by R. W. Peake
I found it next to impossible to sleep that night, and I was not alone, so that we were all out on deck in time to see the sun rise up over the city, the Royal Theater the most visible landmark of the palace complex shining in the early morning light. There was not much talking among us, but in a last-moment change of plans, it was decided that Alex and Gaius would go out into the city separately, with Marcellus accompanying Gaius. Like any normal teenage boy, he bridled at the idea that he needed protection, but it was a short conversation. While it was cool, for Alex, Bronwen, and me thanks to our living in a much colder climate, it was not the kind of weather that required overclothes, but in order to hide their pugiones and to blend in better with the Alexandrians who thought this was cold weather, our three exploratores wore the paenula, which is shorter than the sagum, and is not red but brown.
Alex had copied out the information Septimus had gotten from Lucius Aviola the Younger, describing the street in relation to the landmarks of the district, and what the villa looked like so that Gaius and Marcellus had a tablet as well. Their first order of business, however, was to go with Demeter to the moneylender, where we decided to start exchanging two aurei for a combination of Greek drachmae and Roman sesterces, since the use of Greek currency was the one thing that even fifty years of Roman administration has been unable to break. Once the workmen who spend their day on the docks began to show up, we waited for perhaps a third of a watch longer before Demeter led our three exploratores off the ship. Gaius was understandably the most nervous, but he also looked the most determined, and I could only imagine the burden he was feeling, and it made me think of my father’s account, when he was only ten years old and, even being wounded by a Latobici arrow, had ridden to Siscia for help to rescue the rest of his family. I had led such a sheltered, and yes, pampered life, something that I was forced to acknowledge, and most importantly, accept as a fact of my life and how, when I first arrived as the Quartus Hastatus Posterior of the 1st Legion, it put me at a distinct disadvantage. Sometimes, when I think back to that boy, for I cannot think of myself as a man back then, even though I was nineteen, it seems as if I am looking at a completely different person.
The three of us who remained behind watched them disappear into the crowd, whereupon Septimus turned to me and asked, “Well? What now?”
It was a good question, but I had thought about a way to pass the time.
“You said you’ve read the Prefect’s scrolls?”
Septimus’ response was to shift on his feet uncomfortably, giving me an idea of what was coming.
“Not all of them,” he admitted, and I glared at him in a silent reminder of what he had said when we saw each other in Arelate the year before, which prompted him to protest, “I was spending my time trying to undo all the damage Gaius was doing! But,” he allowed, “I did read enough of them, and I think I know where you’re going.”
He was right; we passed the time telling Bronwen everything we could think of about Alexandria, describing its basic layout from memory. Septimus had not reached the point of what we now call the second civil war that culminated with the man known as Gaius Octavius becoming Augustus Caesar, so it was left to me to talk about the final days and sham of a battle that was the last gasp of Marcus Antonius.
“I have heard of him, of course,” she offered. “But I do not know that much about him. Cleopatra,” her eyes began to shine, “there are many stories about her! Was she as wicked as they say she was?”
“She did send her half-sister to try and kill my great-grandfather,” I answered laughingly, “so I suppose there’s truth to those rumors.”
“What about her beauty?” she asked eagerly. “Did your great-grandfather talk about how beautiful she was?”
I cast a rueful glance at Septimus, but he was grinning at me cheerfully, and I knew he was thinking, you got yourself into this, nephew; you can get yourself out.
“Not exactly,” I answered. “She was…homely,” was the best I could come up with, which not surprisingly, she did not accept at all.
“That cannot be true,” she said this with a great deal of confidence, but when I did not reply for a long span, it slowly dissolved until she finally finished, “can it?”
“Cleopatra’s gifts weren’t in her physical appearance,” I explained. “But even my great-grandfather said in his account that he fell a little in love with her.”
“So she could not have been as homely as you say,” she insisted.
In that moment, I decided to choose what I considered the wiser course by agreeing, “Obviously not. But,” I could not resist the opportunity, “no matter what she looked like, she would have hated you because of how beautiful you are.”
