by Ken Farmer
Haggling over the price of a man was not only beyond the experience of Julius, but was distasteful in the extreme. The price in silver denarii far more than was in his purse. This was a part of his tentative plan that he had overlooked. "Is there a Commodator in Herculaneum. One that can issue debt from Capua?" As a noble man of Rome, he had never had need of a moneylender - such an idea never even entering his mind.
"Might I ask the good Sos of his name and household?" With the reply from Julius, the eyes of the man widened considerably. "The shipping house of Capua? I give wonder that you need give purchase yourself, rather than your Steward or such."
Julius nodded. "Aye, indeed I would not, but a matter comes to hand suddenly that I require a bondman, and that need was not seen upon leaving Neápolis, thus my insufficient purse."
Now the man was all smiles and affability. "Nay, good Sos. The house of Clavius is not in need of the services of a Commodator. If you will set your name to a tablet of creditum, that will be sufficient. More than such."
The exchange quickly done, Julius gladly exited the merchantry, greeting the sun as if having emerged from a stable that had not been cleaned of droppings for the month. Motioning his new... purchase to follow, he walked back up the harbor road, remembering a less than imposing food kiosk, serving the laborers of the port. Around a bend he saw it, or another, then took a table next to the street, motioning the following man to sit across and in facing. The fat Caupo hurried to give service to an unexpected man of obvious status far above his usual clientele, taking his order for wine and a platter of meats. Julius was not hungry, but the offer would - he hoped - give some ease to the man across the table, no doubt wondering if his existence had improved or degraded suddenly.
"My name is Julius, of the family Clavius. Mayhap you have heard of our household?"
The man nodded, then said, "Aye, Sos. Any man in the port manufactories knows of the great shipping factor of Capua."
"Then you know that our trading is honorable, and without blemish in three generations." That was not entirely a true statement - a fact that only Julius knew, of all men in the world. His Grandmother, the great Grand Domina, had given stories - in the privacy of a rooftop terrace or remote atrium - of the beginning of the house of Clavius, and while such were exciting tales to a young boy, the mere hint of the genesis and early career of his grandfather, Myron, would become the scandal of all time in Capua - and beyond. "We do not keep nor deal in slaves - such men are undependable and without loyalty, and I have full understanding of the reason. You are free as of now, and I will have a scribe of the city deliver a tablet of manumission, and pay the fee to register it in the archives."
He waited for the words to sink into the being of the man, now sitting as a stone statue, even with the wine and meats being placed to his front. "I have an offer and a mission for yourself, but without requirement. If you wish to depart after our call on the archival office, it will be your choice. But..." He held up a finger. "Should you agree to my needs, and successfully complete them, you will be paid..." A pause for thought, then, "...five gold aurei with which to start your life anew. And, if you wish to put all vestiges of your recent... servitude behind, a passage on a ship of the family to any port that we use as our trade..."
Chapter 38
The Petrel had not returned by the following night, and with reason - Julius could tell that the wind had laid to a mere whisper that would barely fill the sail even on his taut ship. But, the next morning brought the welcome sight of the vessel in the distance. Within the hour it was throwing the mooring lines to the wharf.
Julius spent little time in talk with the acting Captain, Densus, but took the leather bag even as the boarding plank was put in place. He extracted a scroll, unrolled and read it, then ripped the papyrus from the spindle, shredding it before tossing it into the water. He examined another scroll from the bag, this one closed with a wax seal, then replaced it and two others that he had brought from the inn. Indeed, several hours of the last day had been spent by himself in scripting the pair of manuscripts.
Now, with Caesar and his man, and the freedman, Nada, they made a fast walk to the encampment of the Praetor, Clodius.
"Greetings, Commander, noble Clavius." The leader of the army was still at the same table as two days previous. Apparently, there was little to do in the strange siege for either officers or men, the latter still remaining in their two camps on either side of the winding path up the heights. "Alas, the scum on the mountain are still with hope that we will tire and depart before their food and water are spent. You have come to wait with us?"
Julius made the answer. "Nay, Praetor. We come with a missive from Rome." At that, the Clodius sat up in some surprise and his officers ceased their gab. The Captain handed the officer a scroll, then waited as it was unrolled and read.
Finally, the Praetor looked up at the visitors, then tossed the scroll to the table. "Does Gnaeus Batiatus give actual thought that the scum leader will do other with the missive then use it in the latrine?"
Julius shrugged. "I cannot give what either the Lanista or the Tribune Seratus in Rome are thinking. I am merely the messenger and my ship the vessel commission to bring the orders."
The man looked up the mountain, obviously in thought, then asked, "Who is to deliver such a message? The rabble at the top would probably roast any noble such as yourself for their pleasure and use the scroll for the kindling."
