Gaius Lucullus’ initial distrust of the young aristocrat was replaced by grudging admiration. Sextus was innovative and able to make others innovate. That was no small trick. He might succeed in following in the tradition of his ancestor Gaius Julius Caesar.
“But I am taking up your time discussing desert warfare. What can I do for you, Gaius Lucullus?” He put his elbows on the desk, rested his chin on his linked fingers, and looked intently at his new-found comrade.
“Well, have you heard any indications of the piracy problems? We will be shipping south in about a month to Eudaemon Arabia, and on to India. We are particularly interested in one Ibrahim bin Yusuf.”
“Well, he’s active, all right. He is, I think, well south of here. He has been sighted in Berenice, and a few other obscure places. Always heading south. We think he has some secure basing areas at the mouth of the Red Sea, probably in Far Side Somalia with the Troglodytes and around Arabia Felix on the east. There are dozens of little islands he can hide out on. He’s a fox, always one step ahead of the navy. What are you going to do in India?”
“We’ll be pressing on to other business. But my cousin, Senator Aulus Aemilius Galba. has arranged our transportation to India. We will be traveling on the Europa, Asia and Africa.”
Sextus slapped the desk. “Oh, yes, and every pirate in the Red Sea wants one of those ships! Even some coming in from the eastern Mediterranean to go for your three big ships. You will, I understand, be carrying some huge sums of gold and silver.”
Gaius nodded. Apparently Sextus had been reading his intelligence correspondence thoroughly. “I suppose. That’s my cousin’s side of work. Has any protection been arranged? Like galley escorts?”
Sextus shrugged. “I’d really like to help you out there, Gaius, really I would. But that would tie up at least two or three galleys for months, taking you down to Sabaea, laying over a few weeks and then deadheading back up. We have twelve ships, and I can do that. I’d very much like to give that order, because your convoy is a prime target. But really, every ship out of here is traveling with a fortune. If I ordered the navy to escort you, I’d have to order them to escort every single convoy that leaves here. And twelve galleys can’t do that.”
“How many of those other convoys have passengers traveling on Imperial orders carrying Imperial gold on an Imperial diplomatic mission?”
“Hmm… now that is different. Are you asking for an escort under those orders?” He clasped his fingers under his chin and fixed his gaze on Gaius.
“Yes. I need continuous escort.”
“How far?”
“All the way to Eudaemon Arabia.”
“I recommend, now that I’ll be billing the Treasury for this service, that you keep escort as far as the Dioscirides, locally known as Socotra, the last large island in the mouth of the Red Sea. After that, you’re in the Indian Ocean, and after a few hours, it is impossible for two ships to meet except by chance. We have a small service dock in Socotra for just this contingency, and we can drop the galleys off there, give the crews a rest, and return to Eudamon Arabia the next day. The navy will scream, but we are the senior service, and ultimately, they can’t fail to support Imperial orders. Trajan is footing the bill, so there is no precedent to obligate me to support other merchants.”
“So do I have the escort?” asked Gaius.
“You have them. Three ships, to Socotra. Tell Fabius Maximus, the navarklos at the Classis Alexandrina detachment, that I approved it... Here, wait.” Sextus grabbed a square of papyrus from a box, scrawled the orders on it with a stylus, and folded it in half. He passed a stick of sealing wax through a candle flame and dropped a blob on the letter, sealing it with his ring. “Tell Fabius to come talk to me about any problem he has about this. And underway, do what Fabius tells you! As far as convoy rules go, the convoy master is the god of the sea to you, your shipping master Hasdrubal and his captains. If your ships break away from his, they aren’t going to come looking for you, they’re coming back here at best speed and you’re on your own. Understood?” He looked Gaius squarely in the eye, and handed him the letter.
Gaius took the letter and returned the gaze. He had never had his opinion of a man change as drastically in as short a time, as his had over the outgoing Sextus Julius. Innovative, decisive... and he took a defeat in stride, confidently issuing orders to Gaius about convoy operations, when in fact the Imperial orders had given him no choice but to provide it.
Gaius accepted the letter and rose. “Well, I thank you, Sextus Julius, and I commend you on your ingenious desert tactics.” He offered his hand to Sextus, who accepted the handshake. “And by the way... you were right about how we picked our centuries to support you. I helped picked the batch from the Twelfth last winter!” He smiled ruefully.
