Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy (31 page)

The street on which the Dancing Dolphin stood was far quieter than the last time Cato had been there. The marines and the navy had been the main source of custom for the myriad bars and brothels of the area. Unoccupied prostitutes sat in their curtained alcoves with sullen expressions, which brightened into laboured seductive looks as they caught sight of Cato approaching down the side of the street. He refused to meet their eyes, or respond to their explicit sexual entreaties, as he strode past, head down.

There was only a handful of customers in the Dancing Dolphin when Cato entered. He kept his hood up for a moment as he glanced round. The only face he recognised was that of the barman leaning on the counter as he waited to serve a customer. He looked at Cato hopefully, and the centurion worked his way through the haphazard arrangement of tables and benches towards the counter. The barman gave him a thin, unconvincing smile of welcome.

‘Evening. What can I get you?’

‘Mulsum.’

‘Right.’ The barman dipped a ladle into a steaming jar and filled a bronze cup, sliding it across the bar to Cato. ‘That’s three asses.’

Cato plucked the small coins out of his purse and slapped them down on the counter. Despite the price, the drink was only just palatable and Cato could feel the sediment in his mouth as he gulped down the first warm mouthful.

The barman returned the ladle to the jar.’Anything else?’

‘Yes.’ Cato took another sip. ‘Portia. I need to speak to her. Let her know I’m here.’

‘And you are?’

‘Centurion Cato. She knows me.’

The barman stood back from the counter and weighed Cato up. He clearly decided that the customer was of little account, and shook his head. ‘You can’t see her. She’s not here.’

‘All right, sunshine. Where is she, then?’

The look of dull preoccupation that crossed the barman’s face as he tried to make up an excuse was eloquent enough for Cato.

‘Uh, she’s, uh, gone to the wine wholesaler.’

‘I see. And he only opens at night, I suppose?’

‘Er, yes . . . no. He’s doing it as a special favour.’

‘Really?’ Cato smiled mirthlessly, then leaned closer. ‘Look, mate, she’s on the premises. There’s no point in denying it. Just go and tell her that Cato - Macro’s friend - is here and needs to speak to her urgently. Now go. Before I have to make you.’

Cato felt his heart quicken as he stared at the barman, trying to act the part of a man who would not take ‘no’ for an answer. The barman stared back at him, slowly kneading his hands together in a soiled cloth. At length he pursed his lips and snorted with contempt.

‘I said she’s not here. Now, I think you’d better drink up and leave, before I throw you out.’

Cato flipped his cloak open to reveal the pommel of his sword, and casually drew the blade. ‘I think you’d better go and look for her.’

The barman’s eyes fixed on the gleaming swordpoint and he nodded quickly. ‘I remember now. She’s doing the accounts. I’ll tell her you’re here.’

Cato nodded. ‘Thank you.’

Cato kept his sword up, and the barman backed carefully along the wall behind the counter until he was out of reach, and then hurried through the small doorway into the passage beyond. Once the man was gone Cato sheathed the blade and looked round the wine shop at the other customers. A few faces had turned towards him out of curiosity, but most continued talking in low undertones with their friends, or just stared ahead in a drunken stupor. He turned back to his mulsum and raised the cup. Then he recalled the gritty sediment and set it back down on the counter with a grimace.

‘And what is wrong with that?’

Cato was momentarily startled by the voice and looked round sharply, before attempting to recover his composure. Portia was standing inside the door frame, in the shadows, and he heard her chuckle.

‘My man told me we had a heavy at the bar. Made no mention of a boy.’

‘Not a boy,’ Cato replied through clenched teeth. ‘A centurion.’

‘Touchy young fellow, aren’t you?’ She stepped into the dull light of the bar and Cato saw the amused smile she was not even trying to suppress. He felt himself blushing as Portia approached and stood the other side of the counter. ‘I thought you were in Illyricum, sticking it to those pirates.’ The bitter irony of the last words hung in the air like an accusation.

‘I was. But the prefect needed someone to come back for reinforcements.’

