Rome: Tempest of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series)

by R. Cameron Cooke

  So, it would be defeat, the Rhodian admiral concluded – not only that of his fleet but also that of his ship, his crew, and himself. Surrender, of course, was out of the question. The senators he had spurned would undoubtedly salivate over his capture. They would demand his execution for joining with Caesar. Perhaps the blue-cloaked Roman commander was aware of this, because he had never once called out for him to yield, in spite of the many times they had made eye contact across the maelstrom of hacking weapons.

  With hundreds of Rhodians lying mangled on the bloody planks, the inevitable moment came when the admiral and his bodyguards were all that remained. Pressed into a corner of the stern deck, his guard fought valiantly, holding their shields to protect their master before themselves, parrying and deflecting the ceaseless thrusts of gladius and pike. But eventually, one by one, they fell dead at his feet, leaving him alone to face the Romans. Intent on showing himself courageous to the last, the Rhodian admiral held his sword at the ready. He would take at least one of these Roman bastards with him when Charon ferried him across the Acheron to the underworld. But the blood-covered Romans abruptly stopped their advance, even as the dripping points of their extended weapons sprinkled the deck at the admiral’s feet. Several sharp commands were spoken in Latin, and then the Romans took several steps backwards, opening ranks and allowing the blue-cloaked officer through. Unlike the acrimonious nature of the marines, who clearly wished to perforate the admiral with two dozen iron-tipped pikes, the Roman commander approached in a wary manner. His armor and helmet were thoroughly painted with the lifeblood of his foes, but he had not been overcome by the same battle rage that possessed his men. The eyes that gazed back from behind the red-splattered faceplate were thoughtful and discerning.

  The Roman commander brought his sword to his chin in a salute, and then bowed respectfully. The admiral returned the bow.

  “My compliments, sir,” the admiral said in Latin with the utmost politeness.

  “It will be my privilege to forward any personal correspondence you may have,” the Roman replied curtly, and then gestured to the deck before him.

  The admiral sighed, fully understanding what was being offered. He gave a small appreciative smile. “The small chest in my cabin contains a few letters of no consequence to anyone but my kin. If they make their way to Rhodes, you will have my eternal gratitude.”

  “You have the word of Scribonius Libo, they shall arrive safely.”

  The admiral looked on his opponent with a brief moment of curiosity. He had heard of this Scribonius Libo, the new rising star of the Roman fleet, known for several recent naval victories. “My heart rejoices at having been defeated by a name as noble and glorified as that of Libo.”

  “The day stretches on, my lord,” the Roman said, his tone stiff once more.

  “Indeed it does, sir,” the admiral replied with an apologetic smile. “I will keep you no longer.”

  Slowly and methodically, he removed his helmet and unlaced his breastplate, letting both clatter to the deck. Then, after a deep breath and one long look at the sea, he knelt and bowed his head, tilting it slightly to the side so that the Roman officer’s blade might encounter no obstruction in its deadly travel. The courtesies he had been offered by the Roman commander were very generous indeed. His choices were to accept death now, honorably, at the hands of this noble officer, who would make his death as swift and as painless as possible, or to be taken alive and turned over to the Roman Senate, who would undoubtedly have him publicly crucified as an example of what happens to those who aid Caesar. A quick death, or one that stretched out for days on end while the scavenger birds perched all around his withering form, pecking at his eyes, his ears, and his privates.

  Considering those options, there really was no choice at all.

  IX

  Libo wiped the blood from his sword while standing over the twitching body of the Rhodian admiral. His battle-worn marines cheered all around him and from every corner of the captured ship. The Rhodian fleet had been defeated – annihilated – and victory was theirs.

  “Hail, Libo! Hail, Libo!” They chanted his name repeatedly, and he answered their salute by standing on the rail and raising his sword high above his head. This sent them into a higher state of euphoria.

  They had done it. Their discipline and courage had won the day, in spite of the hunger and thirst that plagued them. Perhaps their aching bellies, and not his leadership, had been their chief impetus, since Libo could see that, on their own initiative and without any orders from him, a line of eager men had already formed to pass up stores from belowdecks and over to the Remus.

  “Your name will be exalted on the Senate floor for this, commodore,” the mate called as he groped his way across the dozens of marines tossing the enemy bodies into the sea. When he was finally at Libo’s side, he added, “Perhaps it shall propel you to even greater fortune, sir.”

  Libo could see that the man harbored something within him, that he was playfully withholding some information, but the exertion of the battle had left Libo too drained to guess or even care what it might be.

  “Lookouts aboard the Remus have spotted a ship approaching, sir. One of ours.” The mate assumed a forced somber tone, as he added, “She flies the black flag of mourning, sir, and she’s signaling.”

  After a brief moment of consideration, Libo’s thought quickly converged on the worst news possible.

  “Pompey?” he asked hesitantly. “Has Pompey been defeated?”

