Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  “Wait here until I call for you, Centurion. Once Lykos comes down below, I will call you and Alexandros.”

  While I did not care for the peremptory tone, it was also a sensible precaution, so I nodded as Demeter shut the door, leaving Alex and me standing there. He had pulled the collar of his tunic over his nose, and the only reason I did not was he had already done so, meaning that I spent the time cursing myself for not thinking of this first; I do not know why, but I do not believe I am unique in preferring my own stench to that of others. We heard what was clearly more than one set of footsteps approaching from above, signaling that Demeter’s slave and Lykos were approaching the bow. For some reason, both Alex and I looked upward, following the footfalls as they passed overhead as if we could see the pair; there followed a relative silence, which I assumed was when Lykos descended the ladder, because we could hear Demeter speaking, although the barrier between us muffled his words too much to understand. Another reason I wanted Alex present was because, while I have learned to read and speak Greek, he grew up speaking it with his father Diocles, who made sure all of his children were fluent in both Latin and Greek, and I was still suspicious that Demeter might be involved, and there are nuances in any language that a native speaker is likely to notice before someone for whom it is a second language.

  The door opened abruptly, Demeter standing in the doorway, although he stepped aside as he said, “Centurion, Alexandros.” Once we were in the forward compartment, I was quite surprised to see that it clearly was used as living space, although I cannot say why it struck me this way.

  Demeter had made arrangements, because there was already a chair placed in the middle of the compartment, the light streaming down through the opening where the ladder was located framing it in the bright sunlight. Which, I almost immediately saw, was not an accident, as Lykos was already sitting in it, blinking rapidly and squinting from the glare.

  Addressing Lykos, Demeter’s voice, while not overtly hostile, was definitely cold as he informed his second in command, “Something has happened, Lykos, and we have some questions for you.”

  Not surprisingly, Lykos appeared extremely uneasy, and I saw his eyes go to my gladius, but he should have been worried about my vitus in my left hand.

  “What has happened, Master?” he asked Demeter, although his eyes stayed on me. “And why do they need to ask me questions?”

  “Because,” I spoke up, “someone warned the man we came to find, and when we went to his home today, he was gone.”

  I was studying his face as I spoke, but it was difficult for me to discern whether this caught him by surprise, or he had deduced what this would be about.

  “But why are you asking me about this matter?” Lykos shrugged. “It has nothing to do with me.” He turned to Demeter, and said in a reasonable tone, “Master Demeter, you know I would never do anything like what this Roman is suggesting.”

  “Then you will have no trouble from the Centurion,” Demeter replied.

  “You left the ship last night,” I said coldly, but before I could ask my question, Lykos interjected, “So did the rest of the deck crew, Centurion.”

  He was right, of course, and it had crossed my mind that it could have been one of the other half-dozen men who worked abovedeck on the Persephone, but I was still dead set in my belief that it had been Lykos.

  Still, I had to allow, “That is true. But, as I recall,” I addressed this to Demeter, “you said that Lykos has been with you the longest. Is that true?”

  “It is,” Demeter agreed, and his eyes suddenly narrowed in thought. Before I could return my attention to Lykos, Demeter, speaking slowly, added, “In fact, I met him when I was healing from my beating. And,” his voice turned cold, although it was nowhere near as icy as the gaze he gave Lykos, “I remember telling him all about it.” His brow furrowed. “Where were we when we talked about this?” Snapping his fingers, he said triumphantly, “That’s right! It was here! Here in Alexandria!”

  Demeter certainly knew Lykos better than Alex or I did, but because of the lighting, there was no missing how suddenly beads of sweat formed on his brow.

  “That was years ago, Master!” He tried a laugh, yet it sounded hollow even to me, and one glance at Demeter showed he was not fooled either, but I suppose Lykos decided this was his one and only chance, because he persisted, “How could I possibly remember something you told me more than fifteen years ago?”

  “Because,” Demeter replied coldly, “I know you, Lykos.”

  I was about to ask a more pointed question, but before I could, Demeter said abruptly, “Centurion, I wish to speak to you privately.”

  I was not eager to do this, but Alex spoke up, assuring me, “I’ll be here, Gnaeus. He’s not going anywhere.” Switching to Latin, he added, “If he tries something, I know what to do.”

  Nodding my assent, I followed Demeter back into the main compartment, but he actually walked down the walkway to roughly the middle of the ship so that, I assumed, there was no way Lykos could overhear anything.

  “He is lying, Centurion,” Demeter told me flatly, crossing his arms as he seemed intent on looking everywhere but at me.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I replied, although I was curious. “But how do you know?”

  I was prepared to hear something about how long they had sailed together, but I was completely caught by surprise when he sighed and replied, “Because he has been my lover for ten years, Centurion. And,” he shrugged, “he has lied to me before, but never about something he knew was so important to me.” How, I wondered, am I supposed to respond to this? In fact, I did not, and after a moment of silence, Demeter proved he was not out of surprises. “I have a favor to ask of you, Centurion.”

