Adalwulf sat with me. “Crete soon,” he said, eyeing the Praetorians. “Wish we could poison their food.”
“Ask Woden to piss down their throats and drown them,” I said sullenly. “We all eat the same. I suppose we must fight when we get to Rhodes. And if something doesn’t present itself by Crete, we have to toss the scrolls to the sea.”
He nodded. “Damn, but Lollius is no fool to hire such men as your Armin. It’s my fault. I should have planned this.”
I blushed and saw he was not serious in his mockery. “We’ll be in Crete for a day, scaring local pirates.”
He shrugged. “Battle it is in Rhodes, then.”
“Aye. We shall have one. Think Flavus will be useless?”
“He can fight,” he answered. “But he usually prefers not to.”
I looked at him. He shook his head. “I know. I can only pray for our families.”
A battle.
That is how it was going to be settled. At least the Praetorians didn’t have javelins and spears. They would simply herd us with their shields, and stab until the thing was finished. No battle at the sea, like it had been with the pirates, but a nasty shoving fight in some hot meadow.
Adalwulf laughed. “Maybe we should join a pirate crew.”
And then Woden whispered into my ear, and I smiled with a bit of hope.
That night, we lost one of the galleys. The weather had not been harsh, the galleys had rowed together until they anchored off a small island, and still, in the morning, the ship was gone as if by a miracle. Alexander was running from one side of the deck to the other, jumping over the rower’s pit to hang on the railing. We were all looking on, unsure what had happened. One of the officers was running after him, speaking animatedly. “Either they went rogue, or they will go back to Greece, or even meet us in Crete! They are lost, but not necessarily sunk.”
“May Neptune eat the balls of Agathon!” he roared. He fumed for a time, ordered the course to the coast, and we waited in Zakynthos for a day, drawing fresh water and food, but the trireme never appeared.
Soon, we returned to the course for Crete.
There we arrived in Kadiston, by the great, arid mountain where the Spartans had once made a fortress.
CHAPTER 8
The ships docked and Alexander clapped my back as he stared at the many piers. The city was a squalid collection of heat-beaten buildings filled with flies, and goats were running about the streets in panic as local merchants, street urchins and the people who were just curious rushed forward. Most expected to make money off us. Alexander spoke. “We shall be here for a day. I hope the accursed ship arrives, so enjoy yourselves as best you can. Not much you can do, though. Drink wine, sweat a bit, and leave the women alone. The locals don’t take kindly to strangers pawing their precious, lice-ridden daughters. I have a scar to prove it. We’ll make a show of power to the local rogues.”
“We’ll go ashore,” I told him. “For wine alone. Tell me, might we go ashore alone?”
He gave me a speculative look. “Aye. Don’t worry. I’ll put the bastards to work. Come below and I will let you take the scrolls with you.”
I nodded at him with thanks, and Adalwulf and I fetched the sack of scrolls from him. Flavus appeared, and I shook my head at him. He slumped, and cursed, and stayed aboard.
As we left the ship, Armin scowled, and I winked at him. Then, I heard his voice rise as Alexander gave them duties on the ship.
“Thank Woden for the wine you procured for the crew,” Adalwulf chuckled, “though I suppose we cannot escape far or for long.”
“Not far, or for long,” I agreed. “Come.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?” he insisted.
“I need to find something,” I answered, and we ambled forward.
We walked the pier, besieged by men peddling wares, assaulted by the smell of broiled food and the stench of the harbor, which was pungent and almost overpowering. We wore our chainmail and had our swords on our hips, and a few scowls quickly convinced the merchants we had no interest in anything they might be selling. They were dispersing, and then I spotted what I was looking for.
A man seedier than the rest.
I walked for him, and the man’s arms were dangling with cheap chains, bronze and silver, which he had hoped to peddle, and had likely looted from graves. I had no interest in such chains, and instead leaned over him. “You speak Latin?”