Sextus Julius smiled. “They actually weren’t as bad as most of the rest. They’re the senior century in the cohort.”
Gaius winced. They had been his worst batch of thieves, ne’er-do-wells, and malingers, with a few cowards thrown in to boot. “Well, then I would hate to see your other vexillationes!”
The two parted in good humor, and Gaius mounted up for the intensely hot ride back to Myos Hormos. I wonder where I can get one of those Bedouin robes. I think the kid is onto something there, thought Gaius, as the sweat again filled up his leather breastplate. He contemplated writing the long-delayed letter to his wife.
CHAPTER 12: A CASE OF DYSENTERY
Hasdrubal took leave of the ship to stay at the residence with Aulus and his entourage, claiming a case of dysentery. This was a common enough disease in Myos Hormos, not serious enough to bring in a physician and his scrutiny, easy to fake. Hasdrubal made his tenth trip to the latrine that night, scurrying through the shadows.
It was amazing what one could learn on the way to the latrine. For example, he learned that they had lined up three galley escorts. He also learned that whatever had triggered memories in the Greek centurion’s mind, they were fading rapidly. Hasdrubal was fairly sure now that Antonius did not connect him with that ill-fated meeting at the Bull and Dove.
He had to get word to Ibrahim, holed up south of here in some obscure fishing village, about this latest development. They had arranged a drop for information through the fishmarket, through a one-eyed old fish merchant. How the old man did it, Hasdrubal didn’t need to know.
Tomorrow would be a good time to recover, and see if Gaius Aemelius would go over the schedules. As soon as he had the details, he would deliver them to his contact point, always a difficult balancing act. It might take weeks to get the information to Ibrahim, so he should not delay waiting for too many details. On the other hand, he did not want to send partial messages whose subsequent updates or corrections might not get through.
Hasdrubal stepped out of the stinking latrine into the steamy night air.
“Well, good evening, Hasdrubal. Do I detect some life now behind that beard?” asked Aulus, sitting by the pool with only a single lamp.
“Just a little, sir, and I hope that I am on the mend now. I think I may be ready to return to work tomorrow. We must go over the schedule for fitting out the ships, conducting sea trials and our departure plans at your earliest convenience,” said Hasdrubal, still holding his stomach.
“Perhaps immediately after breakfast, if you can eat. We have good news... Gaius Lucullus did what I could not do, and lined up three galleys to escort us to the Dioscirides.”
“The Dioscirides! That is good news indeed. If we got an escort at all, I would have expected Eudaemon Arabia and no further. And three! Gaius has done well.” Too well. This would place the hijacking far out to sea. Three days, then. I will send on whatever information I have by Friday. “Well, your lordship, this illness has left me weak and tired. I will retire to my quarters tonight and hopefully sleep through for the first time in two nights. Goodnight, sir.”
“And good night to you also, my good Hasdrubal. Sleep well and be well tomorrow.”
The following morning
Hasdrubal had indeed made a miraculous recovery, eating a heavy breakfast, and at mid-morning, met with Aulus and the three captains, Dionysius of the flagship Asia, Apollodorus of the Africa, and Demetrios of the Europa. Also present were the captains of the escort galleys, gathered to discuss the sortie plan. This was followed by berthing arrangements for the Hanaean party of six, Wang Ming and five translators, which had arrived overnight, divided up two per ship. Lucius Parvus, unaware that Marcia Lucia was Wang Ming’s concubine, had assigned her and brother Marcus Lucius to the Europa with Gaius and Antonius, while Wang Ming and the translator Marcellus Albus he billeted in the Asia with Galba and Hasdrubal. Pontus Valens and Titus Porcius were to ride in the Asia.
“Lucius, that is good, we have these people nicely distributed, along with the gold and silver. But Marcia Lucia is Wang Ming’s concubine, and I am sure he would prefer her company to that of Marcellus Albus,” said Aulus, pointing out the problem.
Lucius picked up a stylus and prepared to correct the wax tablet, but Wang Ming intervened.
“No problem, Aurus. She stay with brother, I stay with you. Need no change now, maybe later,” said Wang Ming.
Aulus noted the faintest of a smile on the girl’s demurely downcast face.
