by R. W. Peake
I cannot say I was surprised when Alex approached me to ask, “Gnaeus, I’d like to be assigned to the ship that have the wounded from our Cohort. I think I could help.”
I knew that he was right; while not quite a full medicus, Alex had become quite skilled, something I had been told from the Legion’s chief medicus himself, but I still shook my head.
“No, I’m going to need you with me. I’m going to be working to fill our empty spots, so I’m going to need you as my clerk.”
He frowned, and for an instant, I thought that he might have seen through the fiction, but he was actually thinking of something else.
“I thought the Primus Pilus said we’re going to wait to get back to Ubiorum.”
“He did,” I agreed, then shook my head again. “But I’m not going to wait. I think if I just go ahead and make the decision that, even if the Primus Pilus doesn’t like it, he still won’t countermand me.”
I saw that Alex immediately understood that, while I would be handling all of these promotions, I was doing it for one man specifically.
“Ah,” he said softly. “Saloninus.”
I was pleased, but not surprised, that Alex had immediately divined my intentions as it concerned my current Optio, Aulus Saloninus. In my opinion, and I knew there was broad agreement among the other Centurions, and even with Marcus Macer, who had been in my post before being advanced to Secundus Pilus Prior, that Saloninus was the most qualified of all my Optios to be advanced to the Centurionate. And, just based on his abilities and record, he would have already been wearing a transverse crest. The problem lay in our system, and frankly, our stubborn insistence on clinging to what I consider to be nothing but ignorant superstition. During the battle that we call the Long Bridges, Saloninus had been the Optio of my Second Century, and during the battle, had taken a spear thrust to the right eye. What had impressed me, and our men in the Century at the time was how, despite what was a gruesome wound, he had continued to carry out his duties, stopping only long enough to have a bandage wrapped around his head to cover what I had seen was a serious wound. However, since long before I was under the standard, or even my great-grandfather, the great Camp Prefect Titus Pomponius Pullus, once a man received a disfiguring wound, he was considered ineligible for promotion. Now, if you were to scour the mountain of written regulations created by Divus Augustus during his four decades in power, you would not find one word that says this; yet, we all know that it is there, and it hearkens back to a day when it was considered a fact that anyone who suffered some form of disfigurement to their face was cursed by the gods. And, as far as it goes, it does make sense that no men would want to follow a Centurion who the gods have turned away from, but only if you accept the idea that the gods control all as a fact. I do not, and the truth is that I do not know many men who do anymore, but this is where our stubborn insistence on doing things the same way for decades and even centuries because that is how our ancestors did it comes into play. While we do not believe it any longer, not many of us are willing to risk going against a long-standing tradition; however, I was willing to do so, for the simple reason I believed that Aulus Saloninus was the best choice to become a Centurion. The fact that he was on the same ship meant that there was some awkwardness, because I wanted to surprise him, but when you are sharing the quarters normally occupied by the ship’s master, there is quite a bit of whispering and other acts of subterfuge that are required.
I will say that this situation occupied my time and attention, so I did not really notice that we were exiting the river mouth into the open sea. In fact, my first hint was when I almost lost my feet because the ship lurched suddenly as its bow collided with a wave, and within a matter of heartbeats, I despaired of continuing to work at the tiny desk that was nailed to the deck in the master’s quarters. Instead, I got up and left the cabin to stand on deck, although I am making it sound easier than it was. Since this was my first time aboard a ship in the open sea, even if it was still barely a furlong or two away from the coast, I would characterize my gait as more of a stagger than a walk, and I found myself snatching at anything that was unlikely to move to maintain my balance. The first thing I noticed as I reached the deck was the tangy taste of the air, certain I could taste the salt in it. The sun was shining brightly and there were no clouds, which I took to be a good sign, but when I approached the master of the trireme, which we had been informed was named the Brizo, a Gaul named Vellocatus and a member of the Venelli tribe who had been part of the first fleet Germanicus used when we began our campaign against Arminius the year before, and commented on the fair weather, he gave me a sourly amused look.
