Legion of the Undead

by Michael Whitehead

  Pirates

  Marcus watched the ship’s sail bellow in the wind, as if he could will the vessel to move faster through the water. The large square sheet of cloth was straining against its ropes, but the ship that chased them was gaining quickly.

  Had this been a military ship, the captain would now be trying to force banks of oarsmen to greater effort, in order to out run, or out manoeuvre the pirates. It was a merchant ship however, with no oars and only a single sail. As much as Marcus and the captain would wish it otherwise, the wind would blow only as hard as the gods commanded.

  Marcus, and his master Fausius Caesius, had taken passage on board the ship in Syracuse, hoping to travel all the way to Rome. The captain, a Greek named Menelaus, had struck a high price, claiming that his hold was full and the bolts of cloth that Caesius wished to transport would cause the ship to run low in the water.

  A price had been agreed, and the merchant and his apprentice had been granted sleeping space on the deck. The claim of a full hold was no lie, the ship wallowed as the captain tried to coax a little more speed out of her.

  All had been going well as they passed through the Strait of Messina with Sicily to the left and the toe of Italy to the right. The weather had been kind, with steady winds and warm sun. Marcus had begun to relax, enjoying the cooked meat and watered wine that Caesius had brought on board. Life had been good with the sun on his face and his legs stretched out across the deck.

  Caesius was a generous master, who had been friends with Marcus’s father for many years. When the old man had died, Caesius had taken Marcus under his wing. He had proposed the apprenticeship with stern words, warning of the hard work it would involve, and warning Marcus that his duties would be arduous.

  As it was the boy had never lived a life so enjoyable. Caesius had never married and there had been no sons to whom he could pass his wealth or wisdom. Despite all of his warnings, he treated Marcus better than the boy’s own father had, indulging him with obvious pleasure.

  They had made the journey to Sicily, and back to Rome, four times in the last few years, and each time the profit had been worth the effort. This time however, they had been in Sicily for a couple of months, and in that time they had started to hear rumours.

  There were uprisings in Germania and Gaul, which had apparently spread across the Alps and down into northern Italy. When it had been time to book passage back to Rome, ships had been scarce, and buying a birth had been even harder. Few captains were travelling north, most were looking to cross to Greece in order to wait out the trouble. Finally, they had set sail, unaware that trouble of a different sort waited ahead.

  The captain had hugged the coastline, the ship wallowing under her burden but making steady progress. Marcus had spoken to a few of the crew and they were in good heart. Then, a day out of the strait, two ships had come up on the merchant craft, slipping from behind a rocky peninsular and showing the black flag of piracy.

  The western coast of Italy was well patrolled by military craft and, at first, the captain had declared himself unconcerned by the pirates. He had assured the crew and passengers that they would be sure to find help before too long. As the hours had passed, he had become less confident and about three hours after the pirates had first appeared, he approached Caesius, flanked by two heavyset members of his crew.

  “I’m afraid we will have to jettison your goods,” he said, with no preamble.

  “You will do no such thing,” Caesius answered. “I paid a premium for passage of myself, the boy, and my goods. If you have to lighten the load, then throw your own cargo overboard.”

  The two crewmen bristled, stepping forward so that they were close enough to make it appear that the captain he three heads. Menelaus, a stout fellow with a thick belt strapped around his prodigious middle, held up a hand to hold the crewmen in check.

  “I intend to drop as much as I need,” he said in answer. “I have valuable goods in the hold, but they aren’t worth the hassle of being boarded by those pirates.”

  “You will ruin me!” Caesius had protested, but the argument was already lost.

  The captain nodded his signal, and the two sailors began organising the rest of the crew. Four men dropped in to the hold, while the rest of the men waited for goods to be passed up through the square loading hole.

  First up with the bolts of cloth Caesius had spent a small fortune buying in Syracuse. Marcus watched his master wince as the first of them hit the water and began drifting away behind them. Marcus watched its passage and counted. It was about two hundred heartbeats before he saw it pass the pirate vessels.

