The Eagles Prophecy c-6 Page 3

  'Not on your life. I've got enough to worry about as it is. If we don't get out of here soon, I'm going to go mad.'

  Macro shook his head. 'You're young. You must have twenty or twenty-five good years of service ahead of you. There's time enough. It's different for me. Fifteen more years at the most. The next posting will probably be my last chance to get my hands on enough money to see me through retirement.'

  The concern in his voice was clear and Cato paused and looked up. 'Then we'd better make sure that we make the most of this morning. I staked out the secretary's office for days to get this appointment. So let's not be late.'

  'All right, lad. Point taken. I'll get ready.'

  A little later Cato stepped back from Macro and examined him with a critical eye.

  'How do I look?'

  Cato ran his eyes over his friend and pursed his lips. 'You'll do. Now let's go.'

  When the two officers emerged from the dark staircase and on to the street in front of the tenement, heads turned to take in the spectacle of the gleaming armour and the brilliant red cloaks. Each officer wore his helmet and the neat horsehair crests fanned out across the gleaming metal. With vine cane gripped in one hand while the other rested on his sword pommel, Cato drew himself up and stiffened his back.

  Someone wolf-whistled and Cato turned to see Velina leaning against the doorpost at the street entrance to her husband's business.

  'Well then, just look at the two of you! I could really go for someone in uniform…'

  Macro grinned at her. 'I'm sure something could be arranged. I'll drop by when we get back from the palace.'

  Velina smiled weakly.'That would be nice…to see both of you.'

  'Me first,' said Macro.

  Cato gripped his arm. 'We'll be late. Come on.'

  Macro winked at Velina and stepped out with Cato. Side by side they marched boldly down the slope towards the Forum and the gleaming pillars of the vast imperial palace rising up on the Capitoline Hill.

  06 The Eagles Prophecy

  CHAPTER THREE

  'Centurions Macro and Cato?' The Praetorian Guardsman frowned as he scanned the slate lying on the desk in front of him. 'You're not on the list.'

  Macro smiled at him.'Have another look. A good look, if you know what I mean.'

  The guardsman heaved his shoulders in a weary sigh, to make it quite clear that he had been down this route many times before. He leaned back from the desk and shook his head. 'Sorry, sir. I've got my orders. No admittance to the palace unless your names are on the list.'

  'But we are on the list,' Cato insisted. 'We have an appointment at the army bureau. With the procurator in charge of legion postings. Right now, so let us through.'

  The guardsman raised an eyebrow.'You know how many times someone's tried that one on me, sir?'

  'It's true.'

  'It's only true if you're on the list, sir. You ain't on the list so you don't have an appointment.'

  'Wait a moment.' Cato concentrated his attention on the guardsman.'Look here, there's obviously been some kind of mistake. I assure you that we have an appointment. I arranged it with the procurator's clerk yesterday. Demetrius was his name. Send word to him that we're here. He'll confirm the story.'

  The guardsman turned towards a small group of slave boys squatting in a niche to one side of the columned entrance to the palace. 'You! Go to the army bureau. Find Demetrius and tell him these officers here say they have an appointment to see the procurator.'

  'Thank you,' Cato muttered, and pulled Macro away from the guardsman's desk, steering his friend towards the benches that lined the walls each side of the entrance.

  As they sat down Macro grumbled,'Officious little prick. Gods! I'd love to have him on a parade ground for a few hours of hard drill. Soon see how tough he is. Bloody Praetorians! Think the world owes them a living. And the palace guard are the idlest bastards of 'em all.'

  They waited in silence for the messenger to return and Cato looked up at the vast edifice of the palace looming above them. Built on to the side of the Palatine Hill, there were several tiers of accommodation rising high over the Forum. He had been raised within those walls. They had been almost the whole world to him – until his father died and Cato had been sent to join the legions over two years ago. Now, the once-familiar walls and columns felt like strangers, and seemed smaller, somehow. Of course, he reasoned, he had left the palace as little more than a boy, and had travelled across the Empire, across the sea, and had seen the horrors of battle. It was bound to have changed him, and made him see the world differently. But to feel like a stranger before the colossal walls that held so many memories for him made Cato's heart heavy. He suddenly felt far older than his years and shivered, clutching his military cloak tighter about his shoulders.

