Two of the eight men ahead of them drew black tallies, and Cato quickly calculated that only one could still be in the jar. One black and twenty-six white. Good odds. Even as his spirits rose at the thought he felt ashamed that those odds had been improved at the cost of the lives of some of the men whom he had let go ahead of him.

It was Figulus’ turn, and the huge Gaul hesitated in front of the jar.

‘Go on, son,’ the legionary with the torch whispered.’Don’t let ‘em see you’re afraid.’

‘I’m not,’ Figulus hissed back. ‘I’m not, you bastard!’

He stepped forward, plunged his hand into the jar, snatched the first tally that fell into his grasp and drew it out.

‘White!’ cried the clerk, then turned to Cato.

His heart was beating fast and he could feel the blood pounding in his ears. Yet he felt cold, the night air icy on his skin, even though he knew it was warm. The clerk gestured towards him with the jar.

‘Sir?’

‘Yes, of course.’ The quiet words came from his lips like another man’s voice and even though Cato wanted more than anything to back away from that jar he found himself rooted in front of it. His hand rose up, over the rim and began to dip down inside. Cato noticed a hairline fracture that ran, in a fine black line, down from a tiny chip on the rim of the jar, and wondered what accident had caused that to happen. Then the tips of his fingers brushed against the small pile of tallies remaining in the bottom of the jar. For an instant his hand recoiled. Then he gritted his teeth, and closed his hand round one of the wooden discs, drawing it out of the jar. Cato stared at the face of the clerk as he opened his fist. The clerk’s eyes dropped down and there was a flicker of pity in his expression as he opened his mouth.

‘Black!’

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER NINETEEN