At a wave, the man Nada stepped forward, standing to look down as befitted one his station - or lack of such. "Who better to make union with slaves than another slave?" said Julius. "To our knowledge, this Spartacus rebel is accepting any applicants for his force. This man will deliver the scroll."
"And return with an answer, is the hope?" The Praetor was obviously doubtful. Or mayhap he was with some worry that the slaves might actually surrender, depriving himself and his men of a glorious triumph.
"Aye. He has been promised an easier duty if successful." A truthful statement, if not completely accurate. "It is important that you give to your sentries not to slay him out of hand when he returns down the path, even in the darkness."
The Praetor spread his hands in a wave. "Very well." Turning to face down the table, he ordered, "Quintus! See that the guard is informed."
Shortly, they were watching as the young man set his foot on the irregular path, beginning the long climb to the summit with his leather pouch of two scrolls and some rations, and another - a waterbag for the journey. Julius had given warning not to set a fast pace - even the sinews of youth would take much strain from the climb. Although he estimated the distance to the top to be about six stadia as a stone would roll, the actual path was winding and irregular, moving up in a series of diagonal slants to lessen the slope. The feet of a man would probably see at least six or seven stadia before the top was reached.
As the nobles walked back to the ship, Caesar said, "I hope the men at the top do not just spit your man for sport."
"No leader wishing to gain men would allow such." Immediately after the arrival of the Petrel, Julius had outlined his plan to get word to Melglos, as much courtesy as hope that his companion might see flaws in such - or suggest improvements.
There were some strides in silence, the Caesar said casually, "Indeed, the reputation of your family is deserved. To send for and receive a scroll from Rome in the course of two days is proof of the awesome pace of your vessels." He gave a mock expression of respect. "A voyage of two thousand stadia in two days. Indeed, the gods of the wind smile upon the house of Clavius." There was some strides of silence, then Caesar asked, "I can understand why the Lanista, Batiatus, would wish to save his property from the sword, but who is Tribune Seratus? I have never heard the name."
"Aye. I must confess that I have never heard of the man either. But... I seldom concern myself with the structure of politics and public officials."
More silence, then from the Roman Commander, "The scroll is fabricated, is it not? And, were I in need
of wager, I would say that it came from the pen of a certain Greek oldster, often the Archigubernus of this vessel."
They reached the taburna across from the ship and Julius waved the noble and his man to enter. As they found a table in the corner, Julius said, "As you said, Rome is a far distance and the need for instruction was immediate."
"Is there not a danger of a question arising if Batiatus gives wonder of a scroll that he did not send - indeed, nor ever heard of?"
Julius spread his hand in mock innocence. "Who is to blame here? The Petrel is only the messenger. By now, Patroclus will have in hand sufficient proof of the runner that breathlessly galloped to Capua with the missive to be delivered. If such is found to be fabricated, then the culprit that used the name of a non-existent Tribune must be in Rome. As is well known, I have no interest in machinations and intrigues common to men wishing to rise in the status of the Republic."
"Might I ask of the message sent up the mountain?"
Julius waited until the serving wench placed her burden of platter and jug on the table, then said, "Merely to tell Melglos that I know of his innocence in being taken by the Vigilis for a fabricated offense, and the request to meet me at a place of his choosing." He paused, then continued, "There is a smaller script for Pontika, if indeed she is there, asking that she return to safety. A revolt is no place for a femina just reaching womanhood."
Julius called his crew together and gave them his estimation of the situation. "...And we will wait for another five days. By then, the rebels will have run out of supplies and will have to issue forth for some action. Else, if the men who have supposed knowledge of the mountain are wrong in their idea that the slopes are barren of all sustenance, then the army of Clodius could sit on their haunches until their dotage."
With his ship back, again the order was to pole away from the wharf and anchor for the nights. Caesar had a comment on the precaution. "You do not strike me as a man afraid of his own shadow, to sleep his nights in a tiny cabin when comfortable inns are a spear's cast away. Is not your worry of sudden invasion somewhat... overblown?"
Julius waved a hand for his guest to settle in a chair by the mast. "My Grandsira, Myron, the founder of our family, was said to have an inner sense that allowed him to point the cardinal directions from the hold of a ship, or the midst of a tempest - even on the darkest of clouded nights. For myself, my pointing skills are adequate, but they do not come from some awareness of being, as did his. But..." He pointed to toward the mountain of Vesuvius, looming over the city. "My gift, if it is real, is that I become... uneasy, mayhap is the word, when some peril is in approach. Or, possibly it is a more natural reason - just the learnings from a life at sea, to always look for hazard far on the horizon." He paused and accepted a cup from the cook, Caius, with a nod. "Is my caution for fear that the rebels will sudden mount an overwhelming assault on Herculaneum? Mayhap not, but a modicum of watchfulness takes nothing from the purse and may allow one to live another day."
