Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  The three of us headed to the docks the next morning, and the first thing I noticed was how we could see our breath, making my choice of the fur-lined sagum a good one.

  As much to pass the time as gleaning any information, I asked, “Do either of you remember in the Prefect’s account what time of year he was there?”

  “It was seven months,” Alex replied, “and it was right after Pharsalus.”

  I hated myself for admitting it, but I had to ask, “When was Pharsalus again?”

  To my intense relief, the expression of embarrassment on Alex’s face meant that I would not have to endure being reminded, and while there was no reason for it, I was still surprised when it was Septimus who answered, “It was in August. Or,” he added with a grin, “Sextilis, since August didn’t exist back then.”

  “That’s right. I’d forgotten.” After thinking a moment, I asked, “Do either of you remember the Prefect talking about what the winters are like there?”

  Neither of them could recall either, but by this time, we were at the end of the street leading to the large dock complex that now is on both sides of the river. As we expected, men were already hard at work, and we wandered around, stopping at each ship to ask a member of its crew its next destination, but none of them were going to Narbo. I believe it was about the fifth or sixth ship when one of them thought to ask why we were going to Narbo. When I explained that we were seeking a master who was either planning to or willing to sail to Alexandria at this time of year, he laughed, but he was pointing to the opposite side of the river.

  “The ships that sail the open seas dock over there,” he told us. “If you’re going to find anyone who’s mad enough, or,” he grinned, showing all six of his teeth, “desperate enough to take you, it will be over there.”

  Thanking him, we crossed the bridge, and despite my lack of experience in these matters, I could instantly see the difference between the ships on this side of the river, because without exception, they were much larger than their counterparts on the other side.

  “Maybe we won’t need to go to Narbo,” Alex commented as we approached the first ship nearest to the wooden bridge that had been constructed a few years earlier. We noticed that it was being unloaded, which I took as a good sign, thinking they would be looking for a cargo, but it was the exact opposite. One by one, we were either flatly rejected, sometimes with laughter, or the appearance of the ship did not inspire confidence in us. There were only three ships left when, once more, another master pointed us in the right direction.

  “I heard that the master of the Persephone was asking around for anything to take to Cyrene. It’s not Alexandria,” he shrugged, “but it is closer than here.” He cackled at his own humor while we smiled politely, then Alex asked, “And which one is the Persephone?”

  He pointed to the last ship in the row, between which were two open spaces, which gave us a good view of it. It was a trireme, similar in design to the ship that we had boarded months before on the Amisia, although this one had two masts, with a smaller mast set on the upper deck of the bow, and even in the moment, I knew that my reaction to it was colored by this, and I sensed that Alex was no different in his feelings. Nevertheless, I began walking down the dock for the ship.

  Septimus was the one who suggested, “You know, we still can go to Narbo if this doesn’t work out.”

  While it was a good idea, it was not the suggestion itself that raised my eyebrow.

  “We?”

  Septimus looked genuinely startled, exclaiming, “Of course ‘we’! You certainly don’t think that I’m going to stay here, do you?” He laughingly added, “And I had to argue for a watch with Miriam because she kept saying she was coming too.” The smile vanished, and his tone changed as he said emphatically, and with a touch of anger, “Gnaeus, if you think that I’d let you and Alex risk your lives while I sit here in fucking Arelate, wondering if we’ll ever see you again, you don’t know me at all.”

  As quickly as the words came out of his mouth, I realized he was right, which I found quite embarrassing, but I blame my lack of practice with having a family.

  And, of course, I could not summon the words to apologize, so I joked clumsily, “Well, I hope you’ve been spending time at the stakes since the last time I was here.”

  “I have, actually,” he replied. Then, with a grin, he shoved me as he said, “In fact, I think I might be able to take you!”

  I knew he was jesting, but before I could say anything, Alex reached out and pinched Septimus on his arm hard enough that he yelped with pain, demanding, “What did you do that for?”

  “I just wanted to see if you were asleep and dreaming,” Alex said, without a flicker of a smile, but I saw his eyes dancing with humor. “Because that’s the only place you’re going to beat Gnaeus.”

  “Couldn’t I have had just a moment?” Septimus grumbled, which made us both laugh. “It was a nice dream.”

  Then we were at the Persephone, but before we hailed the pair of men who were standing on the dock with their backs to us, seemingly involved in a serious discussion about the ship since one of them kept pointing to it, Septimus said, “If this turns out to be a possibility, I suggest that I’m the one who negotiates.”

  This made sense to me, and Alex nodded, then I called out to the pair, both of them turning around. Since they were both bundled up for the cold, it was difficult to tell anything aside from their height, age, and that neither of them was Roman.

  “We’re looking for the master of this ship,” I explained, but rather than answer, the older man with black hair and a beard to mid-chest that was liberally streaked with gray demanded,

  “What do you want him for?”

  By the accent, I placed him as a Greek, and despite my irritation at the curt tone, I simply said, “We’d like to speak to him about where he’s intending to sail next, and whether or not we might be able to pay for passage.”

