“You and I are both alone on this ship. You are a soldier of Caesar’s army, a prisoner surrounded by many who would see you dead for a variety of reasons. Similarly, I have been given this command without any of my old mates whom I trusted to the core. Neither of us can trust anyone. We are duty-bound men of arms playing on a field of politicians.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“For instance, Centurion. I know that Senator Postumus is here under false pretenses. He purports to be on official business of the Senate, but undoubtedly there is some ulterior motive in that ill-tempered, gray head of his. And I am sure it has little to do with saving our republic.”
“I’m sure you’re right, sir.”
Libo smiled at the pat response. “I suppose we should get down to business then.” He looked thoughtfully at Lucius. “I need to know what the senator is up to. I believe it has something to do with the message Marcellus was carrying. You are my only prospect of learning the contents of that message. Do you not see, Centurion? We need each other.”
“You need me, sir? A centurion of Caesar’s?”
“Without your information, I am a blind man upon a precipice. Likewise, you need me, Lucius. For, without my protection, you will spend the rest of this war, and quite possibly the rest of your life, chained to the end of an oar. I’m sure you would rather leave this dreadful conflict behind you and go home to Spain. You have family there, do you?”
“I have nothing in Spain, sir. Besides, Italy is closer. Brundisium will do.”
Libo looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then smiled, “Ah, yes, of course. Antony is in Brundisium. Well, in any event, if you agree to help me, I shall arrange for your parole. If you choose to use it to seek your revenge, that is your business. Now, what say you, Centurion? Are we agreed?”
XXII
The fleet arrived off Brundisium the next day. The brief interval of fair weather came to an end just as the coast came into view. A bank of clouds rolled over the sea, bringing with it a cold stinging rain and shrouding the distant town and inner harbor with an impenetrable mist.
Libo had ordered the fleet to cruise several leagues offshore to ensure that no surprise shift in the wind put them onto the rocks. Now, he stood against the larboard rail, straining his eyes to see through the squall. He was aware that Lucius stood a few paces behind him, the former centurion and former slave now bedecked in a new uniform tunic and cloak. He was still forbidden from carrying arms, but his bindings were all gone. His new position demanded that he roam the ship freely.
As expected, upon hearing of Libo’s decision to make the slave his personal valet, Postumus was beside himself with anger. The senator had barged into Libo’s cabin unannounced.
“This is quite out of the ordinary, Admiral! Quite out of the ordinary, indeed! It shows poor judgement on your part. As the only representative of the Senate aboard, I demand that you place the Caesarian scum back in irons and confine him to the benches, where he belongs! You place this mission, and yourself, in too much danger trusting him.”
“He is part of this crew, Senator,” Libo had replied calmly. “He is, therefore, my responsibility. I came to the Argonaut without even my personal servants, since you and the Senate demanded I bring no one with me from the Remus. You may give me orders regarding this fleet, Senator. Send my squadrons where you will. But I will have the privilege of choosing my own valet.” Libo had eyed Postumus sportingly. “Besides, the slave has proved useful to me. He has provided me with much information about our mission – much more than you and the Senate have chosen to share. Tell me, Senator, who is it that we will be meeting on Basada, two days hence?”
Postumus’s face had instantly reddened with anger, and he had stormed out of the cabin without saying another word. Libo had quite enjoyed making the old bastard squirm for a change.
It had not taken Libo long to figure out the meaning of the message Basada on the Ides, and seeing Postumus uncomfortable was nearly compensation enough for the deal he had made to get it. Lucius Domitius had agreed to yield the secret message in exchange for his release. Lucius had kept his end of the bargain, and consequently Libo had appointed the centurion as his personal valet until a suitable time presented itself to drop him off somewhere on the coast.
Now, as Libo looked down the rain-swept deck, he could see the forms of Postumus and Flavius standing on the foredeck, conversing quietly within their hooded cloaks. Perhaps they were discussing how they might deal with this new problem. For, if they truly did plan to meet with someone on the isle of Basada, which lay on the periphery of Brundisium Harbor and under the enemy’s very nose, they would certainly need his cooperation.