“Oh,” he seemingly agreed, “it is...now, Pilus Prior. But,” he turned and since his hands were on the steering oar, used his head to nod to the north, “if a storm does come up, it will be from that direction. And,” he added ominously, “it will come fast.”
Needless to say, I was not pleased to hear this, but I felt the need to point out, “But we’re returning to Ubiorum weeks before the end of the season, and this is the quietest time of the year for storms. At least,” I hastened to amend, “that’s what we’ve been told.”
“That’s true.” Vellocatus nodded. He was quiet for a few heartbeats, and I could not suppress the feeling that he was having a bit of fun at my expense, although he was wise enough to maintain a sober demeanor. “But I’ve been at sea since I was a boy of eight years old, Centurion, and over the last forty years, I have learned that the gods do not always feel like giving us mortals a quiet few months on the sea.”
Despite my certainty that he was toying with me, nothing in his manner suggested he was telling anything but the truth.
“Well, my Optio has made sacrifices to not only Jupiter, Fortuna, and Neptune, but he sacrificed to your gods as well.”
This did not seem to impress Vellocatus, although he did say with a shrug, “It cannot hurt, Centurion. Now,” he said somewhat pointedly, “if you will excuse me, I need to attend to my duties.”
While I did not care all that much for his tone, we had already agreed that once we put to sea, Vellocatus was in command, including the right to determine who was allowed out on deck at any given moment. At this moment, only the officers were present, so I headed over to Saloninus, who was leaning on the railing of the ship, staring north, in the opposite direction of the coast.
“Are you watching for a storm?” I asked in a teasing tone. “Or for some huge beast that will devour us?”
“What if it’s both?” he retorted, although he did offer a thin smile.
Deciding that I would cheer him up, I told him, “I wanted to let you know about a decision I’ve made.”
This seemed to interest him, slightly, and when he turned to regard me, I was struck by how it was his right eyebrow that was raised in the kind of inquiring expression people have, despite the fact that the eye was gone.
“Oh? What’s that, Pilus Prior?”
“I’ve selected Structus’ replacement,” I answered, and now he was truly surprised.
“But I thought the Primus Pilus said we’re waiting until we get back to Ubiorum,” he exclaimed.
“He did,” I allowed. “But I know that my choice might be a bit of a…surprise, so I’ve decided to make it and sign the warrant, then turn it in to the Praetorium when we get back.” Shrugging, I tried to sound confident as I said, “Sacrovir may not be happy about it, but he’s not going to overrule my decision.”
I was now staring off in the distance, but I sensed him looking at me, and I was certain that he would understand that I was speaking about him.
However, after a few heartbeats, he asked, “Well? Who is it?”
That got my attention, yet when I looked at him, I could see he was truly in the dark, so I suppose I ruined the moment somewhat by snapping, “Why, it’s you, you idiot.”
“Me?” he echoed. Shaking his head, he repeated, more softly, “Me?”
The expression on his face quelled any thought I had
of having more fun at his expense, and I stood erect, pivoting so I was looking down directly into his good eye as I said, in all sincerity, “Aulus, there was no other man I even considered for the post. You’re the best Optio I’ve ever had, and the men of the Second wouldn’t want to follow anyone else.”
Truthfully, I had never asked any of the men who I commanded for an admittedly brief period of time, but I was, and am confident I was right, although given what we were going to be facing, by the time I actually did turn in that warrant to the Praetorium, I do not think that Sacrovir gave it a second thought.
I cannot say whether the storm that came roaring from the north that would prove to be so catastrophic to our fleet and create a disruption in not just my life but all of the men of the First and Second Centuries had hit during the daylight hour would have made any difference or not, but I can only speak for myself that being awakened by being dumped from my hammock onto the deck, only to continue rolling across the cabin until slamming into the side of the ship certainly contributed to my sense of disorientation…and yes, fear.
“Gnaeus!”
