Caesarion had shaken his head. “I’ll hold off on congratulations until the birth’s safely past.”
“No sense angering the gods,” Antony had agreed, nodding. “Just saying . . . I have plenty to live for. And see if I don’t crush the Servilii, eh?”
In the here and now, Caesarion slid off his horse lightly, buckled his shield to his saddle for the moment, and held up his arms for Eurydice. And a good thing, too; her legs buckled as soon as her feet touched the earth. “I feel like it’s the first time I rode, all over again,” she admitted between her teeth.
“You’ll toughen up. Everyone does.” He passed off the reins to a groom, and, making sure her feet were firmly under her, helped her up the swaying ramp that led to the transport ship. Three banks with twenty rows each meant that the ships could transport between seventy to a hundred additional men beyond the sailors, and their gear, with room for a few horses. If no one minded being packed in like olives in a jar, at any rate. The men, including officers lower ranked than tribunes, would have to make do with the boards of the hold, perhaps with a blanket under them to soften the wood planks.
Tribunes, legates, and Caesarion himself rated the few private cabins aboard these ships—small rooms on the top deck, partially open to the air, with bolted-down benches that would serve as beds or desks, depending on need. He also had a full contingent of scribes and clerks who needed to be accommodated on this ship with him, so that when they reached their various ports, he could send messages back to Rome easily. And their baggage would be brought aboard as soon as the wagons finally caught up to the main body of the troops. In hours, more than likely.
Eurydice slowly followed him down short series of steps from the upper deck to the area under the roof that shielded it partially from the sun. The nails on his boots—the caligae that were, themselves, a symbol of citizenship almost as important as the toga—gave him better traction on the damp, slick wood, but her sandals slipped, and he caught her immediately, pulling her into his side for an instant. Just long enough for her to catch her balance as they both looked down the hatches and ladders that led belowdecks, to where the various sailors lounged, looking up at all these goings on with interest. “You’ll need to stay in our stateroom, and above deck,” Caesarion warned in Egyptian. “We don’t know these men.”
“I know, brother.” So careful, even in the safety of Egyptian, not to say beloved in public.
The large stateroom on the top deck undoubtedly usually belonged to the captain of the ship, who ushered them there now. Wide, open segments of wall to allow the wind to blow through lightly, though there were wooden shutters that could be moved up and latched in place if there was a storm. Enough room for a genuine desk to examine maps and charts and to consider signals sent from other ships by flag or horn. Caesarion took one look at it, and the fact that the huge open area gave clear visibility to anyone walking around on deck, and shook his head. Not an issue if all you have aboard are other men. But with Eurydice here?
He turned to the captain and ordered, immediately, “Have your men put the storm shutters in place around the entire living area, and rig up some curtains to provide privacy between there and this office space.” He gestured. “I was fairly specific about needing a second bed and privacy for my sister.” No humor in his voice at all.
The captain clearly fought down a grimace. “As you command, Imperator.” He hesitated, and in a low voice added, “But they say it’s bad luck to have a woman aboard.”
Caesarion felt his jaw clench. “I’ve always considered that a strange superstition,” he said coldly, and loudly enough for his voice to carry, even over the bustle of men bringing their gear aboard and stowing it in the hold below. A sudden silence suggested that the soldiers of the Tenth and the sailors alike were very interested in this conversation. “Considering that women on their moon-flows are reputed to be able to still storms just by going outside and stripping naked, I’ve always wondered—if that really had any effect, why doesn’t every captain keep a woman aboard solely to tame hail and lightning?” He paused, feeling Eurydice’s hand touch his elbow lightly. “Or, to put it another way, if women are truly more powerful than Neptune, able to bring misfortune on a voyage by their mere presence, why don’t we worship them, and not the gods? It seems to me that they’re more accessible, and respond quite readily to sacrifices of gold and sweetmeats.”
The captain choked at this plain speaking from a god-born of Mars. Caesarion stared the man down. “Now, unless you’re willing to go set up an altar on the deck to deter my sister’s wrath, I suggest that you go do what I’ve told you to do, and then go propitiate Neptune for the mere thought that a single human’s presence could overturn the will of the lord of storms.”