As Libo pondered, his attention was suddenly drawn away by Naevius, who approached him and saluted.
“Ship coming alongside, Admiral,” he reported. “It’s the trireme Minerva from the outer squadron. She’s got a small vessel in tow, sir. She’s requesting to bring prisoners aboard.”
The two ships came together, and five bound men were marched across the gangplank at the point of the sword, ushered by the Minerva’s captain and a file of marines. The prisoners were quickly ordered to their knees on the pitching deck before Libo.
“Who are they?” Libo demanded.
“They claim to be fishermen, my lord,” the captain of the Minerva answered. “They were making great haste when we came upon them. They dashed through our blockade and tried to reach the harbor. They’d have made it, had their little craft not been swamped by a rogue wave.”
“Why were you running?” Libo addressed the kneeling men.
“It is not wise for any mariner to be out in seas like this, my lord,” said one, whose age and leathery skin indicated that he was the master of the others. The storm came upon us suddenly and blew us out to sea. We have been fighting to keep her afloat all day. Once we happened on a favorable wind, we made for the coast as best we could. We were simply seeking the safety of the harbor.”
“He lies, my lord!” Naevius exclaimed. “No fool with any sense in his head would approach the rocks at Brundisium in this weather – not unless he had orders to do so.”
Libo nodded, having already come to the same conclusion, and addressed the fisherman again. “This blow has persisted all day. I have scarcely seen a fishing craft in that time, nor have I expected to. Tell me, gentlemen, what is it that gives you such bravado to weather such a storm when the others of your trade dare not leave port? Could it be that you have not been at sea for days, but only hours? Could it be that you were running from Epirus to Italy, perhaps? Could it be that you are confederates of Caesar?”
“No, my lord!” the master said disgustedly, spitting on the rain-slickened deck. “We curse the name of Caesar and all who serve him! We pray for the day when Rome is once again ruled by the people and the Senate.”
The captain of the Minerva audibly scoffed at this. “Ask him to explain this, my lord.” He gestured to a marine who quickly approached and placed a small chest on the deck at Libo’s feet. The marine opened the chest and drew out its contents, tossing each on the deck – a leather cuirass, a cavalry helmet, a carefully folded cloak, a small purse filled with coins, and a scarlet band of silk. They were all Roman, all of good quality, and could only belong to a knight. The silk band was the most damning of the collection. Caesar had ordered his troops to wear such markings on their arms to differentiate them from Pompey’s legionaries.
“One of you is a Roman officer,” Libo stated rather than asked. “And it is not difficult to guess which.”
Libo then strode over to the youngest of the five kneeling men. The man stood out from the rest. He had short hair that was not matted and curled from years in the salty air. The young man’s skin was not wrinkled and leathery, nor were his hands calloused and lined with scars from a lifetime handling lines.
“Who are you?” Libo demanded. “There is no reason to lie now.”
The young man looked up, his eyes no longer humble and averte
d, but proud and defiant. He stared straight up at Libo as he boldly replied, “I serve Rome, and the consul Gaius Julius Caesar.”
“And what message were you bearing?”
“I bear no message. I travel to my home in Naples. News reached me in the field that my elderly father has died. I am returning to see to my family.”
“It is interesting that Caesar insults us so,” Postumus said from beneath his hood. He and Flavius had quietly approached the spectacle. “Or are there so few true knights amongst Caesar’s host that he is forced to send idiots such as this one?”
Libo ignored the senator, but addressed the kneeling group. “It has been well-known on this coast for many months that the Senate-in-exile bears no ill-will toward those in Italy suffering under this conflict, including those who must continue their trade under the tyrant’s rule. It is also known, that those caught assisting Caesar in his military efforts will be punished.” The fishermen’s faces twisted into fear as they awaited his next words. “These men are guilty of treason. The knight will be put to death. The others will be added to the Argonaut’s complement of rowers and serve this ship for the remainder of the war.”
