“Just one,”
I exhaled with relief and nearly kissed the man. But I could see the fear in his eyes was unabated. “Who did we lose?”
“The son of Titus Didius.”
Scroll IV
No more songs were sung, no more tales told. Wine stopped flowing, and jokes ceased. We built up a pyre and placed the bodies of the few men who died upon it.
Publius Didius had fallen overboard, swallowed up by Neptune’s waters, so we couldn’t give him a proper burial. The best we could do was place his shield on the pyre with the rest of the fallen. We lit it ablaze and watched in silence.
“You’re the only one who knows Didius well. How will he react?” Lucius asked the following morning while we prepared to depart.
“I don’t know him well enough to be certain,” I said, “but if I had to guess, I’d say the world will feel his wrath.”
The crewmen patched up the ship where there were damages and ensured the vessels’ bellies were de-barnacled. And then we set off, leaving the ashes of our men scattered with wine on the beach.
“Were proper sacrifices made to ensure our safe passage?” Spurius asked Aulus, Lucius and me once we were back on the water. “We don’t want to fight another storm. I’m afraid we couldn’t bear it.”
The sails rippled above and the deck beneath us shook with the repetitious beat of the pace-drummer below.
“We sacrificed thirteen good men in the storm,” I said. “We’ll have to pray this will suffice.” I leaned on the rail and stared out over the wine-dark sea.
“I’ve already made a vow,” Lucius said, before suddenly glaring at me, “and before you say anything—yes—it’s pigeons. I’ve vowed to sacrifice twelve upon our arrival. I’d suggest you gentlemen make a vow as well, and perhaps the gods will spare us.”
“I’ll not argue if it gets us there alive.” I smiled and raised my arms in mock surrender.
“How mighty our gods are to spare us for a few pigeons,” Aulus said. “Do they really need them so desperately? I’m sure there are a few hundred rotting birds in the forum right now if it’d help.”
“Keep it up, Aulus,” Lucius grumbled. “Anger Neptune again and this time he’ll not fail to swallow us all.”
Castor approached, his head down and shoulders bent. Several of the Mules whom I sat with the night prior were across from us on the port side of the ship, but I assumed Castor joined us because they would not include him. I wondered if I was his only friend in the legion. I certainly had taken a liking to him. Perhaps he reminded me of an older Gavius, or even a shade of myself. More likely, he was something like what I might have been if tragedy and war hadn’t stolen the twilight of my youth.
“Castor, how are you feeling? Glad to be back on the water?” I said before realizing how stupid the statement was.
“Yes,” he said, the irony lost to him.
“You approach your superiors without a salute?” Aulus asked. I knew him well enough to see he was joking, but sometimes his humor was lost to others.
Castor looked at Aulus defiantly. “We’re all equals when we sail Neptune’s waters.” He quoted me almost verbatim, which amused me and Aulus.
“Castor, I outrank the both of them.” I gestured to the Insteius twins. “If they give you any trouble, let me know and I’ll make them stand on their heads or something.”
“I jest, lad.” Aulus smiled and clapped Castor’s shoulder.
“What awaits you on the other side of the legion, soldier?” Spurius asked. Castor stared back blankly, so Spurius clarified, “What do you want to do after you retire from service?”
“I’d like a family. A wife and children. And animals. A lot of different animals.”
“A fine dream for any Roman,” Spurius said.
“Children…” Aulus shook his head. “I’d like to have some as well, but first my wife would have to couple with me.”
“Your wife doesn’t lie with you?” I asked, grinning and awaiting the conclusion of the inevitable joke to follow.
“Rarely. It’s my gods’ given right to force her, of course. But then it would be her gods’ given right to talk of her feelings until my ears bleed afterward. Better to live as a eunuch.”
We all laughed, save Castor who didn’t quite understand the joke.
“I have a child,” I said.
Castor turned to me with a sparkle in his eye. “You do?”
“That’s right. His name is Gavius. He’ll be taller and stronger than me one day, and it will be my joy to watch it.”
