Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy by Simon Scarrow Page B

few had no boots at all and most were thin and drawn, and clothed in little more than rags. They were, as Macro had said, the dregs of the city: men with little hope of employment and no prospects for a better life. And now, in an act of desperation, they had volunteered for the marines. No legion would have had them, that’s for sure, Cato reflected. And a good few of them would still be thrown out of the marines before training was completed. So this was their last chance. Men in such circumstances either caved in quickly, or found some last reserve of strength and determination from deep inside themselves. As Cato once had. He turned back to Macro.
    ‘How much?’
    ‘You’ll take the bet?’
    Cato nodded.
    ‘More fool you,’ Macro smiled. They had made wagers before, and Macro had won more often than not, his experience triumphing over Cato’s attempts to rationalise the odds. It was typical of the lad to persist, and Macro was touched by Cato’s confidence in his own judgement. But not touched enough to refuse the chance of easy money.
    ‘All right then. The first month’s pay.’
    Cato stared back at him.
    Macro arched an eyebrow. ‘Too rich for you?’
    ‘No. No. Not at all. A month’s pay it is.’
    ‘Done!’ Macro grasped his friend’s hand and shook it firmly before Cato could think of changing his mind.
    A shout from the centurion in charge of the convoy drew the marines up in their ranks and they stood silent and shivering as the optios strode down the column and dressed the ranks with their long wooden staffs, clipping the odd unfortunate who failed to move with sufficient alacrity. Macro and Cato made their way over to the front of the column. They had already introduced themselves to the centurion, a skinny veteran by the name of Minucius. He was a friendly enough man and told them that he had transferred back to the marines, with a promotion, after a stint in the auxiliaries many years before. Clearly, Minucius had remained true to the hard training of his former service arm and showed no pity for his new charges. Once the introductions had been made and Macro and Cato had shown him their orders, Minucius offered them space in the lead wagon. There was one vehicle in front of the recruits and another three behind, carrying rations and tents for the journey, a small chest of money for expenses and a parcel of letters.
    Cato looked round.’Where’s Vitellius?’
    Centurion Minucius glanced at Cato. ‘Gone. He left an hour ago, with his escort. Seems that the prefect is in a tearing hurry to take up his new command. So, I’m afraid we’ll be denied the pleasure of his aristocratic company for the rest of the journey. Shame that.’ He grinned.
    ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Macro said quietly.
    Minucius looked at him searchingly.’Something I should know?’
    ‘No,’ Cato interrupted. ‘It’s nothing.’
    ‘Nothing?’
    ‘We’ve served with Vitellius before. Back in Britain.’
    ‘And?’
    Cato frowned. ‘And what?’
    ‘What’s he like?’ Minucius observed the two centurions as they exchanged a wary look. ‘Come now, lads. We’re grown-ups. We’ll be serving together for months, maybe years. If you’ve got some information on the prefect you should share it. After all, who’s going to show you the ropes when we get to Ravenna, eh?’
    Cato coughed.’Let’s just say that we didn’t see eye to eye with Vitellius on a few issues.’
    ‘Didn’t see eye to eye, eh?’ Minucius looked at the other centurions shrewdly. ‘He’s a thorough-going bastard then?’
    Cato pursed his lips and shrugged.
    ‘You could say that,’ Macro said softly. ‘But you didn’t hear it from us. Right?’
    ‘Got you.’ Minucius winked good-humouredly.’Forewarned is forearmed. I’ll watch my back around our new prefect.’
    ‘Yes,’ Macro added, as Minucius strode off to make sure that the convoy was ready to set off, ’so will we all.’
    From Ocriculum the Flaminian Way led