The young knight bowed his head, as if coming to peace with the verdict, while the fishermen, realizing they would be spared, stretched themselves prostrate at Libo’s feet, pouring out their thanks for his mercy. But their relieved looks quickly vanished when Postumus stepped forward.
“That is more clemency than your authority allows, Admiral,” the senator said succinctly.
“Sickness has swept through my decks, Senator. I am in need of rowers, and these men look strong enough. They serve our cause better alive, chained to an oar.”
“And I say, they will serve better as examples to others. The Senate is very explicit on what their fates should be. I demand that you have them executed, immediately. Let others who might be enticed to follow in their errant ways see how treason is rewarded.”
The fishermen began to protest, shaking their heads and clasping their hands together. They pleaded at Postumus’s feet, but this seemed only to disgust the senator more.
“Have them thrown overboard, Admiral. That is the only suitable fate for these miscreants.”
“Senator, I must protest,” Libo interjected. “I command here – “
“The ships and the fleet, and all military matters, yes! You made that very clear to me before, Admiral. But this is a political matter. And as the only representative of the Senate present, I demand that you carry out their will!”
Libo stared back at him for a moment, and thought to protest further, but then the realization of the futility of such an effort overcame him. He looked at the marines and gave a small nod.
The fishermen never stopped begging for mercy as they were pulled up by their bindings and shuffled to the gangway, each man stricken with panic. One by one, with their hands and feet bound, they were thrown screaming into the dark, boiling sea. Libo was sickened by the deed, but he was hopeless to stop it. He could see that Postumus brandished a smug visage, whether at the fates of the fishermen or at having exercised his dominance over the admiral of the fleet, Libo could not tell.
The deck grew silent after the last gargling voice was swallowed by the waves, and now the kneeling Roman awaited his fate. He kept his eyes closed and appeared to be muttering a prayer, seemingly oblivious to all around him. As a knight, he was entitled to a more honorable death and would be killed with the sword. The marines soon disrupted his final meditation, tearing his tunic, and stripping him to the waist in order to make the cut clean. A swordsman stepped forward to carry out the sentence, but before he lifted his blade to strike, Flavius suddenly called out for him to stop.
“Wait, soldier!”
Libo shot an irritated look at the adjutant, incensed that he would put the kneeling man through a more protracted interval, but Flavius did not seem to notice his irritation.
“I think, Senator,” Flavius said, smiling sinisterly, “this may be an opportune moment to put the admiral’s new valet to the test. Don’t you?”
Postumus appeared invigorated by the suggestion. “Yes, Flavius. An excellent opportunity indeed. How keen of you to suggest it.” Postumus then turned to Libo. “You say that former centurion of Caesar’s has had a change of heart, Admiral? Let us test that, at this very moment.”
“That is not necessary, Senator.”
“No, Admiral!” Postumus said sharply. “I really must insist! We cannot stake the success of our mission simply on your intuition. We must know for certain!”
Libo glanced at Lucius. He stood by the rail, his chiseled face streaming rain and sea spray, and forming a countenance that could be taken for fierce determination or sheer boredom. It was impossible to tell whether he had even heard a word of the exchange. He seemed completely unfazed by the deaths of the fishermen or the imminent execution of the young knight.
Libo knew that he could refuse, but some part of him wanted to know if Postumus’s suspicions were correct. Was Lucius playing him for a fool? Did he really despise Anthony as much as he claimed? The fact that Anthony tried to have him killed should be enough to set him against the Caesarian cause, but Libo had seen crazier loyalties before, especially from the ranks of the centurions. He had heard of centurions leading mutinies against their own general and turn around to fight vigorously for the same general once their grievances were answered. As much as he admired and was fond of Lucius, he had to know for certain where his loyalties now lay.
“As you wish, Senator,” Libo finally said, then motioned for Lucius to approach.
