Read Cato 06 - The Eagles Prophecy for Free Online Page A

posting, almost no money left and now, it seems, I’m to be executed in the near future. You really think a cup of cheap wine is going to help me?’
    Macro shrugged. ‘Well, it ain’t going to hurt you. In fact, it has a funny way of making things seem better.’
    ‘You’d know,’ Cato muttered. ‘Had enough of it over the last three months to lay out an army.’
    The barman came back, clunked a pair of Samian-ware cups on the rough wooden table between the two centurions, and filled the cups from a jug before setting that down with a cheap flourish.
    ‘Heard the news?’
    Macro and Cato turned towards him with annoyed expressions that clearly invited him to shut his mouth and beat a hasty retreat to behind the counter. The barman was not prepared to give up working for his tip that easily, and leaned against a stout wooden post that held up the three floors above the tavern.
    ‘Porcius is back in town.’
    ‘Porcius?’ Macro raised an eyebrow.’Who the bloody hell is Porcius and why should I be remotely interested in him?’
    The barman shook his head in wonder at the ignorance of the two army officers. ‘Why, he’s only the best charioteer ever to have driven for the blues! He’s top of the bill this afternoon. Runs his horses like he was born with reins in his hands. Tell you what,’ he leaned closer,’you got anything to spare for a bet, and I could get you good odds.’
    ‘Leave ‘em be,’ a voice growled from the next table, and Macro saw the face of the guardsman from the palace as he turned towards the two centurions.’Porcius is a jumped-up little tosser. Only thinks he’s good. If the man had any talent at all he’d be racing for the greens. Sir, save your money. Place it on Nepos. He’s racing for the greens.’
    ‘Nepos!’ The barman spat on the ground. He looked at the guardsman with contempt and the usual unthinking hostility that ardent supporters of racing teams reserved for each other. Then he strode back to the bar, muttering one last parting shot to the two centurions. ‘Might as well piss your money down the Great Sewer as bet on that twat Nepos.’
    ‘I heard that!’ shouted the guardsman.
    ‘Racing,’ Cato said quietly. ‘If anything destroys the Empire, it’ll be racing.’
    Macro wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the guardsman. He turned towards him and tapped the man on the shoulder.
    ‘Hello, friend,’ Macro smiled. ‘These races - any good tips you might be willing to share with a comrade in arms?’
    ‘Tips?’ The man glanced round at the other customers, but no one seemed to be listening. ‘Yes, I’ve got one tip for you. Don’t bet on that bastard Porcius.’ He tapped his nose. ‘I know what’s what, and I’m telling you, sir, Nepos is your man. Bung a few denarians on him and you’ll be laughing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I have to go.’ He grated his stool back on the flagstone, rose rather unsteadily to his feet, steered a course out of the tavern and was immediately lost from sight in the flow of people in the Forum.
    ‘Doubt he’ll get back to the palace in one go,’ Cato muttered. ‘All the same, I wish I had his problems.’
    Macro turned back to his friend, desperately searching for some crumb of comfort he could offer Cato, but he had never been good at that sort of thing.
    ‘It’s rough luck, lad.’
    ‘Rough luck?’ Cato laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, it’s better than that. I mean, after all that we’ve been through, after all we’ve done for General Plautius, you can be certain that patrician bastard’ll make sure I get the chop. There’s something you can safely bet on. Just to make sure that his shining reputation as a harsh disciplinarian doesn’t get a mark on it. And the Imperial Secretary will back him up.’
    ‘He might recommend a pardon,’ Macro suggested.
    Cato stared at him. ‘He might not. Anyway, aren’t you forgetting something?’
    ‘Am I?’
    ‘You’re also under threat. What if the general