“I still haven’t met the little bastard,” Aulus quipped. “If he’s anything like Titus was as a child I’d have to imagine him a young Hercules.”
“Quintus!” Apollonius shouted.
I turned to find several men gathered by the prow. “What is it?” I asked, running to him.
He pointed.
In the water beneath us, now floating to the side of the ship, was a body.
Was it Publius Didius? I squinted my eye for clarity. No, it was not a man. But a woman. A child, actually. A small girl.
“Neptune’s balls, what is that all the way out here?” Captain Municius asked from my side.
“It’s a child,” I said, looking to find land or another ship, but none was in sight.
“Impossible. A corpse maybe,” he said, already losing interest.
I leaned over the railing and strained my eye as much as I could. The clouds above us must have shifted, as the sun suddenly illuminated the waters where the girl clung to a piece of driftwood.
Most of the men were losing interest too. A body wasn’t nearly as interesting as loot for the taking.
Just before I turned away myself, the little girl turned her head to us, her blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight. A tiny hand stretched out toward us.
“Shift the sail! Shift the sail! She’s alive!” I shouted.
I’d never been more proud of the men under my command. They reacted immediately, each to their station, to ensure we saved that little girl.
A rope ladder was thrown down off the edge and Lucius—gentle soul he is—nearly jumped overboard to be the first to scamper down it. He wrapped his burly forearms around her waist and pulled her to his chest, using his one free hand to hoist himself up.
The men cried out and cheered when Lucius’ blond head appeared above the ledge.
“We got her,” he said.
Lucius placed her at the base of the mast. She was still clutching to that piece of driftwood, unable to believe she was finally safe. I could see her arms and legs were turning as blue as the ocean, so I ripped off my cloak, tearing it in the process.
“You’re safe now,” I said, and tucked it in around her.
She was shaking violently, both from the cold and her fear, as her eyes darted around the strange faces before her.
Now that the pitiful child was safely secured, the men stopped cheering and seemed to lose interest.
“What do we do now?” one asked.
They lost interest, that is, until I said, “Good work, men. I’ll have a discussion with the quaestor upon our arrival and see to it each of you receives five denarii for your bravery!” A chorus of cheers sounded out. “And also for all the men of the crew!” The wood beneath us quaked as the rowers must have overheard. “And ten for the captain.” I shot Municius a wink, which is terribly ineffective for someone with one eye.
I turned again to the frightened child. She had long raven hair, straight and stiff from the cold. Her eyes were so blue they were almost violet, and atop them were lashes so long and curled women in Rome would have paid a fortune for them. Freckles were sprinkled along the suntanned skin of her cheeks.
Looking at her tightened my test. Something told me she was precious and sacred and should be protected at all costs, the same inexplicable phenomena that made men and women protect children for eons.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” Spurius said kneeling beside her.
“She’s freezin
g,” Lucius ordered one of our men. “Go and get a torch.”
“We need to put it by her feet,” Apollonius said gravely, pinching her toes and receiving no reaction. He rolled up my cloak to analyze the state of her legs, and for the first time we saw the rusty iron shackles connecting them. We exchanged a glance and he hurried to cover them again.
“Can you tell us what happened to you, girl?” Municius asked, leaning on the mast above her.
She continued to tremble, but her eyes finally settled on my face. I worried my missing eye might scare her, so I covered it up with my hand and smiled. Her shoulders seemed to relax.
“It’s all right,” I said
“My ship wrecked in the storms,” she said in Greek.
“What in Hades does that mean?” Municius asked.
“She said her ship wrecked. She’s lucky to have survived. This piece of wood is the only thing that stood between her and the River Styx.” I reached forward, slowly and deliberately to ensure I didn’t frighten her. I pulled away the wood and she tucked my cloak to her chin.
“She said a shipwreck?” Municius asked. His face changed somehow, as if it’d been drained of something vital.