“Yes, sir,” Lucius said evenly, not even glancing at the young man kneeling on the deck only a few paces away.
“Lucius, that man is a traitor and has been sentenced to death. You will slay him. He is a knight, so make it quick.”
“Yes, sir,” Lucius replied. Without hesitation, he strode over to the kneeling man and accepted the sword from the marine. As he took up position behind the condemned man, the marines and the other bystanders stood back to allow ample room for the swing of the blade.
With sword in hand, Lucius set his feet firmly against the tilting deck. The wind howled through the masts, making the sails flap wildly, like the wings of an angry dragon. It was so deafening, in fact, that Lucius almost did not hear the words muttered through the gritted teeth of the man he was to slay.
“Lucius,” the man said, never turning his head. “Thank, Jupiter. I thought it was you, but I could not be certain. Glad I am that it will be your stroke, and not that of one of these novices.”
This was said low enough that only Lucius could hear. Lucius coughed lowly, but said nothing in response, knowing full-well that Libo and Postumus’s eyes were watching his every move, searching for any hint of hesitation.
Of course, Lucius knew the knight that now laid his neck bare before him. Lucius had recognized him from the moment the marines had dragged him aboard. It was Horatius Pullo, a tribune of the Tenth, whom Lucius knew casually and with whom he had marched on various campaigns across Gaul. It did not surprise Lucius that the young knight would volunteer for such an assignment as this. Pullo was prone to such recklessness. Lucius could remember more than one patrol along the wood-shrouded paths of northern Gaul in which the blundering tribune had nearly led his men into an ambush. Still, Pullo was never known to shirk the battle line. He was not the best of officers, nor the brightest – but there certainly were worse.
Taking a moment to adjust the placement of his fingers on the cold wet sword grip, Lucius knew that he had little choice but to carry out the task before him.
“My cloak, Lucius,” Pullo mumbled again. “Do not let it leave your person.”
Lucius rested the rain-beaded blade on the knight’s shoulder as if judging the distance to his victim’s neck. He did not need to do this. He was a skilled swordsman and could lop off Pullo’s head without a thought. He was stalling, waiting to see if Pullo had anything else to tell him.
&
nbsp; The pause, however, was noticed by Libo.
“What is the delay, Lucius?” the admiral demanded from the stern deck.
Lucius had only moments to respond, and Pullo seemed to comprehend this.
“Search the hem of my cloak, Lucius,” Pullo said quickly. “You will find a message there. You must get it to Antony! If ever you were a loyal soldier to Caesar, you must do this!”
Lucius paused only a heartbeat longer, just long enough to tap the cold blade on Pullo’s bare shoulder that the knight might go to his death knowing that, if it was within Lucius’s power, the message would be delivered. Pullo nodded slightly and closed his eyes.
The next instant, steel flashed beneath the gray sky. The knight’s head left his shoulders, falling straight down and rolling away at the next pitch of the deck. It was a feat of swordsmanship that left all around him staring with open-mouths, including Libo and Postumus. They were still staring as Lucius silently returned the dripping blade to the marine.
Libo gave Postumus a triumphant look. “I would say his loyalty is without question. Wouldn’t you, Senator?”
Both men watched as Lucius dutifully folded the cloak around the headless body, carefully patted the wrinkles smooth, and dragged the dead man away to be buried at sea.
Libo saw Postumus and Flavius exchange knowing glances, and then the senator turned to face him.
“We must meet, Admiral,” Postumus said bluntly. “We must speak with you in private.”
XXIII
“We have, perhaps, gotten off on the wrong foot, Admiral,” Postumus said as he selected an almond from the bowl of nuts on the table before him. “First off, you must know that Flavius and I are admirers of yours. You were undoubtedly the best choice to replace Bibulus, and are certainly superior to him in your abilities.”
Libo looked guardedly back at Postumus, and then at Flavius who nodded as if to concur with what the senator had just said.
“My gratitude to you both,” Libo replied cordially.
Rome: Tempest of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series) Page 19