The Eagles Prophecy

Cato saluted and marched out of the office, leaving the prefect to ponder on his plans.

Cato returned to the officers' quarters, changed into a fresh tunic and made for the bath house. As he entered the caldarium he saw Macro sitting on one of the marble benches. His friend looked up and smiled with genuine relief. 'Cato! Good to see you. How did it go?'

Macro listened attentively as Cato recounted the meeting with the pirates, and when he had finished Macro dabbed at his face with a sponge, then turned back to Cato.

'This Telemachus, what was he like?'

Cato described his appearance, shutting his eyes for a moment as he recollected as much as possible of the details of the encounter. 'He seemed capable enough. Tough and fast with a blade. And his ships seemed to perform well. Of course, I'm no judge of seamanship, but that's what Decimus reckoned. And he's ruthless.' Cato shuddered as he recalled the memory of Vitellius ordering a marine to empty the casket on to the wharf when the bireme had returned to Rave

'Sounds like a tough nut to crack,' Macro mused.'They'll put up quite a fight.'

'Maybe,' Cato shrugged. 'But, as I've always said, men fight hardest for the things they believe in, not for what they fear.'

Macro smiled, dipped the sponge in a tub of water and lobbed it at Cato's face, dowsing his friend. 'Honestly, Cato, now you think you're an expert on what motivates men.'

Cato wiped the water and sweat from his brow.'I believe I have some idea of what works.'

'All right then,' Macro conceded, 'some idea. But I'm telling you, these pirates are like us. Harsh discipline is the best motivation for fighting men. Inspiration, ideas, they're for artists and those pansy philosophers like…'

'Like me?'

Macro shrugged. 'You said it. Now don't go and sulk on me.'

'Sulk?'

Macro laughed. 'Come on, let's go.'

'Go where?'

'For a drink. We're meeting Anobarbus and Minucius in the port.'

'Are we?' Cato was a little put out by his friend's presumption. 'I'm tired. I just came in here to relax, not to be roped into one of your all-night benders.'

'It won't be like that. We're going to be respectable tonight. Minucius is taking us to meet his woman. She owns a tavern.' Macro smiled. 'Every soldier's dream girl.' He looked round at Cato. 'Any normal soldier's dream girl, I should say.'

'Macro?'

'Yes?'

'Just fuck off, eh?'

Macro slapped him on the shoulder and laughed. 'That's my boy. Come on then, we're wasting good drinking time.'

They borrowed some plain tunics and capes from stores rather than wear their distinctive red military tunics. With popular feeling in Rave

'Feels like a fight's going to break out at any moment,' Cato muttered. 'We should have stayed back at the barracks.'

'Oh, come on!' Macro elbowed him.'Not frightened of a few surly teenagers, are you?'

'Yes, I am,' Cato readily confessed. 'These ones at least. They look as if they'd kill to start a fight.'

'Ooooh,' Macro pretended to shiver. 'Better find shelter quickly then… Here we are. Crab Lane.'

He turned into a wide thoroughfare, every foot of it given over to taverns. The drunken din of their customers assaulted Cato's ears. Macro shouted something to him and pointed across the street to a brightly painted sign, high up a grimy wall.

' "The Dancing Dolphin – we don't water our wine…" ' Cato muttered to himself. 'Cute name.'

The two centurions pushed their way across the street and through the arch that led into the tavern. Inside, the air was thick with cheap incense and dimly lit by just enough lamps for the clientele to see their way up to the bar, or out the back to the latrine. Two well-built and tough-looking men were working behind the bar, together with a tall, grey-haired woman who had her back to the entrance as she dealt with a drunken customer who was trying to grope her. Cato watched as one of the barmen leaned over and floored the drunk with a quick upper cut.

The centre of the tavern was packed with benches and trestle tables, at which large groups of rowdy men were drinking, or chatting up the local tarts and negotiating a rate for their transaction. To the side of the tavern were a number of alcoves with curtains that could be drawn across for a degree of privacy.

'Cato!'

The two centurions turned towards the sound and saw Minucius beckoning them to the alcove in the far corner, closest to the bar. Opposite him sat Anobarbus, who smiled a greeting as Macro and Cato squeezed through the drinkers towards them. They slipped on to the benches either side of the battered table, and Minucius immediately filled two leather cups and pushed them towards Macro and Cato, sloshing some of the wine over the brims.

'Thought you weren't coming.'

'Wouldn't miss it for the world,' Macro replied. 'Looks like we've got a bit of catching-up to do. Cheers!' He raised his cup and took a gulp.

Cato was sitting next to Anobarbus and turned towards him. 'How are the injuries healing?'

'Not bad. Still a bit painful. Skin on my chest feels like it's shrunk to fit a man half my size.'

Cato nodded. 'I know. I've had some burns. You'll be all right. Give it time.'

'That's what the quack says. Cheers.'

They tapped cups together and took a sip. Cato noted, with approval, that Anobarbus was a kindred spirit and merely sipped at his wine rather than gulping it down like there was no tomorrow, as was the case on the other side of the table. Anobarbus lowered his cup.

'Minucius tells me you've already been out with the navy.'

Cato glanced up at him. 'That's right. A patrol.'

Anobarbus smiled. 'So, how have you taken to a life on the ocean waves?'

'Not at all. I was sick as a dog for most of the trip.'

'Where did they take you?'

'Just a patrol,' Cato said carefully. 'Over to the coast of Illyricum and back.'

'Really?' Anobarbus looked surprised. 'I wouldn't have thought it was safe to venture that side of the sea with all these pirates about. Don't suppose you actually got to see any?'

Cato shook his head. 'No. One or two sails. That was it. Quite boring really. How about you? Picked up any more artworks for your clients?'

'No. The market's dead right now. I'll stay a while longer, until I've fully recovered. Might try one of the ports further up the coast in the next few days, see if they have anything worth buying, then head back to Rome.'

'Well, I hope you have better luck with your next journey.'

'Yes,' Anobarbus replied quietly. 'I'll need it.'

'Come on, lads!' Macro leaned over the table. 'Drink up. It's on the house! Let's have a toast to Minucius' woman, bless her!'

The cups thudded together, spilling yet more wine, and the toast was drunk, to the bottom of the cup. Cato was surprised that the wine was of a decent quality and wished that Macro would take the time to actually savour it. Unfortunately, the other two centurions had already finished the first jar of wine and Macro rose up from the bench.

'Next one's on me.'

'No need!' Minucius smiled. Pulling Macro back down with one hand, he reached under the table and brought out another jar.