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

by R. Cameron Cooke

  It was at that precise moment that she knew there was a spark within him, a soul that carried the intellect to appreciate the fragile beauty of this world and not simply live for ravenous consumption of food and drink. For the rose, in all of its dew-speckled brilliance, was a simple message from the gods to mortal men who were destined to walk the earth in suffering. It was a fringe of the intricate perfection that was creation, a mere glimpse of the beauty that must abound in the afterlife.

  Calpurnia had seen the suffering of a thousand slaves in her life. Many times, when slaves got out of line, she had been the source of that suffering. They were human beings, true, and she always considered herself fair, but she had never connected with any of them. For some reason, ever since that morning, when she and Odulph had sat quietly together for several long moments enjoying the beauty of the morning sun on the rose, she had felt a bond with him that was impossible to explain.

  Perhaps it had happened at the right time, the one moment after her brothers’ deaths when she was vulnerable enough to let someone into her guarded world. Whatever the source of her feelings, she had next done the unthinkable. She had done what her father had commanded that no one but him ever do. She had approached the cage and had closed to within reach of Odulph’s massive arms. Oddly enough, it was the creature that had retreated, backing away to the other side of his small cell, unsure of her intentions. But when he saw her pick off the purple flower and pass it through the bars to him without the slightest inkling of fear, he returned and gently took it from her with one gnarled hand. She had made eye contact with him. She saw that one single sad eye gazing back at her and, in her mind’s eye, saw the form of the great Steppe warrior he had once been.

  There were many such encounters after that, always when her father was away, and always in secret. On each occasion, she managed to tap the gentle spirit that had once inhabited the body of the perceived monster. She had learned to communicate with him, and though his cage was never placed in the garden again, she often stole into her father’s chamber in her father’s absence and placed a solitary flower in Odulph’s hand.

  Was it pity? She did not know. Surely, had she felt enough pity, she might have done something to arrange the creature’s release. But, she loved her father, too, and she sensed Odulph also loved him. Her father was very protective of the object he referred to as his augury.

  Now, as she searched Argonaut’s foul-smelling hold, she knew Odulph would not harm her. If he indeed lived, then he was here, and he would come out to face her, and perhaps she might contrive from him how her father truly met his end.

  A noise came from up ahead of her. It was not the sound of a scurrying rodent, and it was accompanied by the distant glow of a lantern. She heard voices, too, and metal against metal, as if someone was unlocking, or locking, a door. Who could be there? Perhaps the night watch, or members of the crew retrieving stores?

  She stepped forward warily, realizing that, whoever it was, it would be better for all of them if she made her presence known. Then the voices suddenly stopped. She heard retreating footfalls, but the glow of the light still remained. Its source was hidden by a stack of stores. She would have to venture down the walk and turn the corner to see it.

  She stopped abruptly, for she was distinctly certain now that she had heard footsteps behind her. She turned, but could see only darkness. Could it be Odulph? She began moving again, certain that she was being shadowed. Again, she heard the footfalls behind her, not one, but many. She increased her pace, sensing that she was in danger, convinced that whoever it was had somehow been waiting for her. She groped her way forward as quickly as her unsure footing would allow, equating the light up ahead with safety. There had to be someone there, and perhaps that person, or persons, could help her escape from her pursuers.

  XIX

  The dark, freezing hold of the Argonaut was not a place in which Lucius relished dying, but he could think of no other reason why Barca would have brought him here. Lucius had just finished a shift at the oars. His back ached from the long exertion, his muscles numbed from the endless rhythm, from hours spent fighting the currents of the open sea. He had crawled into his damp hammock for some much-needed sleep, and had just closed his eyes, when Barca had suddenly roused him and had brought him down here at the point of a dagger.

  Lucius had half-thought to make a move against the paunch overseer, for the man was no warrior. He held the dagger in such a casual manner that Lucius could have easily wrenched it from him and plunged it into his throat before he took his next breath. But then what? Were he to kill Barca, where could he possibly hide on a ship at sea, with no land in sight? So, he had allowed Barca to direct him down the ladder to the lowest deck of the flagship. Barca had been very careful that they moved unseen. It had not been too difficult to pull off, since most of the crew were asleep in their hammocks.

  Now, they were alone in the hold, facing each other, Lucius’s shackles looped around one of the support stanchions, Barca carefully standing just outside of Lucius’s reach.

  “So, this is goodbye, Centurion,” Barca said, his face full of amusement. “I would have enjoyed seeing you squirm under my whip a little longer, but, alas, your time has come.”

  “Why have you brought me here?” Lucius asked, though he was certain he knew the answer. He was simply stalling for time, as he kept a wary eye on the dagger in Barca’s hand, waiting for him to make a move.

  But Lucius was surprised when Barca put the dagger away in its sheath. Then, chuckling to himself, the overseer hung the lantern from a nearby hook, set the key to the shackles on top of a nearby cask, just out of reach, and then climbed back up the ladder, still sniggering as he disappeared from view. Lucius did not know what to make of it at first, but then quickly deduced that he had been set up to be murdered.

