Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy (58 page)

Macro was silent, and she immediately sensed something wrong in his mood.

‘What’s the matter, Macro?’

‘It’s nothing. Shall I get you a drink?’

‘A drink?’ Portia eyed him shrewdly. ‘That’s what men say when they want to avoid a subject.’

Macro looked at her helplessly.

‘What happened?’ she asked quietly, but firmly. ‘Tell me.’

‘This isn’t the time.’

‘Tell me!’

Macro swallowed, tried to meet her intent gaze, and wavered. He looked down and spoke softly.’Minucius was a traitor. He was selling information to the pirates. He’d been doing it for months.’

‘No.’

‘Yes. How else do you think he had come by the money for all those retirement plans of his?’

‘He said he’d inherited it.’ She looked confused. ‘He couldn’t have been a traitor. How could he be? I’d have known.’

‘Are you saying you never suspected him?’

Portia glared back and slapped him hard.’How dare you!’

Macro reached up and rubbed his cheek. His mother shook her head, trembling with rage and grief, and despair. ‘Macro . . . what’s to become of me?’

‘I’ve taken care of it, Mother.’ He lifted his haversack on to the desk, unfastened the ties and, reaching inside, he drew out the leather bag Minucius had carried up to the roof. ‘This was his. I think you should have it now.’

Portia stared at the leather bag. ‘What’s in it?’

‘Gold, some gems, some silver. More than enough to keep you in comfort. You can still have that small estate in the country.’

Her eyes remained fixed on the bag.’How did you come by this?’

Macro winced. ‘It was with him when he died.’

Her eyes flickered up. ‘You were there?’

Macro nodded.

‘So what happened?’

When her son did not immediately reply a look of horror seeped across her features. ‘What did you do to him? What did you do to him?’

She grasped his arms and tried to shake him. Macro looked at her woodenly. ‘I offered him a choice. Either I’d kill him, or let him kill himself. He did the best thing. He took his own life.’

Portia looked straight at her son.’Swear you didn’t do it! Swear it.’

‘I promise you, Mother. I didn’t kill him.’

‘I hope so, for your sake.’ She looked away, shrunken and despairing. ‘You’ve no idea what you would have done.’

Macro frowned, not understanding what she meant. But Portia kept her silence for a little longer, as she stared at the floor. Macro cleared his throat.

‘You know, you could come back to Rome with me. It’s not far from there to Ostia . . . Father’s still alive, as far as I know.’

Portia looked up at him, and suddenly burst out laughing. The sound was brittle and somehow frightening. For a moment she no longer seemed in control of herself.

‘Mother? What’s the matter?’

‘Oh, it’s priceless!’ She laughed again.’Quite priceless . . . You really want me to go back to Ostia, to that stupid, worthless, violent drunk you call a father?’

Macro shrugged. ‘It’s just a suggestion. I just hoped . . .’ He stared at her, a terrible chill of suspicion gripping him as he dimly grasped that there was something strange about what she had just said.

‘What’s wrong with my father?’

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Portia’s lips trembled. ‘He’s dead. That’s what’s wrong with him. Minucius was your father.’

‘No . . .’

She nodded. ‘He made me pregnant and ran away. So I had to marry that oaf you called a father. But years later Minucius came back for me. By then you were old enough to look after yourself. Besides, the situation was complicated enough already.’ Portia continued wearily. ‘I told him I’d miscarried the baby. He never knew about you.’

They stared at each other for a moment. Macro shook his head. It wasn’t true. Couldn’t be. But deep inside, he knew it was. There was no reason for her to lie to him, and a flood of memories and half-understood comments flooded into his mind. He looked up and met her gaze again. She nodded slowly and stood, gently closed her thin arms around his head and held him close. Macro was too dazed to react, and simply closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists.

‘Oh, my baby . . . my boy,’ Portia said softly. ‘What have you done to us?’