  “No, sir. It’s not as bad as all that. It’s the admiral, sir – Admiral Bibulus. He’s dead, Neptune bless him.” After allowing Libo to process that information for a few moments, the mate added with a grin, “And you, sir, are ordered to return to Corcyra, with all dispatch. I’m guessing they want you to replace him. I’ve got ten denarii on it with the sailing master.”

  Libo ignored him, but stared out at the approaching ship carrying the black banner. A moment ago, he was overcome with the joy of the victory. Now, a cloud had descended on him, and he did not know why. Though he grieved Bibulus, he could not perceive the admiral’s death as a tragedy. Too many had suffered under the whimsical notions of that troubled man. In fact, hearing of the admiral’s death had given him an odd sense of peace. It was only after the mate had mentioned the rest of the message that his spirits sank, as if the mate’s predictions had already come true and he bore the heavy burden of command on his shoulders. A thousand thoughts coursed through his mind at once, all of them weighty.

  He looked down at the slumped body of the dead Rhodian admiral. His troubles were over. He would never have to deal with incompetent officers, insurmountable food shortages, and unconscionable Senators ever again. Perhaps he now drank goblets of wine in the afterlife with his fathers, laughing his merry head off.

  As the news quickly spread throughout both ships, more cheers erupted. The ovation was meant to bolster him, but it had quite the opposite effect and he silently wished it would stop. He gazed into the dead Rhodian’s half-opened eyes and, for the briefest of moments – in the time that a porpoise might leap above the waves to disappear in the next breath – Libo wished he were with him.

  X

  Calpurnia had not been surprised when news of her father's death reached her. She had been weaving in the garden of her father's seaside villa overlooking the bay of Corcyra, as she was fond of doing in the late afternoons that she might watch the shadows slowly stretch across the bay as the sun sank behind the mountains – the same time of day it was now.

  She could see that same garden now from where she stood on the main deck of the moored Argonaut. Marjanita fidgeted beside her, and while Calpurnia gazed upon the shore, the irritable handmaid glared inboard, returning the stare of any passing sailor or marine who eyed her mistress in the least hostile manner. Calpurnia cared little if the sea-weary crewmen looked or not. Her mind was too filled with thoughts of what she had done, and what she still must do.

  The colorful awnings and tiled roofs of t
he seaside town dressed the hills around the harbor, matching the equally vibrant sails and canopies stretched across the decks of the anchored vessels. The gray clouds that had marred her father’s funeral that morning had dispersed, letting the late afternoon sun draw long shadows among the hills and across the bay. A ribbon of smoke trailed into the sky from the town square, the remnants of the pyre that had burned hotly only hours ago.

  He was gone now. Her father’s troubled spirit was free of the distresses of this world and now journeyed to the afterlife. Perhaps the prayers she had unceasingly chanted over the past weeks had been answered after all, and now his soul would truly find peace. But even that elusive prospect did little to soothe her guilty heart.

  "Pardon me, my lady,” a voice said behind her. Calpurnia turned to see Naevius, the captain of the Argonaut, his face set in an expression to match his reverent tone. “I do not wish to interrupt your contemplations."

  Marjanita scowled at the intrusion, but Calpurnia greeted him warmly, assuming the brightest smile she could manage. "You are not interrupting. You have been very kind to extend to me such courtesies today. I know I have distracted you from many more pressing duties."

  "Not at all, my lady," Naevius said, standing aside as a pair of slaves lugged one of the late admiral's sea chests to the rail, where it would be harnessed to the ship’s crane and lowered to the waiting launch below. "I have no other duty on this day than to ease your grief in any way that I can."

  "You are very kind," she replied cordially, though she suspected the polite captain was like all the others and had thought her father insane. He smiled kindly to her face, but was inwardly brimming with joy that he would not have to suffer another day under the mad admiral’s harshness and sometimes cruelty. Yes, she knew her father's faults. She knew them all too well, and thus she could not blame the sailors and marines for the many sidelong glances and bitter looks, as if she were the lingering essence of the insanity.

  A whip cracked nearby in short succession. Calpurnia turned to see that the wielder was a paunch, short man with the blotches of a beard on his face. He laid into a large slave with great vigor and pleasure. The bare-chested man whom he drove did not have the face of a slave, though his body certainly seemed accustomed to manual labor. His physique contrasted to those around him as that of a powerful lion striding amongst foxes, and Calpurnia caught herself swallowing once as she watched his bulging back and leg muscles straining beneath one of her father’s larger chests. She had once seen three porters struggle to lift the same chest, and she marveled that any one man could bear so heavy an object.

  “Move faster, damn you!” the potbellied man shouted venomously.

  The slave was not moving slowly by any means, and she immediately got the impression that no pace would be fast enough for the irritable little man. The big slave simply stared at the deck, his face set like chiseled marble as he lugged the burden, never once acknowledging his tormentor, or the stings of the whip.

  “I said, faster! Are you deaf? What was your century comprised of? I did not know Caesar recruited little girls into his service? You move slower than my morning turd! Oh, uh, excuse me, my lady.” This last was said when the irritable little man caught sight of Calpurnia. At first, he smiled at her and nodded respectfully. But then, after a rather blatant study of her figure, the pig-faced man raised his eyebrows and licked his lips in an expression so licentious that Calpurnia had the sudden urge to vigorously scrub her person and burn her clothes.

