Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy by Simon Scarrow Page A

sky. After the first mile on the road, the exercise had warmed their muscles and Cato no longer shivered. They had left Rome at noon, pausing at the Sanqualian Gate to fill their canteens, and only with the walls of the city falling behind them had Macro felt safe enough to speak his mind. On either side of the broad paved road, tombs and mausoleums jostled with more modest memorials to the generations of the dead who had been buried outside the walls of the city.
    The traffic on the Flaminian Way was heavy, with a constant stream of wagons and carts loaded down with farm produce, goods and luxuries heading for the great markets of the capital. Trundling in the opposite direction were empty vehicles. The two centurions marched past as swiftly as possible to catch up with the reinforcement column that had left the city hours before and was well on the way to Ocriculum. The column would make good time as traffic would clear the way for them as they passed, whereas the two centurions, being far less conspicuous, would have to weave their way through the other road users.
    ‘We’re not going to catch them before nightfall,’ Cato grumbled. ‘Not at this rate.’
    ‘We might,’ Macro replied, glancing over his shoulder at Cato. ‘If we can keep the pace up. Come on, lad, no dawdling.’
    Cato gritted his teeth and lengthened his stride, until he drew alongside his friend. ‘You ever had any dealings with the marines before?’
    ‘Marines?’ Macro spat on the ground. ‘Yes, I’ve come across a few. On the Rhine squadron. They used to take leave in Argentorate, same as us legionaries. Idle wankers, the lot of them. Spent all their time dossing about on the decks of their ships while we got on with the real soldiering.’
    Cato smiled. ‘I take it there’s no love lost between legionaries and marines.’
    ‘None,’ Macro replied emphatically. ‘We were at each other’s throats from the off.’
    ‘You do surprise me. Still, now we’ve got a posting to the marines, we’d better forgive and forget, eh?’
    ‘Forgive and forget?’ Macro raised his eyebrows. ‘Fuck that! I just hate the bastards. Every legionary does. Mark my words, there’s no such thing as a good marine. Idlers, wasters and the scrapings of the street. Anyone with any worth has upped and joined the legions. We’ll have to cope with the leavings.’
    ‘Not looking forward to a bit of drilling then?’
    ‘Cato, my lad, there’s drilling and then there’s the kind of chaotic scrabbling about that is the specialism of your average marine.’
    ‘So, when it comes to soldiering, they’re all at sea?’
    Macro closed his eyes briefly. ‘Cato, that’s the kind of crack that ruins friendships.’
    ‘Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.’
    ‘Well, don’t. All right? Things are hard enough for the pair of us without you trying to joke about it.’
    ‘Fair enough.’ Cato glanced up as a column of wagons ground by on the other side of the road. Each wagon carried several men, well-muscled and looking at the peak of physical fitness. He nudged Macro. ‘Could do with a few more like them in the legions.’
    Macro looked round. ‘Them? Gladiators. No, they’re the last thing you want in the army. They think they know all that there is to know about fighting. That it’s all down to fancy footwork and a nimble blade. Your bog-standard barbarian would knock ‘em flat while they were still out to win points for style. Gladiators . . .’ Macro shook his head wearily. ‘So far up their own arses they hardly see the light of day from one month to the next. If you want someone at your shoulder that you can rely on, pick a legionary every time. And, if you can’t find a legionary, then an auxiliary will do.’
    Cato stared at him. ‘You’ve really got it in for the marines, haven’t you? Any particular reason? One of them run off with your sister, or something?’
    Macro shot a look at his friend.’Sister? No. Much closer than that. My