Caesar kept his opinion of such statement to himself. At least for the night and the next. But...
"Capitaneus!" Julius woke instantly to the voice of Ngozi. "There is some unsettlement in the city. Torches and flames." He jumped from the mat, reaching for his belt and weapons, although with the Petrel at least a hundred strides away from any wharf, it was unlikely that any foe would be clambering onboard. From the afterdeck he could see the truth of the call from the black crewman. Certainly, the city was not engulfed in flame, but along the port road were torches, and not being carried by men in casual gait. Herculaneum was a considerable height above the water, thus all vision beyond the front rank of port buildings was blocked. Certainly, no eyes from the deck of a ship could see to the encampments at the bottom of the mountain on the far side of the city.
Quickly the crew had roused, even without order from the Captain, with all standing at the rail in look across the water and city. To Ngozi, the man who had had the anchor watch, he was about to ask of the hour, then looked to the night sky instead. Despite his years on the Petrel, the black man from the far southern lands had never grasped the idea of breaking up the days and nights into convenient slices of time. But, he could see that it was about the fifth hour, somewhat after the mid of night.
The distance was too far for any sounds of likely battle, but as the sardonic answer to a comrade, Flavius said, "I have much doubt that the citizens have decided to produce a fête in the middle of the night. Yon torches are to light the way for some need."
Julius just gave a single shake of his head, his eyes not leaving the moving flares up and down the port road. There was little to do but watch. He certainly was not going to order the Petrel poled to the wharf and walk to find the reason for the... disturbance.
Caesar pointed to the blackness above Herculaneum, where all could see the red points of rising sparks. "There are considerable fires on the far side of the city."
"Aye," replied Julius. "The rebels have obviously made the descent from the heights."
"What are your orders, Capitaneus," asked Densus.
Julius snorted, then said, "The same as for myself. Return to your rest until the break of day." There was little need to stand in the dark watching torches and rising sparks, and he certainly would not order the Petrel to touch the land until the daylight brought some notice of what was happening.
But the sleep did not last until daybreak. Again, Ngozi gave wakening to the Captain. "The port is as an anthill, kicked. The vessels are putting out."
As Julius again bounded up the ladder, he was almost thrown back to the deck of his cabin as the Petrel lurched with the grinding sounds of a ship making its last landing upon a rocky shore. Such could not be with the ship at anchor in a sheltered harbor but...
Even in the dimness of the night, faintly illumined by the fires on the shoreline, he could see another vessel sliding past the dexter beam, giving rub of hull against hull until it slid off into the darkness behind. Julius realized that the other shipmaster had taken sail even before aligning his craft to the wind and in total disregard of any other vessel that might be in the harbor.
Behind him the crew appeared, some without stitch of garb, having instantly jumped from sleep to full wakefulness at the grinding impact, climbing to the deck with swords in hand and with the certainty that the Petrel had been rammed and was even now being boarded. "Nay!" called Julius. "We have not been assailed by reavers. Yon shipmaster was in haste in leaving his position at the wharf."
At evening fall, there had been several ships in the harbor of Herculaneum, most being small coastal runners, but two others of a size to the Petrel. They could see most, if not all, were pushed back from their docks and were poling out in preparation to raise their sails to the light wind - or had already disappeared into the darkness of the western sea.
And the reason was apparent. In the previous hours, as they had taken to their mats for the second time, the torches on the wharf road and now, in the edge of the city that could be seen from the water, were multiplied as if flies in the water marshes. And none were being held by men in casual walk. Unlike before, they could hear the continuous clamor of voices - none to be understood, but as a steady noise across the water. It was obvious that one reason for the chaos was the many fires in the city. Julius had seen that, unlike Capua or Rome, this small city was mostly built of stone from quarries around the mountain - absolutely imperious to fire, but, the roofs were wood - cane and logs and straw - and such gave flame with ease.
"It would seem that Clodius has mayhap been less than successful in containing the threat of rampaging slaves." Caesar had appeared, to stand beside the Captain and as all others on board, watching with some awe at the impending doom - if such was what was happening. "Yon inn would be less than comfortable this night. I give apology for my dismissal of your apparent timorousness. Your inner sense is indeed real."
Rather than answer the compliment, Julius said, "I see much turmoil, but no battle - at least not on the port ro
ad. What is the fear of the citizenry?"
"Yon rock pinnacle would give us a view across the plains to the slope of the mountain," said Densus.
He was speaking of a tall rock formation around the curve of the harbor to the south, but Julius waved the suggestion away. "Nay. What is happening will not change even if we find out the reason. The daylight is only an hour away. Our wonder can be stayed until then." He turned, then called, "Flavius! When sight arrives, give look at any impairment from the hull-clash."