The captain scurried away like a new recruit, and Eurydice leaned her head against Caesarion’s arm for a moment, just under the pauldron. “You sounded like Father,” she whispered.
“He didn’t tolerate fools lightly,” Caesarion replied between his teeth. “I’m discovering that I don’t, either.” He helped her over to the single bed that the stateroom currently possessed, shaking his head. The captain did not listen to orders. This doesn’t bode well for our journey. “Truthfully, captains will transport women to new colonia sites in the provinces without a complaint. Gold washes away the smell of bad luck.” He gave her a quick smile as she sat down with a groan. “Find us an albatross and make their foolish thoughts of bad luck go away?”
“I’ve never touched an albatross’ mind before,” she muttered, gently rubbing her legs through her dress. Caesarion looked up and caught sight of several sailors advancing with the storm shutters in hand, and reached down to catch her hand, stilling the motion.
“The superstition likely began because having largely male crews, away from home for weeks or months at a time, tends to leave the men rather lonesome for the company of women,” he told her, ignoring the sailors and their curious stares as they affixed the shutters. “And if a woman happened to come aboard, and favored one or another of the men? Jealousy and fighting might ensue. And in such a small, enclosed community, that’s something that captains likely prefer not to have to deal with.” He shrugged, watching as the open-air room became far more enclosed. “I can understand issues of discipline and morale. I just detest someone invoking the specter of bad luck simply because they don’t want to deal with something. It’s laziness.” And as their servants for the trip, old Salatis and Nesa, entered the stateroom, Caesarion bowed very slightly over Eurydice’s hand, and switched to Egyptian to whisper, “Have Nesa give you a massage so that you can move. I’d offer my own hands—” A faint smile with the words.
“And I’d welcome them.” Her eyes had gone wide.
“But I don’t trust myself, and this is not exactly a private place.” He switched back to Latin, adding more loudly, “I trust you brought scrolls to study. The journey will likely take a few weeks.” And then there’s the sitting in Valentia as we wait for the rest of this fleet to catch up with us and disembark the men . . . .
“It will take as long as it takes,” Eurydice assured him, a hint of a sparkle in her eyes. “I’m excited. I’ve never been so far from Rome before.”
After assuring himself of some modicum of privacy and that his sister wouldn’t be subjected to the leers of sailors as she changed or slept, there was an appalling amount of waiting. Twelve to fourteen thousand men and associated gear and horses did not squeeze their way into boats this size in an hour or two. Food and water had already been loaded, but the wagons and armor and ballistae parts took time as well.
Before all the ships were even loaded, Caesarion changed out of his armor and left Eurydice in the stateroom at sunset to conduct the ritual sacrifices to Neptune from the deck of the ship with his officers. “Next high tide is in the middle of the night, dominus,” the ship’s captain informed him, tight-lipped and chastened. “We can leave at sunrise. The rest of the ships will embark behind us.”
Another pro
cess that will take most of the day as we depart, giving right-of-way to the larger merchant ships entering the port. Yet still, thank the gods. Who will hopefully send us fair weather and gentle seas. Caesarion headed back down the deck to his stateroom, where Malleolus stood guard at the open doorway, beyond which, per specifications, a canvas curtain blocked the sleeping area from view. “Your belongings have arrived and have been stowed,” the Praetorian told him. “All your weapons, saddlery, and the command tent.”
“Good,” Caesarion told him, and then paused, frowning. “Isn’t your mother from Hispania, Mal?”
“She was, yes.” The centurion’s expression remained blank. His cap of blond hair held no gray, and he was one of the few men in the Legion who approached Caesarion’s own height.
“You speak any of the Iberian tongues? Know anything about her people?”