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

‘A fine job all round!’ Narcissus smiled happily. ‘Couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. We’ve got the scrolls, the pirates have been defeated and the Liberators have gone away empty-handed. Shame that Rufius Pollo and that man Anobarbus have gone to ground. But I’m sure they’ll be rooted out and dealt with before long . . . Oh! My apologies, do please take a seat. I’ll send for some refreshments. I assume, after your rather wearisome journey from Ravenna, that you might like a little something to eat and drink, eh?’

Opposite the Imperial Secretary stood three dishevelled individuals. Spattered with mud and sporting several days’ growth of beard, they eyed him blearily. Vespasian was the first to respond.

‘Yes. That would be nice. Thanks.’

While Narcissus called for a servant and gave the orders, his guests slumped down into the seats arranged in front of the Imperial Secretary’s desk. Cato, mindful of his rank, waited until Vespasian and Vitellius were seated before he joined them. As soon as Cato was in place Narcissus leaned across his desk with an excited expression.

‘So then, to business. The scrolls - let’s see them.’

Vespasian took the small knapsack from his side and undid the strap. Then he flipped the cover back and reached inside. He brought the scrolls out, one at a time, and placed them on top of the desk, then pushed them towards Narcissus. The Imperial Secretary gazed at them in unabashed awe. Then he glanced up at Cato. ‘I assume you’ve worked out what these are?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Vespasian stirred for a moment. ‘I thought . . . Never mind.’

Narcissus had returned his gaze to the scrolls and had not noticed the prefect’s brief look of surprise.

‘The Sybilline prophecies,’ Narcissus said quietly. ‘I can hardly believe they exist, and yet here they are. It doesn’t seem possible.’

‘It nearly wasn’t.’ Vespasian scratched his chin. ‘You have no idea how much blood has been shed to retrieve those scrolls.’

‘Yes, I’m sure I’ll read all about it in your reports.’ Narcissus flashed a smile at him. ‘You won’t find me, or the Emperor, ungrateful for your efforts, I promise.’

‘That’s so reassuring.’

The comment was lost on Narcissus, whose eyes had been drawn back to the scrolls. It seemed to Cato that Narcissus hardly dared to touch them. It was quite understandable, the young centurion reflected. The scrolls had been penned by the Oracle at Cumae: the sum total of many years of reading the omens and interpreting the will of the Gods, in order to map out the future of the greatest of nations. A little humility in the presence of such revered documents was the least that could be expected.

And yet there was something else in Narcissus’ expression, something that troubled Cato. It was like avarice, or ambition or both. It was clear that Narcissus recognised the power that the scrolls conferred. And there was also fear, clearly visible in the hand that stretched out, and stopped just before the tips of the fingers touched the aged leather of the scroll cases.

If there was any prophetic value in the scrolls then knowledge of events to come was a double-edged gift and Cato wondered if - had he been in Narcissus’ position - his thirst to know would have won out over his fear of knowing too much; of knowing what fate had in store for the Empire. After all, what would it profit a man to be forewarned of some great calamity to befall the state, or some tragedy more immediate and personal, if he could do nothing to cheat such a destiny? Sometimes ignorance could be a blessing, thought Cato with a wry smile.

He glanced at Vespasian and Vitellius and wondered if they shared his trepidation about the contents of the scrolls. Vespasian perhaps. But it was hard to imagine that the ruthless desire for self-advancement that burned in Vitellius’ heart would be able to resist the lure of the scrolls.

Vitellius sniffed. ‘Go ahead,’ he told the Imperial Secretary. ‘They won’t bite you.’

Narcissus looked at the tribune searchingly, then leaned forward and drew the scrolls back across the desk towards him.’I'll have a look at them later, when I can give them the time they deserve.’

‘Oh, I’m sure they’ll make for interesting reading,’ Vitellius smiled. ‘Assuming the prophecies don’t share our soothsayers’ predilection for ambiguity and wild speculation. If you need any help…’

‘I’ll manage, thank you, Vitellius.’