She was standing between me and Septimus, so that while she was looking at me, she missed him rolling his eyes, and while it felt somewhat awkward saying this kind of thing, it was her reaction that mattered as she rewarded me with a kiss, and as she hugged me around the neck, I grinned at Septimus, who shook his head in disgust.
Demeter was the first to return, not all that long after he left, and when I approached him, he assured me that they had been successful in exchanging money, and most importantly, offering up a plausible explanation how a freedman came to be in possession of gold aurei with the profile of Divus Augustus on it.
“Alexandros had me do it, and I said that I had just delivered a cargo, and the merchant had nothing but aurei to offer, and I needed to exchange it to pay my crew. I have done business with the man before, so he recognized me and has no reason to think I am lying.”
This made sense, and I thought no more about it, asking Demeter instead, “You know the city better than us. If the man we’re looking for is where he’s supposed to be in the Beta District, how long do you think it would take Alex and Gaius to find it?”
He considered for a moment, then glanced up at the sun before he replied, “If Mela is where he is supposed to be, they should be back here by midday.”
They were not. In truth, they did not return to the ship until the beginning of fourth watch, the last one of the daytime hour, and there was no need for them to tell me the news because their demeanor as they plodded up the plank back onto the Persephone practically shouted it.
“He’s not there,” Alex confirmed, but while I knew this, there was something in his expression that told me there was more to it than his words.
It was Gaius who offered up the information that created what can only be called a crisis when he said, “I found out from one of the slaves who work for another merchant whose house is next to Aviola’s that he was there yesterday at sundown.”
“But,” Alex interjected, his mouth set in a grim line, “just after dawn, this slave noticed two carts in front of the villa that were being loaded with things.”
“What kind of things?” I asked, although I was already experiencing a sinking sensation in my stomach.
“No furniture, no perishable items,” Alex answered immediately. “Just chests of the type that are used to store clothing. And,” he did pause, perhaps because he did not like the taste in his mouth, “chests that carry money. And it was heavily guarded.”
Nobody spoke for a long period of time that was impossible to measure, but I broke it.
“So he was warned.” I was the one who certainly spoke the words, but my tongue felt thick, and I suppose it was from the bile rushing up from deep within me that almost choked me. “Some…cunnus, some mentula fucking warned him!”
I was roaring this last part, and despite the moment, I am somewhat ashamed to say that a part of me was pleased at the manner in which the others blanched at this sign of my anger. And make no mistake; I was very angry. So much so, in fact, that I stalked across the main deck, and before anyone could stop me, even if they had been able, I slid down the ladder, entered our cabin, and retrieved my gladius. Just having it in my hand made me feel better, but I would not be truly assuaged until there was blood on the blade. And, while I understand that it is bad to admit
as much, the truth was that, in that moment, I did not truly care whose blood it was.
Somewhat unusually, Demeter had not been on the upper deck, so I immediately went to his cabin adjacent to ours and pounded on the door. I was gratified to hear a very undignified squawking sound that told me I had surprised someone, but when the door cracked open, I was disappointed to peer into the eye of Demeter’s body slave.
“Where is your master?” I demanded. Then, realizing my error, I repeated the question in Greek.
“He went into the city, master.” The slave was clearly terrified, but as angry as I was, I have never liked taking my wrath out on the helpless.
“When will he be back?”
“Master Demeter said that he would return before dark, master,” he managed to get out.
I left him with a growled promise to be back, and by this time, the others had managed to catch up, and I indicated our cabin with a jerk of my head, making sure to include Marcellus.
It was cramped, certainly, but we were not there to be comfortable, and I addressed Alex, Gaius, and Marcellus.
“Tell me everything.”
By the time they were through, there was no doubt in my mind that Aviola had been warned, but it was actually Bronwen who reminded me of something, which changed everything.
