by R. W. Peake
“I won’t be alive that long, Pilus Prior,” he replied quietly.
“You don’t know that!” I argued, but then Atellus turned and gave Natta a meaningful look, and while he was obviously reluctant, it was Natta who spoke next.
“Gaius has asked me to send him across the river, Pilus Prior,” Natta answered for him. He paused, and I saw him swallow before he said in a choked voice, “And I’m going to honor his request.”
I had every intention of forbidding this, except that when I opened my mouth, the words would not come, because my mind was working through what I would want if I was in Atellus’ position, and I realized that I could not forbid it. Still, I could not bring myself to give my permission verbally, so instead, I gave a curt nod. I knew I was doing the right thing by the look Atellus gave me, which I would describe as a mixture of relief and gratitude.
Realizing I had to say something, I asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, Atellus?”
He shook his head, “No, sir. You’ve done enough.”
I knew he was not talking about anything other than my acquiescence, but I still felt compelled to say in a louder voice so his comrades could hear, “Atellus, you are a credit to the Second Century, and I will mourn you just as your comrades do.”
Reaching down, I offered my arm, which he took, clasping it with a surprising strength, and seeing the tears in his eyes threatened my own composure, so I stepped back, then giving them a nod, I hopped up onto the walkway and strode to the rear.
I waved to Saloninus to get his attention, telling him, “Come with me. We’re going to see this Cador character and find out where the fuck we are, and when we’re getting home.”
I had noticed the sky directly above was gray, with low-hanging clouds, but when I emerged onto the deck, I saw that this was the entire sky, and the cloud cover was so thick that the sun was nowhere to be found. Fortunately, as I had felt under my feet, the sea was calm, extraordinarily so in my opinion, especially given what had been going on just a watch or two earlier, or at least so I thought.
I turned to Alex and asked, “How long was I out?”
I was shocked when he replied, “A day and a half.”
“A day and a half?” I gasped, and I suppose it was the knock on the head that made it take an extra heartbeat for me to add it up. “You mean this isn’t the day after the storm, but the day after the day after?” Alex nodded, and it made me think of something else. “So have we just been drifting like this for almost two days?” He nodded again, and I burst out, “Pluto’s cock! Why?”
“Because,” a new voice broke in, in Latin but with an even thicker accent than Vellocatus, and we turned to see Cador standing by the stern, “we spent most of yesterday repairing the ship to keep it afloat. Then,” he pointed back over his shoulder, “we had to make another steering oar.”
“And why aren’t we moving now?” I demanded.
Now, for the first time, he looked uncomfortable, but he waved his arm in an encompassing gesture as he countered, “Because we have no landmarks, Centurion. And,” he pointed upward, “we cannot even see the sun.”
“Why don’t we drop anchor and wait for it to clear instead of drifting like we are?”
Cador glanced over at Saloninus, since he had asked this, and while he was clearly reluctant, he answered, “Because we are in water that is too deep for an anchor, Optio.”
The instant the words were out of his mouth I, and I could see Saloninus did as well, understood why he had been hesitant; we were too far out to sea, which meant that it was likely that even if the clouds did part, land would not be within sight.
Thinking as quickly as I could, I addressed Cador. “I wanted to allow the men to come up on deck, but if they do and see that we’re out of sight of the coast,” I glanced over at Saloninus, whose grim expression confirmed he shared my fears, “I can’t guarantee how they’ll respond.” I pointed up at the leaden sky and asked, “Do you think this will hold for the next third of a watch or so?”
Cador looked upward, scratching his beard, which was streaked with gray, although I had given up trying to guess the ages of seamen because their features are more weathered even than those of us under the standard.
“Perhaps,” he finally answered, which was not what I was looking for, but when I pressed him, he refused to commit to more than that.
“Go get the Second Century,” I told Saloninus, “and bring them up on deck.”
He turned to obey, then hesitated, asking, “What should I tell them about our situation?”