He was nodding, his deep, brown skin wrinkled and flaky, the eyes bulging with both hope for coin, and fear for his life. “I do,” he drawled. He did, though the accent was far heavier than even ours.
I flashed a coin, a silver denarii, which made him smile carefully. The other merchants noticed the gleam as well, but Adalwulf’s grimace made them scatter. “Tell me, if you would,” I said, “where might one find men who take what is not theirs, and do it for living?”
“Tax officials?” he asked, frowning.
“No.”
He smiled. “Romans?”
“Criminals, pirates,” I snarled. “The sort of people like you, but throat cutters.”
“Ah!” he laughed. “Oh, I can help with that! I have cut a throat or two! So, you need something specific done, do you? Someone to—”
“I do need something done, but I want to pick my men, and so I need to find a place where there are plenty of such vermin.” I poked him painfully with the coin. “A tavern, perhaps?”
“What are you doing?” Adalwulf hissed.
The man nodded, grasped the coin, and pointed up the hilly streets. “There is a yellow house. Up there, not too far. On the left-hand side. There are pink flowers growing on some pillars, and you see men sitting around, being served wine. Just ask there. But don’t make trouble, because it is there to be found. It’s called The Dagger, the place.”
I patted his cheek, and nodded at Adalwulf.
“I asked—” he began.
“Trust me,” I hissed.
We abandoned the harbor, pushed past fresh groups of hopeful merchants, and went up into the town. I turned to see Armin leaning on the railing of the galley, still arguing with Alexander, who was screaming back at the centurion. I flashed a grin at my nemesis as he caught a last look of me. We climbed the street, and the wind died. It was replaced by heat that descended on us like a blanket, and we were both panting as we climbed up the hillside. The urchins begging for coin remained, but the merchants slowly left, one by one, and found other victims, as we walked up the hillside, staring at the impressive mountain next to the town. The arid stone with brown and gray tones was supplemented by the green and blue of the vast sea, and the occasional garden and olive tree.
“Not too far, eh?” Adalwulf panted, and we stopped to lean on a wall.
Below, on the beaches and the piers, dozen ships were in sight. Some were having their hulls scraped and repairs were being made. “We might have a chance to find a ship headed back to Rome,” Adalwulf said. “And we might try to rescue our families on our own. We could have a week or so to find them before anyone knew we were there. But instead, we are looking for men who cut throats. Pirates?”
“We have a plan,” I told him, and rubbed my tired eyes. “We need a battle, but one on our terms.”
He was muttering. “They will murder us in Rhodes. Even if Alexander helps us, eventually he cannot. Armin and that Sejanus won’t stop. And you have a plan to have battle on our terms?”
I pulled him on, and soon, I stopped him.
“There,” I said, and we both saw a yellow stone building with a group of unsavory men in dirty tunics sitting around by round tables. They were sailors, it was clear. All looked calloused and beaten into hardened lumps of flesh by the rough life in sea. The whites in their eyes flashed as they gave us long looks. Many were probably young, but one man, an old man, was well armed and had a gray, salt and pepper beard.
Adalwulf shrugged. “So, what do you need them for?”
I squinted. A balding man was looking at us now, probably
someone who served at or even owned the place. I took a step forward, and plopped down on an empty seat at a table at the edge of the tavern.
Adalwulf followed suit, hand on his sword’s hilt. “Like eating with wolves,” he muttered, and he was right. These were the men Alexander came to scare by the showing of Roman power.
They didn’t look scared yet.
Eyes gleaming, the patrons were not a happy looking lot, but all bored enough to give us a long, wondering look.
I pulled out many silvery coins from my pouch. The balding man, wiping hands on a hem of a tunic, and his eyes never leaving the coins, stepped up and grinned. “Such wealth buys you wine, some salty cheese, a meal of old porridge or even a plate of fish and meats.”
“We’ll take all that,” I said tiredly. “The duty below calls for anything you can provide to make it easier.”
