The Eagles Prophecy

Cato followed the arm that Minucius had raised and saw what he was pointing at. At the end of the quay was a large fortified gateway, leading into the naval dockyard. Riding at anchor in the open waters of the navy harbour was a fleet of sleek warships. He counted over thirty of them. Most were small patrol craft, but further out lay a squadron of larger triremes, the formidable backbone of the Roman fleet. Each trireme boasted three banks of oars on each side, with fortified towers at the bow and stern, upon which catapults were mounted. A large bronze-sheathed ram extended from the prow of each ship.

Beyond the triremes there was one even bigger vessel. Cato stood up on the bed of the wagon and pointed.'What's that?'

'That's the Horus, our flagship. She's a quinquireme, a five, as we call 'em. Quite a history behind that one. She was Mark Antony's flagship. Captured at Actium and taken into the imperial navy by Augustus. Built to last and tough as old boots. There's nothing afloat that can match her.'

Cato stared at the Horus a moment longer, then resumed his seat as the convoy moved along the quay towards the gates of the naval base. The sailors and dockers lining the route closed in on each side, watching them in bitter silence.

A voice cried out,'When are you going to do something about them pirates?'

The complaint was instantly taken up by other voices, and soon the marines and their officers were surrounded by angry shouts and shaking fists. The recruits glanced around nervously.

'Eyes front!' Minucius roared out. 'Eyes front, I said. Ignore the bastards.'

A clod of filth sailed through the air and struck the centurion on the shoulder. He clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead. Unfortunately, the example had been set and suddenly the air was filled with mud, excrement and other stinking refuse, and it pelted down on the hapless marines and their officers. The men at the front of the column faltered as they tried to shield themselves from the bombardment, and Minucius rose to his feet and cupped his hands to his mouth.

'Keep marching at the front there! Don't bloody stop!'

The optios lashed out at their men with their staffs and the pace picked up. Minucius opened his mouth to shout further encouragement and, as Macro watched, a turd flew through the air and caught the veteran right in the mouth. There was a spontaneous roar of laughter from the nearest townspeople at the sight.

Minucius ducked down, spitting and wiping his lips on his sleeve. 'If I ever find the bastard responsible for that, I'll make him eat shit for the rest of his bloody days.'

Macro, struggling hopelessly to keep a straight face, nudged Cato.'I thought that sort of thing only happened to me.'

'It has. Look.' Cato pointed to his tunic and, glancing down, Macro saw a nasty brown smear on the wool.

The watch officer on the gate had seen the trouble brewing along the wharf and as the recruit column approached a squad of marines piled out of the entrance to the naval base and charged into the crowd to clear a route for Minucius and his men. The barrage intensified as the townspeople made the most of their last chance to have a go at the men they held responsible for the loss of their livelihood. Macro and Cato covered their heads and ducked down behind the sides of the wagon.

'Some fucking welcome,' Macro grumbled. 'This job is just getting better by the instant. Wonder what's in store for us next?'

Cato did not reply. He was looking intently at the sea and for the first time he realised just how afraid he was of this element. Not only was he a poor swimmer, he had suffered acutely from seasickness on the few occasions he had actually been at sea. And now he was destined to spend the foreseeable future on, or worse, in the sea. He felt sick just thinking about it.

When the wagons at the tail of the convoy had entered the naval base the marines retreated inside and quickly closed and bolted the gates. The watch officer, another centurion, strode up to Minucius' wagon, gri

'A fine welcome home that, eh?'

'Great,' Minucius growled as he reached for his canteen and rinsed his mouth out. He spat the contents to one side. 'Varro, what the hell's been going on since I've been in Rome? The whole of Umbria's gone mad with this pirate nonsense.'

The watch officer's smile faded. 'You can't have heard then?'

'Heard what?'

'They landed near a veterans' colony at Lissus a few days ago. Sacked the place and slaughtered everyone there. Women and kids put to the sword and all the men impaled. They burned the colony to the ground.'

Minucius stared at him. 'Lissus? I know some people there…'

'You did. Not any more.'

'Shit…' Minucius slumped down on to the driver's bench. The watch officer reached up and gave his arm a gentle squeeze, before he turned to the other centurions.

'Are you Macro and Cato?'

They nodded.

'You're to come with me. The prefect gave orders to send for you the moment you arrived.'

'Just a moment,' said Cato. He climbed down from the wagon and trotted back to the vehicle carrying Anobarbus.

The merchant was sitting up and brushing some mud off his cloak. He glanced up at Cato. 'Nice town, Rave

Cato held out his hand. 'The prefect's sent for us. I'll say goodbye for now. Send us word when you've found a place to stay.'

'I will.' Anobarbus clasped his hand.'And the drinks will be on me.'

Cato nodded at his money box. 'You can afford it.'

The merchant gave Cato a queer smile and then nodded. 'I owe you and Macro my life. I shan't ever forget.'

'I'll hold you to that!' He winked and hurried back to Macro and Varro, who was twitching his vine cane impatiently.

The watch officer turned away and strode off towards a massive porticoed building that looked out over the naval base.

'Nice going,' Macro hissed.'You've managed to piss them off this side of the gate as well.'

'Maybe, but there's a drink in it for us.' Cato jerked his thumb back at the merchant's wagon. 'And it's on our friend.'

'That's more like it.' Macro's contented smile lasted all the way across the parade ground.

The prefect's office was imposing – a long room that gave out on to the upper level of the portico, which provided access to all the offices along the second floor of the fleet headquarters building. The view from the prefect's office took in the broad sweep of the naval harbour, the marine barracks and the sprawl of store sheds and workshops beyond. To one side of the harbour was a timbered hard where men toiled over a beached trireme, covering the bottom with black tar from steaming vats – further evidence of the preparations for the campaign against the pirates.

Inside the prefect's office, the floor was laid with an attractive mosaic featuring Neptune skewering some demon of the deep with his trident while the other hand directed a storm to wreck a Punic fleet. Vitellius had a small, but expensive desk by a window at one end of the room, and the other end was covered with a huge map of the fleet's theatre of operations, painted on to the wall in minute detail.

Macro and Cato approached the prefect's desk and stood to attention. He was signing a stack of documents and glanced up at them before turning back to his work and completing it unhurriedly. At length, he replaced his stylus in its holder and looked up at the two centurions.

'Well,' Prefect Vitellius smiled as he leaned back in his chair, 'I take it you had a pleasant tour through our idyllic countryside?'

'Yes, sir,' Cato replied flatly.

'Good, because the holiday's over. We've got plenty of work to do over the following months. Things have moved on since Narcissus briefed us back in Rome. The situation is far more serious.'

'We noticed, sir.'