  The cloth almost served them a second purpose as it passed the first ship, but someone on board must have been keeping a keen eye on the water. The bolts came close enough to the hull of the ship that they threatened to foul the strokes of the rowing teams, but at the last moment the oars were raised until the obstacle passed. At any other time, Marcus might have been impressed, but now all he felt was disappointment.

  The first bolt of cloth was quickly followed by the rest of Caesius’s stock, then Menelaus began pointing into the hold at individual items. Each was brought out and jettisoned without a second glance. Marcus saw a large painting of a nude woman dumped over the side to be followed by various pieces of furniture.

  Two swords came up but the captain ordered them to be carried to his cabin, much to Caesius chagrin. When he saw a small bronze statue follow in the same direction, Marcus heard his master grumble and turned to see him striding toward Menelaus.

  “Why not throw the bronze overboard? It must weight as much as all of my cloth,” he almost shouted.

  “Because the swords and the statue are worth more than all the goods in the hold!” the captain snapped back at him. “They were being sent to Otho, the Praetorian Prefect. If you wish to explain to him why his goods were less important than your cloth, you are a braver man than me.”

  As they were speaking a cry and a crash of wood came from the far side of the deck. Four sailors had been carrying a heavy wooden desk, but one of them had fallen to the deck pierced by an arrow. At first, despite the threat of the pirates, Marcus had no idea where the missile had come from. Then he looked back and saw three archers standing on the bow of the leading vessel. As he watched a second arrow sailed across the space to land at Menelaus’s feet.

  If it was a deliberate shot, then it was one of extreme skill. Either way, Marcus watched the fight go out of the Greek. He slumped back against the rail, and signalled to his men to stop what they were doing. On the ground the wounded man had dragged himself so that he was sitting with his back against a coil of rope, the arrow was clearly visible in his shoulder, ringed by a growing circle of blood.

  “Drop the sail,” the captain said low from between gritted teeth. For a moment, the crew looked at him, then at each other, then finally they began moving to do as he instructed.

  The ship floundered in the water as soon as the wind was spilled from her sails. There was a lot of muttering and groaning from the sailors. Marcus watched as a white square of cloth was produced and hoisted up the mast.

  One man, a grizzled old sailor with white hair and tanned skin was pulling at one of his fingers. He stuck it in his mouth, to lubricate it with spit, then managed to free the gold ring he wore there. He turned and gave Marcus a cold grin, before popping the ring in his mouth and swallowing hard.

  “I suggest you do the same, boy,” the old salt said, pointing to a ring that had belonged to Marcus’s father that the boy wore on his heart finger. Marcus brought his hand up in front of his face, noting the way the light caught the red stone that was set into the silver.

  “Really?” he asked the sailor.

  The man laughed, “You’ll lose it otherwise, boy. Either they’ll take it off your finger, or take your finger from your hand, they won’t care much either way.”

  “Have you been captured before then?” Marcus asked, slipping the ring from his finger and contemplating swallowing it. It
would be uncomfortable going down, but the thought of passing it at the other end already brought a tear to his eye.

  “Once, when I was not much older than you,” the old man said, his eyes glazing over with the memories of younger days. “They kept us for a month. Only the captain was worth a ransom but they kept us all while they waited for it to arrive.”

  “A month?” Marcus asked, shocked.

  “If it was a day, boy. Bread and water while we waited as well. I lost this down there in the dark.” The man pulled back his bottom lip to show a gold tooth just to the left of center.

  Marcus gulped and dropped his father’s ring into his mouth. The old man laughed as they boy swallowed the jewellery, but after the deed was done he reached up and took Marcus by the shoulder.

  “It’s not all bad, boy. We only lost one man and he was wounded when the pirates boarded us,” he looked over at the arrow-struck man ominously. The wounded sailor was still leaned up against the ship’s side but the blood around the arrow had grown noticeably. “Keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

  As he said the last, he made a key turning gesture across his lips, and Marcus nodded. The old man stepped away, and Marcus turned to his master. Caesius had obviously been listening to the conversation because he was swallowing hard against something large and his hands were bare.

