by R. W. Peake
“There’s a reason you’re telling me this,” I countered. “So I’m guessing that there’s an advantage to the first route that balances against the risk of being in open water. What you’re saying is that the safer route to Chersenesos Akra is also slower, is that it?”
The Rhodian nodded. “That is very astute, Centurion. And yes, that is exactly the case.”
“What’s the difference in terms of time?”
“That,” he admitted, and when he began stroking his beard, I knew that it was meaningful, “is the question, Centurion. The fact is that one reason that masters do not like making this crossing at this time of year is that the Etesian winds have stopped blowing. At least,” he added carefully, “most of the time. But when we put in at Messana, I spoke to the master of the Charybdis, who was actually making his last run back from Alexandria for the year, and he was quite frustrated because the Etesians have lasted longer this year than they have in the last ten years.”
He paused, I supposed to allow me to think it through, but while I thought I understood, I voiced my thoughts aloud. “So, if we get out into open sea, and the Etesian winds are still blowing from the north, we can get there faster than we would normally at this time of year?”
“Yes.” Frankly, he seemed relieved, making me wonder if he was laboring under the assumption that men under the standard are a bit thick, or perhaps all land dwellers are. “That is what it means. But,” he cautioned, “we were in Messana five days ago, and we will not be out into the lane where the winds are the strongest for three more days. So there is a risk that they could have finally died down.”
It was, I understood, a truly vexing problem, but there was still one piece of information missing, and I asked, “How much time are we talking about? How many days could we gain, and lose?”
Demeter continued to stroke his beard as he stared down at the map, and I was about to shout at him to say something when he said at last, “Three days, perhaps, if the winds are still blowing.”
That’s not much, I thought, yet immediately came the counterthought, but I need every single day’s advantage I can get. Hanging in the balance against that was the knowledge that essentially the last male members of the Pullus line were aboard the Persephone, and if we were caught in a storm, it was entirely possible that Fortuna could choose to turn her face away from us and wipe out everything the Prefect created.
“We take the open route, not the southern route,” I heard the words come out of my mouth, and a part of me wanted to retract them immediately, but I did not.
For his part, Demeter did not seem surprised, and while he nodded his agreement, as he did so, he explained, “Normally, I would not allow a…an inexperienced man tell me what the best route to take would be,” I smiled at his diplomatic avoidance of whatever epithet mariners use about those of us who prefer to have our feet on solid ground, “but now that I know why you are so intent on getting to Alexandria, I am almost as eager as you to get there. I owe,” his mouth twisted, “that bastard Mela, and all I ask of you is the opportunity to stand there face to face with him when you find him.”
At the time, this seemed a fair bargain, and I promised that once we brought Aviola to ground and had him in our control, he could be there. With matters settled, we left his cabin, and he left it to me to inform the others, while he returned to his post on the upper stern deck, where he spent almost every waking moment. As I ascended to the main deck, where I had left Septimus, Alex, and Gaius working their forms, I tried to understand why I had just blurted out that we would be taking the open route without giving it any thought. The best I could come up with in the short period of time I had before I informed the others was that, given all that had transpired, starting with the first storm and ending with me being a hostage to Cogidubnus, I believed that Fortuna owed me. As I dictate it now, it makes me cringe, but happily, I was not wrong.
Not, I would add, that there was not a moment where I questioned my decision, when three days out of Kaudos, the storm Demeter had warned was possible came roaring at us from seemingly out of nowhere. Our sense of surprise was no doubt strengthened by the fact that we happened to be down below in our quarters, so we did not see it coming and were completely unprepared when it felt like the Persephone was struck a tremendous blow from the stern, sending the ship shooting forward while sending all of us tumbling to the deck. Bronwen’s fall was broken by my body, while mine was broken by the deck, and because it was so unexpected, the wind was driven from my lungs by the force of the impact and Bronwen’s body landing on me. It was the explosion of noise, and most importantly, the quality of it that told me, and Alex, who was with us, what was happening since we had been through this before. Because of the cold, the shutter had remained closed, so the wind, along with a lot of spray, came whistling through the cracks between the frame and the two shutters, making it necessary to almost shout to be heard.
“Are you all right?” I managed to wheeze, and Bronwen nodded.
When she tried to stand up, before I could assure her this was a bad idea, she had just come to her feet when another wave bashed into the ship, although this time I managed to catch her before she landed on me.
“You might want to stay down here.” I put my mouth to her ear, but I still had to talk in a conversational tone to be heard over the howling wind. “It’s going to be next to impossible to try and stand up.”
She did not answer verbally, although she nodded, and I scooted so that my back was against the wall of the cabin opposite the stern, pulling her between my legs and wrapping my arms around her. Alex and Septimus did the same on either side of the cabin, while Gaius had been in his hammock, which was swinging wildly now and to which he was clinging with all his might. Bronwen’s face was deathly pale, and Gaius was clearly scared nearly out of his wits.
It was impossible to sound casual, but I did my best as I yelled over to Alex, “This isn’t anything compared to what we went through, eh?”