“But Demeter stayed aboard last night, did he not?” she pointed out. “It was only his crew who went into the city last night.”
This, I instantly recalled, was true, and I knew that Demeter had not gone ashore because I had been so restless, I had gone up onto the main deck, and every time he had been there, clearly as unable to sleep as me.
“It has to be that oily bastard,” Septimus put in, and I was not surprised to see Alex’s head nodding in agreement.
“One way or the other, we’re going to find out,” I assured the others.
Demeter did return not long before dark, and we had been sitting in our cabin, waiting. We had opened the shutters, so it was not stuffy, but the tension was very thick and very real, the type of acrid stench I have smelled before battle, a palpable thing that one never forgets once they have smelled it. It was also, I thought with rueful amusement, a sign that none of us had had a proper bath since we boarded the Persephone. Finally, we heard the sounds that indicated Demeter had returned, and we all looked upward at what was our ceiling, the upper deck at the stern, trying to determine by the footfalls what was taking place. The wood of the deck was too thick for us to be able to overhear unless someone was at the very stern of the ship while speaking and the shutters were open, but to my ear, it sounded routine, like Demeter issuing orders for the crew. In confirmation, we heard someone descending the ladder, followed by the sound of a latch being lifted to the cabin next to us.
“Wait here.”
I used my command voice, yet I was still relieved that nobody thought to argue with me as I walked to the door, making sure to clip the scabbard of my gladius to my baltea before I exited. The gods can attest that I did like Demeter in that moment, but I would have run him through without blinking an eye, and I rapped sharply at his door, cutting off the muffled voices that I heard, presumably engaged in a conversation that I interrupted.
I was slightly surprised that, when the door opened, it was Demeter who did so, and he immediately said, “Centurion, Tanysas told me that you were looking for me.” He stepped aside as he made a welcoming gesture, which, in my mind, would not be the kind of thing someone with something to hide would do, saying, “Please, come in.”
I did so, and once the door was shut, I wasted no time telling Demeter what had happened, and as I did so, I was carefully watching his face, but the only conclusion I could draw was that, if he was hiding something, he belonged on the stage at Athens or Rome.
“Centurion,” he began as soon as I was finished, his voice firm, “you must believe me that I had nothing to do with this!”
“I believe you,” I answered, obviously catching him by surprise, but before he could respond, I pressed, “but someone from your crew betrayed us.”
He was studying my face as I spoke, and when I was through, he replied, “And you apparently have someone in mind.”
“I do,” I confirmed, then named the second in command, which not only surprised him, seemed to shock him.
“Lykos?” he gasped, but recovered quickly, shaking his head emphatically. “No, I am sorry, Centurion, but it must be someone else. Lykos is the first man who chose to follow me when I became a…master.”
The manner in which he paused did not fool me.
“You mean a pirate,” I interjected, and he flushed, but before he could say something that would only complicate matters, I assured him, “Demeter, I don’t care if you’re a pirate. I know I should report my suspicions to the authorities, but frankly, I don’t give an amphora of my piss that this may be the way you make a living. All I care about is that someone betrayed us, and let…” I barely caught myself in time. “…Mela escape.”
“How do you know?” he asked. “Perhaps he just chose to go on a trip or something.”
This was an extremely weak response, and I did not hesitate to scoff, “And he just packed up his most valuable belongings to take with him? Including his money? No,” I shook my head emphatically, “I don’t accept that.”
“But what would Lykos have to gain by betraying me?” I actually sensed some desperation in Demeter, but I was not inclined to indulge him.
“Money,” I cut him off flatly. “What other reason could there be?”
“But I pay him handsomely!” he exclaimed. “He knows this! He knows how well I treat him.”
“There is only one way to know,” I answered coldly. “And that is to ask him.”
“You mean torture him,” Demeter replied bitterly, but I was unmoved.
“Whatever you want to call it doesn’t matter to me.” I shrugged. “But I’m expecting you to handle this matter, Demeter. At least,” I added, “if you’re not the one who betrayed us.”