Malleolus shrugged. “She taught me her language when I was a child, yes, dominus. I haven’t had anyone but her to speak it with in thirty years, though. She was Cantabrian. One of the mountain tribes from further inland. She says she’d traveled with her parents out of the mountains to trade with the tribes nearer the sea, and they were captured by slavers from the coastal tribes and sold to Romans at that point.”
Caesarion nodded. “The lack of unity between the various tribes of our neighbors is something we Romans have exploited for decades.” It’s how my father took Gaul. There were dozens of independent nations up there, loosely affiliated by common language and religion. And yet, by the time they realized what had hit them, it was too late to come together against a common threat. “So you won’t be able to translate when we get there.”
Malleolus shook his head. “Not unless we run into the Cantabri, my lord. Or tribes related to them—Celts. The Iberians on the coast were practically half-Carthaginian, to hear my mother tell of it. She’d say their names and spit for what they’d done to her.”
Still, no expression on his face or in his eyes. Ancient history, and not relevant at the present moment. Caesarion nodded and moved past Malleolus through the doorframe, wishing for four walls and a damned door. “Eurydice?” he called, not pulling the curtain back, wary of her privacy.
It pulled back anyway, letting him see that she was perched on one of two beds now, and that they were alone—as alone as two people could be, with an armed guard ten feet away, and walls of canvas and wooden slats their only shelter from prying eyes and ears. He stepped past the curtain and dogged it shut before sitting on the bed beside her and pulling her into his arms for a quick kiss. After a moment, he murmured, “Feeling better?”
“Yes, much. Nesa got the worst of the pain out. I’d prefer to be able to walk around to ease the rest of it, but I’m left with pacing between these walls if I don’t want the sailors staring at me as if I have two heads.”
“I’ll take you around the deck once we’re underway. They’re unlikely to stare if I’m standing beside you.” Another quick kiss, and then a hushed whisper, “I’m going to have to pray to the gods to afflict me with seasickness.”
She blinked. “Why would you pray for that?”
“So that I’m too miserable for the entirety of the voyage to think about more than this.” Probably the only reason to be grateful for the lack of privacy. Because it ensures that my will won’t be tested too sorely. Another quick kiss, carefully light. “Have I mentioned that of all things, sailing terrifies me?”
“No!” A soft ripple of laughter as she looked up at him from the circle of his arms. “You? Afraid?”
“I can drown as easily as I can burn,” he told her soberly. “The thought of all that water below me, and being at the mercy of wind and waves I can’t control?” He snorted. “And this is the first time I’ve set foot on a boat larger than the troop transports we used on the Rhein.”
“Something new for both of us, then.” She sounded oddly pleased with that fact.
“Yes.” He sighed.
“I think I might be able to wrap us both in a bubble of air,” she told him softly. “We wouldn’t drown so long as we were together. But I couldn’t fight the waves. Or the sharks.”
He nuzzled her neck lightly, inhaling her scent. “I’ll keep ahold of you. And any shark that tries to bite us will be in for a fight.”
Relaxing into each other now. “I’ve often thought that if I had to choose a method of suicide that would work on me, I’d choose drowning over burning,” he confessed after a moment or two. “A few moments of terror, but no pain. It’s not as if hemlock would work on me.”
She put her fingers over his lips. “Don’t say such things.”
A quick switch to Egyptian. “If we lose this war, Eurydice, a painless end might be all any of us Julii can ask for.” He tightened his arms around her, the need to keep her alive and safe burning in his chest. “Not a good topic on which to start our voyage.”
She shook her head against his chest. “All the better ones, I can’t speak of now.”
He looked down into her eyes. “Then let’s not speak for a while.”
And her lips gave silent assent as they met his again, and he pressed her back into the mattress, letting the rocking of the boat move them both until he had to pull away at last.
____________________
Aprilis 1-27, 17 AC
They hit bad weather off of Sardinia, a thunderstorm so intense that it tossed waves over the highest deck, and made the ship pitch and yaw. The rest of the storm shutters were latched into place around the stateroom, though the captain himself urged Caesarion and Eurydice to consider taking refuge below decks. Then he and the helmsman lashed themselves to the controls.