  He reached into his toga and produced a fine gold chain with a small pendant on it. He took a moment to consider trying to swallow that as well but seemed to understand it would be impossible. Instead he took the pendent from the chain and placed it on his tongue, then with a look of regret let the chain fall through his fingers and into the water.

  The wait for the pirates to board was short but still grated on Marcus as they watched the vessels close the gap. They could see rough looking men standing on the bow, some with bows and others carrying blades.

  Nobody on board the merchant ship made any show of wanting to fight, but Marcus had an idea that they may get one either way. Eventually the two pirate ships drew up, one either side of the now still merchantman. A corvus bridge was dropped from one of the vessels with a thump.

  The pirates didn’t board at once, instead they waited, bows drawn and eyes restless. Finally a tall, slim man with a expensive looking tunic stepped across the gap, showing no weapon. He looked about him with a smile on his face that made it seem like he was among old acquaintances.

  “My new friends, I am Captain Hortius. This ship and everything on it is now mine, that includes you.” The pirates were now leering on to the ship, enjoying the entertainment being doled out by their captain. “I have a few questions, if you answer them swiftly and honestly, this may go very well for you. If I feel you are not being forthcoming, I will anger quickly, do you understand?”

  Marcus found himself nodding along with the crew. Despite wanting to hate this man for what he was doing, he was amused by his manner and thought he might even like him.

  “Splendid. A good start, at least,” Hortius said, smiling warmly. “My first question, who is your captain?”

  Marcus remained facing the pirate, not wanting to be the one who gave Menelaus away by looking at the man. As it was, he need not have worried, the Greek stepped forward almost straight away. Marcus saw him stop a few paces in front of Hortius, his back straight and a proud but defeated look on his face.

  “A gentleman!” Hortius said, raising his arms to included all three ships in his praise of Menelaus. “Now, I wonder if you would be so good as to take a couple of my men to your cabin, sorry... my cabin, and fetch me the valuables you have undoubtedly stored in a secret hiding place?”

  “I don’t know what you...” The Greek began, but Hortius backhanded him across the mouth knocking him to the deck.

  “I asked you not to lie to me, captain,” the pirate said, stepping close enough that Menelaus had to shield his eyes from the sun in order to look up at his attacker. “I gave you fair warning about honesty, yet you test me at the first opportunity.”

  Menelaus said nothing, but his bloodied mouth worked in wordless shock at the speed and violence of Hortius’s change in manner.

  The pirate turned to two of his men, “Take him to his cabin, make him show you the valuables. If he refuses...” he stopped, as if thinking hard about what the consequences of disobedience might be, “cut off his toes.”

  There was a short lived round of grumbling from Menelaus’s men, but one look from Hortius was enough to silence them. He strolled up and down, his hands behind his back, then turned back to the gathered merchantman’s crew.

  “My second question is a simpler one. Is there a doctor on board?”

  A few of the crew shook their heads, a couple muttered negative answers, and the obvious disappointment was etched onto Hortius’s face. He seemed to take a moment to compose himself, anger evidently boiling beneath the surface.

  “Really? nobody at all that knows about medicine? Not a surgeon? Nothing?” He asked, but he was apparently speaking to himself because he did not look up to receive an answer.

  “Very well, so be it,” he said, meeting the eyes of the crew. “Now, usually you would be in for a hard few months, but times have changed. I would have sailed you to the north coast of Africa where you would have been made to wait while I sent word to your families and demanded ransoms. As it is, I am in need of things other than money at this present time. Two of my men are injured, and I need to replace five more.”

  Marcus watched Menelaus’s crew look to each other, obviously surprised by the news. He turned to Caesius, silently asking what they should do. His master answered his unspoken question by stepping back a short pace so that he was behind a couple of the sailors.

