Cato 03 - When the Eagle Hunts by Simon Scarrow Read Free Book Online

his head. Instinctively he thrust his head forwards and smashed it into the man's crotch. The legionary folded under the impact and crumpled to one side with a howl of pain, both hands clutched between his legs.
    'Nice move, son!' Macro bellowed.
    The blow to his head and the excess of wine he had consumed made Cato's head swim horribly. He tried to get to his feet, and failed, but through the shouts and crashes of furniture he became aware of the distant pounding of footsteps.
    'Provosts!' someone shouted. 'Get out of here!'
    Abruptly the fighting stopped and there was a mad scramble for the back of the bar. The main door opened and a squad of soldiers with black cloaks appeared. Cato was dragged to his feet by Macro and thrown bodily in the direction of the small rear door that the other brawlers were spilling out through. In a whirl of images Cato found himself out in the street, running clumsily after Macro. The centurion broke away from the main group and went weaving down an alleyway. The sounds of pursuit had faded when Cato became aware that he had lost track of Macro. He stopped and leaned against a wooden wall as he fought to catch his breath. The world around him was spinning sickeningly and he desperately wanted to throw up, but there was nothing apart from bile rising in his throat.
    'Macro!' he called out. 'Macro!'
    In the near distance a voice shouted, and the sound of jostling armour grew louder.
    'Shit! What have I done?'
    A hand grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him to one side, through a door and into the darkness of a building. Something hit him hard in the stomach and Cato dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. Outside, footsteps crunched through the snow and then died away.
    'Sorry about that,' said Macro, helping Cato to his feet. 'But I needed to shut you up for a moment. No harm intended. You all right?'
    'N–no!' Cato gasped. 'Feel sick!'
    'Save it for later. We've got better things to do. Come here.'
    Cato was shoved through a doorway into a small room lit by a single lamp. Two women were sitting on a pair of seedy looking beds, and they smiled as Macro appeared through the door.
    'Cato, this is Broann and Deneb. Say hello girls.'
    'Hello, girls,' Cato mumbled. 'Who are they?'
    'Don't really know. Only just met them. As it happens, the girls are free at the moment. Broann's mine. You get Deneb. Enjoy.'
    Macro went over to Broann who smiled with trained warmth, an effect somewhat marred by several missing front teeth. With a wink at Cato, Macro withdrew with Broann behind a tattered curtain.
    The optio turned to face Deneb and saw a woman whose face was so painted with make-up that her age was anybody's guess. A few wrinkles at the corners of her mouth hinted at a maturity in years nearby double that of her customer. She smiled and took his hands, pulling him down to her bed. As Cato knelt between her legs, Deneb raised a hand to her loose silk gown and parted it down the length of her body, revealing a large pair of breasts with dark brown nipples and a sparse, wiry brush of pubic hair. Cato looked her up and down for a moment. She beckoned him closer. As he learned forward towards her purple painted lips, the wine finally got the better of him and he pitched forward, unconscious.
     

Chapter Four
     
    General Plautius was looking old and very tired, reflected Vespasian as he watched his commander stamp his ring seal on a series of documents handed to him by a headquarters clerk. The sharp smell of the smoke rising from the sealing wax irritated his nose and Vespasian leaned back in his seat. That he and Plautius were meeting at this late hour on a dark winter night was typical of the Roman army. While other armies might spend the winter growing soft in their billets, the men of Rome stayed fit with regular exercise and their officers saw to it that detailed preparation was made for the renewal of operations in the spring.
    The previous campaigning season had ended well enough. Plautius's