The Blood Crows (Roman Legion 12) Read Online Free Page A

owned in Ravenna. I doubt the locals here will cause me any difficulty. Particularly when they find out my son happens to be a senior centurion of the Fourteenth Legion.’ She took Macro’s arm and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
    ‘That’s right.’ He nodded. ‘Anyone messes about with my mum and they mess with me. And that hasn’t worked out well for anyone who has tried it in the past.’
    The captain took in the muscular physique of the stocky Roman officer and the scars on his face and arms and could believe it.
    ‘Even so, why would you come here, ma’am? You’d be more comfortable setting up back in Gesoriacum. Plenty of trade there.’
    Portia pursed her lips. ‘This is where the real money can be made, by those who get stuck in quickly. Besides, this boy is all I have in the world now. I want to be as close to him as I can. Who knows, when he gets his discharge, he could join me in the business.’
    Macro’s eyes lit up. ‘Ah, now there’s a thought. All the wine and women that a man could want, under one roof!’
    Portia swatted his arm. ‘On second thoughts . . . You soldiers are all the same. Anyway, I will make my fortune here in Londinium, and this is where I will stay until the end of my days. It’s up to you what you do with your life, Macro. But I’ll be remaining here. This is my last home.’
    With a steady rhythm the cargo ship approached the wharf. As they neared the town, those on board caught their first whiff of the place, an acrid, peaty, sewage smell that mingled with the odour of woodsmoke and caught in their throats.
    ‘There might be something to be said for sea air after all,’ Cato muttered as he wrinkled his nose.
    There was no mooring space along the wharf and the captain gave the order to steer for the end of the line of vessels anchored further upriver. He turned apologetically to his passengers.
    ‘It’ll be a while before our turn comes. You’re welcome to stay on board, or I’ll have some of my boys row you ashore in the skiff.’
    Cato eased himself up from the side rail and adopted the military manner he had learned from Macro, standing tall and being decisive. ‘We’ll go ashore. The centurion and I need to report to the nearest military authority as soon as possible.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ The captain knuckled his forehead, instantly aware that the informalities of the voyage had passed. ‘I’ll see to it at once.’
    He was as good as his word and by the time the anchor splashed down into the current and the crew shipped the oars, the kitbags of the two officers and the chests and bags belonging to Portia had been carried up from the hold. The skiff, a small blunt-bowed craft with a wide beam, was lowered over the side and two oarsmen nimbly leaped down and offered their hands up to assist the passengers. There was only space for the three of them; their belongings would have to be ferried ashore separately. Cato was the last and as he stepped down into the flimsy craft he frantically waved his arms to retain his balance, before sitting heavily on a thwart. Macro shot him a weary look and tutted and then the oarsmen pulled on their blades and the skiff headed towards the wharf. Now that they were closer to Londinium they could see that the surface of the river was streaked with sewage running from the drain outlets along the wharf. In the still water trapped by the wharf lay lengths of broken timber amid the other flotsam, and rats scurried from piece to piece, scavenging for anything edible. A set of wooden steps rose from the river at one end of the wharf and the oarsmen made for them. When they were alongside, the nearest man snatched his oar in and reached to grasp the slimy hawser that acted as a fender. He held on while his friend slipped a looped line over the mooring post.
    ‘There you are, sirs, ma’am.’ He smiled and then handed them ashore. With Cato leading the way, they climbed the steps to the top of the wharf and looked along the crowded