Insurgent of Rome

by Ken Farmer

  As the darkness began to fall, the three men stood in quiet solitude in the bow, still in watch of the diminishing crowds around the port. It gave rasping to his being, to just stand as three of his friends went missing, but if his three crewmen - and two with unusual skills in battle - had been overcome, there was little need for himself to stumble around the large city in search - and with the darkness falling rapidly.

  As the Centurion came to change his watch, Julius called to him board the Petrel. There he gave instruction with emphatic warning. "There is evil in the city, and it has already struck without warning." At the widened eyes of the officer, he continued, "I have three men, gone into the city, and who have not returned since before the midday gong. Make sure your sentries know that any slackness on their part may find them waking on the far side of the Styx."

  That accomplished, he continued his watch in the gathering dusk, but with emphasis on his self-loathing, for the foolish act of sending men into a hostile city as if on a task of argument with a factor who had delivered spoiled rations. Finally, to Densus he ordered, "Break out the torches and the jug of burning fluid. We will keep the edge of the wharf in illume for the night, and four soldiers standing back from the light."

  "Think you that some host will give assault?" asked the cook.

  Grimly, Julius answered, "I would give hope for it, but I have much doubt that such will happen. Dionysophanes, if indeed he be the instigator of our woes, would scarcely give such blatant ignore of the law, with two Kings and the Senate giving us auspice."

  Night fell, with a torch in the holder at the place where the wood of the dock met the shore, and four soldiers in full kit standing away from the circle of illumination. He had given Capitaneus Fundanus orders to maintain a double watch - one at the bow and another aft - the latter to roam the side away from the wharf, always looking over the beam of the ship for... whatever might not belong in the water. Another crewman was borrowed to flesh out the diminished crew of the Petrel, that it might have the same watch. The Centurion was given that his men could gain their rest in the usual manner, but both kit and weapons were to be ready at hand.

  "Capitaneus!" Julius had laid down on the deck for his rest, rather than his cabin - not for any well-founded reason but his desire not to be isolated to himself. It was, no doubt, a self-criticism for his acts during the day when he had taken little care for his men. Now, he rolled at the sound of the call, gaining his feet with hand already on the hilt of his gladius. The interruption was by the crewman borrowed from the merchant ship. "A boat is being sculled towards us," came the quiet, but emphatic explanation.

  Both hurried aft, to look over the waters, lit only by the glow of a moon behind thin clouds. Turning his head, he saw that Judoc had strode to the rear of the ship, his bow already strung and a shaft on the string. Now all looked at the shadow slowly approaching the sinister quarter of the stern.

  It was no larger than a skiff - not even the size of an ordinary fisher. That precluded the idea of an assault from the water and the shadow of a form gave indication that only a single man was aboard. If the intention was evil, then this could only be an attempt at firing the ship, mayhap with a flaming pot of pitch thrown aboard to shatter across the boards of the deck. Turning to Judoc, he ordered, "Stand ready at the first sign of flame..." The archer took stance, bow high but not yet pulled.

  Out of the darkness came the voice of Densus. "The man is taking little effort in avoiding notice."

  Julius was of the same thought. The sound of the oar - or paddle - could be heard with the rush through the water and occasional impact on the edge of the boat. It was not the actions of one who had need of silent approach. He stepped to the rudder post, then called, "In the boat. Give identity of yourself."

  The sound of oar-work stopped, then a voice returned, "Ngozi, Capitaneus." A pause, then, "With the Sage and need of much care."

  There were exclamations from all waiting in the stern. In the darkness of the night, nothing could be seen in the boat, and certainly not another man beside the shadow of the black man. All knew that the oldster had to be laying in the bilge - not a thought that gave a pleasant feeling. The boat reached the side of the Petrel, rasping wood against the other, then came to a halt at the dip of the waist.

  "Bring a torch." To Hades with the danger of fire on board a wooden vessel. Leaning over the side, and now seeing even less in the shadow of the larger ship, Julius asked, "Is he with injuries?"

  The reply was chilling with its import. "Aye, Capitaneus. If he still lives."

  "Give us his arms."

  "Nay, Capitaneus. I have little use of my limbs for such work."

  Julius did not hesitate. "Bring the boarding ladder and a line! Flavius, with me!" Turning around, he let himself over the side, then down to the extent of his arms, feeling for the little craft below. He did not wish to drop into the boat, fearing to land on the body of their friend, but also, in the fear that he might spear through the rotten hull of some stolen fisher.

  A foot touched wood, then was moved to give assurance that under his sandals was not flesh, then he dropped into the boat. Kneeling, he felt around, quickly finding the prone body of Patroclus - at least, it was the old man according to the words from the black crewman. He could see nothing, but the flesh was still warm - mayhap he was still on the mortal side of the Styx even yet.

