by Albert Noyer
“Hand it to me.” Arcadia had wadded the towel and was about to insert it in the opening, when the flow of black pellets suddenly stopped. She poked a finger inside and felt the break plugged by a small bundle. “There’s something in there, Getorius.” Prying the package loose, Arcadia held it up. “A leather pouch.”
“Not more counterfeit coins.”
“It isn’t heavy enough.” She unfastened the thongs and spilled out several small dull-blue stones into her palm.
Getorius picked up one. “What is it, lapis lazuli?”
Arcadia sorted through the stones, and then held one that had been polished up to the light. Its sparkling cobalt brilliance was unmistakable. “No,” she said in a whisper, “these are…these are sapphires.”
“What? Maximin is smuggling gemstones back in his pepper amphorae?”
“Lower your voice,” she hissed. “And you don’t know it’s him. It could be Virilo.”
“Why do you always defend the senator? Just because he fawned all over you after I was arrested in December—”
“Husband, don’t bring that up now,” she interrupted, with an icy glare. “We don’t know how honest the crew is. One or more of them could have hidden the stones there for safekeeping.”
Getorius thought it unlikely, but forced himself not to say so and further upset her. “Yes, and Apollo couldn’t play the lyre,” he muttered to himself. “We have to put the gems back, Arcadia. Whoever did hide them wouldn’t be too pleased to know they’ve been found.”
Arcadia pushed the bag as far into the jar as she could and stuffed the opening with the towel. “Shall we tell a crewman, Getorius?”
“No, I’ll just let Virilo know we sealed the break before too many corns spilled out.”
The rainsquall signaled by the lurching of the Cybele was a mild one that swept in from the southwest, yet the galley’s motion during the night bothered Getorius. He only fell asleep toward morning, and it was daylight when he helped Arcadia up the ladder, onto the main deck. The air still felt clammy from the rain, but the ochre dust cloud was gone. A bluish haze hugged what was visible of the horizon.
While Victor worked the steering oar, Sigeric was at the port rail with Virilo, straining to identify three square sails to the southwest, beyond the Cybele’s wake. The white shapes were barely discernable through the haze.
Concerned, Getorius followed the men’s gaze. “Pirates again, Sigeric?”
“Too big, and those scum don’t usually hunt in packs of three.”
“Who, then? They can’t be Vandals already coming up from Carthage, can they?”
Neither man answered Getorius. The rectangular sails were quickly drawing closer. After a moment, a crewman who had shinnied up the mast to the yard top shouted down in an alarmed voice.
“War galleys aft!”
“War galleys?” Getorius echoed. “Whose?”
“Hopefully ours, or Eastern,” Virilo speculated, “but they could be barbarian. If the Vandals captured the Carthaginian fleet, they’ve had since October to learn how to use it.”
“And they’re bearing in from th’ south.” Sigeric climbed the ladder to take over the steering oars.
“Could they be coming from Africa?” Arcadia asked.
Virilo shrugged. “Rumors been circulating in Ravenna all winter that the Vandals’ Arian friends would welcome them in Sicilia. That’s less than a day’s sail north of Carthage. If they invaded the island, the port at Tauromenium is about two days from the entrance to the Adriatic.”
The trio of galleys was now close enough to be identified by class.
“Th’ aft two are triremes,” Sigeric called down, “but th’ closest has only two banks of oars and a mainsail. That bireme is even faster than th’ pirate galleys we met off Issa.”
Arcadia pointed to the painting of a man visible on the billowing linen of the nearest ship. “What’s that emblem on the sail?”
Virilo squinted at the figure of a bearded man in a presbyter’s tunic, surmounted by his name SCS APOLLONARIS. “Apollonarius, patron of Ravenna and Classis. One of ours…unless she’s another decoy.”
The Apollonaris had the same following wind as Cybele, and her twin banks of oars were being rowed in smooth unison, adding to her speed. Getorius counted thirteen shields of various shapes and colors lining the star rail, and made out the helmets and bows of two rows of archers kneeling behind them. Doubled by those from the portside bowmen, any concentrated hail of arrows was sure to find a mark. He saw two crewmen set fire to a pot of bitumen, then hoist it forward with pulleys until it dangled over the prow. One man hunched down near a rope that he could yank to spill the flaming pitch onto Cybele’s deck once his galley maneuvered close enough.