“That we’re waiting for the clouds to clear so that we’ll know what direction to head. Don’t,” I warned, “mention anything about how deep the water is.”
Saluting, he hurried across the deck to go below, and it was only then I noticed that Alex was not nearby, but when I turned around, I saw him approaching from where he had obviously been, at the stern, next to the steering oar.
“Centurion,” Cador spoke again, and I turned back to see that he was still scratching his beard. “We still have some minor repairs to make, up at the bow, so please keep your men away from there as we work.”
I nodded, and he left me just as Alex reached my side, but while his expression was neutral, I sensed he was suppressing some emotion, and I should have gotten the hint by the way he was staring at the new de facto navarch’s back, waiting for him to pass the splintered stub that was all that remained of our mast.
“Gnaeus,” he was barely audible, “there’s something you should know.” Nodding to him to continue, he began by asking, “Do you remember what I told you about Vellocatus?”
“I know I got a bump on the head, but my memory is just fine,” I snapped, a bit nettled at what I took to be his assumption my wits were scrambled, and I assured him, “Yes, he was swept away is what you told me.”
As always, Alex did not react to my irritability, saying only, “Yes, but I didn’t tell you all of it. I was told that the rope snapped when the ship turned suddenly right before we were struck by the wave that took down the mast.”
I recalled the moment, if only because I was swept off my feet and shortly after that knocked unconscious, and I nodded as I assured him, “I remember when that happened.”
“When I walked over by the steering oar, the part of Vellocatus’ rope tied to the railing was still there.” He hesitated, and I saw his eyes flicker back to the bow of the ship, where Cador was bellowing orders to three of his crewmen about something. “Gnaeus, that rope didn’t snap. It was cut through with a knife. And,” he finished quietly, “it was Cador who told me, because he was helping Vellocatus controlling the oar.”
I cannot say that this news swept all my other worries about our situation aside, but it certainly did not help my state of mind.
Finally, all I could think to say was, “Well, I just hope he’s at least a good a seaman as Vellocatus, although it would be more helpful if he was better.”
Before Alex could respond, the first men of the Second came up the ladder, wearing only their tunics, blinking in the increased light, despite it being so overcast, and I had other things to worry about.
The first thing that the men of the Second did, aside from spending a moment to take in their surroundings and enjoy air that was not fouled, even as their worry was clear to see on their faces, was to attend to the solemn duty of burying Gaius Atellus at sea. It is certainly not our custom, but given the situation, this was the best alternative facing his comrades, and as I learned, it was Atellus himself who made the suggestion, just before his close comrade slit his throat. He was wrapped in his sagum, which was secured by leather baltea straps, but my concern that he would not sink to the bottom was unfounded.
“We buried him in his armor, and one of the boys found a couple of spare stones for our ballistae that made it aboard.”
We had actually been instructed to leave the ammunition behind in order to lighten the load, but such oversights are very common. With this detail taken care of, I jo
ined the men of the Second Century as they gathered at the side; at least, they started to do so, before Cador’s shouted warning about the danger of capsizing with so many men on one side of the ship meant that it was just the Tenth Section, Saloninus, Columella and the other officers of the Second Century, and myself of course, as we intoned the prayer for the dead, just before his comrades gently lowered his body over the side.
There was a brief pause when Saloninus wondered, “Is there a special prayer for men buried at sea?”
We sent Natta to ask Cador, but he returned quickly with a shake of the head, and Atellus’ comrades let him go, whereupon he dropped the final few feet and disappeared with a small splash.
“Right,” I finally broke the silence, “there’s one other thing to attend to before you go back down below and get out of the crew’s hair so that we’ll be ready once the clouds clear and we can get back underway.”
“Why are we drifting, Pilus Prior?”
I had been looking in the other direction to where the rest of the Second was standing, but I recognized that it was Natta who asked the question.
Fighting the urge to just tell him to keep his mouth shut, I decided a half-truth was better than an outright lie.
