Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

Finally, I had to chuckle, although it was without humor. “At least there’ll be an incentive for the boys to sit on the bench and take their turn.” I climbed to my feet, as did the others; there was no point in delaying telling the men, and I did not even have to get their attention. Every face was turned in my direction, so I did not see the need to say anything more than, “The navarch has informed me that this,” I pointed up at the sky, “is the weather we can expect for the rest of the day…and probably tomorrow.” I paused as the men took this new piece of information in, watching their faces as they muttered to each other trying to work out what that meant. Once I saw most of them had reached the inevitable conclusion, only then did I continue, “I can see that you’ve figured out what that means, that we’re going to be rationing the water even more than we anticipated.” Now it was my turn to take a breath because I honestly had no idea how this would go. “Which means that only the men rowing are going to be allowed water, a quarter cup for every watch they’re at the benches.”

  I was somewhat surprised that there was not an uproar at this; we were no longer concerned about dozens of men shouting attracting the attention of pursuers, but they did not do very much more than shake their heads, although I heard a fair number of curses thrown about. While this certainly made my job easier, I also found it worrying, and a glance over my shoulder at Saloninus told me he was as concerned as I was.

  “We need to go below to let the men who are waiting to come out on deck know,” I said, which the two sailors took as the signal they had done their part. I did ask Motius, “Who’s going to tell your slaves?”

  “Malorix,” Cador answered. “He’s the only one who speaks their tongue. At least,” he allowed, “well enough to give them the bad news.”

  When we went below and entered the compartment, I was reminded of the contrast between being out in the fresh air and in this space, the stench so powerful that it felt as if I had been slapped in the face. My men were all in their hammocks, simply because it was too hot and stuffy to do anything else than endure it, all of them swinging back and forth to the rhythm of our movement and the gentle swell. Our entrance did serve to rouse enough attention for those nearest to the door to alert their comrades farther up the ship as Saloninus and I walked down the walkway. I was in the same spot I had been in the night before, roughly in the exact middle of the ship, and as I had with the men above, I wasted no time in explaining their situation. If anything, their response was more lethargic than their comrades’, and I did not wait for Cador and Motius to inform Malorix, walking back to the door to exit the compartment. I was climbing up the ladder, which I congratulated myself for becoming more adept at, when there was an eruption of noise from the compartment. Saloninus was still at the bottom of the ladder, and he correctly interpreted my look, disappearing from view to return to the door. I knew the instant he opened it because the volume increased dramatically, and while it was impossible to make out anything intelligible, I did not need to speak Parisii and whatever other tongues to understand this was serious. Perhaps the only good thing about it was that it allowed me to practice sliding down the ladder as I had seen with the crew then headed for the compartment.

  “Gnaeus!”

  I turned to see Alex, standing in the doorway of the cabin, but it was what he was holding that caught my eye, and I nodded, which he took as the signal to toss me my gladius, although it was still in the scabbard.

  Deciding to keep it sheathed, I walked through the open door to see what, to my inexperienced eye, looked very much like a shipboard mutiny, albeit in the early stages. Even as my eyes took in the sight, I felt the sudden loss of momentum as the slaves, almost to a man, had dropped their oars to stand on their footboards, facing the middle of the ship, where Cador, Motius, and Malorix were standing together, while the other five guards, all of whom were armed only with cudgels, although I had spotted one of them always carried a whip similar to ours tucked in his baltea, were spread out on either side of their officers. And, I could see with a cursory glance, they were badly frightened. To this moment, the slaves had not made a move to leap from their spots up onto the walkway, while my men were stuck in their hammocks, more or less spectators to this point, but while they were not scared, I could see they were concerned at being stuck in the middle of what appeared close to becoming a riot inside an enclosed space. I cannot say I thought it through; suddenly, I was moving, shoving Saloninus aside to stride up the walkway to where the three seamen were standing, and with one glance at Malorix and how he held his gladius, I understood this was more for show. Just as I reached them, one of the bolder slaves on the top row, up near the bow, left his bench, but while he did not attempt to leap up on the walkway, he did drop down onto the plank used by the men of the top row, putting him closer to the nearest guard. It was not the action as much as the expression on the man’s face that convinced me that matters were very close to getting out of control; it was the look of a man who has lost all hope and has reached the point where he would rather die fighting than suffer any longer.

  “Have you told the Parisii slaves what we’re doing?” I demanded of Cador and Motius, not needing to lower my voice because of the noise.

  “No,” Cador answered. “We did not think it was a good idea.”

  “Cador did not think it was a good idea,” Motius cut in, earning a furious look from the ostensible navarch. “I urged him to do so.”

  “Tell them,” I snapped at Cador, and if I had to do it over again, I would not have made it sound like an order, because the Gaul chose this moment to grow a backbone.

  “I am in command of the ship and its crew, Centurion,” he said stiffly. “I do not take orders from you in nautical matters.”

  While I understood I had erred, neither was I willing to waste the time in trying to soothe his feelings, and my cause was aided by two slaves, both of them on the right side opposite from the first slave who had left his bench and who did the same thing, so that the guard at the bow was effectively surrounded.