Apollonaris was near enough now for the hortator’s dull, steady hammer beat to be heard.
“She’s almost at ramming speed,” Sigeric yelled. “Caco, they must think we’re pirates. Galleymaster, I told you to put an RV on our sail for Ravenna.”
“The senator didn’t want that—”
“Can’t you lower our own ram?” Getorius shouted, cutting off Virilo. “We could at least defend ourselves.”
“Couldn’t heave about fast enough. And Cybele’d bounce off that hull like a furcing slinger’s lead on one of them shields.” Virilo spat overboard, then bounded up the ladder to help with the steering oars.
Getorius pulled Arcadia close to him. Even with Virilo’s help, there was little Sigeric could do to maneuver out of the way of the faster bireme. From the angle the Apollonaris was approaching, it was clear that Cybele would be rammed at a diagonal, on her port side.
The stroke of the timebeater’s hammer quickened its interval to ram speed. Oarsmen strained to keep up with the cadence, their groans and sporadic curses loud enough to carry on the wind. As the warship surged closer, the grinning faces of the master and his watch officer appeared above the prow rail. Clearly visible below them, a three-pronged bronze ram on their war galley slid just beneath the foam toward the Cybele, about a hundred paces off now.
Zhang Chen evidently heard the commotion on deck and came to the door of his cabin. Diotar, who had not yet shown himself on deck, peered out his window at the approaching galley. A look of terror froze on his pale face. Getorius thought he saw Claudia in the darkness behind the priest.
“Apollonaris is going to hit us!” Arcadia cried.
“Down!” Virilo yelled. “Brace yourselves!”
Getorius hugged Arcadia tightly, mesmerized by the oncoming prow, thinking absurdly that it resembled the head and beak of some giant predatory bird.
A moment after Virilo gave his warning, the master of the Apollonaris shouted his own command. As his crew sprang to furl the mainsail, and the two helmsmen strained their steering oars into a tight port turn, the hortator’s hammer beat suddenly changed to a new cadence. One hundred and four oarsmen shoved the tip of their blades at right angles under the surface, throwing up geysers of seawater and straining to bring the galley to a halt. At a second order the hammer signaled again. Oars stroked in reverse. After the Apollonaris shuddered to a reluctant stop, the bireme and her deadly ram slowly backed away.
When the master looked toward Cybele again, he grinned and waved. His mocking laughter wafted over clearly on the wind, even as the distance between the two boats widened.
Virilo spit toward him. “Furcing bastard was playing cat and bird with us,” he snarled, wiping a sleeve across his face. “She must be one of our patrol galleys out of Classis.”
“Thank God…” Getorius kissed Arcadia’s face, then released her and ran to Chen. “Are you all right? That was frightening.”
“Zhang Chen good, As-t’us. Go back inside now.”
“Fine.” When Getorius glanced at Diotar’s cabin, the priest had pulled the curtain completely across the window.
Virilo watched the three warships fall astern. “Only good out of this,” he commented, “is pirates hiding out along the coast probably know about the
Apollonaris and her twin triremes. We won’t be ambushed this trip.”
“Thank Saint Cosmas for that, too,” Arcadia murmured, thinking that worry about the sapphires, counterfeit coins, and what Leudovald would do to her husband after he returned to Ravenna already gave her enough to pray for.
Ravenna
Chapter twelve
Scanning the horizon at midday on April twenty-ninth, Arcadia gave a squeal of delight and grasped her husband’s arm. “I see our lighthouse and breakwater! We’re back home.”
Getorius squeezed her hand. “And except for that jack mule of a master on the Apollonaris, the return was fairly pleasant.”
“I didn’t get as sick. I am exhausted, though.”
He kissed her hair, which smelled slightly rank. “You can finally take that bath you wanted in Olcinium, Cara, then a long nap.”
“Only if you join me.”
Getorius held her tightly in answer—there might be Leudovald to face before that could happen.