“Because of how thick the clouds are, the navarch doesn’t want to risk heading the wrong direction. Once we can see the position of the sun, we’ll start moving again. And,” I finished using the tone that signaled this was all I would tolerate, “that’s all you need to know. Now,” I pointed, “go join the boys and gather round. I have an announcement to make.”
They did as I ordered, of course, but I had to stifle a smile at how careful they were to arrange themselves evenly; clearly, Cador’s warning about capsizing had been taken to heart.
Gesturing to Saloninus, I pointed to the spot next to me as I began, “While the Primus Pilus said we were going to wait until we got back home to settle accounts and fill the empty spots, I talked to him and asked for a special exception.” This, of course, was an outright lie, and I sensed Saloninus, who had reached my side, turning to regard me with what I was certain was surprise, but I ignored him, other than to lift a hand to indicate my former Optio as I announced, “You all know Aulus Saloninus; you know what an outstanding Optio he’s been.” Heads nodded, and there was murmured agreement, which I also ignored. “Which is why he’s now your Quartus Pilus Posterior.”
Honestly, only the first two words of his rank were audible, because the Century burst out into a roar of acclamation, and without being given leave to, they came rushing forward to surround my former Optio as they offered their congratulations. I extricated myself, moving to stand by Alex; this was Saloninus’ moment, and I had no place in it, but several men looked in my direction with broad smiles or nods of approval. That was not why I did it, taking what I knew was a risk, but I will not lie and say that it did not feel good to see the men of the Second so pleased.
“All right, all right,” I finally called out. “That’s enough for now. When we get back, I’m sure your new Pilus Posterior will be happy to stand for a round of drinks for his boys. Or two.” Not surprisingly, this was an extremely popular idea with those boys, and the exact opposite with Saloninus, who glared at me with his good eye as they filed past to go back below.
Then it was the turn of the First Century, but while we did not have a need to bury anyone, I did warn them not to crowd to one side of the ship. I was also faced with the same question, or a reasonably similar one, that Natta had posed, which I answered the same way. This time, I circulated among the men, joking with them and doing what I could to take their minds off our immediate situation, although I do not think I was that successful. Finally, I ordered them to return below to wait for the inevitable clearing that I had been promising them would come. It was right after Gemellus lowered himself down the ladder, while I ignored the searching look he gave me as I stood with Alex, that I felt the breeze suddenly stiffen, feeling it against my left cheek, and I recall thinking, I wish I knew what direction I was looking so I could have an idea where the wind is coming from. In hindsight, it was probably better that I did not know.
The only thing that can be said was that this second storm was not as severe as the first one, although it was only by a matter of degree, yet as I swung in the hammock, listening to the shrieking wind that was audibly lower-pitched than before, it was not a distinction that made me feel better. This storm hit during the daylight hour, so it was a bit more visible, but it was still very dark in the cabin. The other way I could tell that this storm was not as bad was I clearly heard the Hortator beating out the rhythm as Cador, or so I presumed, kept the bow pointed into the wind to avoid being broached a second time. What I, nor any of the rest of the Romans aboard, appreciated was that, while Cador had indeed made sure that we were not caught crossways by the wind, he had put us with the wind at our backs so that now we were moving at a good speed. However, the other thing that we were ignorant of, and Cador insisted he was as well after the fact, was that the wind he was following now was not coming from the north, as he assumed, but from the southeast. And, as we would learn some time later, a southerly storm at that time of the year is very rare; it is not unheard of, however. Whatever Cador’s knowledge, and what his intention may have been, all that mattered was that we were in fact heading in the opposite direction we should have been, so that with every oar stroke and with the aid of the wind, we were moving farther away from home.
