Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy (14 page)

‘We have to wait. Watch me. When I give the signal we get up, quiet as we can, and move on them. You strike when I strike. Not before.’

‘Right,’ Cato breathed.

They lay in the snow, swords in hand, waiting for their chance. As the snow melted beneath him Cato felt it soaking into his tunic, and chilling the bare skin beneath. He started to shiver again, even though his heart was pounding with terror and excitement. Ahead of him, Macro was still as a rock; only his eyes followed the movement by the tree trunk. The torturer continued his grisly work, and they could catch everything he was saying to his victim.

‘Come on, man! You’ll tell us in the end. Make no mistake, though. You will die, but you can make it easier on yourself. Much easier.’

‘I swear I know nothing,’ the victim choked. ‘I don’t know what you’re looking for. I swear it!’

There was a pause before the questioner spoke again, in a low voice that dripped with menace. ‘Time, I think, to fry your balls off. Let’s see if that loosens your bloody tongue.’

He backed away, turned towards the fire and leaned forward to place his sword blade in among the coals. Macro tensed his muscles and waved a hand at Cato. Then both men rose into a low crouch, swords held ready, and stepped softly towards the tree trunk. The snow creaked under each footfall, and Cato placed each step as carefully and as slowly as he could, all the time keeping his eyes fixed on the back of the man in front of him. He was aware of the dark mass of Macro to his left, easing towards the man at the other end of the trunk. Then he caught a scent of woodsmoke, horse-flesh and the sharper tang of burned meat, and fought down the bile in his stomach.

The torturer straightened up and raised his blade, glowing a dull red against the dark background of the hill. He turned round and froze as he caught sight of the two shapes beyond the tree trunk.

‘What the fu-’

‘Get ‘em!’ Macro bellowed, and threw himself forward, kicking up snow as he thrust the point of the sword into the back of the man in front of him. Cato didn’t have time to brace himself and just stretched out an arm and launched an attack on his man as the latter began to turn round. Cato’s point went high, and straight into the man’s ear with a wet crunch. The head snapped to one side under the impact of the blow and he crumpled over. The man in the middle leaped up and back from the tree trunk. He had his sword out in an instant, raising the blade to counter any attack. The torturer stood by his side, eyes flickering left and right. He smiled.

‘There’s only two of them. We can take ‘em.’

Having cut down half the opposition, Macro and Cato paused on their side of the tree trunk. The surprise of the attack was gone. Now it was a straight paired duel. Without taking his gaze from the other men, Macro called out to Cato,’The one with the hot blade’s yours. I’ll take the other bastard.’

Cato nodded and moved round the edge of the tree trunk, crouched low and ready to spring into an attack. He didn’t get the chance. With a roar, the man with the glowing sword charged at him. The tip of the sword slashed through the air in a bright sparkling arc and Cato just had time to thrust his blade up to parry the blow, and the glowing tip glanced off his handle and landed in the snow with a sputtering hiss. Cato recovered quickly and thrust at the man’s chest, but the torturer was too quick for him and recovered from his attack, lurching backwards so that Cato’s point met only thin air. The two men paused to size each other up, and Cato was dimly aware of Macro slashing away at the other man, but dare not shift his gaze from his immediate foe.

The torturer waved his free hand at Cato.’Come on, boy, if you think you’re good enough.’

Cato sneered. He wasn’t going to fall for the bait that easily. ‘Fuck you.’

The man laughed, then his face froze into an intense and deadly concentration. He quickly stepped forward and feinted. Cato knew he was being tested and flinched slightly, but kept his blade still. The man grunted, and then launched a real attack; a whirling series of slashes and cuts, forcing Cato backwards, towards the tree trunk as he desperately countered each blow with a sharp ring as the blades connected, sending jarring waves of pain down his arm. Then he felt the bark against the back of his thigh and knew there was no further retreat. The attacker came on with renewed frenzy. Then, with a guttural shout of rage and triumph, the man smashed Cato’s sword down on to to the top of the tree trunk and made to cut his blade up and sideways into Cato’s face. But it had lodged in the wood and his arm shuddered as the blade refused to budge. He frowned. Without thinking, Cato lashed out with his left fist and caught the man on the bridge of his nose, crunching bone and dazing him. Cato felt his blade trapped beneath that of his foe, and released his grip before slamming his right fist into the man’s face, following that with a flurry of blows that sent the man reeling back, step by step until he collapsed into the snow.