  Then, he heard someone coming from further aft, huffing as they moved with great haste along the walkway running down the middle of the ship. Lucius realized that the sound was that of a woman’s exertions just as the young, noble lady, the passenger he had often seen on deck, rounded the nearest stack of crates, white-faced and distraught. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Lucius. She glanced at his chains and appeared confused for a heartbeat before fright overtook her again.

  “Please!” she said desperately. “Someone is right behind me! You must help me!”

  Lucius held up the shackles and pointed to the key left by Barca. The slightest pause crossed her face as she evidently contemplated whether she should release a bound slave who, for all she knew, might do her as much or more harm than those following her. But, her fear of her pursuers won out, and she scrambled for the key.

  She was a moment too late. Loud footfalls announced the arrival of her pursuers who came around the corner and made a dash for her. There were three of them, all wearing marine helmets with the faceplates drawn such that their features could not be seen. Lucius concluded that these men had either borrowed or stolen the helmets because their tunics were finer than any he had ever seen on a marine.

  The woman tried to scream, but one of the attackers had his hand over her mouth instantly. The woman struggled to the point of hysteria as the helmeted brutes fought to gain control of her flailing arms. While the larger of the two dealt with her, the third, a man with slight shoulders, turned his attention to Lucius. Seeing the shackles on Lucius’s wrists, the man walked calmly towards him, drawing out a pugio dagger as he came. He was a fool, who should have given more respect to his opponent, because Lucius was playing an old trick, standing closer to the stanchion and pretending that his chain was shorter than it actually was. When the man came within the reach of the chain, still confident that his prey was restrained, Lucius took a full step away from the post and swiftly brought his bare foot up into the man’s genitals. The dagger fell to the floor as the man cried out in pain. He began to crumple, but Lucius reached out with one arm, took hold of the helmet, and quickly placed him in a choking headlock. The feeble man was not skill
ed at hand-to-hand fighting, and was completely at Lucius’s mercy, thrashing wildly, batting vainly at Lucius’s massive arm. A few more moments and Lucius would have squeezed the life out of him, but one of the others was suddenly there and bashed Lucius across the back of the head with a small cudgel. The next moment, Lucius was face down on the deck, seeing white spots, his head throbbing. He managed to open his eyes in time to see the woman utter a muffled scream and then fall limp in her attacker’s arms. A few steps away, the smaller man knelt on the deck, coughing violently beneath his helmet as he clutched his crushed genitals in one hand and his damaged neck in the other. The man who had struck Lucius now picked up the fallen dagger and raised it to finish the job. Lucius fully expected to feel the dagger in his spine in the next moment, but what happened instead made him wonder if the blow to his head was harder than he had originally thought.

  A great cry came from seemingly everywhere at once, as if the entire compartment, indeed the ship, wailed in a demoniac howl. The three attackers looked at one another in confusion and then at the surrounding darkness. Then, out of the shadows, came a hair-covered, ape-like form that moved with a swiftness that was difficult to follow. It moved from one shadow to another, and the three men turned this way and that in an effort to follow it. Lucius heard the man holding the still form of the woman cry out in terror as a giant hand came out of the darkness and grasped him around the neck, squeezing him until his comrade with the dagger came to his aid, striking the hairy arm with the blade and forcing it to withdraw back into the shadows.

  “What in Pluto’s infernal regions was that?” one of the men exclaimed.

  “Wait! Listen!” said another. “Voices coming from the ladder well. The beast’s cry must have alerted the watch. We must flee!”

  “Where to? We don’t know where that beast went!”

  The voices descending the ladder were getting louder.

  “Go, now!” coughed out the smaller man. “Back the way we came. I’ll be after you.”

  Lucius was vaguely aware of the man grunting over him as he used the key to remove Lucius’s shackles. The man then limped off into the shadows behind his comrades, still clutching his groin.

  Lucius had not understood why the man had unshackled him until the marines of the watch arrived, discovered the lady unconscious and Lucius mere paces away, and jumped to the obvious conclusion. They immediately laid into him, kicking him several times in the ribs as he struggled for breath, cursing him for attacking a noble woman of Rome. He did not feel most of the blows, as they shackled him once again. But then he noticed that the noble woman’s handmaid was also there, the hood of her cloak drawn over her head as she knelt beside her mistress’s still form. The hood turned once to look at Lucius, and he could see that the eastern woman’s face was set in an expression of confusion and anger. Lucius saw her thin features clearly in the lantern light, and again it awoke a memory within his aching head. But this time, he realized who she was. He remembered precisely where he had seen her before.

  And now he understood why both he and her mistress had been marked for murder.

  XX

  The next morning, Libo awoke to the mundane routine of an admiral at sea. After reviewing countless dismal reports, each reminding him of the shortages throughout the fleet, he left the scant breakfast in his cabin for an even more dismal task, one that he never relished.