As the Cybele was towed to her berth at the center wharf, stevedores sprang to ready gangplanks for unloading.
Arcadia recognized Publius Maximin’s black rig at the end of the warehouse portico. Two men stood next to it, watching the galley dock. “Getorius, that’s the senator’s carriage. One of the men is his driver, the deaf-mute who took us to treat Faustina.”
“I wonder if he’s here to meet Chen?” Getorius saw Leudovald step out of the portico shadows, flanked by two palace guards. The harbormaster must have reported Cybele’s return to him. “Time to face a one-headed Cerberus,” he quipped, “but with all that’s happened this trip, even the guardian of Avernus doesn’t seem so intimidating right now.”
“I know how you must feel, but he only wants to question you,” Arcadia reminded him. “I’m sure I could speak to the senator and—”
“Forget Maximin,” he snapped. “Did you bring our clothes?” Arcadia indicated the leather bag next to her on the deck with the toe of a sandal. “Good. Have Brisios take them to the fuller’s to be cleaned, then look in on the clinic. I’ll join you after I explain myself to Leudovald.”
Once stevedores had secured the galley against stone wharf dogs with hawsers, the gangplank was lifted into place. Getorius took the carrying case and walked ahead of Arcadia down the wooden ramp. Leudovald met the couple at the bottom.
“Ah, my wandering Ulysses returns,” he smirked. “And with his Penelope.”
“I prescribed some sea air for us,” Getorius said, returning the man’s sarcasm.
“Sea air indeed, Surgeon.” Leudovald nodded toward the case. “What is in your bag?”
“Mostly soiled clothes,” Arcadia told him.
“Soiled clothes, Domina? Come with me, you two.” Leudovald led the way into the warehouse portico, then signaled to one of the guards. “Search their bag.”
“Wait a moment. We—”
“Surgeon”—Leudovald cut off Getorius’s objection—“you have some explaining to do. Your sudden exodus disturbed me.”
The soldier rummaged through the bag and Getorius’s medical case, and shook his head.
“Nothing irregular there? Look in their purses.”
Getorius clutched at his money pouch. “This is an outrage! What is he supposed to be looking for?”
The guard hesitated and glanced toward Leudovald for confirmation. At the investigator’s nod, he unslung the soft leather cases from around Getorius’s and Arcadia’s necks. Leudovald opened her purse first.
Getorius knew she had not kept any of the sapphires, but felt his face flush at the indignity of Arcadia being treated like a criminal. He thought of trying to intimidate, or at least impress Leudovald by reminding him that he was Galla Placidia’s physician, but he held back, fearing that might only increase the man’s antagonism. Instead, he asked, “What do you expect my wife to be hiding, Leudovald?”
Without replying, the investigator poked among Arcadia’s coins, then feigned surprise as he held up three bronzes, “What have we here?” Arcadia blanched, realizing she had forgotten about the counterfeit coins Getorius had told her to keep. “A trinity of false ‘Valentinians.’” The innocently quizzical look in Leudovald’s eyes changed to a cold stare at Arcadia. “The Augustus only issues this denomination in gold, Domina. Where did you get these? No matter,” he added before she could explain. “Guard, place this woman under arrest. She can keep company with the Arian presbytera.”
“Arrest my wife?” Getorius objected, realizing that what he feared would happen to Thecla had come about. “And on what grounds are you detaining the old woman?”
“The Bishop wants the heretic tried for the mutilation of the dead youth you found. The magistrate has charged her with his murder.” Leudovald returned Arcadia’s purse to Getorius and softened his tone. “Your wife will be well, Surgeon. We don’t confine women with common bandits until their trial. You can bring her clean clothes and some food later this evening.”
“I can explain the coins.”
“As indeed you shall, Surgeon. At the proper time.”
“What will happen to my wife?”
“There will be an inquiry into this whole affair,” Leudovald said, almost casually. “At that time I also will question the girl who was at the murder scene. I’ll want you there, Surgeon, since I understand she has the Sacred Disease.”
“Do you think the counterfeit ‘Valentinians’ are connected to Atlos’s death?”