  When the messenger boy returned there was a quiet exchange of words with the Praetorian Guardsman before he turned round and beckoned to the two centurions.

  He nodded at Cato.'Seems you were right, sir. Demetrius will see you now.'

  'Oh, he will, will he?' Macro sniffed.'That's bloody good of him.'

  The Praetorian made a wry smile. 'You can't imagine. Anyway, follow this boy.'

  They marched through the entrance portico, across a small yard and into the main body of the palace. Inside, the iron nails on the bottom of their thick leather boots echoed sharply off the high walls on each side of the passage. They passed wide doorways through which they could see the scribes and the clerks working at the endless record-keeping that kept the wheels of the Empire turning. The walls of the offices were lined with racks of scrolls and slates, every pigeonhole neatly marked with a numeral. Light poured into each room through latticed windows high up on the wall and Macro wondered what it must be like to spend long years working in such a confined space, with no view of the outside world.

  They reached a narrow staircase at the end of the passage and climbed four flights before taking another corridor. The rooms leading off this corridor were bright and spacious, and most had windows that must provide fine views across the city. The slave boy drew up outside a wide doorway and rapped on the wooden frame.

  'Enter!' a high-pitched voice called out.

  Before they passed through the door Cato quickly whispered to his friend, 'Let me do the talking. I know my way round these palace types.'

  The slave boy led the two centurions inside and they found they were in an ante-room. Two benches were arranged along the wall opposite three windows that let in plenty of light and air. Too much, thought Cato, as he felt the chill. At the far end of the room was a closed door. To one side of it was a large desk made of some dark wood, and behind it sat the clerk Cato had met briefly the day before. Demetrius was a slight man in a plain but freshly laundered tunic. He had the classic Greek profile and his thinning hair was carefully arranged in dark oiled curls. His whole bearing spoke of the power and influence he thought he wielded. Beside him stood a brazier, glowing warmly. Three other officers were sitting on the bench nearest to the heat.

  Demetrius glanced up from a scroll and beckoned to them.'Centurions Macro and Cato? You're late.'

  Macro puffed out his cheeks, but Cato responded before his friend could protest. 'We were held up at the entrance. The guard had no record of our meeting.' Cato smiled.'You know what they're like. I hope we're not too late for our meeting with the procurator.'

  'You've missed it,' Demetrius said tonelessly.

  'Missed it?' Macro jabbed a finger at him. 'Now, just you look here-'

  'Come back tomorrow.'

  'Not on your life.'

  Demetrius shrugged. 'Your loss.' He glanced at the messenger boy. 'Please show these two gentlemen the way out of the palace.'

  'We're staying!' Macro growled. 'And we will see the procurator. You'd better make sure of that.'

  'The procurator's a busy man. You should have been here at the appointed time.'

  Macro leaned over the desk and glared at the clerk. 'And you should have made sure our names w
ere on that list.'

  'Not my problem.'

  'Then I'll make it your problem.' Macro reached for his sword, and Demetrius glanced down at the pommel as the first length of blade emerged from the scabbard. He flinched and his eyes flickered back to meet Macro's cold, determined expression.

  'You wouldn't dare.'

  'Try me.'

  For a moment Demetrius wavered, and glanced to the other officers in a silent appeal for help, but they just smiled back and didn't move. 'I'll call the guards.'

  'You can,' Macro nodded.'But long before they get here, I'd have lobbed your scrawny arse out of the window. Must be a long way down…' He smiled at the clerk. 'Now can we please have our meeting with the procurator?'

  Demetrius swallowed and fumbled for a waxed slate on his desk. 'Yes, er, let me see. He could spare you a few moments at the end of his current meeting, I suppose.' He looked up desperately. 'If you'll just take a seat…'

  Macro straightened up and nodded with satisfaction. 'Thank you.'

  As he and Cato joined the other officers on the bench he glanced at Cato and winked. 'I'll do the talking from now on. Think I've got the measure of these palace types.'

