Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy (54 page)

‘Cato!’ Macro called out. ‘Prefect’s here.’

Cato quickly scrambled to his feet and stood to attention, head canted forward to avoid striking the deck above. He exchanged a salute with the prefect, then Vespasian glanced around the cramped hold.

‘This is the place where the prisoner was being held?’

‘Yes, sir. Over here.’ Cato indicated an iron ring lying on the deck. Beside it was a large nail.’Someone’s tried to make up a bed over there.’ Cato nodded to a pile of rope and canvas on the opposite side of the hold. ‘That’s where Centurion Minucius must have been.’

‘I see. So what happened?’

Cato shrugged. ‘I can’t say for sure, sir.’

‘All right then,’ Vespasian continued patiently. ‘What do you think happened?’

Cato squatted down and picked up the iron ring, then pointed to a place on the rib that had been gouged out and was surrounded by splinters. ‘That’s where he was chained up to the ring bolt, sir. He could have waited for Minucius to fall asleep and then used that nail to work the bolt loose.’

Vespasian inspected the timber and nodded. ‘What do you think happened to Minucius?’

‘Hard to say, sir. I’ve found no blood, so far.’

‘The prisoner might have dropped the centurion over the side.’

Cato nodded towards Macro. ‘We thought of that, sir. Same goes for the missing sentries, so I had some men swim round the hull. The water’s clear enough, but they didn’t find any bodies. My guess is that Ajax took Minucius with him.’

‘A prisoner? Why?’

‘Perhaps Ajax needed him to talk his way through any watch-boats they came across, sir.’

Vespasian stared back. ‘Unlikely . . . What if Minucius went of his own accord?’

Macro stirred uneasily. ‘Are you suggesting he let the prisoner go, sir? Why would he do that?’

‘No,’ Cato interrupted. ‘Ajax escaped. How else do you explain the ring bolt? It’s clear that someone had to work it free.’

Vespasian scratched his chin. ‘Perhaps it’s been made to look that way.’

‘That’s a possibility, sir,’ Cato nodded. ‘But do you think it’s likely?’

Before Vespasian could reply there was a shout up on deck, and moments later boots thudded down the gangway of the main hatch. A marine squinted into the gloom and saluted as he caught sight of the prefect.

‘Sir, we’ve found the sentries.’

Vespasian and the two centurions hurried after the marine as they climbed up to the deck and went forward. The marines were helping two men out of the anchor cable locker and as they approached Cato could see the bright red weals around the men’s wrists and ankles as they stood unsteadily to attention.

‘What happened?’ Vespasian snapped at them. ‘Make your report!’

The two men glanced at each other nervously before one, the older man, replied, ‘We was on guard duty last night, sir. About the fifth hour we saw someone approaching. We made the challenge, but it was Tribune Vitellius, sir.

‘Vitellius? Are you certain?’

‘Sure as I’m standing in front of you, sir. The tribune, and two men. Think they was those two bodyguards of his, sir. Anyway, he told us he had been ordered to fetch the prisoner. So we let ‘em pass.’ His gaze dropped to his feet. ‘That’s when it happened, sir.’

‘What happened?’

‘His bodyguards jumped us. Laid my mate out and knocked me down. They took us on board, trussed us up and dumped us in this locker, sir.’

‘I see . . . Did they give you the correct password?’

The marine looked surprised at the question. ‘Well, no, sir. I recognised the tribune so I didn’t see the need to.’

‘Centurion Macro!’

‘Sir?’

‘Give these men a month of fatigues. Latrine duty. Maybe next time, they’ll have the sense to stick to password protocol.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You can deal with them later. We’ve got bigger fish to fry. You and Cato come with me.’

They climbed down the gangway to the beach and strode towards the onagers, still lobbing rocks at the distant wall of the citadel. Even though the sun had not yet risen Cato could clearly see that the gatehouse had all but collapsed and rubble from the breach almost filled the ditch outside the wall. Already, the missiles arcing forward from the Roman lines were striking the buildings beyond the wall and tiny figures were attempting to barricade the end of the street behind the breach.

‘Whatever Vitellius is up to,’ Vespasian said as he strode along the shore,’you can be sure that it has something to do with the scrolls.’

‘Do you think he’s gone after them, sir?’ asked Cato.

‘Yes. Why else take Ajax? But before we act, we have to be sure of our facts. I want you to go to his tent. You have my authority to enter and search it. Assuming he isn’t there see what you can find and then report to me at the causeway. One other thing . . .’

‘Sir?’

‘That imperial agent you rescued, Secundus - I’ve spoken to him. He knows his way round the citadel well enough. Find him and bring him with you. Once we get inside the citadel we need to find our way to Telemachus’ headquarters as swiftly as possible. You got all that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Macro, I want you to pick two sections of marines for our assault group. The best you can find. Now both of you go!’

Vespasian was standing at the head of a dense column of marines when Cato came running from the direction of the camp. The onagers had completed their destruction of the gatehouse and were now concentrating on the walls each side of the breach in order to widen the gap before the assault went in. The troops chosen for the attack watched the bombardment closely, willing the walls to crumble so that the gap they had to advance through was as wide as possible. So they paid little attention to the prefect and the small party of marines gathered behind him with Macro and Secundus. The imperial agent had only limited experience of military service and wore his kit awkwardly. As he leaned on the edge of his shield Secundus rubbed the pommel of his sword in such an agitated manner that Macro had to lean over and still his arm.

‘Take it easy.’

‘Take it easy?’ Secundus turned to him with a startled expression. ‘When we’re about to charge into that nest of pirates. I’ve seen ‘em and I know what they’re like.’

‘I’ve seen them too,’ Macro smiled reassuringly.’And they die just as well as any other men. Besides, once we get inside that wall, they’ll be too busy running for their lives to give us much trouble. You’ll be safe enough. I guarantee it.’

Secundus looked at him. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

‘Fair enough,’ Macro smiled, then pointed over the other man’s shoulder. ‘Here comes Cato.’

Cato had drawn armour and weapons from stores and had them bundled in his arms as he found the prefect and breathlessly stiffened to attention in front of Vespasian.

‘Well, Centurion?’

‘He’s not there. But I found this.’ Cato placed his equipment on the ground and reached inside his tunic and pulled out a folded piece of papyrus, with a seal over the fold. ‘It’s addressed to you, sir.’

Vespasian took the letter, broke the seal and scanned the message. When he finished he refolded the letter and stuffed it inside his breastplate as he spoke quietly to Cato. ‘Seems that Vitellius is trying to win himself some glory. He’s taken Ajax and gone into the citadel to spy on the enemy and recover the scrolls. For the Emperor, naturally.’

Macro frowned. ‘He’s mad. He’ll never do it. Anyway, I thought he’d been injured, sir.’

‘Something of a miraculous recovery, it seems.’ Vespasian smiled quickly before he turned back to Cato. ‘Anyone else see the letter?’

‘Oh yes, sir. As soon as I said you had authorised the search of his tent his clerk handed me the letter . . .in front of witnesses.’

‘Very neat.’ Vespasian smiled grimly. ‘It seems our old friend is attempting to cover his back once again.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Cato glanced at the citadel.’But maybe this time he’s gone too far.’

‘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.’

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

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.