  Beside him, Flavius had also boarded, reaching out to touch the Captain to give notice of the line that he was holding. "Lift him by the shoulders..." Rapidly, the rope was looped under the arms, then tied at the chest of the silent man. Both carefully lifted the Sage from the muck and slop of the bottom hull, then... "Hoist away, and with care."

  From above came words of command and the light of a torch. "Papius! Tiburs! Hoist, and gently. Durius! Give hold of the belt." The voice was that of Capitaneus Fundanus, obviously wakened in the tumult and come from his ship across the wharf and with men to give assist.

  As the feet of the Sage rose above their stretch of arms, Julius turned to Ngozi. "And you, my friend. What are your hurts?"

  "Little to speak of, Capitaneus. A day of rest is my need."

  "The gods of your land would give ill-rewards for such falsehoods," said Flavius, holding up an open hand to the Captain. A hand covered with blotches of dark color. "This life-blood is not yours, is the claim?" In the torchlight from above, they could see that the crewman was ill-used, and with torn garments muchly stained.

  The bitter end of the rope dropped again, and Flavius moved to give the same tie for hoisting as Ngozi gave dispute of need. "Nay, I can reach the deck with the ladder."

  "Tie the rope!" ordered Julius. To his black crewman, he said with some disdain, "You could not climb onto the mat of a brothel trull were she to lay it on the deck." A pause, then, "Hoist away."

  Quickly, but with care the man disappeared from view into the waist of the ship, quickly followed by both whole men, scrambling up the rope ladder in follow. He could see that a second torch had been ignited, held by some man over the prone body of Patroclus as Densus cut the rags away with his pugio. Looking up at the Captain, he said, "He lives, but I can not give any hope that his time will stretch to sunrise. We must find a Medicus."

  Chapter 23

  Julius stood, looking down the scuttle at the small group huddled around the man laying on the triply stacked mats. The Sage had been carefully lowered into the hull that he might escape the damp wind that blew across the water and Flavius had been assigned to give watch, and with two water buckets at hand, lest some inadvertent flame escape the torches held for the need of the ministration.

  Ngozi was still on deck, leaning against one of the straw filled bags used for bow-practice and on a mat brought up for his comfort. His hurts were far less than those of the oldster in the hold, being mostly cuts that had not touched any vital insides of his body, except for one deep penetration in a leg. The weakness he displayed was from the loss of the red life-fluid rather than any significant wounds.
Densus had washed all of the gashes with wine, then wrapped them in clean rags, giving the black man the appearance of some strange apparition on the acting boards of the Forum.

  In the hours until the break of day, Patroclus had not ceased to breath, although Julius could not have given a reason why. The man had been beaten to look as if the carcass of some animal in the bleeding rack of a butcher. Fortunately, his punishment had come from hands, apparently, and not blades, else he would have long have paid the ferryman.

  In the first light, they had searched for a Medicus - Giatrós, in the tongue of this land. The Captain cut short all wonderment and hesitation with the show of a handful of gold, and shortly, they were escorting the man and his apprentice back to the ship.

  Now, Julius was just waiting for the opinion of the Medicus as to the future - or not - of the Sage.

  Looking across the dark city, he walked back to stand beside Densus, still sitting with the black crewman. Looking up, the cook said, "The wine has finally given effect. He will sleep through the morning."

  "Aye. Did he say more of Melglos?"

  "Nay. His need of tossing the Sage into the boat, then pushing it away without receiving iron in the back did not give him chance to look, until the distance and dark precluded vision."

  Now the cook gave the saga, as told to him by his black comrade...

  Densus had gently queried Ngozi as he was binding the wounds. In the tale, both had moved along the port road where the scribal and magisterial offices were, looking into each for the old navigator. They had followed his path, this merchant and that scribe having seen the man of description, earlier. At the office of the Port Magistrate, they were given that their man had stopped for a considerable time, giving converse with a scribe that had come from the same city as Patroclus. With the permission of the senior Ratiocinator, or whatever an accounting scribe was called in this city - and a silver round for easing the permission - the Sage and his friend had sat across the road in an open-air kiosk and drank to their memories of long ago.

  The merchant of the eatery had given the same tale - both men had sat and taken their cups for the hour or more, but had little else to add. Looking further up the port road, Melglos had said, "He is still in move around the curve." The road naturally followed the waterline closely, to service the multitude of wharves and warehouses in the half circle of the harbor. "We are on his path, still. He cannot have gone further than yon stone tower in the far distance. Beyond that is just warehouses and stinking flaying sheds."

  Ngozi had given comment on another matter. "I would rather give question of the man who has been our shadow since leaving the Petrel."