  The other officers craned round to introduce themselves. Two of them were veterans; grizzled and scarred beneath coarse hair that was going grey. They each had a chest full of medallions on their harnesses and one wore a gold torque on his wrist. The third officer was a young man, recently kitted out and with not one decoration on his harness. He looked awkward and uneasy in the company of the vastly more experienced men.

  One of the veterans nodded over towards Demetrius. 'Nice job, Centurion… is it Macro or Cato?'

  'Macro. Lately of the Second Legion Augusta. Same as Cato here.'

  'I'm Lollius Asinius. This here's Hosidius Mutilus. Waiting for travel warrants to join the Tenth Legion. The youngster's Flaccus Sosius. Looking for his first appointment.'

  The young officer smiled quickly as he fixed his attention on the new arrivals. 'The Augusta? You've been in Britain then? What's it like?'

  Macro concentrated for a moment before he replied, remembering the two years of the most intense fighting he had ever witnessed. So many men had died – good men he had known for years, and some he had barely had a chance to know before they were killed. Then there was the enemy: brutal and brave, and led by those deranged druid devils. What was it like? 'Cold.'

  'Cold?' Sosius looked confused.

  Macro nodded. 'Yes, cold. Don't ever go there. Get yourself a posting somewhere comfortable. Like Syria.'

  Cato shook his head in despair. As long as he had known Macro he had had to put up with the constant refrain that Syria was the best posting in the Empire. It was Macro's lifelong ambition to wallow in the fleshpots of the east.

  'Syria?' Asinius laughed. 'We've just come back from there. Been training some auxiliary units at Damascus.'

  Macro leaned closer to Asinius, eyes bright with intense concentration.'Tell me about it – Syria. Is it as good as they say?'

  'Well, I don't know about that, but-'

  The door to the procurator's office swung open and a man strode out into the ante-room. At once Cato and Macro rose up and stood stiffly to attention, quickly followed by the others. Demetrius rose last of all, taking just long enough to register his lack of obeisance. The man was wearing the full ceremonial toga of a senator, with a broad purple stripe running along the hem. He nodded briefly to the centurions and strode out of the ante-room as Demetrius stepped into his master's office.

  'Centurions Licinius Cato and Cornelius Macro to see you, sir.'

  'Are they on my list?'

  'An oversight, sir. I'll punish the scribe responsible.'

  'Oh, very well. Send 'em in.'

  Demetrius stood by the door and closed it behind them the moment the two centurions had entered the procurator's office.

  They found themselves standing on a thick rug, one of several that filled the large room. It was situated on the corner of the palace and had windows on two sides. Glazed windows, Macro noted with scarcely hidden astonishment at the luxurious furnishing of the procurator's office. On the far side, behind a marble-topped desk, sat the procurator, a fat man with a thick head of dark hair and a fistful of gold rings on the pudgy fingers of each hand. He glanced up with an irritable expression.

  'Well, get over here, then! Smartly now!'

  Macro and Cato marched over and stood to attention in front of the desk. The procurator snorted, and leaned back in his chair, revealing a rolling belly that stretched the wool fabric of his tunic. 'What are you here for?'

  'We're looking for reappointment to the legions, sir,' said Cato.

  The procurator tapped a pile of waxed tablets on his desk. 'So I understand. You must be Centurion Licinius Cato. You've been pushing for a new legion for several months now.'

  'Three months, sir,' Cato replied.

  'Well, from the quantity of your correspondence and the endless haranguing of my clerks it feels like several months. Truth is, I cannot make any decision until I'm clear about your position.'

  'Our position?' Macro cut in. 'What do you mean, sir?'

  The procurator crossed his fingers and rested the folds of his chin on his knuckles. 'A few days ago I received information that Centurion Cato was sentenced to death by General Plautius, the commander of the army in Britain. Is that true?'

  Cato felt a chilling sensation in the pit of his stomach. He nodded. 'Yes, sir. But I can explain.'

  'I think you'd better.'