As far as I knew, Alex just called my name once; later, he told me he called for me several times. He had managed to remain in his hammock, after a fashion, by wrapping both arms around the canvas, although he was hanging upside down, which I could not see anyway because it was totally dark in the cabin. When I collided with the wooden wall, my head hit hard enough to ignite thousands of sparks behind my eyes, yet as dazed as I was, it was the sounds I recall most vividly. I am not a superstitious man; I do not believe that we are surrounded by numeni who are bent on causing all manner of mischief and mayhem, but the shrieking sound that only later did I determine was from the crack of space between the wooden shutters that were securely fastened shut and the frame that held them made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. That, however, was the only thing that was standing, because when I tried to struggle to my feet, the deck seemed to drop out from under me, except this time, it was in the opposite direction, and sent me careening across the cabin. Instead of hitting the opposite side of the Brizo this time, I collided with the desk that was fastened to the deck, which I clung to with all my strength. Since this was the first moment I could clear my head, this was when I became aware of something that was even more frightening than the shrieking wind. To my inexperienced ears, it sounded as if the Brizo, which prior to this instant I felt certain was sturdy and sound enough to stand up to any storm, was literally breaking apart around us. There was a low-pitched groaning noise that seemed to emanate from beneath our feet, while from up above and farther forward, it sounded like a dozen men were snapping kindling over their knee.
“Are you all right?” I had to shout this to be heard, and Alex shouted back that he was.
Saloninus, for some reason, had opted to stay below with the men that night, which I confess had made me feel a bit guilty, but not enough to do the same thing. Now, however, I felt that I had to leave the cabin to at least check with Vellocatus, who was presumably standing almost directly above us trying to keep the ship under control. I had no idea how I was going to do that when the deck under my feet was so unsteady, but after a few heartbeats, I thought I had gotten a sense of the rhythm to the movement.
“I’m going out on deck!”
Even as I heard the words and recognized my own voice, there was a part of my mind screaming at me to remain inside, arguing that Vellocatus had made it clear he was in command and there was nothing I could offer in a situation like this. Nevertheless, I felt myself staggering towards the door, but when I reached it and tried to open it, it did not budge; at first, I thought it had somehow been jammed, assuming that the sound of tortured wood we were hearing was from the door frame warping under the strain. In fact, it was not; the only thing keeping the door closed was the power of the wind, which we were heading directly into as Vellocatus struggled to keep us from foundering.
The ladder that led up to the deck was just a couple paces away, but the square hole in the deck that enabled movement from below acted like a funnel, and I quickly learned that the shrieking I had been hearing was not just from the secured shutter in the cabin, but from the wind howling through that relatively small square. There was at least three or four inches of water sloshing around my feet, but it was nothing compared to what I was about to face as I finally shoved the door open then slowly climbed the ladder, clinging to each rung with all of my strength. My tunic was already soaked, and when my head emerged into the open air, I was immediately blinded by the spray that struck me with enough force that it was painful, feeling as if a thousand tiny needles were being shoved into my face. It was only slightly less dark than the cabin, but just as I pushed myself up the last rungs to emerge on deck, there was a flash of lightning that briefly illuminated our world, such as it was, and I have never been as frightened as I was in that moment, with one exception, when I was kneeling next to my father in his last moments.