Glancing at Vitellius Cato could not help feeling that it was just as well that Vespasian had taken charge of the operation to retrieve the scrolls, and had taken them into his protection the moment the scrolls had fallen back into Roman hands.

The scrolls, in their knapsack, had not left Vespasian’s side for the entire journey from Ravenna to Rome. Cato had watched him as closely as possible and not once had he seen Vespasian even tamper with the straps that fastened the knapsack. Of course, it was just conceivably possible that Vespasian might have risked a quick look, one night as they slept round an open fire, or shared a dormitory of an imperial staging post. But Cato doubted it. Vespasian seemed to suffer from the usual arriviste affliction of wanting to do the right thing. If his orders clearly stated that he was to deliver the scrolls to Narcissus without reading them, then it was hard to imagine that Vespasian had even opened his knapsack to give them a curious glance. Vitellius, on the other hand, could not have been trusted with them. Cato was not fooled by his flimsy explanation for his attempt to retrieve them by himself. As ever, the scheming aristocrat had confected the story to cover his tracks. If Telemachus had not caught him, then Cato was sure that Vitellius would have kept the scrolls for himself.

‘Once you have read them, what then?’ asked Vespasian.

‘What then?’ Narcissus frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What will happen to the scrolls? I assume you’ll have them placed with the others in the temple of Jupiter.’

Narcissus laughed. ‘I shall do no such thing!’

Vespasian stared at him for an instant.’I don’t understand. I thought that was the whole point - to reunite the scrolls.’

‘Why should I want to do that?’

‘So that they can be consulted.’

‘Consulted by who?’

Vespasian laughed. ‘By the Emperor. By his priests. By the senate.’

Narcissus nodded.’Precisely. You make my point for me.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t get it.’

The Imperial Secretary sat back in his chair with a smile. ‘If people are given access to the scrolls then they might just use them for their own political ends.’

‘As if!’ Vitellius grinned.

Vespasian rounded on him irritably.’Not all of us are like you.’

‘No. But enough of us are. You have spent too much time away from Rome, Vespasian. There are any number of senators out there who harbour ambitions for high office.’ His eyes twinkled with malice. ‘And even if they don’t, you can be sure their wives do …’

Vespasian looked down to hide his anxiety.

‘You see my difficulty?’ Narcissus leaned forwards. ‘It would be a huge comfort to the Emperor if every senator was as committed to serving Rome as you are. But there are many who would sooner serve their own ends. They can not be permitted to know what fate intends for us all. Surely you can see that?’

Vespasian looked up.’I can see that we are losing a chance to take the future in our hands. To lay it before the best minds in the Empire.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Narcissus added, ‘but the best minds are not always the best-disposed minds, if you see what I mean? In any case, it would probably be far too dangerous to trust the future of Rome to the speculations of some half-mad mystic written down when this city was little more than a village. In fact, it really doesn’t matter what these scrolls say, just as long as the right people are made aware that they do exist. Then they’ll be afraid of what the scrolls might say. Therein lies their true value, to me and to the Emperor at least. You do understand, Vespasian?’

Vespasian nodded.

‘Good!’ said Narcissus. ‘Then you’ll also appreciate why you must tell no one about them. Only a handful of men know of their existence right now. I’d like to keep it that way for the moment.’

Vespasian smiled. ‘Naturally, you won’t hesitate to use the contents of the scrolls to enhance your own standing?’

A brief expression of anger flitted across his expression before Narcissus continued. ‘I serve Emperor Claudius. As do you. I will use the scrolls to make the Emperor’s position more secure.’

‘I’m touched by your unswerving loyalty, Narcissus. I’m sure you’ll be quite selfless in the way you use what knowledge you gain from the scrolls.’

They stared at each other for a moment, before Narcissus folded his hands over the scrolls and continued speaking. ‘I won’t insult you by asking for your solemn vow in this matter. I just ask you to understand that the stability of the Empire depends on this secret. Do I have your agreement on this?’