The Eagles Prophecy

Cato shrugged. 'As long as I get ferried back from the fight I'll be a happy man.'

At the end of each day's training the marines returned to their barracks to clean and check their kit, record their wills, and those with families in the port were allowed to spend their nights in Rave

In order to preserve the secrecy of their operations as far as possible, Vitellius had closed the port and no shipping was allowed in or out, not even fishing vessels. Every day the prefect had to deal with angry representatives of the town's council and merchant guilds. But Vitellius was unmovable and the town's worthies could only fume at the loss of trade and business, already reduced by the depredations of Telemachus and his pirate fleet.

On the fifth day the ships were fully provisioned and ready for sea. Loaded with extra stores and equipment, they floated low and sluggish in the calm waters of the navy harbour. Beyond the mole the sea was rough, and huge grey waves shattered on the breakwater in thunderous clouds of spray. A keen wind snatched the falling spray and swept it across the decks of the nearest vessels, drenching the men still on deck. The air was filled with the clatter of halyards rapping on the masts, and there was a low moaning undernote from the wind sweeping through the rigging. It had taken all the persuasive skills of the trierarchs to talk the prefect out of giving the order to set sail. Loaded down as they were, most of the ships would have foundered before they were even out of sight of land. At length Vitellius gave the order for the crews to be stood down and the marines tramped back to barracks. The less experienced men played dice or drank and swapped jokes and stories to try to take their minds off the delayed operation. The older marines took the chance to get some sleep, knowing well how miserable a rough sea-crossing could be.

All day the wind strengthened and the sea became more wild as dark clouds gathered on the horizon. The storm swept in towards the shore and battered Rave

When, at last, the pale glimmer of dawn feebly struggled for purchase on the horizon, the fury of the storm finally began to abate. The sky remained overcast, clear of rain and hail. The wind died away to a hushed breeze while the waves subsided into an oily smooth swell. The officers of the naval base emerged from the shelter of their barracks to survey the damage. The shattered remains of loosened tiles lay scattered about the buildings but the worst of the damage, as ever, had been wreaked on the shipping. Inside the mole, the breakwater was strewn with the timbers of vessels washed ashore and wrecked on the rocks. Here and there lay the twisted shapes of men, like discarded toys. A handful of ships had foundered at their anchors and only the tops of their mast, with sails furled on the yards, were visible above the surface of the sea.

Glancing over the naval harbour Cato and Macro counted the vessels that had survived the night.

'What did we lose?' asked Cato.

'I make it two triremes and four of the biremes,' Macro said.'Seems that those sailors were right about the boarding devices. Not that Vitellius will admit it. Maybe he'll listen next time.'

Cato turned to him with raised eyebrows.

'All right,' Macro conceded. 'Maybe he won't. This isn't the best start to this campaign of his. Think he'll go ahead with it?'

'He has to. He's on the same mission as us. Narcissus won't stand for any excuses.'

Sure enough, the moment the clouds began to disperse, the assembly signal rang out across the base. The marines tumbled out of their barracks and formed up in their ship's companies, ready for the order to board. Vitellius consulted with his senior sea-going officers, and the men of the ships that had been lost were distributed among the surviving craft. Then, when the final signal sounded out, the men tramped aboard the warships moored along the quay. Once each vessel had taken on its marines, it moved off and waited in the harbour as its space was taken by the next. Macro's ship, a bireme with the name Trident painted on its bow, tied up and lowered its gangway.

'I'll see you on the other side.' He held out his hand to Cato as if in final farewell, and Cato smiled.

'It's a narrow stretch of sea, Macro, not the River Styx.'

'Really?' Macro glanced out, beyond the harbour towards the horizon. 'I can't see the difference from where I'm standing.'

'Oh, come on. We'll be back on dry land by the end of tomorrow.'

'I thought you were the one who was afraid of water?'

Cato made himself smile. 'I am.'

'Me too…' Macro shook his hand. 'I swear, if we get through this alive, I'll never work with ships again.'

'Let's hope we have that choice.'

Macro nodded, and then turned briskly away and marched over to the Trident and stepped gingerly along the boarding plank behind the last of his men. As soon as his boots thudded down on the deck the plank was hauled aboard, the mooring cables slipped from the stout wooden posts on the quay, and the sailors strained at long shafts of wood to ease the ship out into open water. At the side of the ship Macro glanced back at Cato, waved once and then took up his position behind the captain on the raised aft deck.

Cato's bireme was one of the ships that had sunk, and his century was transferred on to the Spartan, a trireme. The unit that boarded ahead of him was commanded by Minucius. The veteran still bore the livid bruises from his encounter with Macro and was not pleased to see Cato.

'We're overloaded. Get your men forward. I'll keep mine aft. That should help the ship's trim.'

Cato stared at him a moment before passing the order on to his optio. Then, as the men shuffled forward of the mast and sat down beside their packs, he turned back to Minucius.

'A word, if I may?'

Minucius shrugged as Cato stepped closer to him so that they would not be overheard.

'I don't care about the issue between you and Macro. It's none of my business.'

'Just keep him away from me. Next time he won't be so lucky.'

'Lucky?' Cato smiled. 'You should consider yourself lucky still to be walking. Macro's not known for handling people with kid gloves.'

'So his mother says. Sounds like he's always been a right little thug.'

'Then I'd say he's found the right vocation. Wouldn't you? Take my word for it, he's good at what he does. So steer well clear of him. I'll do what I can to talk him round. We've got enough trouble on our hands with these pirates, without any family feuding.'

'We're not family,' Minucius replied through clenched teeth.

'As good as.' Cato winked. 'So I'll see what I can do.'

Minucius glared at him a moment, then his expression softened. 'Fair enough. For his mother's sake.'

'That's settled then. There's one other matter.'

'Oh?'

Cato stiffened his back so that he could look down at the marine officer. 'I'm a legionary centurion. I have seniority here.'

Minucius chuckled. 'Don't tell me you're pulling rank?'

Cato nodded.

'For fuck's sake, you're barely a man. I was in this job before you were even born.' Minucius' eyes glinted angrily. 'Who the hell do you think you're talking to?'

Cato's face was expressionless. 'You respect the rank, not the man, Minucius. And you will call me "sir" from now on. In front of the men.'