  Now, I was prepared to hear him beg for Lykos’ life; that was not what Demeter had in mind, however.

  Taking my silence for either assent or a willingness to hear him out, he completely shocked me by saying, “I will get whatever information I can out of him, but I ask that I be the one to send him to the afterlife.”

  For a span of heartbeats, I could only stand there, mouth hanging open, certain that I had misheard him.

  Finally, I managed to gasp, “What? Did I hear you correctly?”

  “What?” For the first time, he looked up at me, giving me a smile of what had to be bitter amusement. “You were expecting for me to beg for his life?” When I nodded, he replied flatly, “No, Centurion. This is one betrayal too many. I always turned a blind eye to his…” he broke his gaze to say uncomfortably, “…straying. But this?” He heaved a sigh. “This is something I cannot forgive. And,” his voice changed to a tone I recognized, one of a commander who is making a hard but necessary decision, “I need to send a message to the rest of my crew that I will play no favorites, nor will I forgive betrayal.”

  At this moment, I did not doubt Demeter; indeed, my main concern was that he would not extract as much information as he could before he ended Lykos’ life. Regardless of this concern, I did not voice it, mainly because I had no idea how I would.

  Consequently, I simply said, “If that’s your decision, as master of this ship, that’s your right and I respect it.”

  Did he look disappointed that I did not argue with him? This was my thought as I followed him back up the walkway.

  Before he opened the door, he turned to me and said, “I have another request to make, Centurion. While I will show you Lykos’ body after I am done, I ask that neither you nor Alexandros be present for what I am about to do.”

  I will not lie; my mind was racing with all the ways in which Demeter could be doing this to fool me, and the rest of us, but I answered him with a nod, for which he was clearly grateful. He opened the door, then a moment later, Alex came out, looking at me with puzzlement, which turned to alarm when, without saying anything, I turned about and headed for the stern.

  When he did not follow immediately, I called over my shoulder, “I’ll explain later.”

  He hurried to
catch up with me, but while he did not ask anything, I was trying to come up with a way where I could describe what had just transpired. Once we were back in the cabin, I explained to all of them the bare bones of my agreement with Demeter, leaving out the part that he and Lykos were lovers, though I have no idea why. When I was finished, there was a heavy silence, which was when, across the length of the ship, we heard the first of what would be many screams.

  When Demeter came to get me, it was a good thing that I hurriedly opened the door then slipped out, because he looked as if he had been in a slaughterhouse, his arms and the front of his tunic almost soaked with blood. He said nothing at first, just turned about and walked back towards the bow, leaving me to call over my shoulder for the rest to stay there, and my last sight as I closed the door was Bronwen’s face, deathly white, telling me that she had gotten a glimpse of him.

  As I caught up with the Rhodian, he must have heard my heavier footfall, because without breaking stride or looking over his shoulder, he began talking. “I am afraid that it was worse than I feared, Centurion.” Seeing my look of alarm, he held up a blood-spattered hand as he assured me, “Not for you, Centurion. For me.” Catching up with him, even in the dim lighting of the main compartment, I could see the warring emotions playing across his face, and I found myself feeling a great deal of sympathy for Demeter. During the time we had been sitting in the cabin, listening to what was effectively the torture of Lykos, by his ship commander and lover, I found myself thinking what I would be experiencing if, for some reason only the gods know, I found myself standing in front of Bronwen, and knowing she had betrayed me, and I was thinking about this when, oblivious to my internal musing, he went on, “Over the last two years, we had suffered…setbacks, where the ships we had selected for…” his voice trailed off, and I nodded that I understood what he was saying, “…escaped, and it was because Lykos had taken gold to warn the masters of those ships to be ready for us.” He did not say anything more at that point, choosing instead to resume walking towards the bow. When he reached the door, I saw him take a deep breath, then open it, beckoning to me to walk through the doorway, and I braced myself for what I would find. While not as much as my father, I have seen my share of battle, and I have seen the product of an interrogation by the torture detachment that is attached, albeit surreptitiously, to every man of Legate rank. Nevertheless, the rush of bile up into my throat caught me so completely by surprise that it was with only a physical effort that I did not shame myself. I will not go into details, other than to say this; any doubt I had about Demeter and his intentions was put to rest when I laid eyes on the gory mess that had been the man known as Lykos.

  As I gazed down, I felt Demeter staring at me, and when I gave him an inquiring glance, he came right to the point, saying bluntly, “But Lykos was not the only man withholding information from me, Centurion.” Without waiting for me to formulate an answer, he asked, “Were you planning on telling me that Decimus Mela’s real name is Lucius Aviola?”

  Making a snap decision, I replied, “That depended on whether I thought you were telling the truth.”

  “And now?”

  I only glanced down at the mutilated body that was now lying on the deck in a pool of his own blood.

  “Now I know that I can trust you.”

  I withheld nothing more from him, telling Demeter everything we knew about Aviola, including the information his son had given about having a home—perhaps “hideout” would be a better term—in each of the five districts of Alexandria.

  I finished by explaining, “Naturally, we will search the Rhakotis district last.”