  “Why do you want to know where he is going?” the man asked suspiciously. Suddenly, he pointed straight at Septimus as he said, “I have seen this man around the docks before!”

  “So?” Septimus was clearly perplexed. “Why is that a problem?”

  “Because you are a Roman,” the man answered, as if this was self-explanatory.

  “It is a Roman city,” Septimus countered mildly.

  “And you look like someone who would work for the Duumviri, or maybe the Praetor, looking to trap honest men!”

  Not surprisingly, I could tell this angered Septimus, but he sounded calm as he retorted, “I don’t work for either. I have a wine business, and I’ve been looking for ships to hire.”

  This seemed to have an impact, and the man reached up to scratch his beard in thought, but he was not quite done, because he pointed at me next.

  “What about him?” he demanded. “That is a Legionary if I have ever seen one. And,” he examined me as if he had not really done so before, “he is a huge Roman. Maybe,” his eyes widened a bit, “the largest I have ever seen.” Shaking his head, he was turning away from us as he said, “No, I do not like this. Something is not right.”

  I was about to storm off before I walked over and threw him into the river, but Alex cleared his throat in the manner one uses to get someone’s attention, and when the man turned around, he saw Alex holding up one of the bags containing the aurei, shaking it so that the coins clinked together. I have heard more than one person claim that they can tell just by the sound whether coins are gold or silver, and this man seemed to be one of them, because the change in his manner was dramatic.

  Walking over to us, he smiled for the first time, saying, “My name is Demeter, Demeter of Rhodes. I am the master of the Persephone.”

  It took another third of a watch of haggling before Demeter had agreed to take up to eight passengers to Alexandria, for a cost that worked out to be about one hundred denarii per person, or four aurei a head. The cost was outrageous, but oddly enough, it was not me but Alex who wanted to storm off and find
passage to Narbo, while I was the one who retained a calm head.

  “By the time we find a ship to Narbo, then hire another ship to Alexandria, we could end up paying just as much,” I argued. I saw him wavering, but he was clearly unconvinced, so I pointed out, “Didn’t my father always say that the cost of something is measured by how much you need it?”

  “Yes,” he said finally, sighing as he did so. “He did say that. But,” he shook his head and said adamantly, “this is robbery! He’s a thief!”

  “He may be,” I acknowledged, “but keep in mind that we’re going to add at least four more days by going back west to Narbo, then sailing from there to Alexandria.”

  “Besides,” Septimus chose the moment to speak up, “he’s not going to be taking a cargo, Alex, just us.”

  This seemed to clinch the argument, and we broke from our small huddle and shook on it with Demeter, as Alex gave him a quarter part of the amount, which is less than the customary half, but I am sure that Demeter, having seen the pouch from which they were extracted, knew that we were able to pay. In fairness, it is certainly not unknown for passengers to offer up what they say is half but turns out to be all that they possess, then counting on the ship’s master to be willing to accept less than the agreed amount. The third of a watch was not all spent haggling; at Septimus’ insistence, Demeter brought us aboard the Persephone, and while the upper deck was neat, with no debris or uncoiled ropes littering the deck like Squillus’ ship, dropping down onto the second deck, the smell that assaulted us brought back memories that, when I glanced over at Alex, I could see that he was thinking along the same lines.

  This was what prompted me to ask, “How much of the crew is slave, and how many free?”

  Demeter not only did not hesitate, he did not seem surprised by the question, and he was quick to assure us that, like Squillus, his crew was all made up of freedmen, with the exception of the men on the lowest bank of oars. It was not until later that Septimus broke the news.

  “You know that Demeter is a pirate, don’t you?”

  We were walking back to the villa, and I came to a sudden stop, gaping at him.

  “No,” I assured him, “I had no idea, but how do you know that he is?”

  “Think about it,” he answered, but he resumed walking as he went on, “almost his entire crew are freedmen.”

  “So was Squillus’ crew,” I pointed out, which required Alex and I to explain, but Septimus was not swayed.

  “And this Squillus either sails along the Gallic coast or crosses the channel,” he snorted. “This Demeter says he’s made, what, five voyages a year across Our Sea for the last several years? There’s no cargo in the world that would pay for that many crewmen.” Before either of us responded, he pointed out, “And, he’s from Rhodes. They’re practically raised as pirates.”

  This was something I could not argue, nor could Alex. Instead, all I said was, “Well, I hope they’re good pirates. I want to get to Alexandria.”

  Before we arrived at the villa, we made a mutual pact not to mention our suspicions about Demeter and the Persephone, agreeing that all the others needed to know was that we had found passage.

