Simon Scarrow - The Eagles Prophecy

'No, I don't think so. Vitellius has a charmed life. I only hope that we can get to the scrolls before he does.'

'And if he gets there first, sir?'

'Then I hope we get to him before he escapes. Because if we don't, and Vitellius finds somewhere safe to hide the scrolls, then when we return to Rome he can say anything he likes when he reports to Narcissus. And you can imagine how the Imperial Secretary is going to take it if we return empty-handed.'

'I don't have to imagine, sir. I know. I'll be a dead man.'

'In which case, we'd better get moving. Get yourself ready, Centurion.'

Cato retrieved his equipment and carried it over to where Macro was standing with the assault squad. As his friend helped him with the mail corselet Vespasian ordered the onagers to cease the bombardment. Immediately, a horn sounded the advance and the column of marines rippled forward along the causeway. Ahead of them, the pirates began to scurry out from their shelters and take up position along the remains of the wall either side of the breach. The marines approached the wall in silence, marching at a steady pace. As soon as they were close enough for slingshot the centurions gave the order to raise shields and the men lifted them up, almost to eye level, and stared anxiously at the men waiting for them on the wall.

The first missiles began to arc up from the citadel, and the steady rattle and thud of their impact slowly increased in intensity as the column tramped further down the causeway. Then there was a distinct crack and both centurions turned to look down the causeway. A dark line streaked towards the marines from one of the pirate catapults that had been quickly manouevred on to a platform behind the wall the moment the Roman bombardment had ceased. The bolt disappeared amongst the marines, a swirl of bodies marking its path through their ranks. But the column did not falter as it continued its advance towards the ruins of the gatehouse.

Vespasian came striding across to join Macro and the others. He had shed his cloak and carried a shield, and he hefted its weight experimentally.

'Not quite as awkward as a legionary shield, I think.' He grinned. 'Ready, Centurion Cato?'

'Yes, sir. Just about.' Cato fastened his sword belt and made sure that it sat comfortably on his hips with the handle of the sword in an easy position to draw the weapon. Then he jammed on his felt skullcap, lowered the helmet on to his head and fastened the ties. He picked up his shield and drew a deep breath. 'Ready.'

Vespasian turned towards the citadel. 'Let's go then.'

06 The Eagles Prophecy

They set off at a slow trot, equipment jingling and nailed boots crunching underfoot. Vespasian led from the front and kept the pace steady to make sure that they were not tired when they reached the citadel. In any case, the main column of marines still had to fight their way through the breach and Vespasian's group would have to wait until the wall was cleared before they made their bid for Telemachus' quarters and the scrolls.

As they advanced along the causeway Cato looked ahead and saw that the marines had reached the ditch in front of the wall. The column stopped as the first century began to pick their way across the rubble from the gatehouse. Ahead of them, and on either side, the pirates were shooting arrows and slingshot, and hurling rocks and javelins into the packed ranks of the marines. Even as Cato watched, he saw the lead centurion struck down, his red-crested helmet dropping out of sight amid the heaving tangle of armour and limbs trying to scramble across the stone and timber debris filling the ditch. More men went down, but the survivors struggled on, desperate to pass through the hail of missiles and charge into the line of pirates waiting for them beyond.

The second century was beginning its advance up the rubble slope as Vespasian's party reached the rear of the column. Vespasian barked an order for the marines to move aside and he led his men closer to the wall. He stopped in the small gap behind the next century waiting to take its turn to advance into the breach. In front of them the second wave of marines was being mauled as badly as the first and the going was made even more difficult by the bodies sprawled across the rubble.

'Look out!' someone cried to Cato's right, and he just had time to turn and see another heavy bolt lash into the side of the column, running through a number of marines before it was spent. Cato noticed that the marines around him were grim-faced, some showing clear signs of the fear that knotted their stomachs as they waited their turn to advance. Ahead of them the men of the second century were wavering. Several had already gone to ground and crouched down under their shields, unwilling to go on. The rest had slowed down, instinctively, even though it lessened their chances of surviving, and now began to back away from the breach behind raised shields.

Vespasian took in the situation at once, and turning his head he bellowed across the ranks of the marines, 'On my order… general advance!'

Cato and Macro and every marine in the column tightened their grips on their sword handles and shield grips. Beside him, Cato noticed Secundus was trembling slightly, but the imperial agent had his sword ready and kept his place amongst the prefect's assault party. This was clearly his first experience of such an action. Cato could remember all too well his first time in action when, as a raw recruit, he had dashed into the heart of a hostile German village at the side of a howling Centurion Macro. He had been in many more fights since then, and yet there was the familiar tightness of his throat, the sickness in the pit of his stomach and a strange giddy euphoria in his head.

'Advance!' Vespasian bellowed out.

The column edged forward at a slow pace as the first rank edged up the slope of rubble towards the twenty-foot-wide gap in the wall. Cato, like the men around him, raised his shield at an angle above his head and picked his way forward along the gravel of the causeway. Then the gravel gave way to crushed stone and chunks of rock as he reached the scattered rubble at the edge of the ditch. Cato had to keep his eyes down as he picked his way up the slope. Above them he could hear the jeers and cries of the pirates as they pelted the column with missiles that clattered and thudded on to the attackers' shields. An arrow struck Cato's shield boss with a sharp ring and deflected to one side. All around him he could hear the grunts of the marines as they laboured up the slope, boots scrambling for purchase on the loose masonry. But the pirates were finding their targets, and men stumbled and fell with gasps and cries of pain. Together with the dead and the litter of arrow and javelin shafts, they slowed the advance of their comrades as they struggled up and forward into the breach.

'Keep going!' Vespasian yelled above the din. 'Keep going!'

'Come on, Cato!' Macro shouted, a few paces ahead.'Stay with us.'

Cato forced himself on, sheathing his sword to save a hand for clambering over the rubble. Then the ground evened out. Raising his shield to one side he found himself squinting up at the dusty silhouettes of men on the crumbling wall, black against the pale dawn sky. At once something zipped through the air close to his head as a slingshot splintered a chunk of masonry and a fragment gashed Cato's cheek, just below the eye socket.

'Shit!' He faltered at the red-hot burning sensation, but knew at once that he must not stop, and scrambled on, over the debris and down into the citadel. Below them, through the heaving tangle of armoured bodies and shields, he could see the pirates waiting for them. The marines had passed through the deluge of missiles and now lowered their shields to the front as they scrambled and slid down the rubble towards the enemy. Beyond the ruined gatehouse was a wide street, and the pirates had blocked off the routes leading into the citadel with a crude breastwork constructed from rubble, barrels and piles of furniture. The entrances to the buildings had been sealed with stout timbers nailed across the doorways. A handful of marines already lay dead and injured in front of the barricades; the few men from the first two centuries to survive the ordeal as they passed through the breach.