Caesarion wrapped his arms around Eurydice where they lay together on his berth, and simply tried to keep them from being flung from one side of the room to the other. With both their stomachs already emptied of all food, there was nothing left to come up, but no way to quell the pounding nausea. Finally he asked, “Can you do something?”
“I’ve been trying,” she admitted tightly. “I think I need to see what I’m doing.”
“We need to go out on the deck?”
Her stomach had curled with apprehension. “Yes,” she replied, her voice wavering.
“All right. Hold on. I’m going to lash us together. I don’t know if I trust my strength to hold you against both the wind and the waves.” A length of braided hemp rope, wrapped several times around their waists and knotted, and out of deck they went. Sting of salt water spraying in her eyes and face, like a slap, and the wind hit her like a blow, tearing her hair from its pins. It would have bowed her over entirely without Caesarion’s weight and strength to help keep her upright, but they both staggered a bit as they made their way to the helm.
“What are you doing out here?” the captain blurted, so startled at the lunacy of his most important passengers that he forgot all honorifics. “Get back inside! If you’re blown over the side, we’ll never find you in this stew!”
Eurydice held up her hands and incanted, Caesarion’s body a warm rock behind her, but water frothing over the deck soaking her wool dress. And the wind right in front of them died, but she grunted with the effort. “It’s so heavy,” she said, despairing for a moment. “How can air be so heavy?” Aristotle is wrong. Air might be lighter than the other elements, but it’s not light, in and of itself. It’s only light by comparison.
“What are you doing?” the captain demanded, his eyes wild. “We need the wind in the sails to move out of this storm.” Stark terror in his eyes. “You’ve brought this storm on us! Your presence is the cause—you’ve doomed us all, unless we cast this foul witch over the side—”
Caesarion lashed out with one fist, and his knuckles met the captain’s temple. The man staggered, but Caesarion had clearly pulled the punch. “One more word out of you on that subject, and I’ll throw you over the side myself, and see if Neptune accepts fools in sacrifice.” He glanced at the helmsman, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the seas yet, and then down at Eurydice.
“What are you trying?”
“Formed a wall just around us to test it,” she gritted. “But the wind is hitting the wall I made like waves beating on a quay. I’m going to try making the wall into slats. Like the ones on the storm shutters.”
She adjusted the incantation, just like the one she’d used to keep the cold air in Rome from touching her. And now, the wind still came through, but as a strong, but gentled breeze. But her head rang from it. “Better!” Caesarion encouraged. “Can you extend it further?”
“I can try, but the ship is large—”
“Domina,” the helmsman shouted, not looking away from the towering waves. “I don’t understand magic at all.” Stark terror in his voice. “But I understand the sea, and ships. You said the air hits your wall like the rock of a quay? A ship isn’t built like a quay. Build your barrier like the ship itself.” He nodded at the prow, then yanked the tiller to the side, trying to compensate for a huge billow that sent her and Caesarion staggering, and washed even the upper deck with seawater.
“Like the ship?” she called as Caesarion pulled her upright.
“Yes! Like a knife, you see? We cut the waves, domina. We don’t let them pound into us; we slice through them! The sails are the only parts that are like walls, and even they are more like nets. They catch the wind—they don’t stop it.”
Eurydice struggled to see it in her head, through the nausea of seasickness and the pain of using so much of her own personal power. The waves, she thought distantly. They have power in them. Feel how hard they strike. I need to take the power out of them anyway, to keep them from wracking the ship further. Why not take their power, and use it to tame the wind?
And once she did that, it was comparatively easy—like hiking an uphill slope, instead of scaling a mountainside with her bare hands. She stretched her bands of thicker air around the shape of the ship itself, and they became baffles. The energy pulled from the waves helped lower them a few feet, making the helmsman’s job that much easier. But she let the wind hit the sails with all its natural force, propelling them through the storm’s heart. “We’ve lost sight of the other ships,” Caesarion said, still fighting to be heard over the whistling of the wind as it came through her barricade. “Can you help them?”
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