“Rough duty?” the man asked, as he picked up one coin, and then another. “You sailed in on the Roman warships?”
“That we did,” I said with disgust. “Guards to the great man.”
The tavern keeper was nodding. “Oh? Not a military assignment?”
Adalwulf pushed me, and I shook my head. “We lost some ships. No, on the way to the east. The old man is going to settles some affairs personally.”
“Old man?” he asked, frowning.
I winked. “Now, that is too much information. But the name they call him begins with an ‘A’.”
“Truly?” the man wondered, and the rest did as well, but the seed had been planted. “We have some local wine you might enjoy. A bit of a pine tint in the taste, but not too bad.”
Adalwulf laid down another coin. “Greek or from Rome. Falernian?”
“No, but some from Hispaniola, by chance. Tarracon.”
“That we will take,” I agreed.
The man winked over at an old woman with a hint of a moustache, and whispered to her. She took the coins like she would fragile eggs, scuttled off and darted amongst the silent, seated men, and the tavern keeper smiled. “Shortly, you shall enjoy life again.”
“Guards,” I said, and winked, “Rarely do. All we do is guard the man and his gold.”
“Shut up,” Adalwulf snarled, catching on, though I could see the despair in his eyes. “You keep your mouth shut.” Adalwulf shifted in his seat and pointed a finger at the man. “You forget this, eh? This doesn’t concern you. Food, drink, and that’s all. Forget the old man, and his riches, eh?”
The man nodded, his eyes travelled to the harbor, and then he turned and walked off.
Adalwulf was sweating “So. You are not hiring someone to murder Armin here in the city.”
I shrugged. “I doubt they would all leave the ship.”
“You are trying to lure a band of pirates to attack us in the sea?” he whispered. “Woden’s bloody snot, but we shall get killed!”
I leaned forward. “With luck, we shall have a battle. Two Roman galleys are no easy meal to snap up. But if there is a battle, we will even the odds, at least.”
“Unless,” he cursed, “we are all sunk.”
I grinned. “That is a risk, isn’t it? But first, we must have a chance to win, eh?”
We watched the men at the tables. Many were whispering, arguing softly, and casting greedy looks at us, and the ships in the harbor.
“I really,” Adalwulf said with terror, “need to start making our plans.”
“We’ll do well,” I told him, as our food arrived. He gave me a long look as I toasted him. “For a prosperous future,” and saluted him. “May we fool Lollius. And Livia. And the god of death himself.” Adalwulf didn’t answer the toast.
Going back to the ships, I noticed Sejanus slipping through the crowds, his eyes on us.
CHAPTER 9
The two galleys left the port the following day. There had been no sight of the lost ship, and Alexander had little choice but to set out east along the coast of Crete. We didn’t put in in famous Samonion, and the men rowed past it, cursing softly. We lost two rowers to a mysterious vomiting disease, no doubt something they had picked up in the filthy hive of villainy we had just left behind and Alexander prayed for a day and made a sacrifice of coin to cleanse the ship.
For one day, then two, we saw plenty of ships.
But none were hostile.
Finally, we turned northeast from the tip of Crete for the last leg of the trip. We had been travelling for nine days, and the sea was still filled with merchant ships, cumbersome things, but with the cabins we all missed. Some smaller biremes and other ships meant for transporting goods, and some of a make I didn’t know, came close to hail the galleys, but mostly, we were simply ignored.
I had dangled Augustus as a prize to be captured. And his riches.
Perhaps it had been too unbelievable.
The pirates in those waters should kill for such an opportunity, but perhaps they simply didn’t have the power. Two Roman galleys were a hard enemy to sink, and none harder than those who were going to hunt for pirates.
A day in the sea brought us to the sight of the great Rhodes, the island Tiberius so loved, or at least had, before his exile. Armin was smiling as he gazed at the distant shoreline, and he and his men were sharpening their swords. In comparison to Crete, Rhodes looked lush, even from afar, and as we squatted under tents to shield us from the worst brunt of Sunna’s heat, I watched the faraway coast with dread. Karpathos was east, and there the substantial city of Potitaion, but we were headed straight for Rhodes, and would hug the west coast of the island as we headed for the north end of it for the city of Rhodes.
