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

decides he wants to put you in the frame over the death of Centurion Maximius?’
    ‘I don’t think he will. There’s no evidence linking me to his murder, just a few rumours put around by a handful of idiots who won’t accept that he was killed by the enemy. I’m not worried about that, not really. It’s you I’m worried about.’ He looked away in embarrassment and his eyes fell on his purse, tied securely to his belt. ‘But most of all I’m worried about the fact that we’re broke, and we’re going to be very hungry in a few days’ time unless some back pay comes through. If it doesn’t, then we’ll be on the bloody streets once the next month’s rent is due. All in all, it’s not looking too healthy, Cato my lad.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘So we’d better do something about it.’
    ‘Like what?’
    Macro smiled, and leaned closer across the table. ‘Like taking advantage of that tip, and getting ourselves down to the Great Circus.’
    ‘Are you mad? We’re down to our last few coins and you want to throw them away on the races?’
    ‘Throwing ‘em away is what mugs do. What we’ve got is a sure thing.’
    ‘No. What you’ve got is incurable optimism. Me? I’m a realist. If we place that money on a race we might as well just give it away.’
    Macro slapped his hand down on the table, making the cups jump. ‘Oh, come on, Cato! What little we’ve got is as good as gone anyway. If the tip’s any use we should get reasonable odds, and, who knows, if the bet comes good we’ll be able to keep the lupine pest from the door for a while yet. What have we got to lose?’
    ‘Apart from our senses?’
    Macro glared at him. ‘Just for once, trust to fate and see what happens.’
    Cato thought it over for a moment. Macro was right, he had pretty much lost everything else in his life, and even the latter was almost certainly forfeit. So why worry about a few coins? The general’s response would arrive from Britain before the landlord’s heavies could pin him to the wall for any arrears. He might as well live a little, while he could.
    ‘All right then, let’s go.’
    By the time they had pushed their way inside the huge arch of one of the public entrances to the Great Circus there were only a few places left in the section reserved for the army. Most of the stone benches had been taken by Praetorian Guardsmen who were busy drinking from wineskins and making bets. Here and there were small clusters of legionaries - men on leave or, like Cato and Macro, waiting for a new posting. Quite a few were ex-soldiers, pensioned off or invalided out of the legions and taking advantage of their veterans’ rights.
    Emperor Claudius, in a shrewd move, had changed the seating plan so that the guardsmen were arranged either side of, and behind the grand imperial box. The senators had been shifted further off, much to their chagrin, and spilled out over their benches where they were waited on by their slaves, who served them heated wine in small goblets. Glancing beyond them, Cato saw the enclosure for the vestal virgins, the less spacious seating reserved for lesser nobles, and then the packed ranks of the common citizens, and above them, on the rearmost benches, the freedmen, foreigners and unattached women, many of whom were obviously plying their trade. Macro followed the direction of his gaze.
    ‘Forget them. You can’t afford it. Not unless Nepos does his stuff.’
    Cato swung his gaze back towards the huge expanse of the track stretching out in front of them. Several race officials were crossing to the central island, while around them scores of slaves raked the sand into a smooth, even surface in final preparation for the first race. The assistants to the priests wheeled a cage of unblemished white goats towards the sacrificial altar in the middle of the island, directly opposite the imperial box.
    All around the arena the usual hawkers sold snacks, cushions and brightly coloured scarves for each team’s supporters.