The Eagles Prophecy

'Are you their leader?' he said in Greek.

The injured man said nothing, but continued glaring with hate-filled eyes, and then spat a globule of bloody saliva at Cato's face. The centurion wiped it away.

'Have it your own way.'

Cato raised his sword to strike and the pirate commander clenched his eyes shut and flinched. Cato smiled, and walked away, back towards the boarding ramp, where the last of Minucius' marines were crossing over. With nearly two centuries of marines crowded on to the deck there was little room, and Cato had to squeeze through to find Minucius and Optio Felix.

'We have to move fast. This ship's sinking, and I doubt the others will stay afloat for much longer. Come on!'

Cato pushed forward to the bows where a handful of the marines were skirmishing with the pirates on the deck of the Trident, neither side willing to be the first to leap across the narrow gap between them.

'Give the front rank space!' Cato shouted, thrusting men aside. 'Get back there!'

As soon as there was enough room for the men at the side rail to swing their arms effectively Cato grabbed a javelin from one of the men and thrust it towards the pirates. 'Use javelins! Clear that deck!'

The marines who still had javelins took aim and hurled their weapons at point-blank range, skewering those pirates who did not have the sense to fall back. As soon as the deck was free of the enemy, Cato clambered up on to the side rail, checked his balance and leaped across the gap, landing clumsily on the Trident's deck. He straightened up, raising his shield and sword as he called back to the others,'Come on!'

He didn't wait for them, but charged towards the men fighting about the mast. Some of the pirates were aware of the new danger and had already turned to face the fresh wave of Roman marines. Beyond them, Macro's voice rose above the din as he shouted encouragement to his men and foul abuse at the enemy. Cato smiled. Then he clenched his teeth as his shield slammed into that of the nearest pirate, the impact jarring his arm right up to the shoulder. Cato swung the weight of the shield back as his sword arm thrust forward, knocking aside a desperate parry and sinking the point deep into the man's stomach. Wrenching the blade free, he swung the shield forward, knocking the pirate down to one side, and made for the next enemy, an axe-wielding giant who screamed a high-pitched war cry as he staggered towards the centurion. The axe thudded into the shield, unbalancing Cato long enough for the giant to recover, swing the shaft round again, this time aiming low at Cato's legs. Cato was forced to leap back against his own men, and with a cry of glee the huge man raised the axe up for an overhead blow. There was nowhere for Cato to retreat. Instinctively, he crouched low, tipped his head down and charged forwards, under the blow, and the iron cross-piece of his helmet smashed into the pirate's face, knocking him senseless.

The marines swept forwards, hacking and thrusting at the enemy, and the ferocity of their assault instantly broke the pirates' will. They retreated, then turned and ran, foolishly hoping to find a safe haven from the marines. Only a few small knots of the enemy fought on, back to back, or forced up against the side rail. And there they died, cut down without mercy. A few dropped their weapons and pleaded for mercy, but the marines were in no mood to take prisoners and they fell across the bodies of their comrades who had gone down fighting.

Cato drew back from the melee to draw breath and take stock. There was only a handful of the enemy fighting about the mast, trapped between Cato's men and the survivors of Macro's century. When the last man had been killed, Cato pushed through his marines, anxious to seek out Macro and make sure that his friend was still alive.

The scene around the mast appalled his eyes. Twisted bodies, Roman and pirate, were heaped on the deck, which was drenched in gore that ran in livid red streaks towards the scuppers. No more than a dozen wounded and breathless marines still stood in a tight circle around the base of the mast. Macro stood amongst them, spattered with blood as he looked around wildly. Then his eyes fell on Cato and he slowly smiled.

'What the bloody hell kept you?'

The nervous relief was infectious and Cato laughed. 'Well, if this is all the thanks we get, next time I won't bother.'

'You bloody better.'

Cato wiped his blade on the cloak of one of the fallen pirates and sheathed his sword, then reached out a hand and grasped his friend by the arm. 'Well met, in any case. Now we have to go.'

Macro frowned. 'Go?'

'Get off this ship.'

'But we've just won the bugger back.'

'She's sinking. All three of them are. Let's go.' Without waiting for Macro to reply, Cato turned to the rest of the marines and filled his lungs.'Back to the Spartan, lads! Quick as you can!'

A few feet away Cato saw one of the men rifling the body of a richly dressed pirate and he angrily strode over and kicked the man away. 'No time for that. Optios! Get your men moving!'

The marines withdrew towards where the ram of the pirate ship was buried in the side of the Trident. They scrambled back across the gap, helping injured comrades as best they could, but only a few men could cross at once and Cato stared about him in frustration, slapping his fist against his thigh. Macro shook his head, and looked at his friend with a wry smile. 'Now what are you fretting at?'

A deep groan filled the air and Cato felt the deck shudder beneath his boots, causing him to stumble. He recovered, and nodded towards the ship that the Trident had succeeded in ramming. 'There! That's what I was afraid of.'

The decks of the ship were already awash and a moment later the sea closed over the side rails as she began to sink, dragging the prow of the Trident down with her. The timbers of the Roman bireme protested at the huge strain placed on the fabric of the vessel, and the marines, sensing the end was near, scrambled for the deck of the other pirate vessel. But even as they swarmed over the narrow gap, there was a loud crash from forward, and just behind the Trident's bow strake the deck shattered as if a giant fist had smashed up from beneath the surface of the sea. At once water surged over the ruined bows, the deck lurched down at a sharp angle, and the marines still aboard scrambled for a handhold. Cato dropped his shield and threw himself towards the side rail, grabbing on to it with all his strength. There were still wounded men on the deck and now their groans of agony became cries of terror at the dreadful fate swirling up the slanted deck towards them.

For a moment Cato was gripped by the same icy horror. Then he saw Macro, holding on to the rail a few feet away. His friend winked. 'Time we disembarked, I think.'

Only a handful of marines were left alongside the two centurions and they leaped across the gap towards the outstretched arms of their comrades and were hauled to safety. As Cato and Macro waited for the last of their men to quit the Trident there was a sudden cry of alarm from the deck of the pirate ship. Cato looked round and saw that she was sinking quickly, dragged down by the combined weight of the first two ships. The foredeck lurched down, almost level with the surface of the sea. Cato felt water closing around his thighs as a wave swept across the deck of the bireme.

'Oh, shit,' Cato muttered. 'We're not going to make it.'

06 The Eagles Prophecy