  “Tell them,” I repeated, but this time, I unsheathed my gladius, dropping the scabbard to the walkway, and while I did not lift the blade nor do I recall doing so, I am certain that I began making circles with the point as I held it loosely and looked him in the eye, because it is now such an ingrained habit.

  This was all it took and Cador snapped at Malorix, who listened, nodded, then shouted, presumably in the Parisii tongue, but what immediately became apparent was that the slaves were beyond listening. Even in the brief span of time, more of them had left their bench, on all three rows, the men who did so on the lower rows climbing up to the plank serving those on the top. A quick glance about was all I had time for, but my guess was that about thirty slaves were now in position to storm the walkway.

  I pivoted towards the stern and bellowed, “Saloninus! Arm a couple sections of men, gladii, no shields! Now!”

  The speed with which our men responded I believe did more to quell the burgeoning riot than anything else; suddenly, while the slaves were still angry, their attention was diverted to the rear of the ship as men from the last two sections of both Centuries dropped out of their hammocks and snatched up their weapons. It did not become completely quiet, but now Malorix could at least be heard. Cador repeated his order, and Malorix relayed it, that we intended to land in Parisii lands and offer their freedom in exchange for materials, supplies, and safety to effect repairs. Which, we could all immediately see, had absolutely no effect, other than to perhaps stop them from leaping up onto the walkway, but if anything, the noise increased. It was the shaking of their heads, however, that informed those of us who could not understand their babbling that they clearly did not believe us.

  Motius turned his head towards Cador, and I was close enough to hear him hiss, “That is why I told you to tell them. Now they just think we are telling them because we don’t want them to attack us!”

  Cador opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and he looked in my direction, which I interp
reted as a plea for help. Looking to the stern, I saw that at least twenty of our men now had their gladii, and were clustered together, waiting for whatever I ordered. It would not be a fight as much as it would be a slaughter, and I confess that the thought did cross my mind that if we killed a few of the slaves, it should serve to cow the others. If this had happened a few years earlier, when I was the paid man Gnaeus Claudius Volusenus, the thought of dirty slaves even thinking of fighting back would have been enough for me to order the slaughter of all of them, but I am no longer that man; at least, I try not to be. We were at a deadlock, and not lost on me, or anyone else I assume, was that we had stopped moving west, closer to land and possible salvation, yet despite not being eager to shed blood, neither did I know what to do. Then, from the lowest row, I saw movement as one of the slaves who had not left their bench climbed up, but it was the manner in which the slaves who were in position to do so either reached down to help him up, or moved to make room for him that gave me an idea that this was no ordinary slave. And, when I had time to think about it, I believe that it was just in the way he carried himself, despite his filthy condition, his matted beard and hair and emaciated condition, that I recognized. He reminds me, I suddenly thought, of Germanicus, though I would have never dreamed of uttering that aloud until this moment. Hopping over to the highest footpath next to the walkway, now that he had a fellow slave on either side, I could see that he was tall, perhaps my height, and while he was not as broad across the shoulders as I was, his time at the oar had certainly packed on muscle. Now that he was close enough to address us, he gazed up at us calmly and said something in his tongue to Malorix, who in turn repeated the man’s words, and they were simple enough.

  “Why should we believe you?”

  It was, I understood immediately, a good question, and a glance at both Cador and Motius told me they both recognized the validity of the question and did not have an easy answer.

  “Tell him,” I spoke first, “that he doesn’t have much choice.”

  I waited for the process of translation from Motius to Malorix, speaking their tongue since Malorix only understood basic commands in Latin, into the Parisii tongue, but to our utter surprise—“shock” is probably a better word—this filthy slave answered first, in heavily accented but understandable Latin.

  “I disagree, Centurion,” the slave answered calmly, and I thought I saw a glint of humor in his eye. “Men always have a choice…even if they are slaves.”

  He was right, but as on the back foot as I was, as we like to say, I was determined to hide my discomposure, although it was essentially a stall for time.

  “Oh?” I tried to sound amused. “And what choice does a slave have?”

  His response was to laugh, and he sounded cheerful as he rejoined, “Why, Centurion, we can choose to die like men rather than live like slaves, and…” now his voice hardened, “…take as many dogs who would keep us in chains with us.”

  I cannot say what made me do what I was about to do, or even why, but I shifted my gladius to my left hand, then leaned over to offer my hand to the slave, saying, “I would prefer to be looking a man in the eye when we talk about killing each other.”

  Now it was his turn to be surprised, but he reached up, and I pulled him up to the walkway, making sure that I did most of the work, wanting to let him know my strength, and while I am not as adept with my left hand, I was confident I could run the man through if he tried anything. He did not, and then we were standing facing each other. While he was not quite as tall as I was, it was not by much, but it was his eyes that I studied, trying to get an idea of the quality of man I was dealing with.

  “What is your name?” I asked, stopping from adding “slave” at the last instant.

  I do not know if he appreciated this small courtesy, but I thought I saw a flash of appreciation there.

  “My name is Ivomagus,” he answered. “I am the brother to Cogidubnus…the King of the tribe you call the Parisii.”