  There had been mischief in the night. Lady Calpurnia had been attacked in the hold. The night watch had found her there, lying unconscious beside a dazed slave – her apparent assailant. By Juno’s grace, poor Calpurnia was unharmed, though her dress had been torn in many places, and she had been frightened to the extent that she had fainted. She was now resting in her quarters under the watchful eye of her handmaid. As to the slave, it appeared he had suffered some injuries, and that was peculiar, since Calpurnia was such a petite woman. But regardless of how peculiar the circumstances, a noble woman had been attacked and such a sinister act could not go unpunished. On a ship the size of the Argonaut, where a score of unruly hands might move the entire crew to mutiny, such affairs must be dealt with swiftly and openly, that all may take notice and despair at any thoughts of similar behavior.

  Libo ascended to the hatchway and stepped out into the sunlight wearing his blue cloak and best armor. A file of marines in shining mail and helmets clinked to attention on the stern deck, while nearby the boatswain unfurled his lash until the long hemp strands hung freely, each one tipped with a jagged sliver of bronze. A scribe rubbed a wax tablet smooth in preparation for recording the next events. Postumus was there, too, chatting with Flavius as he leaned against the larboard rail, as if taking only a casual interest in the proceedings.

  The prisoner, who had spent the night shackled to the mast, was brought forward without a struggle and directed to stand before Libo. He was accompanied by the overseer, whom Libo had learned was called Barca. Regardless of the prisoner’s cooperation, Barca repeatedly struck him with a small baton, prompting him to move faster. The overseer appeared to take great pleasure in it, but the prisoner seemed unfazed. The large, muscular man looked tough as a hob-nailed boot.

  “Here is the prisoner, my lord,” Barca said lustily, and then struck the shackled man’s bare legs with the baton. “On your knees before the admiral, slave!”

  With a steady eye, the prisoner complied, clearly of his own volition and not in response to the abusive treatment.

  This pleased the overseer, who giggled with glee. Libo saw the shifty-eyed man cast a knowing glance at the idling Postumus, but the senator either did not notice or chose not to acknowledge him. Libo thought it odd behavior, but he had come to understand that this Barca was an excitable thug, as many of his profession were.

  As Libo studied the prisoner’s chiseled face, with its single scar, a memory stirred. The man’s powerful arms bound behind him and the massive chest nearly bursting forth the seams of his tattered tunic would have been enough, had Libo not instantly recognized the steady eyes that now looked back at him. He had seen this man before, in the adornment of a centurion, standing alone amid a carpet of corpses on the deck of the captured transport – the same transport that had flown the mysterious orange pennant. With all that had happened in the past two weeks, Libo had quite forgotten about it. Now, a flood of thoughts came over him as he began to catalog this string of seemingly coincidental events. The orange-flagged ship, Bibulus's untimely death, Senator Postumus’s secretive mission, Calpurnia’s insistence on sailing with the fleet, and now the centurion standing before him accused of assaulting her. The string of events went far beyond a reasonable threshold of randomness. What connection could this man possibly have to Calpurnia? How came he to attack her deep within the bowels of the ship? And why would he? As Libo turned these thoughts over, the grim-faced Naevius cleared his throat and prompted the scribe to read the order.

  "The slave, Lucius Domitius of Spain,” the scribe read aloud in a drawling monotone, “being found in the execution of an act of ruthless and licentious aggression toward a noble lady of Rome, will now stand before the commander of the fleet, Admiral Scribonius Libo, to receive his sentence."

  Libo noticed that the prisoner did not appear anxious or fearful, as might be expected of one condemned to an excruciating death. The prisoner’s gaze carried the same vibrancy and confidence as it had when Libo had last seen him, when his hands were not bound by chains, but defiantly held two bloody gladii.

  The clerk yawned once, and then took up the stylus to record the next moments.

  “Cut and dry, my lord,” Naevius said dismissively. “One thousand lashes is the usual punishment for such an offense. That should be enough to lay the scallywag’s ribs bare. Then we’ll leave him on the grating to die slowly over the next few days. It will serve as a reminder to the others.”

  Libo knew well the sentence for such an infraction, but he hesitated to enact it. He felt a sudden overwhelming certainty that this centurion was his one hope to discovering t
he common thread that bound all of these strange events together, the only man who could give Libo the information he so desperately sought. How could he surrender him to the lash? As Libo’s mind raced for a solution, he noticed that the prisoner was looking back at him as if he knew his very thoughts.

  “Does the prisoner wish to make a statement?” Libo finally said.

  Naevius appeared taken aback. “Admiral, perhaps you enforced a different code of discipline in Aquila Squadron, but aboard the Argonaut, a noble woman’s word is never questioned over that of a slave. It sends the wrong message, sir.”

  “He is not a slave!” Libo snapped, irritated at the captain’s near impertinence. “He was a centurion of Rome in his former life.” He turned to look back at the accused. “Now I wish to know, Centurion, have you anything to say for yourself? Why did you attack the Lady Calpurnia?”

  “Forgive me, Admiral!” Senator Postumus broke in before the prisoner could speak. “But I’m afraid I must agree with the captain. Our dear Calpurnia has already suffered enough. Must you add further insult to her honor by stretching out these proceedings? This man is guilty, and must be punished without delay. He has no right to speak. Who knows what foul disparagements he might heap upon her noble person before going to his death.”