  It was doubtful that the pirate captain would choose either of them when there were so many experienced men aboard, but it was always wisest to make sure. As it was, the choice was taken from their hands.

  At that moment the door of Menelaus’s cabin opened and the captain walked out on to the deck carrying the sword. He was quickly followed by the men who had escorted him, one of which was carrying a small stack of scrolls, the other struggled with the bronze.

  The two pirates stepped up to Hortius, allowing their captain to examine their haul. He gave the bronze a cursory glance, then turned his attention to the scrolls. He broke the seal on one, pulled it open, scanned the contents and then allowed it to roll itself closed again.

  “Take the scrolls to my cabin, put the statue in the hold,” he said, with a smile, placing a hand on the nearest man’s shoulder and smiling. The look he received in return told Marcus everything he needed to know about the pirates. They loved their captain and he loved them, which meant they were almost certainly very good at what they did.

  “Come here, let me see that,” Hortius said, holding out a hand to Menelaus. The merchant captain held out the sword with a look of regret and impotent anger, then stepped back. Hortius slipped the blade from its scabbard, held it up to the sun, closing one eye, then he let out a long low whistle.

  “Someone paid their weight in gold for this,” he said to the watching men. “A fine gift indeed. We will sell the bronze and anything else that is still aboard, added to the price we can fetch on the market for the crew we don’t use, I’d say that’s a fine haul. I will take the sword as my share, the rest is yours.”

  The pirate crews let out a huge cheer but Marcus felt his heart sink. If he had understood the words correctly, those men who weren’t chosen to join the pirate crew would be sold into slavery. In a matter of hours his world had been torn apart. He looked at Caesius but his master was staring down at the deck and saying nothing.

  “Get them into the hold,” Hortius said casually.

  “Wait, what? There is no need for that, is there?” Menelaus said. As he spoke he stepped forward, his round stomach swaying beneath his belt. What happened next shocked Marcus so utterly that it turned his blood cold.

  Hortius drew the sword, and without a word drove the blade deep into Menelau
s’s chest. He left it there for a moment, staring into the merchant captain’s eyes, then twisted the blade and withdrew it causing a gout of blood to pour down the Greeks tunic.

  Menelaus showed no sign of pain, only surprise. He reached out one hand, as if trying to grasp something that wasn’t there, then fell face first to the deck.

  Hortius showed no emotion, he simply turned to his men and repeated his order.

  “Put them in the hold,” he pointed to the hatch of one of the pirate ships, “then when you’ve taken everything you want, burn this ship.” He turned from the body of Menelaus without giving it a second glance, strode from the deck of the merchant ship and crossed the corvus bridge.

  The pirate crew flooded onto the deck, taking the men of Menelaus’s crew and leading them toward their temporary prison. Most went without putting up a fight, knowing that they could expect the same fate as their captain if they did.

  A few struggled and were quickly and efficiently beaten to the deck before being dragged, half conscious and dropped into the hold along with their friends.

  Marcus watched a muscled pirate take Caesius by the arm and, when his master was led away, followed without being told. They were taken across the bridge and pushed roughly into the loading hatch of the hold. Soon the space was full of bewildered faces that were lost from sight when the hatch was slammed shut overhead.

  Marcus was lost in a world of misery as he listened to what sounded like hundreds of feet walking back and forth above their heads. The pirates were noisy and seemed to be working fast. Eventually, the sound of footsteps quieted and was replaced by cheering. As the ship began to move, the smell of smoke drifted through the gaps in the boards and filled the hold.

  Time ceased to mean anything to the men in the hold. A little light found its way through the deck and into their prison so that Marcus could see shapes, if not details. It was because of this light that he knew they were at least two days and a night at sea.

  Few men spoke on the journey, each was trapped in his own silent misery. Marcus spent the time wondering at how his life, so good for the last few years, had been torn apart in the matter of hours. Caesius said nothing at all.