Leudovald ignored the question. “Surgeon, bid your wife farewell for now.”
Getorius embraced Arcadia. “Cara, I’ll come, or send Brisios with a clean tunic and nightwear as soon I can. And some supper.”
“I’ll be all right,” she reassured him. “And I am anxious to see how Thecla is doing.”
Getorius watched his wife and the three men turn into the Via Longa, then picked up the traveling bag and walked past the portico to the end of the warehouse. One of Maximin’s men had escorted Zhang Chen to the carriage, where the deaf-mute sat ready to drive off. The six crates were in the back seat. I was right. That extra cargo is for the senator, and the Oriental must be his associate.
Chen’s business with Publius Maximin was only one of the questions Getorius pondered as he turned onto the Via Porti toward his villa. He still had not discovered what hold Diotar had on Virilo that would make him allow his epileptic daughter to be part of such vicious rites. Pagan cults were forbidden, even if no one had bothered the Isis priests, and Diotar’s rituals were surely practiced in secret. There had to be a temple to Magna Mater, Cybele, somewhere in Ravenna. Diotar was too well organized to be a leader of one of the many short-lived cells the authorities had nicknamed “mushroom cults.” Getorius realized now that he had been wrong to think that Cybele’s worshippers would melt away like snow on a bakery oven.
The false coins. Leudovald had said the denomination was issued only in gold. If Arcadia’s hunch was correct and silvered counterfeits went to pay Danube legions, a massive rebellion could result once the men realized they had been cheated. An unstable frontier could be the excuse for either Valentinian or Theodosius to attack each other’s territory, as well as for unknown barbarian tribes in the north to move in. An ambitious governor or legion commander could be involved. The rule of the three Valentinian family emperors in the West had begun some seventy-five years earlier, after the death—some believed assassination—of Julian ii, the nephew of Constantine. Valentinian III was a weak, erratic emperor who was overly influenced by astrologers and his mother, Galla Placidia. She distrusted Aetius, the Western army commander, perhaps with reason—for many years, legions had been creating emperors from popular army officers.
Getorius had not been arrested with his wife because, under the Theodosian Code, Arcadia was still under the legal control of her father, not her husband. Still, Leudovald might have let him go in order to have him watched, to find out if he was involved in the counterfeiting.
Getorius reached the Arian church on the Via Ar
mini. He saw guards on duty, both there and at Thecla’s apartment across the street. The murder charge against the old woman was laughable. Even Leudovald must realize that! Could Bishop Chrysologos have become involved in her arrest because of her sect’s heretical teachings about Christ?
Getorius started sneezing as he continued down the Via Porti and a cold west wind penetrated his tunic. His throat felt raw and his nose was clogged with mucus, the first signs of a possible phlegm imbalance. He realized that anxiety, as much as a sudden chill, could be responsible. In his concern over Leudovald’s discovery of the coins in Arcadia’s bag, he had forgotten about the sapphires. Either Maximin was smuggling them in, or Virilo was using the senator’s pepper cargo as a convenient hiding place for his own illegal imports. If so, it would help explain the vicious beating Arcadia had seen when a slave broke an amphora. Of course, not all of them could hold gems. Customs inspectors might take a sample from one or two of the jars, then weigh the others to calculate import duties. And if a bag was accidentally discovered, Maximin could deny involvement, or no doubt bribe his way clear.
Publius Maximin. What was his connection to the mysterious crates Chen had guarded so carefully? Something valuable had to be in them, and yet it wouldn’t be contraband. Customs officials had not even looked inside the containers. Senatorial privilege or bribe money?
Getorius was shivering, and walked faster when he turned into the Via Caesar and saw his villa at the far end. It will be good to soak off this chill in the bathhouse, but I’ll miss Arcadia.
Brisios let Getorius in through the carriage gate. After he called for Childibert, the housemaster came into the atrium.
“Tell Silvia to get her mistress’s night tunic and some other personal things together,” Getorius ordered, throwing down the carrying case. “She’ll know what. Perfumed oil too. Put my medical things in the clinic. The clothes are to be washed. Have any patients come while I was away?”
“Woman and two men come today. They say they will stay until you return.”