  Cato swallowed.'Our cohort was condemned to decimation for failing to carry out orders. As a result, the enemy general escaped with some of his men. Centurion Macro and I managed to capture him, and the death sentence was lifted by the legate of the Second Legion.'

  'So I understand. As it happens, Legate Vespasian exceeded his authority when he rescinded your sentence. I might add that there's some concern, in higher circles, about the extent of your complicity in the death of your cohort commander. Both of you, that is.'

  He fell silent as the two officers standing in front of him froze and tried to keep their faces composed. They dared not look at each other and stared straight ahead instead. The procurator continued, 'I understand that following the decimation there was considerable bad feeling towards your commanding officer.'

  'Are you surprised, sir?' Macro shrugged. 'Most of the men blamed him for the cohort's punishment.'

  'Most of the men?' The procurator looked at him closely. 'And the officers?'

  Macro nodded.

  'Then you will understand that the death of Centurion Maximius has provoked considerable suspicion. Naturally, in the face of such grave accusations, the army bureau is investigating the matter fully. I've sent a letter to General Plautius requesting a full report on the matter. I'm still waiting for his reply. We should know the full facts soon enough. At which point you will either be in the clear, and I can consider you for some new postings, or you will be taken into custody and disposed of at the Emperor's convenience… In the meantime, I'd be grateful if you didn't try to leave the city.'

  He looked up and noticed the despair in their faces and for a moment his hard bureaucratic mask slipped and he shook his head sadly. 'I'm sorry, there's nothing more I can do or say. I only permitted this meeting because I thought that you should know about the situation. In view of your records I felt that Rome owed you that much at least.'

  Macro gave a thin smile. 'That much and far more, I'd say.'

  'Maybe.' The procurator shrugged. 'That's not for me to judge. Now I think you'd better leave.'

  Macro and Cato stared back a moment, until the procurator reached for a blank wax tablet and took up a stylus. They were dismissed.

  Outside the office, Cato turned slowly to Macro, who could see that he was still stunned by the procurator's words. His thin shoulders slumped forwards.

  'Come on, Cato…' Macro took his arm and steered him towards the street.

  06 The Eagles P
rophecy

  CHAPTER FOUR

  They left the palace and fought their way through the crowds streaming across the Forum. Families clustered together amid bands of loud young men clutching jars of wine as they all made for the Great Circus to find good seats for the day's racing. Cutting across this tide of excited humanity, the two centurions made for a corner tavern. The usual morning trade of wagon drivers and night porters was just beginning to dry up as the exhausted, and now inebriated, men began to stagger home to their beds.

  Macro waved the barman over.

  'What'll it be, gents?' the weasily-looking youth asked politely as he eyed up their uniforms and estimated the tip he might expect from two centurions.

  'A jar of your cheapest wine. Two cups,' Macro replied curtly. 'Quick as you can.'

  'Quick is the order, swift is the service.' The barman smiled. 'That's our motto.'

  'Nice.' Macro glanced up at him. 'But it would be even swifter if you just cut out the motto.'

  'Right… yes. I suppose so.' The barman scurried off, leaving Macro to turn his attention back to his friend. Cato was staring across the heaving crowd that filled the Forum and up at the austere heights of the palace on the Palatine. Cato had not said a word since leaving the procurator's office and now he just sat in silence. Macro patted him on the arm.

  'Cheer up, lad. The wine's ordered.'

  Cato turned his head to stare at Macro. 'I have no legionary posting, almost no money left and now, it seems, I'm to be executed in the near future. You really think a cup of cheap wine is going to help me?'

  Macro shrugged. 'Well, it ain't going to hurt you. In fact, it has a funny way of making things seem better.'

  'You'd know,' Cato muttered. 'Had enough of it over the last three months to lay out an army.'

  The barman came back, clunked a pair of Samian-ware cups on the rough wooden table between the two centurions, and filled the cups from a jug before setting that down with a cheap flourish.

  'Heard the news?'

  Macro and Cato turned towards him with annoyed expressions that clearly invited him to shut his mouth and beat a hasty retreat to behind the counter. The barman was not prepared to give up working for his tip that easily, and leaned against a stout wooden post that held up the three floors above the tavern.