“Yes. Surprising?” Apollonius said before I could. “After those storms I’d say there were many shipwrecks.”
He stepped away.
“We’re going to get you warm and into some dry clothes,” I said as Lucius held the torch as close to her flesh as he could manage without harming her. “And then we’ll get you something to eat and drink. You’re safe.”
“She’s cursed,” Captain Municius said when he returned.
“What?” I looked over my shoulder.
“Her ship wrecked. Neptune has cursed her.”
I could see the shadows and hear the footsteps of several men approaching.
“Preposterous. We were in the same storm,” Aulus said shoving his way to the forefront. I nodded to reaffirm him.
“But our ship didn’t sink, did it?” one of the Mules said. “That’s the difference. Neptune spared us. He didn’t spare the ship of this little girl.”
My breath quickened and I felt a tremor develop somewhere in my core. I didn’t want to follow their logic to its inevitable conclusion.
“Her ship wasn’t spared, but she was. Does this count for nothing?” Apollonius pleaded.
“She wouldn’t have been spared if we didn’t interfere. We’re assisting a cursed girl,” another man said.
I sprang to my feet. “And what are you suggesting?”
“We need to give her back to Neptune, lad,” Captain Municius said quietly, contritely as if we had no other choice. Several of the Mules nodded. All the pride I so recently felt in my men was replaced by anger. He turned to the rest of the men. “I’ve been a captain a long time, lads. Neptune is a cruel but predictable god. Do as he commands and we make it to Greece alive. If you disobey him, we will drown before we arrive—I’ve seen it many times over.”
An anger I hadn’t felt in years—one repressed by sadness and turmoil—erupted like a flame. It enveloped and controlled my entire body. The rage centered deep in my belly. My fists clenched without intention and my eye blinked rapidly as if it would somehow alter what was before me. A tremor developed which wouldn’t go away until I hurt someone.
And it took all the strength within me to avoid doing so.
“You want to send a little girl to her death?” I said, hoping she couldn’t understand Latin.
“We don’t want to, legate! It’s our responsibility,” the Captain shouted, and others joined him.
My jaw twitched. I breathed heavily through my nose, trying to remind myself, you are a legate, you are a legate. In an attempt to stave off my anger, I spun toward the child. “Where are your parents at, girl?” Asking a risk for sure, but after seeing the shackles I had enough context to guess.
“Dead,” she replied in Greek.
I exhaled. Gods forgive me for saying so. “See? This girl is an orphan. In an attempt to appease one god, you threaten to anger the other. Aren’t the stranger and the needy sent by Jupiter to test us? And he who fails these, are they not enemies of the god of gods? Doesn’t Hesiod write that the man who harms the supplicant, the stranger, and the orphan is hated by Zeus?” I implored them with all the rhetorical prowess I’d acquired in the senate.
Their faces were blank at the reference, but I could see many were beginning to waiver. They looked to the captain. Even he seemed to consider what I said.
“Even Jupiter has no power here,” the captain finally said. “Neptune rules the sea. And his orders are law, above everything else.”
The men seemed to be divided now. In the midst of them all I spotted Castor. He watched me with those curious eyes, waiting to see what kind of man I was. I was determined to show him, along with all my ancestors above. I spent my life trying to determine what it was to be a good man. Now it was time to be one. No more second guessing, no more thoughts. Instinct took over.
I’d tried to be tactful. Now only power could be wielded. “This is all irrelevant. I am a legate. This girl is now my property. I am in charge here. The girl doesn’t go overboard.”
“Not on this ship. I am captain of this ship, Legate,” Municius shouted, the veins in his neck flaring. If he were any younger or any stronger, he would have hit me. Rather than step away, I moved in to meet him, looking down on his toothless snarl.
“I don’t care if we’re on the sea, on Mount Olympus, or deep in Tartarus. I make the rules,” I said, locking my one eye with his. He might have been right, but in the moment I didn’t care.
The Captain went slack jawed, appalled and disgusted. “Impudent welp! In all my years I’ve never been talked to like this on my own ship.”
