Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy by Simon Scarrow Page B

mother.’
    ‘Your mother?’
    Macro nodded. ‘A trireme turned up at Ostia for refitting. Crew came ashore for a few days. One of the smooth bastards chats my mum up and she drops the rest of us in the shit and sails off into the bloody sunset with her marine and is never seen again. I was not much more than a kid at the time. That was twenty years ago.’
    Cato was stunned. In the two years that he had known Macro, his friend had rarely mentioned his background. And now this. Having grown used to the tales of old soldiers he could not help being suspicious. ‘Is that true?’
    ‘Have I ever lied to you?’
    Cato shrugged helplessly. ‘Well, yes. Frequently, as it happens. Soldiers’ stories and all that. “The barbarian that got away”, that kind of thing.’
    ‘Oh.’ Macro pursed his lips. ‘This one’s true. So I hate marines,’ he concluded simply.
    Cato felt a heavy weight settle on his heart. If Macro carried such prejudices with him all the way to Ravenna then life with the marines was going to be very difficult. The inter-service rivalry was bad enough without Macro adding his personal crusade against marine-kind to the situation.
    Cato tried to reason with his friend.’Don’t you think it’s a bit harsh to judge them all by the conduct of one?’
    ‘No.’
    Cato hissed with frustration. ‘That’s hardly fair.’
    ‘What’s fairness got to do with it? One of the bastards ran off with my mum. Now the boot’s on the other foot and I’m going to stick it to them. And I’ll have none of your nonsense about fairness.’
    ‘Prejudice never solved anything,’ Cato replied calmly.
    ‘Bollocks! Which one of your fancy philosophers came up with that? Prejudice solves everything, and quickly too. As long as you’ve got the balls to see it through. How else do you think we got ourselves an empire? Through playing fair with a bunch of hairy-arsed barbarians? Think we talked ‘em into throwing down their weapons and surrendering their lands? No. We regarded them as ignorant and uncivilised. All of them. And rightly so, in my opinion. Made kicking their heads in a lot easier at the end of the day. You start arguing with yourself about the pros and cons of their point of view and you’ll be dead in a flash. Act as you find and life becomes simpler, and longer, probably. So, Cato, spare me your feelings about fairness, eh? If I want to hate marines, that’s up to me. Makes my life easy. You want to cosy up to them, then that’s up to you. But leave me out of it.’
    ‘Well, if you insist.’
    ‘I do. All right? Now let’s change the subject.’
    Cato could see that his friend would not budge on the issue. Not right now, at least. Perhaps Macro could be persuaded to be more reasonable over time; a few carefully chosen words here and there and their posting to the marines might be less of an unpleasant experience. If Narcissus was right, then this mission was going to be dangerous enough for Cato and Macro without having to worry about the loyalty of the men around them.
    Cato leaned forward, adjusted the weight of the yoke on his shoulder, and marched on in silence. The Flaminian Way began to incline as it met a low ridge to the north of the capital. As the road evened out, Cato stepped off the road into the shade of a copse of tall cypress trees and set his pack down for a moment. Macro strode on a few paces, then paused, and reluctantly trudged off the paved surface and joined his friend.
    ‘Not tired already?’
    ‘A bit,’ Cato admitted. ‘I’m out of training for route marches.’
    ‘Really?’ Macro smirked. ‘I’ll make a marine of you yet.’
    ‘Very funny.’ Cato took a sip from his canteen and stared back down the road towards Rome, sprawling across its seven hills and spilling out on to the surrounding landscape. Having lived in the tight confines of the city for some months, it felt strange to Cato to encompass the city of a million souls in one glance. The vast edifice of the