Read Online Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy by Simon Scarrow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Simon Scarrow
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throat.
‘I really wouldn’t do that, sir,’ the Praetorian said reasonably. ‘You’re outnumbered, you’re on the ground and you’d be dead before you could even draw your sword. So don’t give us any trouble.’ He let the words sink in, and when Macro nodded, he slowly raised his boot, but kept the point of his sword poised over Macro’s throat. Keeping his eyes fixed on the centurion he gave an order.’Frontinus, get their weapons.’
One of his men sheathed his blade and took charge of the swords and daggers of the two officers. Only when the man had retreated out of the room did the leader of the squad withdraw the point of his weapon and step away from Macro.
‘Get dressed. And get your kit together.’
Cato frowned. ‘Our kit?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid you won’t be coming back here again.’
Cato felt his blood chill. He was numb. So this was what it was like to be led to your execution. A cordial visit from the Imperial Secretary’s henchmen and two more names were erased from history. He almost laughed out loud at the pretentiousness of the thought. He and Macro were not even worthy of a footnote. Two minor characters with walk-on parts in some provincial drama was nearer the mark. They were doomed to be forgotten, even within the living memory of the very men who took them to their deaths. That was how it was, and Cato felt the bitter anger of one whose life was fated to end meaninglessly almost before it had even begun. He looked up at the leader of the squad.
‘Where are you taking us?’
‘Told you, sir. Narcissus wants to see you.’
Cato smiled. No doubt the Imperial Secretary wanted a chance to bid them farewell so that they would be in no doubt who had crafted their doom. That was typical of Narcissus. No matter how small the triumph, he needed to witness it in person. Under more detached circumstances Cato would have been curious to reflect on the flaws of such an insecure personality, but with death seemingly imminent he had nothing but hatred and despair in his heart.
‘Now then, on your feet, please, sir. I’ve got a busy morning; quite a few other appointments to fit in. So, if you wouldn’t mind . . .?’
Cato rose up from his mattress warily, his mind racing with thoughts of fight and escape. He wondered if the Praetorians would finish him and Macro off there and then. But then, he supposed, they would have to carry the bodies away for disposal. They wouldn’t like that. Much easier to make their victims take themselves away before being disposed of. Being careful not to turn his back on the Praetorians, Cato put on his boots and laced them up, before packing his clothes and equipment into his blanket. On the other side of the room Macro did the same. There was not much to leave behind: a few scraps of food, and odd items of clothing that had been awaiting repair. It puzzled Cato that the Praetorians were prepared to let them pack their possessions, until it struck him that the worldly goods of the two centurions might fetch a reasonable price back at the guards’ barracks.
Cato folded his blanket over his belongings, tied the ends together, and looped the knot over the end of the marching yoke. When Macro had finished, he joined Cato a short distance away from the waiting Praetorians.
He looked down at his boot, as if checking his laces, and whispered, ‘Think we should try and make a break for it?’
‘No.’
The Praetorian smiled, anticipating the remark even though he had not heard it. ‘Please, don’t either of you do anything foolish. Me and the lads have had plenty of experience escorting people.’
‘Prisoners, you mean,’ Macro growled.
The Praetorian shrugged. ‘People, prisoners, it’s all the same to us, sir. We just collect and deliver. There’s others who handle the messy stuff. I’m just warning you not to try and escape. It’d be an unpleasant business for both of us, if you get my meaning.’
Macro glared at him.’I'd get it a lot
‘I really wouldn’t do that, sir,’ the Praetorian said reasonably. ‘You’re outnumbered, you’re on the ground and you’d be dead before you could even draw your sword. So don’t give us any trouble.’ He let the words sink in, and when Macro nodded, he slowly raised his boot, but kept the point of his sword poised over Macro’s throat. Keeping his eyes fixed on the centurion he gave an order.’Frontinus, get their weapons.’
One of his men sheathed his blade and took charge of the swords and daggers of the two officers. Only when the man had retreated out of the room did the leader of the squad withdraw the point of his weapon and step away from Macro.
‘Get dressed. And get your kit together.’
Cato frowned. ‘Our kit?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid you won’t be coming back here again.’
Cato felt his blood chill. He was numb. So this was what it was like to be led to your execution. A cordial visit from the Imperial Secretary’s henchmen and two more names were erased from history. He almost laughed out loud at the pretentiousness of the thought. He and Macro were not even worthy of a footnote. Two minor characters with walk-on parts in some provincial drama was nearer the mark. They were doomed to be forgotten, even within the living memory of the very men who took them to their deaths. That was how it was, and Cato felt the bitter anger of one whose life was fated to end meaninglessly almost before it had even begun. He looked up at the leader of the squad.
‘Where are you taking us?’
‘Told you, sir. Narcissus wants to see you.’
Cato smiled. No doubt the Imperial Secretary wanted a chance to bid them farewell so that they would be in no doubt who had crafted their doom. That was typical of Narcissus. No matter how small the triumph, he needed to witness it in person. Under more detached circumstances Cato would have been curious to reflect on the flaws of such an insecure personality, but with death seemingly imminent he had nothing but hatred and despair in his heart.
‘Now then, on your feet, please, sir. I’ve got a busy morning; quite a few other appointments to fit in. So, if you wouldn’t mind . . .?’
Cato rose up from his mattress warily, his mind racing with thoughts of fight and escape. He wondered if the Praetorians would finish him and Macro off there and then. But then, he supposed, they would have to carry the bodies away for disposal. They wouldn’t like that. Much easier to make their victims take themselves away before being disposed of. Being careful not to turn his back on the Praetorians, Cato put on his boots and laced them up, before packing his clothes and equipment into his blanket. On the other side of the room Macro did the same. There was not much to leave behind: a few scraps of food, and odd items of clothing that had been awaiting repair. It puzzled Cato that the Praetorians were prepared to let them pack their possessions, until it struck him that the worldly goods of the two centurions might fetch a reasonable price back at the guards’ barracks.
Cato folded his blanket over his belongings, tied the ends together, and looped the knot over the end of the marching yoke. When Macro had finished, he joined Cato a short distance away from the waiting Praetorians.
He looked down at his boot, as if checking his laces, and whispered, ‘Think we should try and make a break for it?’
‘No.’
The Praetorian smiled, anticipating the remark even though he had not heard it. ‘Please, don’t either of you do anything foolish. Me and the lads have had plenty of experience escorting people.’
‘Prisoners, you mean,’ Macro growled.
The Praetorian shrugged. ‘People, prisoners, it’s all the same to us, sir. We just collect and deliver. There’s others who handle the messy stuff. I’m just warning you not to try and escape. It’d be an unpleasant business for both of us, if you get my meaning.’
Macro glared at him.’I'd get it a lot