  Melglos had almost turned to gaze in sudden surprise at the words, but fortunately caught himself. Quietly, he had said, "You have sureness of such?"

  Ngozi had half turned and pointed up a side street, his hand jabbing as if making notice of some import, but it was merely a beguilement. To the big Thracian, he had said, "Back along the street to the labor-notice board, the man with the red mitra..."

  Melglos had given show of following the pointing of the hand, then looking at his companion, nodding in the show of seeing. His eyes, however, were in gaze along the path they had taken. "Mitra? Ah, turban, you mean." Indeed, there was a man standing in watch with a headwear of red cloth. Now, looking back up the side street in false show, he had asked, "You have sureness of his following?"

  "Aye. He has been standing across from the Petrel all morning, leaving only to give follow to us."

  Melglos had given shake of his head. "The Capitaneus was not giving falsehood when he gave that you have eyes that the eagle would covet."

  With a blank expression and no trace of humor, Ngozi had shaken off the compliment, saying, "Mayhap he has wish to sign on as crew and desires to speak with us as to the goodness of the berth."

  Now the Thracian had nodded with a grim smile. "Then let us allow him to make his plea. I crave to ask him a question or two, myself."

  The black man had turned and began the walk along the street, followed by his comrade. "Let us not spook the prey. In these crowds, he could disappear as a pebble thrown to the ground, and in a single breath."

  They had continued their walk until Melglos said, "This would seem a goodly spot for a tryst." It was an empty stable - not derelict, but merely without animals at the moment. They walked without haste to the far side of the wooden building, then Ngozi stopped to wait as his companion hurried behind the structure, then down the narrow alley - back the way they had come - past two other merchantries until he found an opening that allowed view of the main road. Now, with just an eye peering around the corner, he waited.

  The wait was short, the man with the red turban hurrying past to gain vision of his quarry again. Melglos moved to the street, then hurrying along in the wake of their shadow until...

  The man disappeared, suddenly yanked from view by a black arm that appeared as the strike of a serpent. Hurrying to the stable, the Thracian saw the prone figure laying in the dirt of the floor at the back of the structure, and with the pugio of Ngozi just touching his throat. The black said to his companion, "Mayhap you should give query - his tongue is the same as yours."

  For the moment, there was doubt that any speaking would be forthcoming from the man laying on his back. His mouth was working but nothing was issuing that could be heard as words. Both men of the Petrel knew instinctively that their catch was only a street laggard, hired for use by... whomever, not a hardened fighter with weapons skills. In his terror, there was little doubt that he would eventually speak, but would it be in the fullness of truth?

  Melglos reached down with a hand to roughly cover the mouth of the prone man. "Cease your babbling. You have only one use and that is to answer my questions, fully and with no hesitation. Or... You can begin the journey to Hades even now, if you wish." He looked at his comrade, who pushed the point of his pugio further, actually giving prick to the neck of the man. The hand of the Thracian withdrew, followed by more unintelligible blather. Melglos again moved his hand, this time to squeeze the jaws to stop the flow of words. "Nay. I will ask. You will answer." A pause, then, "Where is your leader?"

  The man managed to swallow back his spittle, then said, "Nay. I was given hire only to give report of any..."

  Again the squeezing of jaws stopped the flow of words. "Spare us the story of your labors. That was not my query." A firm press, then he hand gave release. "Where were you to give report? I want to know of the man needing your tale of observance, not his needs." Melglos moved his face close, then said with goodly menace, "Where might he be found?"

  A violent shake of the head and words quickly in denial came forth. "Nay, Kurios. It was only a man with a purse, giving me to watch and remember..."

  "You would have me believe that no manner to let reporting with haste was given? That your principal would search the streets of Antioch to find his man, merely to inquire as to any discovery? Such would be a foolish miscreant-officer, to give no place of report." The Thracian leaned back on his knees, looking at his black comrade. "This street scum is of no use. Cut his lying throat and let us continue our search."

  Ngozi gave an emphatic show of giving brace to his body, moving the short blade to readiness - and at a position that could easily be seen by the terrified eyes of the prone man. The contrivance worked well - the man babbled his plea. "Give mercy, Kurios! There is indeed a place of report! It is the apothíki of Lobates... The storing shed by the water!"

  "Apothíki?" asked Ngozi.

  "Warehouse." Now the Thracian snarled at the man. "We do not know names in this city, fool. Where is this hive of scum?"

  The man tried to think of the course to such as he had given - a difficult task as his eyes were fixated on the hovering blade - a weapon even closer than his eyes could give other than blurment. Finally, he said, "Just beyond the wind-cloth yard of Mitaki..." His arm bent to allow a finger to point beyond his head. "...the stone tower and poles that are used for...
the making of ship-cloth."