We were nearly out of time.
“Damn you, Woden,” I cursed aloud. “We need you.”
And then, I noticed Armin’s head rising. His eyes were following the nauarchus, who was praying aloud as he rushed past.
There was an odd tone to his prayers, perhaps one of panic.
Then I saw the soldiers moving on the deck, gazing at the sea between Karpathos and Rhodes. I saw Alexander coming to the deck, and leaning to the mast. He was watching dark specks in the water.
I got up to stand next to him, and looked that way.
The specks were moving closer. He gave me a worried look. “The Blue King.”
“Eh?” I asked, as Armin joined us.
He was shaking his head. “That is the bastard we tried to scare in Crete. Not really a local pirate, he has come to his rival’s waters. That’s three of his bloody galleys out there, and they are hunting for something,” he cursed. “This is truly odd. They don’t usually risk tangling with the Roman Navy at all.”
Armin was frowning as he joined us. “What do you mean? What’s out there?””
“Pirates,” Alexander snarled. “You daft man. Pirates!” He turned and nodded at the pilot who turned to roar orders. “To arms!” the man yelled. “Get ready for battle!”
And just like that, the galleys sprang to life. The dull routines of the ships were forgotten as men were rushing along the deck. Armor was being pulled on, and the milites were securing gear below.
“We don’t have any ballista before Crete,” Alexander cursed. “Nothing of the sort. The other galley does, but not us. Shit.”
The speed of the ship picked up, and I heard the officer below yelling at the rowers. Alexander rushed off, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Armin stepped next to me. His eyes were burning with cold fire. “Your doing? Did you arrange this?”
I shook my head, and we nearly fell as the ship lurched as the rowers picked up speed. The other trireme was coming closer for support. “I have no command over this Blue King.”
He cursed, and turned away. “Sejanus saw you sitting with scum. You cannot escape your fate this easily.”
Adalwulf was chortling. “Easily? I wonder what he considers hard!”
Men below were calling each other with encouragements and questions, and people on the deck were moving frantically, trying to keep their balance. Some forty soldiers were scrambling with thei
r weapons, and the Praetorians were pulling on helmets.
“How many?” Flavus asked. “How many ships?”
“Few,” Adalwulf answered. “Four?”
Indeed, we saw three to four ships approaching. None had sails, all were biremes of great speed, and foam was shooting high up to the air as they approached on a course that would intercept us.
“Milites! Get ready!” Alexander yelled, and the centurion of the ship began checking on the soldiers who were nearly done pulling on armor. The pilot was screaming from the back. The ship, under the heavy pulls of the rowers from all over the Mare, mainly Greeks, listened to the flutist, who was a nervous man of eighteen. A doctor was rushing about, carrying his tools, spitting foul curses as he dropped half of his gear to the deck.
We turned to find our armor, and began pulling on greaves, chain, and finding our shields and spears.
“Well,” Flavus said almost mournfully. “We will die at sea then. I knew I should not have—”
I kicked him. “Let them fight first. If they don’t sink us, and I doubt they want to, the enemy will try to board us, and the Praetorians and the soldiers will have to take the brunt of it. Keep an eye out for Armin. Make sure he and his men find steel in their spine.”
Flavus stared at me. “Did you know about this?”
I shrugged, and ignored him.
Adalwulf pulled his long spatha, and nodded. Flavus was praying, his hands shaking as he adjusted his gear
We got up, hung on to ropes and saw the four ships were getting very close. Metal was gleaming on their decks, and though it was likely only my imagination, we all thought we heard them screaming. Flags, many bright colors whipping wildly in the wind, and rams slashing through the waves were so threatening that I had the urge to void my bowels.
The Bane of Gods: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 5) Page 12