Insurgent of Rome

by Ken Farmer

  With the wind behind, the violence over the deck was lessened. Julius moved to the forward scuttle, descending into the gloom where Batiatus was seated against the hull, apparently in some state of exhaustion. "A close matter," said the man as Julius stooped as to not hit his head on the upper deck boards.

  "Aye," he replied with some intensity. "And if I may ask, what was so important that you would risk your being for a wooden box?"

  His breath was still heavy, but the Lanista replied between gasps. "No mere box, my noble Tribune, but the wealth of Croesus." With some effort he reached for the small, but heavy box, then apparently deciding that his sinews were not yet recovered. Pointing, he said, "Open it."

  Hesitating, Julius looked for a moment, then pulled the wooden container away from the wall, untying the leather cord wrapped thrice around it. The wooden cover easily lifted away, allowing him to see...

  He stared for a long time, not moving even as the hand of the Lanista reached to grab a handful of the contents. "In actuality, these would probably purchase the throne of that King, and have enough left over for that of the Pharaohs." He let a handful of gems dribble back into the box, making a slight tinkling sound, almost as that made by the infrequent ice pellets onto the grass - such that were rarely were seen in the southern city of Capua. "One of the women in the entourage of the bastardus, Spartacus, was enamored with gemmae, and gathered all that came in with the accumulated loot."

  Again came the amazement of Julius at how a man, thousands of stadia away, could have known of the innermost being of the rebels. Then another thought. Did this man have such informers and spies in the houses of Rome? And the Senate and Magestries? And... mayhap, in certain households in other cities, even Capua?

  He changed the subject. "You have lost your ship. It is nothing but splinters on the rocks of the harbor."

  "It is of no matter. Such can easily be replaced." He took a deep breath, his frantic exhaustion gradually fading. "What is our time to Neápolis?"

  "Probably half the month, but that is only a guess at this time of year. Depending on the winds, it could be much less. Or, a pair of months or so. We have to circle the island of Sicilia rather than voyage up the straits." He thought the man was about to object, and continued his explanation. "With the weight of your lading, the Petrel is taking the water far more deeply than usual, and slower in consequence. And less nimble in handling. Attempting the straits of Messina with the howling wind directly in our face would likely have your treasure scattered among the rocks of the shore..."

  Finally, as the fat Lanista seemed about to fall into deep and exhausted slumber, Julius climbed back to the deck and walking to the other end of the ship.

  Chapter 57

  They had turned the western corner of Sicilia and were now pointing to the northeast - directly toward their destination of Neopolis. The wind had moderated on the far side of the island, but now it returned and with it a full tempest. With the draft of the Petrel from the weight of the valuable ballast, she rode much lower in the water than normal and the hatches had to be kept shut except for the instant when someone was climbing into or out of the scuttles. Even so, the need of bailing was for an hour or so on every day, the working of even the sturdy ship allowing for the influx of some water over the norm.

  Batiatus was worried about the long voyage and the prospect of the ship crumbling into loose timbers, saying so during his time in the middle hold, as the meal was served. Julius had allowed the sand dish to be placed in the center of the hold, that Caius might prepare more than just dry rations. Usually, in any untoward weather, a fire was never allowed onboard, but now - after days and days of rain and massive waves, every plank and beam on the ship was well dampened with water. He doubted that the ship could be kindled even by an overturned barrel of torch liquid.

  "Nay," replied Julius to the worry. "The Petrel has seen far worse than this petty blow."

  "Aye," said Flavius. "One voyage across the Great Sea from... where was it... Kyrēnē, it was. We flew as if Neptune himself was in rage at our being. Four days it was in the crossing, with the mast bent as the bow of Judoc, there..."

  The talk went on about the superiority of the Petrel over any other vessel ever seen on the waters, but Julius was worried about the interminable tempests that seemed to march from the north, one behind the other. He had seen worse storms before - far worse - but these that came without pause just built the waves to ever higher peaks. They had changed their pointing to a course that would increase their voyage, but allowed the ship to ride the peaks and troughs of the swells with less strain. Now, he donned his leathers, then climbed to the deck, taking goodly hold of the sturdy rope that led from aft to forepeak. Judoc was at the forepeak on his watch and Densus at the rudder. Both were tied to the ship by lines around the waist, that a rogue wave might not carry them away without even notice by their mates.

  To his first, he shouted, "What is your thinking?"

  Densus, leaned over to return his reply. "Worse, and with no doubt. And... Though I cannot give proof, I would give wager that the eye of the wind is moving to the west." A pause for breath, then, "I would give one of the chests below for a glimmer of our position."

  Julius nodded without reply. They had had neither sun nor star sights in many days and their actual position could be thousands of stadia from where his poor figurings gave place. Out here, there was little chance of driving ashore, unless their reckoning was even further off than he thought possible, but not knowing was a heavy burden on his shoulders.