I saw the expression of surprise cross his features first, but true to his nature, he understood immediately what I was doing, so I am certain I was the only one who caught the slight hesitation.
“You’re right, Gnaeus! This,” he made a contemptuously dismissive wave towards the stern, “is nothing compared to that! Besides,” this did surprise me because I had not thought of it, “it’s coming from the north, we’re heading south, so we’re going to make even better time!”
He was right, although it would take a full watch of shivering terror before the bucking and pitching of the deck subsided enough that we could finally stand up. We were all soaked; by the time the storm abated, the cabin had an inch of water that we were forced to sit in, and the predominant noise as the wind died away was the chattering of our teeth. I stood up, finding that, while the deck was still rolling, it was not too bad, so I pulled Bronwen up to her feet. She was wearing her brown traveling gown, which was soaked all the way through, and she was shivering so violently that I grew alarmed, although she insisted she was fine.
“I’m going to go check on Marcellus,” Alex said, crossing over to the door. Over his shoulder, he called, “Septimus, how about you come with me? You too, Gaius.”
Septimus understood instantly, but Gaius looked disposed to argue; fortunately, all it took was a look from me to get him to roll out of the hammock, landing on the deck with a splash of water, and while he looked sullen, he obeyed. I immediately went to work, stripping her out of her gown, her body covered with the tiny raised pimples that we all get when we are cold, and I used one of my spare tunics as a makeshift towel to dry her off before she donned another gown. She reached for the green one, but I stopped her, although I was grinning.
“If you wear that, I’m going to have to fight every man on this ship.”
This made her laugh, but it also pleased her, and I was encouraged at the sudden rush of color back to her face. Instead, she chose a blue gown, although to my eye that made her only marginally less desirable. Once she was
dressed, I pulled out my fur-lined sagum, ignoring her protest that she was fine now, wrapping it around her, not daring to tell her that the main reason I did so was because it amused me to see her swallowed up by it.
“Now let’s go up on deck and see what the damage is.”
I immediately regretted my choice of word as she gasped in alarm, and I did my best to reassure her, but while she followed me out, she clearly did so with trepidation and probably because she did not want to be alone in the cabin. When we ascended the ladder, the sky was still a leaden gray color, and it was still raining, although not all that hard, while the breeze was blowing briskly enough to make the sails billow fully out, with no slack or rippling in the canvas. The oars had been shipped, and my first impulse was to go to Demeter, who was at the steering oar again, to urge him to resume rowing to enhance our speed even more, yet somehow, I refrained from mentioning it. I am certain that this was a wise move on my part, but I found it quite difficult not to bring it up.
Somehow, I managed to simply ask, “Is everything all right, Demeter?”
“All right?” He looked surprised. “Why would it not be all right?”
“Well,” I replied jokingly, “the last time I went through a storm like this, I ended up a fucking hostage.”
“You call that a storm?” Demeter snorted. “That was nothing, Centurion.”
I bit back a retort, mainly because I knew that it was a fight I could not win, so instead, I asked, “Am I at least correct in assuming that because the storm came up from behind us that we’re making better time?”
He nodded, then glanced up at the sky, making a full revolution as he examined the heavens, then pronounced, “If the wind holds at this speed until dark, I think we gain a half day.”
This was indeed good news, so I went to inform the others, and I was actually proud of myself for refraining from bringing up the oarsmen. This turned out to be a wise decision because, even as I was approaching the others, where they were huddled together against the wind, the Hortator beat the drum in a rapid pattern that anyone who is a passenger quickly learns is the preparatory command to begin rowing. In unison, more or less, the three banks of oars thrust out and splashed into the water just as I joined the others, and I reached out to brace Bronwen for the moment when the speed increased, but there was no need as she gave me an amused look at what I suppose she viewed as overprotectiveness. She looked much better, while Gaius no longer looked terrified, although he was a bit green, but whereas before I might have teased him about it, I had spent sufficient time bent over the railing that I did not feel right doing so. I informed them of what Demeter had said, at least about gaining time, choosing to leave out his comment about the storm’s severity. As the seas calmed, the wind began dying down so that, by sundown, it was as if the storm never happened, and by the time we went below, the water in the cabin had drained out under the door and down into the bottom of the ship where, presumably, one of the men in the lower tier that was composed of slaves bailed the ship out. One thing I had learned very soon after we boarded for Ubiorum is that there is always a fair amount of water sloshing around in the bottom of a ship, and it is foul, nasty stuff because it’s liberally mixed with piss when men for one reason or another cannot piss out their oar hole. True to her curious nature, Bronwen wanted to at least look into the main compartment, but I absolutely forbade it, and I made sure that Septimus, Alex, Gaius, and Marcellus knew it. She did not take it well, letting me know in no uncertain terms that she did not appreciate being restricted in this manner, but I was unmoved, and it resulted in a tense two or three days. By this point, she had thankfully desisted, but as we all knew we were nearing our destination, there was a natural increase in the unease among all of us. I was certainly not immune; when we were still three days away from Alexandria, I had my first but not my last dream about what awaited me when I finally returned to Ubiorum, and while I will not go into the details, it was extremely vivid and seemed real enough to jerk me awake, panting and soaked in sweat despite the cool temperature.