  Upon seeing this affront, Marjanita stepped forward with her hand at her belt, but Calpurnia quickly waved her off, not wishing to cause a scene. The detestable man stared for several moments longer before cracking the whip again and leading the slave on.

  “Must that little man be so malicious?” Calpurnia asked the captain, after the pair had passed.

  “Oh, that is Barca the overseer, my lady,” Naevius answered apathetically, evidently having missed the inappropriate look. “I know it must be unpleasant for your eyes, but such treatment is sometimes necessary.” He turned to face her after the chest was swayed out over the beam under creaking cordage and straining hemp. “And I believe that is the last of the admiral's items from the hold, my lady. Shall I escort you to the admiral's quarters now?"

  "Yes, captain. Please do.”

  Naevius led her aft, past the clusters of slaves repairing weather damaged planks and cordage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the gray-haired Postumus and his self-assured adjutant still lounging on the distant foredeck, as they had been ever since she had arrived, both staring in her direction as they spoke privately to each other. They made no effort to veil their curiosity, as if she were an intruder here. They had arrived on the flagship well before her, perhaps by design, perhaps by coincidence, and that had been unexpected. If she had been mildly surprised when she saw the senator at the funeral that morning, she was in utter shock when she had climbed from the launch to the Argonaut’s gangway and had been met by Postumus and his smug aide.

  “Lady Calpurnia, how delightful to see you here,” the senator had said smiling, though the earlier sympathy in his tone had all but vanished. “Allow me to introduce my adjutant, Sextus Flavius.”

  Calpurnia had nodded to the perfunctory bow of the young man. While she had forced herself to smile courteously, he had regarded her with a dismissive nature, as if her father’s death now made her irrelevant.

  “It warms my heart to see a daughter so devoted to her father’s memory that she would go to such lengths,” Postumus had exclaimed in a patronizing tone. “But should you not be in mourning, my dear? It vexes me that you feel the need to intermingle with these common sailors. I assure you, Captain Naevius is a capable man. He can have your father’s things sent ashore without you ever troubling about it.”

  “Your concern is touching, Senator,” she had replied. “But I must put my grief aside for the time being, until I have fulfilled my duty to my father.”

  “What duty could be so unjust as to require a noble Roman lady to roam about the decks of a foul-smelling warship filled with all of its hazardous equipage, not to mention hundreds of voracious men?” he had spoken to her disagreeably, as a parent might tell a child not to cross their eyes lest they get stuck that way.

  “You forget, Senator, that I have accompanied my father to nearly every one of his foreign assignments. I am well-acquainted with the dangers of ship life. That is why I have brought Marjanita with me. As to why I am here, there are a few personal matters I cannot entrust to any man – not even to an officer as adept as Captain Naevius.”

  Postumus had cast an indeterminate glance at Flavius before responding. “How charming you are, my dear. Well, I suppose there can be no harm in that.”

  “I would advise you to be swift, my lady,” Flavius had spoken up quite abruptly. “This fleet will sail once the new commander has arrived, and I am sure you do not wish to get stuck aboard.”

  “Of course she wouldn’t,” Postumus said, in answer to Flavius but still looking into Calpurnia’s eyes.

  The flippant remark about her father’s replacement had bothered her more than she had expected it to. Her father’s ashes were still floating about the town, for Juno’s sake, and these bastards had already appointed a replacement. That thought, added to the lackluster turnout at the funeral, and the senator’s condescending nature, had left her simmering long after Postumus and Flavius had left her company. But after a few moments of consideration, after she had managed to direct her focus back to her primary reason for being here, she realized that perhaps she was closer than ever to finding what she was looking for.

  Why was Postumus aboard the Argonaut? Captain Naevius had given her a flippant explanation for it, “an inspection, my lady, nothing more,” – but she did not believe that. The senator’s presence here, his multifaceted nature which she had only witnessed for the first time today, and his apparent desire for her to finish her business quickly and leave, all fit perfectly into a profile that h
ad been forming in her mind for many months.

  Now, as she followed Naevius aft, Postumus and his aide were still watching her every move, and quite overtly. The senator bore the same expression of barely concealed pleasure that she had seen at the funeral, as if her determination amused him. Flavius’s face, however, was quite different, and it sent chills through her. It was even and unfeeling, not mournful, not pleased, not angered, simply calculating, as if the senator’s aide were working out some intricate puzzle in his mind, and had the utmost confidence that he would solve it.

  “Here we are, my lady,” Naevius said when they reached the ornate linen curtain drawn across the entrance to the stern cabin.

  “I assume everything has been left untouched?" she asked, momentarily putting aside her contemplations.

  The captain avoided her gaze, but nodded. "It is as it was on that tragic day at sea, my lady, just as you requested. Nothing has been removed, save for your blessed father and a few items of food that we had disposed of long before your instructions reached us.”