  By night, he knew that the winds, and the waves were increasing. In the back of his mind was the thought that some of the ballast in the hold might have to be heaved overboard if the Petrel was to survive. As of now, only a wave on occasion came aboard, but the ship was far lower in the water than normal and if the swell continued to increase... His wonder was of the wrath that would come from their passenger as his wealth was dropped into the deep.

  He moved to his cabin to gain some sleep before his turn at watch, in the early hours. Pontika and he shared his tiny cabin, and only because of her insistence that she would not turn him out of his own quarters. "We are not in Capua, needing to follow the proper forms and customs, but at sea and in struggle. On his ship, a Capitaneus and his crewman can share a berth without either shame or dishonor. The noble Camelia need have no fear of myself in our sleeping arrangements."

  In the circumstances, there was no way to tell the hours aboard ship, and many watches were almost doubled because of the man not wishing to wake his relief without knowledge of his time. Julius suspected that such was done for himself - in this instance, Valens taking a longer shift so as to allow his Master to gain more rest. He lay there in the absolute darkness, feeling the heaving of the ship and wondering again at the time, when the scuttle opened with noise, then quickly shut. It was the watch, come to wake his relief - so he thought.

  "Ngozi? Judoc?" His query had to be loud in the continuous rumble that was the effect of the tempest on the ship, waking the sleeping woman, but...

  "Nay, Julius. Myself."

  Surprised, he said, "Pontika? You should not have been on deck in the night!" The woman stood her watch on the rudder just as did the men who were qualified for such, but only in the daylight hours. Her small frame, not yet entirely developed to the fullness of a woman, had far less strength of sinew than a man and even a small wave overtopping the deck would sweep her to her doom in a heartbeat. Whenever she appeared, the closest man would tie the sturdy line around her waist, then loop it over the rope that ran fore and aft. Thusly secured, she could move forward and back with ease, taking her station at the rudder for the watch. Even the men did so, although of their own accord.

  "I had need to empty my water. The wine was overdone for my meal."

  He pushed a foot out toward the corner feeling for a... "The pisspot is in its usual place. Why did you not use it?" There was no answer, then he said, with some heat. "Do not leave the cabin again at night
until this storm is passed."

  "Aye, Julius. It will not happen again."

  He decided to go on deck and take his watch, despite the hour. He was fully awake and unlikely to fall asleep again. Tying around his waist, one of the many lines scattered around the ship for the purpose, he climbed the ladder, hurriedly opening and closing the hatch that a minimum of rain and spray might enter. Quickly the secure loop was tied around the rope, and he walked aft to the rudder-man - for this watch, Judoc. "Any change in the peak or sweep of the swells?" he asked.

  "Nay," replied the Gaul. "The same as when I came on deck."

  "Can you guess the hour?"

  A pause, then, "Mayhap the eighth, Capitaneus."

  "Aye." He turned to walk the length of the ship to the forepeak, where Ngoiz was standing his watch. Approaching, he called that he might not startle the man, then stopped beside him. "I will take the watch, now. Go to your rest and wake Flavius to relieve Judoc." Quickly, Julius untied his loop, moving it across that of his crewman, that Ngozi might now move to the center scuttle.

  As he looked into the blackness ahead, his concern now was where they might be on the wide water of the Great Sea. There was no danger of any ship becoming lost - any mariner knew full well that a straight course would always find land somewhere and not with any long stretch of time, unless completely becalmed with the canvas flapping uselessly. More to his fears, was to find themselves on a lee shore, in the violent winds and a ship loading almost beyond capacity. With his profound knowledge of almost the entirety of the Sea, that was unlikely, unless the wind had gradually shifted over the days and they were in point to some entirely different quarter than they were in thought.

  Day came, and with it the sameness of gloom and rain that came in either fits or fullness. Julius spent much time in stare at the sky, attempting to see the slightest hint of brightness that would indicate the sun beyond the clouds. Such would not tell him where they were, but would give their course. Another dreary day was ahead, with all thoroughly tired of constant rain and garb that would never dry completely.

  Or, at least. It was a day of sameness until about the midday meal. "Capitaneus." This was Densus. "The... man of the Lanista begs converse with you."

  Puzzled, Julius put down his scroll, garbing in his leathers to climb to the deck. He could not remember hearing a word from either of the toughs that were the personal guard of Batiatus. Indeed, they could have been mutes for any knowledge that he had. Once again, as he climbed the ladder, he gave reminder to himself - something done since the Petrel had left the building shipyards - to discuss with Flavius his desire to put an entry in the bulkhead to allow access to the holds without having to both climb and descend two scuttles.

  In the middle hold, the two men were standing, barely seen in the glow of the single oil lamp. With the hatches closed to keep out both saltwater and rain, the inside of the Petrel was as a deep mine without at least a small flame. Julius nodded, then asked, "Which of you wish to give converse?"

  One answered. "Maru cingeto is not seen from the darkening, Capestan." He pointed vaguely to the fore of the ship.