  This obviously surprised him.

  “Why?”

  “You know better than I do how unlikely a wealthy Roman, no matter how he made his money, would be able to hide in that district.”

  To me, it seemed obvious, but Demeter clearly did not believe so, because he answered immediately, “Which is why that would be the first place I looked, Centurion.” He paused, studying me for a moment, then asked suddenly, “How much do you know about Mela? I mean,” he corrected himself, “Aviola?”

  I explained about his son, and how he had learned that Aviola’s wealth was ill-gotten, but even as I provided what I thought was a fairly substantial amount of information, he was clearly not impressed.

  “None of that,” he said when I had finished. “matters. I mean to say, what do you know about the man? Not where he lives, or the names he has used, but the man himself?”

  I immediately understood that, not only was he right, but that I knew precious little about Lucius Aviola. However, I was not convinced that Demeter knew that much more about him, whereupon he quickly proved me wrong.

  “Lucius Aviola was born in Rome. In,” he had to think for a moment before providing, “the part of the city you call the Subura. Which,” Demeter added, “is where Caesar was born, is it not?”

  “Yes,” I answered, but I was still unconvinced, “but he was also from an old patrician family, so that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Aviola was not of that class,” Demeter replied, “nor was he what I believe you call the plebeian class?” I nodded, and he continued, “And he was not of what you call your Equestrian Order. So,” he asked me, “what is the class below that?”

  “The Head Count,” I muttered, yet I was still unwilling to accept the idea that Aviola had not started out with at least some sort of money to enable him to cheat wealthy people like Gaius. “How do you know this?” I demanded.

  “Because when he was trying to convince me to do as he wanted, he told me how he had gotten started,” Demeter explained.

  “He could have been lying.”

  “Centurion,” he spoke softly, but with a conviction that was more important than the words, “how many Romans do you know who would willingly admit that he was part of your poorest class?”

  While I was not completely persuaded, it was close, so I acknowledged, “Not many.” I remained silent for a moment as I thought about why Demeter was heading in this direction, and since I was forming my thoughts as I was going, I spoke slowly, “It sounds like you’re saying that Aviola would know how to blend in with poor people.” He nodded, but I was still thinking, “But being a Roman, he would stick out, wouldn’t he?”

  “He might,” Demeter acknowledged, “but I believe that a man like him would not have acquired a home in the Rhakotis without knowing how to blend in.”

  This was enough, although it was not without some trepidation I agreed by way of asking, “How can we get into that quarter without sticking out?”

  “You cannot,” Demeter replied in seeming agreement. For the first time since the conversation began, he smiled, but it was not one that held any humor or kindness, “but I can.”

  “Do you trust him enough?”

  This, unsurprisingly, was the first question, and as usual, it was Alex who asked it once I had returned to the cabin, where I informed them that I had seen the body of Lykos, without going into details.

  “I do,” I answered him, albeit after a moment’s hesitation. “I think that for some reason he blames Aviola for what happened with Lykos.”

  There was no way I could explain why I felt this way, just that I did with a surprising amount of conviction.

  “What did he learn?” Septimus asked. “What did Lykos tell him?”

  In many ways, this was perhaps the most tragic part of the sordid story, which I explained.

  “It wasn’t actually Lykos, but another member of the crew who overheard us when I talked with Demeter at the beginning of the voyage. Last night, he mentioned to Lykos the name that he heard us using, which was Decimus Mela. Then,” I shrugged, “Lykos put that together with what he had already learned from Demeter, and he obviously got a warning to Aviola.”

  “But that doesn’t explain why, or how Lykos knew where to find Aviola,” Alex protested, and he was correct. Here, I was going from guesswork, which I warned the others about before I began.

>   “I think that Lykos saw an opportunity to get into Aviola’s good books for some reason. Whatever the reason, he went out into the city, spread some coins around, and found out where Aviola lived. Then,” I could only offer a shrug, “he either warned Aviola himself or sent someone to do it.”

  It was thin; oh, it was very thin, but either Lykos died before divulging why he betrayed Demeter or, more likely in my mind, Demeter had elected not to give me the real reason.

  But it was Bronwen, of all people, who offered up a possible explanation, “Perhaps he was trying to win this man’s confidence so that he could arrange another meeting where he would show up, and Demeter would be waiting.”

  This, I realized, was entirely possible, and a quick glance told me the others felt the same way, not that it mattered any longer, so I moved on.

  “Demeter is going to go into Rhakotis, but,” I turned to Alex, “I insisted that he take one of us, and the truth is that Alex blends in better than the rest of us.”

  “Is that your way of saying I look Greek?” he asked dryly, and even with the tension, I had to laugh as I admitted, “That’s exactly right.”

  “But,” he pointed to himself, “I’m wearing a Roman tunic, and I’ll be wearing a Roman paenula.”

  This was true, but it was also something Demeter had thought of, and I told him as much.

  “He’s going to be giving you different clothing to wear.”

  “And what are we going to do?” he asked. “Snatch him?”