Only then did he glance up and see how his friend was doing. But Macro needed no help. His man was already down, and the centurion was standing over him, one foot braced on his enemy’s chest as he wrenched the blade out from between the man’s ribs.

Macro glanced round. ‘You all right, lad?’

‘Not a scratch.’ Cato turned round and went to retrieve his blade. A hand shot out and grabbed his ankle and he sprawled on the ground. He turned on his side at once and lashed out with his foot. The man he had stabbed in the ear snarled at him through clenched teeth, even as he glared at Cato with a strange unfocused expression. But his grip was as firm as a vice and his fingers locked painfully around the flesh of Cato’s ankle. Cato kicked out with his free boot, bringing the iron studs down on the man’s knuckles. Still he held on, blood streaming from the gouged flesh. Beyond him Cato could see that the torturer had scrambled back on to his feet. He looked at Cato, then Macro, and turned and ran towards the horses.

‘Stop, him!’ Cato shouted.

Macro reacted at once and dashed forward, sending sprays of powdery snow flying in his wake. Cato turned back towards the tree trunk, grabbed the handle of his sword and with a convulsive heave he wrenched the blade free. He sat up and, gritting his teeth, he slashed it down into the injured man’s forearm, cutting deep into flesh and shattering the bones. The grip on his ankle loosened and Cato wrenched his boot free of the nerveless fingers. The man grimaced, then his eyes slowly rolled up and he slumped face first into the snow, blood and grey matter oozing out of the side of his shattered skull.

A sharp neigh drew Cato’s attention towards the trees and he saw the torturer leaning low across the back of a horse as he wheeled it round and spurred it across the drainage ditch and on to the road. Macro scrambled after him, but it was too late, and he stopped when he reached the ditch and could only slap his sword against his thigh in frustration as the horse galloped off up the road and into the night.

Cato turned his attention to the prisoner and kneeled down beside him. He was a tall man, well-built, of middle age with short dark hair. He wore riding breeches and soft leather boots. His bare chest had several patches of scorched flesh and there was a burn on his cheek. He forced a smile as Cato loomed over him.

‘My rescuers, I hope.’

Cato reached round and fumbled with the thongs that bound him to the tree trunk, found the knot and then worked it apart. When the bindings came free the man slumped forward and rubbed his wrists.

‘Oh, shit . . . I’m in agony.’

He trembled, and Cato fetched the cloak from the nearest of the bodies, wrapping it about the man. ‘Can you walk?’

Macro crunched across the snow to join them. ‘You all right, mate?’

The man glanced up with a forced grin. ‘Oh, I’m just fine, thanks. May I ask who you two are? I seem to recognise you.’

‘Centurions Macro and Cato, part of a marine column heading for Ravenna. You?’

The man winced and was silent for a moment before he replied,’Marcus Anobarbus, merchant.’

Macro nodded, and then gestured towards the bodies of the three men they had killed. ‘And who the hell are these jokers?’

Anobarbus looked up.’Mind if we get some shelter before I tell you my story? I’m feeling a bit faint.’

‘Sorry.’ Macro leaned over and offered his hand. The merchant grasped it and heaved himself to his feet with a grimace, then passed out.

‘Give me some help here, Cato,’ said Macro, as he slipped an arm round the merchant’s back.

With Cato supporting him on the other side the three men crossed to the road and began to walk slowly down towards the marines’ camp site.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Centurion Minucius was waiting for them on the road beside the camp. As the centurions slowly approached either side of Anobarbus, he crossed his arms.

‘And this is . . .?’

‘Marcus Anobarbus,’ Macro grumbled. ‘We’ve met him before. He was at Hispellum the night we stayed there.’

‘And you just went out for a walk in the middle of the night and found him, I suppose?’ Minucius said with scarcely veiled suspicion. ‘For that matter, just who exactly are you two?’

‘Centurions, on our way to a new posting, like we said.’