  Julius stood for a moment, in wonderment at what had been said. The accent was thick, so much so that he was not sure of what was being asked, but he had no doubt of the land from which they had come - Gaul. Turning, he called, "Judoc! Where is Judoc?"

  "Here Sos," came the reply from the gloom of the hold.

  "It would appear to me that these men come from your domain, far to the north. Can you converse with them?"

  The crewman stepped forward, then spoke in his milk tongue to the pair. "...oinos pensi sestet marvos..." and such like. To Julius and the listening crew, it was nothing but yammer, but so is any to one unfamiliar to any tongue.

  Finally, Judoc turned and said, "They say that the Lanista has not come for his meals - either the morning nor midday."

  Batiatus? The fat noble was not a man who gladly missed any food, even the poor fare that was served on the Petrel now. "He has not been see at all this day?" asked Julius.

  "Mayhap he has the quease of Neptune," said Flavius.

  Julius shook his head. That could not be. The Petrel had been bounding over the waves for most of the month. Any tendency to empty one's belly from the motion of the ship - common enough for new travelers on the sea - would have been over and done long before now. He suddenly turned to the ladder, saying as he prepared to climb, "I will inquire as to his absence." Hesitating, he said to Judoc, "Tell them that I will go forward and give look at our passenger."

  Even in the day, the danger of overtopping waves was not lessened, and he tied himself to the rope, moving forward to where Maccalus was standing the forward watch. Opening the scuttle, he looked into the small hold - actually only a small enclosure where the sail was stowed when long in a port. It was what he did not see that was startling. He dropped to all fours to stick his head through the opening that he might examine the entirety of the small room. Against the forward bulkhead was the small box of gems and on the planks below the hatch was...

  He untied from the rope, then quickly climbed down, leaving the hatch open that he would have light to see. Other than the mat, there was a pile of cloth - indeed, the garb that the Lanista had come aboard with. The robe and opulent rain leathers, head covering, a thick tunic and sandals, even the subligacula that a man wore around his waist under all other garb in protection of his privates - all were in a pile. Realizing that the water was pouring into the ship through the open hatch - a burden that would have to be laboriously heaved out in buckets by his men, he climbed the ladder to close the opening, then returned to sit in the darkness on the mat in thought.

  At the evening meal, eaten by the light of the flame in the sand dish, the discussion was of the disappearance of the noble Lanista. "...his garb, in its entirety was laying on the mat, as if it was removed before climbing to the deck at night." Julius waited for a comment, then continued when none in the hold offered an opinion. "I would assume that he desired to make his water or ablutions without his garb giving instant soak by the rain and spray."

  "Aye," said Flavius. "A short time of cold on the skin would be preferable to a night of sodden sleep."

  "That may well be, but why not use his latrine pot, sitting next to the bed, and avoid the storm completely? He knew well the danger of being washed overboard, and that such was even more likely in the night, with no chance of seeing a towering wave in approach."

  Again, there was no answer to the question.

  "It is time to turn the watch, Capitaneus," said Densus, "And allow Maccalus and Valens to have their meal before the fire is dumped."

  Julius nodded, then climbed the ladder to descend to his cabin. He sat in the darkness for an indefinite time, in thought, and wonderment. And some mere pondering.

  That Batiatus was now standing before the throne of Neptune, far down in the deeps, was not a question. Unless the man had grown wings and made his own course back to Capua, there was no doubt that he had gone overboard during the night. But... He did not believe for a heartbeat his own proposal, that the luxury-loving noble had doffed his garb to make his need in the blowing wind and stinging rain.

  By the dim glow of the oil lamp, he looked at the tunic that he held but not in examination - that had been done during the day. It was just that, a tunic, although of a quality and value far beyond what would be found on the tables of a vendor in the Forum. It did not even show evidence of wear, and would have been unusual had it done so. Batiatus, being the haughty highborn that he was, would have discarded even a golden robe that had the slightest scuff or imperfection. This one, however, did have a tiny flaw, almost unnoticeable unless the garment was examined closely - a slit in the fabric, only the width of a man's finger, and placed by happenstance on the sinister side of the chest, a handspan below the shoulder. The cloth was also damp - oddly so in that the wetted portion of the garment seemed to be only in the vicinity of the slit.

  He knew that Ngozi
had had the forward watch on the last night, and at the time that Pontika had sudden need of relief. And it was those very two who had the most reason for hatred to the cursed man - a wealthy wretch whose duplicity had condemned a good man - and close friend - to his doom and by that act was responsible for sending men and women in the uncountable thousands to their deaths. He knew, without actual knowledge, that it was the little pugio of the femina that did the act. Certainly, the black crewman would not need her help - or that of anyone - had he decided to make the deed, thus Ngozi merely assisted his young female friend as she took vengeance. And, there was no doubt that it was his sinews that dragged the body to the deck, to be tossed overboard - not any amount of rage would have given Pontika the ability to lift a man of at least thrice her weight from the forward hold.