  I heard Motius suck in a breath, but Cador only seemed bewildered; it was not important in the moment, though it struck me as odd. For the first time since the uproar had begun, it was relatively quiet, and I could feel the eyes of every man crammed into that compartment on us, which prompted my decision.

  “Follow me,” I said curtly, and without waiting for an acknowledgement, I walked to the stern, certain that he would follow me, and I was correct.

  This broke the short-lived silence, but when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Ivomagus making a calming gesture as he spoke to his fellow slaves, and I assumed that they were concerned for his safety. When I reached the door, Saloninus was standing there, and the men who had armed themselves were still arranged on either side of the walkway, with the wall of the compartment to their back.

  “Wait here, keep an eye on things,” I said quietly. “I’m going to talk to this barbarian in private.”

  I heard Ivomagus offer what I am certain was an oath at the characterization of him as a barbarian, but despite the insult, he followed me readily enough as I crossed the space and reached the door of my cabin. Ivomagus’ reaction when he stepped around the ladder, stopping to look up at the square of sky, making a cry of what I assume was pain from the harsh light, from which he held one hand up to shield his eyes, had more of an impact on me than anything he could have said.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen the sky?” I asked on impulse.

  At first, I did not think he heard, or if he did he did not understand, because he gave no sign, but then I saw his chest expand once, twice, then a third time, and I realized that as much as the sight of the sky, it was the ability to bring in pure, uncorrupted air that was the most affecting.

  When he did answer, it was with a shrug, though his back was still to me as he continued staring upward. “Weeks. Months, perhaps? It is hard to keep track.”

  “That must be…difficult.” Even as the words came out, I knew how it would sound, and he gave a chuckle that held little humor.

  “Yes, Centurion, you could say that.”

  “Come into my cabin,” I ordered, unwilling to continue in this manner.

  He obeyed, reluctantly, turning away from the ladder and walking into the cabin, where Alex, stripped to the waist in the heat, had been in his hammock judging from it swinging behind him as he stood there, scroll in hand.

  “Reading again, I see,” I said dryly, and he flushed, but his attention was immediately drawn to the filthy man who stood in the doorway. Pointing at the stool on the opposite side of the desk, I told Ivomagus, “You can sit there while we talk.” He moved, slowly, and sat down on the stool, his eyes never leaving mine. I decided it would be a nice touch, so I placed the gladius, which had never left my hand, across the desk between us. “Now,” I began, “what assurances do you need to know that we’re telling the truth?”

  I had hoped to disrupt his equilibrium by treating him with relative courtesy, and while he did seem slightly dazed, his response was a derisive snort.

  “From a Roman?” It was not quite a sneer, but it was close. “It would take me some time to think of something.”

  I immediately understood two things; Ivomagus was trying to use the same tactic with me, and that he was not to be taken lightly. Despite his overall condition, despite the situation, he was still able to retain his wits, so I decided to alter my approach slightly.

  “So, please tell me what exactly Rome has done to wrong you?” I asked reasonably. He started at this, staring at me as if I had lost my senses, and he opened his mouth to say something, but then I saw something flash across his face. Taking a chance, I asked, “Did Rome take you prisoner?”

  He shifted slightly on the stool, and for the first time, he broke eye contact with me.

  “No,” he admitted.

  Before he could say anything more, I asked, “And were you sold in a Roman slave market?”

  This got him looking back at me, but again he answered, “No.” This time, he added quickly,
“But this ship is serving Rome, is it not?”

  “It is.” I nodded. “But what does that have to do with your predicament, or the predicament of your men?” Shaking my head, I continued, “We don’t ask whether a ship’s crew is slave or free, and if they’re slave, we don’t ask from where.” Acting as if I did not know, I asked, “How were you captured, Ivomagus?”

  My intention had only been to shift the conversation away from his anger at Rome, but once more, he broke eye contact, this time looking down at his hands folded in his lap.

  “I was captured during a raid against the Iceni,” he said dully.

  “The Iceni?” I repeated. “I take it that is another tribe of your island?”

  He glanced at me sharply, but I must have convinced him I was ignorant of the tribes of Britannia, because after a heartbeat, he nodded as he explained, “Yes. Their lands border ours to the south.”

  Thinking it would help matters, I offered, “Well, I do know that the Brigantes are the tribe on your north.”

  “The Brigantes are even worse than the Iceni!” His face twisted into a mask of contempt. “They are women who just dress like men! They like to have sex with their farm animals! The sheep! The pigs! And each other!”

  Well, I thought, that is how we do it, fucking each other, but I also knew he meant the men. Impulsively, I asked him, “What would have happened if you had been captured by the Brigantes?”

  His laugh was short. “I would not be sitting here because they would not have made me a slave. They would have tortured me for as long as I could last, then they would kill me and feed me to their pigs.”

  “Which brings us back to how I can convince you that what Malorix told you is true, that we have every intention of landing in Parisii territory then using you as a way to bargain for the supplies we’ll need to repair the ship, give us enough food and water to return home, and freedom from being attacked while we work?”

  Now Ivomagus looked confused, frowning as he asked me, “Could you repeat that, Centurion?”