By the time the storm abated, it was growing dark, and I had gone to the main compartment to check on the men three times, finding them at least prepared to bail again, the water level inside the hull never getting anywhere near what it had been during the first storm. It was now our fifth day at sea, and almost three days since the first storm, but while it was dark by the time I felt it was calm enough to go abovedeck to consult with Cador, as I ascended the ladder, I was relieved to see the stars overhead. At least, I thought, we’re going to find out where we are. I had barely set foot on deck when I sensed that something was amiss, although I cannot really say how I knew; perhaps it was just something in the air, but my initial feeling was only strengthened when I turned and faced the stern to see the four men who remained of the crew huddled together with Cador, talking in low tones. It was their manner when they heard me approach that, even in the dark, I could tell was unusual, prompting the thought, It’s as if they got caught conspiring about something, and I slowed my step, debating what to do.
“Centurion,” Cador’s voice came through the darkness, and it enabled me to pick him out from the others, “what are you doing up here? Taking the night air, eh?”
I know he sought to allay my suspicions, but both the words and the tone put me on my guard even more, and while the thought had not completely formed, I asked bluntly, “Have you determined our position yet, Cador?” One of the other men confirmed my fears, muttering what I had determined on our boarding to be a curse in their native tongue, given how often it was used. “Well?” I demanded, then impulsively, I closed the distance to stand directly in front of Cador, who, like most men, I towered over. And, while he was thickset, his musculature was no match for mine, something that I took full advantage of in that moment, remembering all that my father taught me in the art of intimidating other men. “Where are we, Cador?”
“I…I do not know, exactly, Centurion.” There was no mistaking the nervousness now, but I had to remind myself that pitching him overboard would not help matters, so I leaned over him, causing him to do the opposite as I said with as much menace as I could, “That’s not a good answer, you cunnus. You,” I jabbed him in the chest with my finger, and while he was still nervous, I could tell this angered him, but I did not care, “are responsible for delivering two Centuries of the Fourth Cohort of the 1st Legion safely to our camp in Ubiorum, so I don’t want to hear your excuses! Now…where the fuck are we?”
Even as I bellowed this, I realized it might not be a good idea; I did not think it was possible, but I
did wonder if my men below might have heard.
“It would be easier to show you than to try and explain where I think we are, Centurion,” Cador managed to answer. When I relented in my posture, he obviously took this as a sign. “We need to go below to the cabin you are using. That is where Vellocatus stores his maps.”
My initial reaction was one of chagrin, thinking this was something that should have occurred to me and I could have examined the map myself, but I immediately realized that it would not matter because I had no idea where we were. I gestured to Cador, and he headed for the ladder, snapping something in his native tongue, which I assumed were orders to stay put since the other men did not move. He led the way, and while I had seen members of the crew do it before, I envied the ease with which Cador dropped down into the hold, catching the ladder not by a rung, but by both sides with his hands, while placing his feet along the sides as well, sliding down in a fraction of the time it took someone like me to clamber down. The cabin door was open, where Cador was fumbling with the lamp, striking a spark to light it, the lamp coming to life and filling the cabin with light.
Understandably, the crews of any ship plying the seas and rivers are very careful about fire; in fact, when we were on the rivers the year before, the ship master always pulled to the riverbank to cook our meals. At sea, this is not feasible, so we had been required to bake enough castra panerii for a week’s voyage, and the men were subsisting on that and salted pork, forgoing the normal soldier’s porridge. The fact that we were now well into our fourth day had crossed my mind, but it was not a pressing worry…for the next few heartbeats.
Now that there was light, Cador opened a small chest that, like the desk, was secured to the deck, which I had never opened since this was not my cabin. I had understood why Vellocatus was unhappy about being required to shift for himself, but this has been the custom since long before I showed up; I suppose it is just another way Rome has of reminding others who she values more. Cador extracted a rolled parchment, and I was surprised at how small it was, but when he laid it out on the desk, I instantly could see that the map covered the northern coast of Germania and Gaul to a fair level of detail. At the top, there was the outline of the lands in the frozen north, but that was all, and I certainly noticed that Cador’s finger was shaking as he pointed to a spot…on the desk, not on the map.