‘Like you said.’

‘You’ve seen our documents,’ Cato added. ‘They carry the stamp of the Imperial army bureau, right?’

‘Any half-competent child could have faked those.’

‘Maybe, but who would want to?’ Cato persisted. ‘Now, please, can we get this man into our tent and tend to his injuries?’

Minucius raised his eyebrows. ‘Injuries? What kind of injuries?’

‘When we found him, some men were amusing themselves by seeing how painful they could make Anobarbus’ last moments.’

‘Why?’

Macro shrugged. ‘Let’s get him inside and find out.’

The centurions laid Anobarbus down on Macro’s bedding. A moment later Minucius appeared from the wagons with a box of salves and dressings. He set the box down beside the merchant as Cato gently peeled back the cloak and exposed the injuries.

‘Shit,’ Minucius grimaced. ‘What the hell were they doing to him?’

‘Trying to loosen his tongue,’ Cato replied. ‘We heard them asking him some questions.’

‘What questions?’

‘Not sure. They were after something and he said he didn’t have it.’

‘Oh, that’s very helpful.’

Macro nodded at the merchant. ‘He’s stirring. Let’s ask him.’

Anobarbus’ eyes flickered open, and he glanced anxiously at the faces looming over him before he recognised Cato and Macro, and the terror eased off. He licked his lips and forced a smile. ‘My rescuers. For a moment I thought you were . . . What happened to them?’

‘One got away,’ Macro replied.’The others are dead. Care to tell us who they were?’

‘In a moment,’ Minucius interrupted. ‘Let me see to the burns first.’

He lifted the lid off his medical box. In the bottom lay a selection of jars of ointments and dressings. Minucius rummaged about and took out a small pot with a cork lid. Inside was an oily cream which he applied carefully to the merchant’s chest and the burn on his face.

‘Goose fat,’ he explained.’It’ll protect the burns. Now lift him up while I get the dressing on.’

The merchant gritted his teeth as Minucius wrapped a clear linen bandage round his torso and tied it off under one arm. Anobarbus gratefully slumped back on to the bedding while Minucius closed the medical box and placed it to one side.

‘All right then,’ Macro said. ‘Tell us what happened.’

Anobarbus closed his eyes for a moment before he started. ‘I’ve already told you I’m a merchant. I deal in artworks. I buy stuff that’s shipped into Ravenna from Greece and have it transported to my clients in Rome. I came down from the capital a week ago. I had quite a large sum of money with me when I set off from Rome. I was making good time. Then a blizzard set in and closed the Flaminian Way. When it cleared I saw those men, some distance ahead on the road. They must have been waiting for travellers. I turned my horse and raced back the way I’d come. Soon as they had mounted they came after me. My money box was still filled with gold and weighing me down. I could see that they must catch me if I didn’t move faster. So I stopped and hid the gold before continuing.’

‘Hid it?’ Macro interrupted. ‘Where?’

Anobarbus looked at him. ‘Why should I tell you?’

‘For fuck’s sake, man! We rescued you. We’re centurions in the service of the Emperor, not more bloody mountain brigands.’

Anobarbus thought for a moment. ‘All right. There’s a small shrine by the side of the road. I slipped the box into a fox-hole close by. It’d better still be there when I get back to it, or I’ll know who to blame. I’ve got contacts, I have. Powerful contacts.’

Macro shook his head sadly. ‘So have we all, mate. The trick is to avoid getting shafted by them all the time. Anyway, on with your story.’

‘You can guess the rest,’ Anobarbus continued.’I rode on, but they were better mounted, and they caught up with me just as it was getting dark. They were going to kill me straight away but when they saw I no longer had the money box they knew I had hidden it somewhere. At first they just slapped me about a bit, and when I refused to speak, the leader threatened to kill me on the spot. But I knew that I would be dead the moment I told them where to find the money, so I clammed up. They settled down, stripped me, tied me to that tree trunk and lit themselves a nice little fire. I had no idea what was in store for me until I saw him start to heat his sword. Well, you know the rest. You came on the scene just in time. Frankly, I’d have spilled my guts the moment he put that blade anywhere near my balls.’