  Chapter Ten

  We left two days later, with the family gathered outside the villa. By this time, Scribonia had come to visit, bringing her infant son, and Atia and Manius had spent the night, as had Miriam, her Servius once again being away on business. I sensed there was more to that story than met the eye, but I did not dream of prying. Birgit was there, of course, although slightly distressing was the absence of Gaius Gallienus; when I asked her, Birgit angrily announced that she was certain that he had managed to sneak out and spend time with his Duumvir’s daughter. I was disappointed, yet at the same time, I could not blame him; after all, I was taking Bronwen on a dangerous voyage with me, so I suppose this colored my view of the matter. Alex was angrier than Birgit, but he did not allow it to mar the farewell as the four of us walked out through the gates of the villa. A carpentum had been arranged, and we got into the back, sitting on the benches with our baggage on the floor between us. Since we were the only passengers, we made good progress, although the streets were already busy as men, and some women, hurried to their jobs throughout the city. Because Septimus was going with us, I had decided to ask only Marcellus and Hemina to come, but Hemina had declined, and there was not enough time for us to find a replacement, Celer and Trio having vanished, according to Marcellus. We had met at a taverna, fortunately not Bacchus’ Delight, which was now owned by someone else, Septimus having disposed of it even before my ransom, and this was where Hemina had turned me down.

  “I’ve got a wife and family, Pullus,” he said apologetically, although there was no need for it. “I had to lie to her about going to fucking Britannia, which was bad enough, but if I told her I was going to Egypt, she’d cut my balls off.”

  I had to laugh at this, both because of what he said and because I was certain I knew why. Even in Germania, which is probably as far away from Egypt and the East as one can be, it is an article of faith among men, of all ranks under the standard, that the brothels of the East contain mysteries and delights that would torment a man’s dreams. After reading the Prefect’s account, I knew that this was, while not completely untrue, highly exaggerated; I also understood trying to convince Hemina, and most importantly, his wife of this was a waste of time. When the carpentum arrived at the dock, as he had promised, Marcellus was standing there with the pack of an Optio of the Legions, although he did not look particularly happy.

  “I thought I’d be fine,” he told me after we got out of the wagon and unloaded our baggage, “but then when I walked up here and saw that ship, I started getting seasick again. And,” he added bleakly, “crossing the channel to Britannia is nothing compared to what we’re going to be facing.” He must have seen my sudden change as I digested this and what it might mean, because he assured me, “Don’t worry, I’m still getting on that fucking ship. But,” he said glumly as we began walking to the plank to board, “I’m not going to be happy about it.”

  Standing next to Demeter was his second in command, a swarthy man even darker than Demeter, about ten years younger, and unlike his master, his beard was well trimmed, and judging by the shine, oiled. It was the manner in which he leered at Bronwen that caused me to pause just long enough so that he could look up at me, while I stared down at him, sending a silent message that, judging by the manner in which he stepped away from me, he received and understood. One thing that recommended the Persephone, other than the willingness of its master to risk a voyage at this time of year, was that it had two cabins beneath the upper deck at the stern instead of one. While it would have accommodated four regular-sized people, because of me, it was left to Alex and Septimus to argue about who would get the third spot, but they quickly agreed to alternate. Marcellus found a space where he was not subjected to the stench of the rowing compartment, aided by the fact that Demeter had somehow been able to find about half the cargo Persephone could carry, thereby creating extra room.

  Despite his best attempts, in the form of audible sighs as he stared at the empty space, and a muttered comment, none of us were moved in the slightest.

  “He’s making more money just with us as passengers than he’d make with a full cargo,” Septimus assured us.

  As we got settled in, we felt the ship lurching under our feet as it was pushed away from the dock by men with long poles, followed by the splash as the oars dropped into the water. The Hortator began beating his rhythm, and we were underway. Bronwen had been very quiet, and I did not press her to talk, content to let her tell me if she needed anything, while Alex and Septimus almost immediately put a board on the small table attached to the deck to begin a game of Ludus Lantruculorum, although we simply call it tables. This interested Bronwen a great deal, and they invited her to sit and watch as they explained the game, leaving me at loose ends, so I decided to go up on deck. Before I did, however, I put on my baltea and the harness,
not fooling Alex in the slightest.

  “You going to put the fear of Dis into our ship’s master?” he asked as I opened the door, not even looking away from the game.

  “Something like that,” I admitted, thinking that I should have known better.

  Emerging up onto the upper deck, I immediately noticed the stiff breeze coming from the bow, which was pointing south, and I wondered if we would have a headwind the entire way. As usually happened, the men of the deck crew cast a quick glance at me, then began looking away before their mind caught up with their eyes, although this time I was unsure whether it was my size or the fact that I had a gladius strapped to my hip. Demeter’s back was turned, but his second at the steering oar saw me, and he alerted the master, who spun about, with, I noticed, the grace and agility of a cat. I saw his eyes go to the gladius, and I braced myself for some sort of confrontation.

  Which meant I was completely unprepared for him to grin, point to the weapon, and ask, “Are you expecting pirates? Because,” he laughed, “you are early. There are not any skulking about the mouth of the Rhodanus. When we get beyond Crete?” He shrugged. “That is another matter altogether.”

  Since he was not being overtly contentious, I kept my tone pleasant as I said, half-truthfully, “I’ve been wearing one so long that when I don’t, I feel naked.”

  He seemed to accept this, nodding, then he said, “So I was correct. You are, or were,” he corrected, “in the Legions.”

  “You were,” I confirmed, “and I am now.”

  “I will also guess that you are least a, what do they call it, Optio?”