddenly burst out laughing. The sound was brittle and somehow frightening. For a moment she no longer seemed in control of herself.

'Mother? What's the matter?'

'Oh, it's priceless!' She laughed again.'Quite priceless… You really want me to go back to Ostia, to that stupid, worthless, violent drunk you call a father?'

Macro shrugged. 'It's just a suggestion. I just hoped…' He stared at her, a terrible chill of suspicion gripping him as he dimly grasped that there was something strange about what she had just said.

'What's wrong with my father?'

'What's wrong with him?' Portia's lips trembled. 'He's dead. That's what's wrong with him. Minucius was your father.'

'No…'

She nodded. 'He made me pregnant and ran away. So I had to marry that oaf you called a father. But years later Minucius came back for me. By then you were old enough to look after yourself. Besides, the situation was complicated enough already.' Portia continued wearily. 'I told him I'd miscarried the baby. He never knew about you.'

They stared at each other for a moment. Macro shook his head. It wasn't true. Couldn't be. But deep inside, he knew it was. There was no reason for her to lie to him, and a flood of memories and half-understood comments flooded into his mind. He looked up and met her gaze again. She nodded slowly and stood, gently closed her thin arms around his head and held him close. Macro was too dazed to react, and simply closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists.

'Oh, my baby… my boy,' Portia said softly. 'What have you done to us?'

06 The Eagles Prophecy

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

'A fine job all round!' Narcissus smiled happily. 'Couldn't have asked for a better outcome. We've got the scrolls, the pirates have been defeated and the Liberators have gone away empty-handed. Shame that Rufius Pollo and that man Anobarbus have gone to ground. But I'm sure they'll be rooted out and dealt with before long… Oh! My apologies, do please take a seat. I'll send for some refreshments. I assume, after your rather wearisome journey from Ravenna, that you might like a little something to eat and drink, eh?'

Opposite the Imperial Secretary stood three dishevelled individuals. Spattered with mud and sporting several days' growth of beard, they eyed him blearily. Vespasian was the first to respond.