‘So I heard. I assume things aren’t going well for our side. Now it seems you’re leaving us open to attack.’

Cato said nothing, but glanced down to try to hide the guilt he was feeling.

‘What can I do for you, Centurion? Is this about that idiot son of mine?’

Cato nodded.’That. And another matter.’

She raised her plucked eyebrows. ‘Sounds ominous . . . Any news of my man?’

‘Minucius? He’s safe.’ Cato recalled the flimsy rampart that had been erected around the remains of the fleet. ‘At least he was when I left him.’

‘Safe,’ Portia repeated softly, then brushed her hand over her hair, tied back in a simple ponytail. ‘Good. I’ll make an offering for them tomorrow.’

‘Them?’ Cato smiled.

‘Yes, why not? Even that fool friend of yours could do with a little help from the gods.’

There was an awkward silence before Cato summed up the nerve to say what he wanted. ‘You know, I think a little reconciliation might be in order.’

‘Then you’d better tell him that,’ Portia replied coldly. ‘Last time I saw my son, he seemed content to beat my husband-to-be into a pulp and destroy my livelihood.’

Cato shot a glance round at the dingy wine shop and Portia sensed his disdain at once.

‘You might not think it’s much, but it’s been my bread and butter for years. Minucius and I have sunk every spare sestertian into this place. If we hadn’t come into a little money recently I’d never have forgiven Macro for the damage he caused the other night. As it is, I’m selling up. Soon as Minucius gets back we’re leaving Ravenna.’

‘Leaving?’

‘Cato, I don’t mean to end my days serving behind a bar. Minucius and I intend to find a small estate and retire quietly.’

Cato raised his eyebrows. ‘Must be making a tidy profit from this place.’

Portia snorted. ‘I wish. No. The money comes from Minucius. His uncle died some months ago. Seems the man was wise enough not to have children,’ she added with feeling.’He left it all to his only nephew.’ She flashed a bitter smile.’Makes a bit of a mockery of all the years I’ve put into this place, wouldn’t you say?’

Cato shrugged. ‘Better late than never. The same applies to making things up with Macro.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something? I left him and his father. Just dumped them and ran off with another man. Can you imagine how much that would hurt a boy that age? Even though I had my reasons, I could never forgive myself for doing that. I’ve often imagined what he must have gone through - tormented myself with it. And all the time I’ve been sure that however bad it made me feel, it was far worse for him, if not for that idle drunk of a husband. You can be sure that Macro will never forgive me.’

‘He might,’ Cato replied, ‘if you give him a chance.’

Portia frowned, and then patted his hand. ‘Look, you seem like a nice boy, Cato. But this really doesn’t concern you.’

‘Macro’s my friend. It concerns me.’

‘Have it your own way, then . . .’ They stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Portia’s gaze wavered. ‘All right, tell him that I will speak with him when this business with the pirates is over. He can have one last chance to grow up. If he can’t bring himself to behave like an adult I’ll wash my hands of him. After all, I’ve got a future with Minucius. I really don’t need to dredge up the past.’

‘Fair enough.’ Cato nodded. ‘I’ll tell him.’

‘Now, if that’s all . . . No, wait. You mentioned another matter.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well?’

‘You recall that night we came here?’

Portia arched her eyebrows. ‘What do you think?’

Cato glanced down to hide his shame. ‘There was a man with us. A merchant. Anobarbus.’

‘I remember him. Nice-looking man.’

‘Have you seen him since then?’

‘Not for a few days after the fight. Then he turned up again. He’s been in here two or three times. Made a beeline for any men from the fleet.’ Portia smiled at the memory. ‘Very flash with his money. Bought a round for everyone on the last occasion.’

‘Really?’ Cato raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you know where I can find Anobarbus? I need to have a word with him.’

Portia shook her head. ‘Sorry. No idea . . . But you might ask that man over there.’ She gestured towards a man slumped across a table to one side of the door, head cradled on crossed arms.

‘Him?’