In that instant of light provided by the gods, I saw the upper deck stretched out in front of me, but what captured my horrified attention was what looked to my eyes like a solid wall of water that towered what I estimated was at least ten feet above the high carved wooden prow of the Brizo, the top of it curling in a manner that anyone who was watched waves crash onto a beach knows, seemingly heading directly for me. It was only because of that glimpse that I managed to actually drop a couple rungs back down the ladder, grabbing the top rung with all of my strength as what had to be an immense amount of water crashed down onto the upper deck. The entire vessel shuddered, almost as if it was a human who had just been struck a mighty blow, and my ears immediately picked up that deep groaning sound, which at least informed me of the cause of what I had been hearing earlier. An instant after the wave crashed over the prow, the water trapped on the upper deck by the high sides of the trireme came rushing towards me, and I was drenched with icy water that reminded me of the plunge one takes in the frigidarium. Not surprisingly, I got a mouthful of seawater, causing me to gag a bit, but understanding that another towering wave would be coming shortly, I scrambled up and out onto the deck, whereupon I essentially crawled over to the ladder leading to the upper deck at the stern where I saw Vellocatus standing, with the man I had been told was the second in command of this vessel, his name Cador, both of them needing to cling to the steering oar. Timing it, I scrambled up the ladder, and it was only as I reached him that I heard from down below the rhythmic thumping from the man I had learned was called the Hortator, whose only job is to beat on a wooden drum with a cowhide cover stretched tightly over it that gives the oarsmen the rhythm of the speed they are supposed to stroke. There was another flash of lightning, although this time I heard the thunderclap whereas with the first one I have no memory of hearing it, while the flash gave me a glimpse of the three banks of oars on the right and closest side of the ship to where I was standing, the water streaming from the blades looking like trails of molten silver. What stuck in my mind was seeing that all three banks of oars were well out of the water, and in fact it looked as if the heaving sea was several feet below even the lowest bank, making me wonder how in Hades Vellocatus could keep this ship under control.
“What are you doing up here, Centurion?”
Even with all that was happening, I could not miss the demanding tone, and honestly, I realized it was a good question. What was I doing out here? I thought. If this Gaul had suddenly appeared on a battlefield, I would have posed the same question.
“I…I just came to see if there’s anything I can do.”
Even with all that was going on, with the howling wind and lashing spray, I could hear the lame tone of my voice, and even in the darkness, I saw the bitterly amused look the ship master gave me. I also noticed that he had a rope fastened around his waist, the other end of it lashed securely to the railing that only then did I realize actually served a purpose other than to give seasick Legionaries a place to lean on as we puked over the side.
; “Yes,” he shouted, his attention returning to the front of his ship. “You can get back…”
He might have finished, but I certainly did not hear him because another wave came crushing downward to slam onto our ship. This one was obviously more powerful because it made the vessel slew so violently that, before I could react, my feet flew out from under me, and I went slamming into the deck yet again. I felt myself sliding, much as I had in the cabin below, except this time, I could see well enough to understand that the ship was tilted at such an angle that it was as if I was descending down a slope, except that what waited for me at the base was a black sea, flecked with white, and I was certain that I was doomed. I know how to swim; somewhat unusually, it was my mother Giulia who insisted that I learn, although now I understand that, knowing me better than anyone, she knew my destiny lay in a life under the standard, but I had absolutely no illusions that if I was ejected from the ship into the water, I was a dead man. The hand that clamped down on one arm reminded me of the kind of grip my father, my real father, Titus Porcinianus Pullus, was capable of exerting, and my progress towards my death was suddenly arrested.
“Hold him, Cador! We don’t want to lose a Pilus Prior, especially this one! He’s a favorite of Germanicus!”
As grateful as I was, Vellocatus’ mocking tone set my teeth on edge, and I am afraid that it was Cador, the second in command, who suffered as I reached out with my right hand and grabbed his own forearm. And, I confess, hearing his yelp of pain made me feel better in the moment, but fairly quickly, I was out of immediate danger, although Vellocatus’ tone reminded me of my father as well.
“Pilus Prior, you need to get back below. If,” he allowed, “you want to help, go below and check on your men.”
Honestly, the thought of making my way to what under the best of conditions is an extremely cramped space was unpalatable; I could not even imagine what it was like at this moment. It is true the rankers are given hammocks, but the amount of space and lack thereof, both to either side as well as above and below, since they are stacked together, is one of the bitterest complaints the men have, although the stench from the men at the benches all around them is a close second. There were two ways to get to the main compartment; actually, there were three, but the third one was at the opposite end of the deck near the bow, and there was no way I was going to use that. Consequently, I opted to essentially slither across the deck like some sort of serpent, back to the ladder, intending to drop down into the space between the cabin and the wooden partition that at least partly sealed off the noise and stench, where there was another door leading to the main compartment.