I cannot count the number of watches we spent planning, talking, arguing, and refining our plan, and I will cross the river certain that there has been no campaign in which I have or ever will participate that was as thoroughly examined as what the Pullus family did aboard the Persephone. Naturally, we would start at the Aviola villa in the Soma quarter of Alexandria, which is designated with the Greek letter Delta, where most of the wealthier Romans live, and this would be where Alex and Gaius would be our exploratores. The reason for this was straightforward enough; Septimus had actually met Aviola once, while Aviola had never laid eyes on Alex or Gaius. He had not ever seen me either, but I was quickly convinced that by virtue of my size and being a Roman, he might be alerted that someone named Pullus was hunting for him. We would be spending just enough gold to loosen lips without arousing enough attention that he might be warned, and in fact, we discussed finding a moneylender to exchange our aurei for denarii, drachmae and even sesterces, but decided to do so only if it was convenient and would not cost us time to find one. If our search was fruitless, we would then move to the next most likely quarter, the Beta district, which is also called the Museion because it was the area around the library, where Lucius the Younger had informed Septimus his father had a modest home, two blocks from the great library. Only in the last resort would we search the last, and somewhat confusingly named fifth quarter, the Epsilon or Rhakotis district, which I supposed would be like our Subura in Rome. Not only did we think it unlikely that a Roman like Aviola would be willing to risk entering the part of the city that was teeming with native Egyptians, it was also a place where the upper class Egyptians of Macedonian heritage who had roots running back three centuries never dared to tread. It might seem odd, but the one thing we did not discuss, much, was what we would do once we captured Lucius Aviola, save for one conversation that, as it happened, turned out to be held the night before we arrived in Alexandria.
And, as usual, it was Alex who looked directly at me and said, “You know that the instant you’re sure that he’s the right man, your first urge will be to kill him, Gnaeus.” I did open my mouth, but nothing came out, simply because he was right, and I knew it; however, he was not through. “In fact, I think it might be a good idea that you’re not present when we question him about how to recover our money.”
This was too much, and I protested, “While I see what you’re saying about when we grab him, there’s no way I’m not going to be there when he’s being questioned.”
“So what are you going to do if he tells you that the money’s gone?” Alex countered, and before I could stop myself, I snapped, “What do you think?”
He only nodded, but it was left to Septimus to speak up.
“Gnaeus, what do you think? That he’s just going to blurt out where we can find that money the moment we point a gladius at him?” He shook his head as he continued firmly, “No man is going to give up that much money willingly. And, if you get…” he paused to find the right word, “…angry…” he held up a hand, “…I mean, like you did with this Berdic, any chance we have of finding that money will be gone. You’d be a liability in that case.”
I still believe this was harsh…but it was also true, and even in the moment I knew it, yet I confess that I did not take this well. Indeed, I stormed out of the cabin and scrambled up the ladder to the main deck, striding over to the side to fume in private. So absorbed was I in my own thoughts that, when I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, I behaved less like a Centurion of Rome and more like a frightened girl, which made Bronwen laugh.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” I grumbled, then, still in my mood, I made a point to turn away from her to lean on the railing, staring out into the darkness.
There was very little cloud cover, and the sky above was littered with glittering stars, and I was reminded of how, when I was a boy, I loved to lie on the roof of our villa and just stare up into the heavens. Under other conditions, I would h
ave liked to actually lie down and do as I had as a boy, but I was still sulking because Septimus understood the truth, that I was highly unlikely to be able to restrain myself if Aviola refused to immediately submit.
“Why are you upset, my love?”
Whether this was calculated on her part or not, it was the first time she had used an endearment of any kind, nor had she ever uttered that word that, as I was still learning, is so wonderful and terrifying, all at the same time.
I suppose this was why I answered honestly, “Because he’s right.” Hearing the words encouraged me to continue, “It’s always been a struggle for me…meum mel.” She did not reply to the use of the term we Romans use for those we love, but I saw the happiness in her eyes that told me that, even if she did not understand the words, she comprehended the meaning. “I’ve always had this…thing inside me, a beast,” I used the word my father had, “that I can’t really control.”
“You mean like what happened with Berdic?”
I nodded in answer to her question, then as much to fill the silence as anything, “He warned me not to fool myself into thinking that I could have any control over it.” Suddenly, something occurred to me, and as usual, before I could think, I blurted out, “Do you know how to read?”
Her cheeks colored, but she made sure to keep her eyes on mine as she answered, “No, I did not learn to read. At least,” she allowed, “not words. But,” her eyes flashed with a pride that I would come to know very well, “my father taught me how to recognize your Roman numbers, along with our own system of numbers, along with the Greek.”
“Well,” I replied immediately, “then learning to read Latin will be no challenge for you.”