“I’d say this is the first time you’re trying to murder a child on your ship as well,” Aulus said as he, Spurius, and Lucius hurried to stand beside me. “Correct, Captain?”
“He can punish us later! It won’t matter if we don’t make it to Greece alive,” a soldiers shouted.
“We don’t want to kill her, we just want to leave her where we found her. If Zeus wants to save her, he still can! If Poseidon wants to spare her, he still can!” another echoed.
“You dishonor Neptune!” I roared without even preparing what I was to say. The rage took over. “You think you honor him by throwing this little girl to the sea. All that stood between her and death was a little plank of wood. Do you really think so little of the sea god you believe he couldn’t kill a small girl clinging to a piece of wood?”
A good point, perhaps, and one which might have swayed them earlier. But their minds were made up. Municius had convinced them. Many of them young and afraid of their first campaign in the Legion—even more terrified of another storm—they were easily swayed.
“We have to put her back, legate,” one shouted.
That strange intuition which springs up in your mind before a catastrophe appeared to me then. Lucius and the twins began to advance alongside me in defense of the girl, but I held out my hands for them to wait. “Silence!” I bellowed as if I was twice my own size, and to my surprise they actually listened. “There is only one solution here without our blood filling the sea around us. Single combat. One on one. Who will face me to decide the fate of this little girl?” I looked at the source of this argument for the first time since it began and was relieved to see she was confused. Frightened, perhaps, by our volume, but confused. I said, mockingly, “If Neptune is on your side and the sea is his domain, of course you will be victorious. He will guide your hand.” The stoic in me was absent, and for good reason. He wouldn’t have the answers to solve this problem.
Not takers stepped forward. Most eyes were downcast.
I continued, “You will not receive punishment if you defeat me. A legate—a senator even—soft and spoiled, who amongst you cannot say you have trained to the point where you can defeat a man who hasn’t lifted a sword in years?” I asked. Still, no one stepped forth.
I raised my arms to the heavens above us and evoked with the same voice which allowed me to command an audience from the rostra. “By Orcus, Dis, and Proserpina I vow that the man who defeats me will not only be spared judgement, but will be awarded a crown for having saved his comrades from the wrath of the gods! My own officers will attest.” I turned to Lucius and the twins, who stared at me wide-eyed. Eventually they nodded.
Finally, a man stepped forward from the crowds.
“I’m sorry, sir. I mean you no disrespect,” he said. I could tell from his accent he was a farming lad from somewhere far outside the city. “I have to make it to Greece alive. I have a daughter. A little girl like her. I have to make it back home to her safely.” I stared until he met my gaze, gulls squawking in the distance, the ship rocking beneath us. He couldn’t maintain it for long. He stared at the worn wood of the quinquereme and strained his head to swallow from a dry throat.
He was brave enough to fight me—he was the only one to step forward after all—but was he ashamed to fight his military superior, or to send a child to her inevitable demise?
Standing well over six feet tall, if I remember correctly, he was a giant by all accounts. I had noticed him in formation previously, it was impossible not to do so. If I guessed correctly, he was wearing the largest lorica size our armorers constructed, yet it still seemed too small for him.
“An honorable explanation, even if you are a sniveling coward for desiring to murder a child to save yourselves.” A true statement, perhaps, but I would’ve never said this with a clear mind. In this moment though, reason escaped me. I cared only about defending the girl and hurting whoever tried to stop me.
“Legate, I mean no—”
“Raise your sword,” I said.
He slid the blade from its sheath and held it how he’d been taught in training. His size alone could defeat me. The legion taught us many adages, and one of them was “reach always wins”—to to encourage the men to stab rather than slash, but it applied equally to men with arms much longer than their opponents.
He moved himself into fighting position, and I pulled out my gladius. The weight of it in my arm filled me with ecstasy. It’d been too long.
Whom Gods Destroy: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The Sertorius Scrolls Book 4) Page 4