The Eagles Prophecy

Macro's eyes widened. 'How many more of those have you got under there?'

'Enough to keep us going for a while yet. Drink up!'

'Where's this woman of yours?' Macro looked round, but his view of the bar was obscured by a crowd of customers standing in the way. 'I want to give her a hug.'

'She'll join us a bit later. When it quietens down.'

'Oh, all right then.' Macro turned back to the others. 'Hey! Have you heard the news?'

'What news?' Anobarbus asked.

'The prefect's going to stick it to the pirates. Taking the whole fleet and the marines over to Illyricum to hunt the bastards down.'

Cato leaned across the table and laid a hand on his friend's arm. 'Macro!'

'What?'

'That's not for general consumption.'

Macro looked at him blearily. 'General who?'

'It's supposed to be a secret.'

'Secret? Secret from who? Soon as we start loading up the ships everyone'll know anyway.'

'That's not the point. The prefect doesn't want word of it getting out to the pirates any sooner than can be helped.'

'You told me.'

'I trusted you.'

Macro shifted guiltily. 'Well, yes. Look, I'm sorry, lad. Anyway, it's not going any further than the four of us, then. All right, boys?'

'Sure,' Minucius smiled. 'Let's make an oath, and seal it with a toast.'

'No,' Cato said firmly. 'Just don't mention it again. Goes for you too. And you, Anobarbus.'

Anobarbus nodded. 'My lips are sealed. Don't you worry.'

'Don't worry? Easier said than done, with those two soaks around.'

Minucius suddenly beamed and stood up, knocking the table with his hip and nearly sending the fresh jar of wine flying. Anobarbus' arm shot out and steadied the jar before it could spill a drop.

'Nice hands!' Macro winked at him.

'Here she is now, boys!' said Minucius. 'My woman. My girl. The love of my life.'

Cato turned round and sca

Flushing with pride the veteran centurion turned to his companions. 'Lads, may I introduce you to Portia, proprietress of this fine establishment and soon to be my blushing bride.'

'Ignore him,' Portia smiled. 'He's been saying he'll make an honest woman of me for the last twenty years.'

Minucius laughed, then turned to the other men.'Portia, these are the men I was telling you about. We shared that little adventure back in the mountains. That's Anobarbus, the young lad there is Cato and this incorrigible is Centurion Macro.'

Anobarbus and Cato nodded their greetings but Macro just sat still, an ashen expression on his face.

Portia looked worried. 'Are you all right?'

Macro swallowed nervously before he could manage a reply. 'Hello, Mum.'

06 The Eagles Prophecy

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The silence was finally broken when Portia gave a little cry of shock and clasped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes fluttered and she collapsed like a broken laundry rack.

'Portia!' Minucius clambered over Macro and cradled her head in his hands. 'Portia, my love! Speak to me!'

While he tried to revive the woman, Cato's gaze switched from her to Macro and back again in total bewilderment. Macro just stared fixedly at Portia as if the old woman was the most astonishing vision in the entire world. When the enormity of what had just happened fixed itself in Cato's brain he began to understand Macro's paralysed reaction.

'What's going on?' Anobarbus asked, tugging at Cato's sleeve. 'What did he call her?'

'Mum. He called her Mum.'

'She's his mother?' Anobarbus smiled.'What is she doing here? I thought you two had come down from Rome.'

'I don't know.' Cato shook his head.'Macro told me that she'd abandoned him as a child. Ran off with some marine… oh…' Cato looked at Minucius, who was now squatting on the floor and stroking the old woman's grey hair. 'Oh, no! Macro.'

Macro was still staring down at Portia with a stupefied expression. Cato grabbed his arm and shook him hard.

'Macro! Come on! We have to go.'

Macro tore his gaze away and looked vaguely at Cato. 'Go? Go where?'

'Trust me, we just have to go. Right now.'

'But that's my mum.'

'I know. We'll pop back and see her when you're sober.'

'I haven't seen her for twenty years.' Tears brimmed in the corner of his bleary eyes. 'Since I was her little boy.'

'Yes, yes.' Cato patted his arm gently. 'Wonderful, isn't it? Now we don't want her to see you in this drunken state, do we? Let's go and get you sobered up first. Come on.'

Cato rose from his seat, moved in between Macro and his mother, and her lover, and tried to lift Macro off his bench.

'Here, Anobarbus, lend us a hand.'

The merchant looked at Macro warily. 'Why? What's going on here?'

'Just give me a hand. We have to get him out of here.'

'She's my mother,' Macro mumbled, tears rolling down his cheeks. 'She's my mum, and she ran away from me. Left us for a marine.' Macro suddenly froze, staring at Minucius with wide eyes. 'Him!'

'Oh, no!' Cato's heart sank. 'Quick! Let's go!'

He snatched at Macro's arm and heaved with all his strength, raising the centurion off the bench, but by now full realisation of the situation had flooded drunkenly into Macro's mind. His head snapped towards Minucius.

'You!… You bastard!' he snarled, and then a raw shout of hatred ripped out of his throat. 'It was you! You stole her away from us!'

Minucius looked up, startled by the bellow of rage. He snatched up his hands to protect himself and Portia's head bumped on to the floor. Her eyes flickered open, fixed on Macro and she screamed.

Before Cato could react, Macro roared something incomprehensible and charged into Minucius, picking him up by the shoulders and thrusting him back, through the crowd of marines. Men went flying to either side, tables went over, jars of wine crashed to the floor and shattered, spilling their red contents like blood. There were outraged shouts and screams of panic from the whores as Macro continued to plough through them like an enraged bull with a lithe acrobat pi

Cato turned to Anobarbus and shrugged. 'Here we go again…'

The merchant frowned. 'Does he do this sort of thing often?'

'Not really. But this is something of a special occasion. A family reunion.'

On the far side of the tavern Macro had Minucius pi

Portia had recovered from her shock and now flew across the room, snatching up an iron skillet on the way.

'Let go of him!' she shrieked. 'Let go of him, you little horror!'

Macro ignored her intervention and continued battering her paramour with commendable single-mindedness.

'All right then, you little bastard!'

Portia swung the skillet back, took aim and then smashed it into the back of Macro's head. There was a dull gong-like noise, and Macro's knees buckled under him, revealing Minucius, bloody-faced and dazed. A moment later he too slumped to the floor. Portia dropped the skillet and started to cry, an awful screeching sound like a parrot inadvertently caught in a meat-grinder, as her shoulders flapped up and down.

'Look out! The provosts are coming!' a terrified voice shrieked from outside in the street.

'Come on,' Cato said to Anobarbus.'We have to get them out of here. Before the provosts kick seven shades out of them, and us.'