‘He’s one of the gangmasters down at the warehouses. Contracts porters for all the shipowners and merchants in the port. If anyone knows where your man is staying, it’ll be Laecus there.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

‘Laecus?’ Cato stood over the man, his nose wrinkling at the stench of wine and sweat. A cloak was bundled on to the bench beside Laecus and the gangmaster wore a sleeveless tunic of soft leather stained and worn through years of hard work down at the harbour. Laecus didn’t stir, and Cato leaned forward and shook the man’s shoulder; a mass of muscle and tattoos. ‘Laecus . . .’

The gangmaster grumbled softly and his eyes flickered for a moment before his lips puffed out in a slow belch. Cato winced as the stale fumes of wine and garlic wafted up to him. ‘Nice.’

He took a firm grip on the man’s shoulder and shook him firmly. ‘Laecus! Wake up, man!’

‘Gerroff.’ Laecus flapped a hand at Cato, waving him away. ‘Leave me be, you bastard. Can’ you see I’m fucken ’sleep?’

‘No, you’re not.’ Cato shook him again, more forcefully.’I have to speak to you. Sit up!’ He looked back towards the counter. ‘A pitcher of water over here!’

While he waited for the barman to return, Cato let go of Laecus and the gangmaster slid back into his stupor, mumbling incoherently as the centurion wrinkled his nose. The barman emerged from the back room and crossed over to Cato with a pitcher and two cups. He set them down on the table beside Laecus.

‘Shall I pour, sir?’

‘Yes, all of it.’

The barman glanced at the cups and frowned.

‘Not in the cups, you bloody fool! On him! Empty all of it on him.’

The barman slowly grinned. ‘Oh! I get it.’

He gripped the jug carefully, took aim and upended it, releasing a torrent over the gangmaster’s head. As soon as the pitcher was empty the barman backed away, hurrying out of range. Laecus jerked up, spluttering in confusion and anger.

‘What the fuck . . .?’ His eyes glanced round and fixed on Cato. ‘Here! What are you-’

‘Quiet!’ Cato snapped. ‘Just sit still and answer my questions.’

‘Sit still?’ He laughed. ‘No. I’m going to take your head off, you little gobshite!’

Laecus lurched round, sweeping a huge arm across the top of the table and sending the cups flying across the room and to shatter against the wall. But before he could rise from the bench Cato had stepped back and, with a weary sigh of resignation, drew his sword again.

‘Easy, there! Sit down.’

Laecus paused for a moment, eyes narrowing as he took in the sword and then the young man standing behind the blade. With the water dripping from the straggling locks plastered on to his scalp, Laecus swiftly sobered up enough to know he was at a disadvantage. He dropped back on to the bench and leaned away from Cato, resting his back against the cracked plaster on the wall.

‘All right,’ Cato nodded.’Now that I have your attention, I need to ask you some questions. Does the name Anobarbus mean anything to you?’

‘Anobarbus?’ The gangmaster raised a fist and rubbed his chin as he considered the question. ‘Never heard of him.’

‘Try harder,’ Cato growled. ‘An older bloke. Bit thin. Trades in art and sculpture.’

‘I might know him,’ Laecus said slowly. ‘What’s in it for me?’

‘Not being held for questioning down at the navy base.’ Cato gave him a thin smile. ‘It’d be better for you to freely answer my questions here, rather than let my men knock the answers out of you. Now then, do you know of this man?’

‘All right. Let me think . . . This Anobarbus, arrived in the port a few days back?’

‘Sounds like the man I’m looking for. Done any work for him?’

‘No.’

‘You know anyone who has?’

‘No.’

‘Laecus, you’re going to have to do better than this if you don’t want a few painful hours alone with my men. Do I make myself clear?’ Cato stared into his eyes, and the other man glanced down.

‘Clear enough, sir. Yes, I know him. It’s my business to know him and any other traders and merchants who pass through the port. Soon as I heard there was a new man in Ravenna I went to see him.’

A sudden thought struck Cato. When the merchant had entered the port he had been part of a military convoy and had not paid the toll, or had to register his name and business. ‘How did you hear about him?’