I did not wait for a reply, but when I put my hand on the latch, he called out, “Wait, Centurion.” When I turned to look at him, while I would never tell him as much, I actually felt a great deal of sympathy, understanding how it felt when a man under your command was suspected of something untoward. He took a breath, then said, “I will allow you to be there to question him, but not until I release the entire crew to go out into the city. Lykos has many friends aboard this ship, and as formidable as you may be, neither of us together could hope to overcome my men.”
As unpalatable as it was to hear, I knew the truth when I heard it, but I suppose I was still suspicious, because I asked abruptly, “Why are you willing to do this for us?”
“Because,” Demeter’s face hardened, “I cannot afford to have a man I cannot trust as my second in command. And, if he did this, it was against my specific orders that none of the crew mention anything about you when they went out into the city.”
This surprised me, and I did wonder if he was telling me this to throw suspicion away from him, but I did know that I had to trust him at least as far as this. Telling me to wait in my cabin, Demeter left to make arrangements, which we could track with our own ears by the dull roar of cheers from the main compartment, followed by what sounded like a stampede of footsteps as the oarsmen of the crew wasted no time in rushing up the ladder. So eager were they, it actually made the Persephone rock a bit as the noise transferred to a clattering sound as Demeter’s men went rushing down the plank onto the causeway. The silence that followed was a bit unsettling, and none of us felt like talking, while I debated with myself how much pressure I would put on Demeter if I felt he was not pressing Lykos sufficiently.
“I want you to come with me,” I told Alex, but when Septimus offered to come as well, I demurred by telling him, “No, I don’t know if Demeter is going to allow Alex to participate, but I know he will definitely not allow the three of us to.”
“Participate in what?” Gaius asked, and while I thought a
bout applying a coating of honey to my words, I decided against it; he wanted to be a man, after all.
“We’re going to make Lykos,” the blank expressions caused me to add, “the second in command, talk. And,” I shrugged, “he may not be…willing.”
Gaius did not reply then, but in the light of the oil lamps, I saw him turn a shade paler, telling me that he had the bare idea of what was likely to happen. So convinced was I of Lykos’ guilt that it did not occur to me that we might have to do this to more than one man. The time dragged by, but then we heard someone descending the ladder, followed by a sharp rap on the door, I opened it to see Demeter standing there, his mouth set in such a thin line, it was barely visible through his beard.
“I had Lykos stay aboard, and he is standing watch up on deck. I am going to send Tanysas to bring him up to the bow compartment. That is where we will…talk to him.”
“How are we going to get there without him seeing us?” I asked, not thinking.
Demeter’s expression softened a bit, and I heard the wry humor in his voice as he reminded me, “There is more than one way to move about this ship, Centurion.”
“We’re going to go through the main compartment,” Alex offered helpfully, which Demeter immediately caught.
“‘We’?” Demeter shook his head and he said adamantly, and with a fair bit of anger, “I will not allow your party to come watch a show, Centurion. I am not happy about doing this as it is.”
“It won’t be all of our party,” I assured him. “Just Alex.”
“Why him?” Demeter was clearly suspicious, but rather than give him the real reason, that Alex is very good at telling when a man is lying, I said, “Because he is a fully trained medicus. In case things get…”
The master of the Persephone said nothing for a long span of time, and I was beginning to think he was about to refuse before he gave his reply in the form of a curt nod. Without waiting for us, he spun about and entered the main compartment, using the walkway that runs through the center of the ship. Even briefly exposed to the smells in there made recent memories come rushing back, and I glanced over my shoulder at Alex, who, judging from his expression, was thinking along similar lines. Certainly, the stench was not as thick as a ship manned exclusively with slave oarsmen, since the members of the crew who were freedmen could come and go abovedeck to relieve themselves, and their hygiene is better than slaves, but only by a matter of degree. Demeter opened the door at the opposite end of the compartment, but when we moved to follow him, he stopped us.