Simon Scarrow: The Eagles Prophecy

Cato glanced away, not wanting to make further eye contact, and sat down at the far end of the bench to wait his turn at the hearth. In the arches on the far side of the yard the slaves of a bakery were already at work, heating the ovens for the first loaves of the day.

'Hello, Centurion.'

Cato looked up and saw that the baker's wife had emerged from her premises and was grinning at him. She was younger than Cato, and had already been married to the ageing owner of the business for three years. It had been a good marriage for the pretty, but coarse girl from the Subura, and she had plans for the business once her husband had passed on. Of course she might need a partner to share her ambitions when the time came. She had freely imparted this information to Cato as soon as he had moved into the tenement, and the implication was clear enough.

'Morning,Velina.' Cato nodded. 'Good to see you.'

From the other end of the bench came a clearly audible sniff of contempt.

'Ignore her.' Velina smiled. 'Mrs Gabinius thinks she's better than the rest of us. How's that brat Gaius coming on? Still poking his nose where it's not wanted?'

The thin woman turned away from the baker's wife and clutched her child close to her chest without making any reply. Velina placed her hands on her hips and raised her head with a triumphant sneer before her attention returned to Cato.

'How's my centurion today? Any news?'

Cato shook his head. 'Still no postings for either of us. But we're going to see someone at the palace this morning. Might have some good news later on.'

'Oh…' Velina frowned. 'I suppose I should wish you good luck.'

'That would be nice.'

She shrugged. 'Can't see why you bother, though. How long has it been now? Five months?'

'Three.'

'What if there's nothing for you? You should think about doing something else with your life. Something more rewarding.' She arched an eyebrow and pouted quickly. 'Young man like yourself could go a long way, in the right company.'

'Maybe.' Cato felt himself blushing and glanced round towards the hearth. The open attention he was getting from Velina embarrassed him and he desperately wanted to quit the yard before she developed her plans for him any further.

The old man who had been stirring his gruel was heaving the steaming pot from the iron griddle and headed carefully towards the stairs. The wife of Gabinius reached for her pots.

'Excuse me.' Cato stood up. 'Would you mind if I went first?'

She looked up, sunken eyes fixing him with a cold stare for an instant.

'We're in a rush this morning,' Cato explained quickly. 'Have to get up and out as quick as we can.' He made a pleading face and tilted his head slightly in the direction of the baker's wife. The thin woman pursed her lips in a smile, glanced at Velina with a barely concealed delight as she saw the other's look of frustration.

'Of course, sir. Since you're so desperate to get away.'

'Thank you.' Cato nodded his gratitude and placed the mess tins on the hot griddle. He ladled some water in from the water trough, mixed it into the ground barley and started stirring as it heated up.

Velina sniffed, turned and strode back towards the bakery.

'She's still giving you the eye then?' Macro grinned as he scraped the bottom of his mess tin with a scrap of bread.

'Afraid so.' Cato had finished his meal and was rubbing wax into his leather harness with an old rag. The silvered medals he had won in battle shone like freshly minted coins from their fastenings on the harness. He already wore his thick military tunic and scale armour, and had fastened polished greaves to his lower legs. He dabbed some more wax on to the cloth and rubbed away at the gleaming leather.

'Going to do anything about it?' Macro continued, trying not to smile.

'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

'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.