'What if they're wrong?' Macro asked.

Cato shrugged.'It doesn't matter. All Narcissus has to do is let on that he has all the scrolls, and most of his enemies won't dare to act against him for fear that he already knows their intentions. That's quite a useful political tool. Almost a treasure in its own right… Only, the scrolls never made it back to Rome. A short distance from Ravenna, the ship on which Narcissus' agent was travelling was attacked and captured by Telemachus and his pirates. When it dawned on Telemachus what he had got his hands on he knew he could demand a vast ransom for the scrolls. Better still, if other parties were made aware of the scrolls' existence he could sell them to the highest bidder. The Emperor and Narcissus won't be the only ones after the scrolls. There'll be others. Like our friends, the Liberators. So Telemachus played one off against the other and forced the price up. Only he got too greedy and Narcissus decided that he must get the scrolls back at any cost. So he sent us out, and the Ravenna fleet, with orders to stop at nothing until the pirate menace is eliminated.'

'And the scrolls are recovered.' Macro nodded. 'So this whole thing is about the scrolls?'

'Not quite. They'd have to deal with Telemachus and his men at some point. But a campaign against the pirate threat would be a good enough cover for the real operation to retrieve the scrolls. The only difficulty is that the Imperial Secretary would have to keep that side of things a secret, for fear of alerting his rivals not only to the existence of the scrolls, but also their whereabouts.'

'I see. But if it's such a big secret, how do you know about it?'

Cato flushed. 'I read Vitellius' report. The one he sent back to Rome.'

Macro looked horrified. 'You did what?'

'Well, there was a storm. The seal got wet and broke. I didn't trust him, so I read the report…'

Macro stared at him wide-eyed. This was a breach of protocol of the most severe nature. A legionary could be executed on the spot for many lesser offences. He swallowed nervously. 'So go on then. What did it say?'

'Knowing our friend Vitellius you won't be surprised that he lied through his teeth about that sea battle and the shit situation he left us in. He tried to blame me for the losses we suffered.'

'You?'

'Why not? He needed to shift the blame off his shoulders. And with me out of the way, then there'd be only you and him in the know about those scrolls. If anything happened to you, he'd be able to make up any story he liked and keep the scrolls for himself.'

'Why do that?'

'So he could sell them on. Or, better still, use them to advance his own interests. You know how ambitious he is.'

'I know that all right,' Macro replied with feeling. 'The bastard.'

'Anyway,' Cato smiled, 'I made a few alterations to the report before I sent it off to Rome.'

Macro was astonished, and felt sick over what Cato had just told him. 'You altered it?'

'I had to.' Cato shrugged.'I was dead if I didn't. So I just changed it so it told the truth.'

Macro glanced up sharply.'That's why they sent Vespasian here.'

Cato nodded.

'Fuck, Cato. You really do take some chances. If this ever gets out they'll break every bone in your body.'

'At least…' Cato looked at his friend in embarrassment. 'Look, I'm really sorry about this. Sorry that I've got you involved.'

'What do you mean?'

'I sort of tricked Vespasian into telling me about the scrolls. I saw the reference to the Sybilline scrolls in Vitellius' report and made out that I knew the full story when I was briefing Vespasian about the situation here. He swallowed it, and before I knew what I was saying I said that you knew about the scrolls as well.'

Macro frowned and shook his head. 'So? So what?'

'Until this is all over, anyone who knows about the scrolls is going to be in great danger. The stakes are too high to risk having any loose ends.'

'I see.' Macro nodded.'Thanks, mate. Thanks a lot. Much as I like you, Cato, and think that you've turned out to be a damn fine soldier, there are times when I really do wish that I'd never met you. Fifteen years, I'd served, before you turned up. Sure I'd been in some bad scrapes, but in the last two years you've nearly got me killed more times than I can care to think about. Now this…'

'Sorry.'

'Stop apologising. It's too late to do anything about it now.' Macro scrunched his haversack up into a tight bundle and lay down beside the fire, back towards Cato. He was silent for a moment before he muttered, 'Just promise me, one thing.'

'Yes?'

'If we get out of this mess, no more adventures.'

'Well, I'll do my best.'

'Huh…'

In the morning, they rose with the first light of day glimmering off the walls of the cave. Macro stretched his stiff limbs and coughed as the cold air swept into his lungs. Cato kept quiet, still a little shamed by his confession of the previous evening. They packed their provisions back into the haversacks, put on their boots and emerged from the cave. The sky was leaden and a cold wind blew up the side of the mountain, clammy with the threat of rain.

'Which way?' asked Macro.

'Straight up. We should have a view of their anchorage and base from the peak of the mountain.'

'If the information's accurate,' Macro said gloomily. 'Chances are, it won't be.'

'We'll know soon enough.' Cato thrust his haversack behind his back and started along the track that wound up the rock-strewn slope. A moment late, mouthing a foul curse, Macro set off after him.

As they rose higher, a mist closed in. Then they seemed to be up into the base of the clouds themselves and a chilly drizzle pattered around them. Slowly, the ground began to level out and tussocks of windblown grass struggled to get a purchase amid the boulders and gravel.

'Nice,' said Macro. 'But I'm sure the view is worth it.'

'View?' Cato glanced round. 'Don't count on it.'

Macro shook his head. 'Thought you were the one who had mastered irony?'

Cato smiled. 'Sorry.'

'There you go again…'

They found some shelter from the wind and rain under a rocky overhang and sat down, huddled inside their military cloaks, chewing on some of the dried beef from their haversacks. The hours passed and still the sky remained grey and foreboding. Then late in the afternoon, Cato estimated, the clouds thinned and a faint glow of sunlight bloomed across the mountain top. The rain stopped, and patches of clear blue sky broke through the clouds. Below them, the mountainside slowly became visible until there was even a hint of sea far below where its foot dipped into the bay. At last the bright breeze blew away the last of the cloud cover and the two centurions had a fine view of the other half of the Gates of Stone – the mountain on the far side of the opening to the bay. From there the ridge swept far inland and circled round and finally climbed up to the mountaintop where Cato and Macro were sitting. Below them the waters of the bay glittered serenely and out at sea tiny whitecaps danced across the tops of the waves.

'All right, I admit it,' said Macro.'The view was worth it.'

'Yes,' Cato replied. 'Especially when you consider that aspect.'

He raised his hand and pointed at the mountain opposite. At its base a small spur of rock curved out into the bay. At the end, overlooking the bay was a small fortified village, while in the calm waters below were the tiny slivers of galleys, anchored in two neat rows.

06 The Eagles Prophecy