CHAPTER 13: A CHANGE OF PLANS
Ibrahim read and re-read the letter the fisherman had brought him, sipping bitter beer in the hut overlooking the Red Sea. Unlike the sweltering upper reaches of the sea, here the breezes were warm but not humid, and blew steadily from the northeast from over the Indian Ocean.
The innocuous letter was written in the cursive Nabataean script:
“My dearest brother,
I hope that thou findest the weather to thy liking. Here the weather is humid, even more so than at Berenice. We had the opportunity to take delivery of our new fishing boat, and we are pleased with its speed, although the rig is most unusual. I look forward to the opportunity to join with thee in the fishing off Socotra, perhaps in the first week in June. I hear that the fishing is good there at that time of year, but I also hear that the sea to the west is full of dangerous sharks. I hope that we can avoid them. In our country, it is the custom for fishing boats to fly a red flag, to warn others to steer clear of their lines. Is that also the custom in Socotra?
I wish thee well, and await thy company soon.
Yasser
A plain letter, signed by Hasdrubal’s code name. However, the letter informed Ibrahim that Hasdrubal had made a major change of plans, moving the rendezvous more than five hundred miles into the open ocean to the east to Socotra Island in June. This was due to some danger around Dehalak, their original rendezvous. Galba must have obtained naval escort.
Ibrahim stroked his beard. I wonder what that dog is up to, he thought. The ship will be flying a red flag. That part didn’t change. He didn’t trust Hasdrubal any longer, and had not for many months. Part of his instincts told him to call off the entire operation now, but he had made extensive and expensive plans. His reputation was on the line here... Odd how much piracy is like a business. I have backers, the same as my victim, and they expect me to deliver. He had been doing this business for forty years, and every once in a while, he remembered someone with whom he had sailed briefly a long time ago... “Just believe,” he had said to Ibrahim. Ah, but belief is denied the pirate. Too many lies, too many deceptions, and too many dead men and betrayed trusts. I hope when I make my fatal mistake, it will be at sea, my only friend.
All right, in a way, the new rendezvous is to my advantage. Dehalak was well inside the mouth of the Red Sea, and the ships would have been depleted, replenishing the galleys with food and water. A seizure at Socotra, on the other hand, will be after Eudaemon Arabia... with full water and plenty of food for the long trip across the Indian Ocean to India. So seizure just east of Socotra after they drop off the galleys.
Ibrahim had planned on rounding the horn of Africa and escaping southward to the Far Side. But with full water tanks and food... could he consider taking the ship all the way on its intended journey to India? He would have a hold full of gold, and all he had to do was to lose the other two ships... which would lose him, since Hasdrubal would haul them east at full sail, their standard procedure, and gave good cover to Hasdrubal. Who could fault a shipping master for escaping with two out of three ships and continuing on his journey?
But to modify the plan... He would be in one of the fastest ships in Indian Ocean with tons of gold and silver in the hull, and if he went to north India, he would beat the news of the hijacking arriving with Hasdrubal at Muziris and no one would be the wiser. His gold was good anywhere, and there were places he knew that the Romans never went. He would be perfectly safe there. And from there...
“Just believe,” the man had said to him years ago. He wished he could. But he certainly could believe in a ton of gold and silver in his hold, the finest ship ever built at his command, and the oceans of the world at his fingertips.
The ocean breeze stirred the palm trees in restless motion, and the sibilant hiss of the breakers along the white sand came like a distant song to his ears. They seemed to say, over and over again, “Just believe... just believe...” Ibrahim took another sip of bitter barley beer and tried to imagine a life without fear and distrust.
CHAPTER 14: TRAINING THE CREW
Antonius began training the crews of each ship in organized fighting tactics while waiting to sail. Each ship already had a contingent of Nubian archers, and Antonius prepositioned enough swords, helmets and shields to outfit another eighty men among the three ships.
The crews were a polyglot group. In addition to Greeks and Italians, brown-skinned Phoenicians and Berbers, red-headed Gauls and blonde Germans, they included Nubians and Ethiopians with shiny black skins, coastal Arabians with skins like leather, Parthians, Indians and various easterners with yellow skins and varying degrees of slanted eyes. There was one man of an unknown race and language, with skin the color of copper and long straight black hair done up in a topknot, recruited, along with a Jew, from a crew from Carthage.
Antonius solicited volunteers from among the crews for training on the Europa. He chose Greek as the best common language, hoping to pick up interpreters if needed.
Sailors tend ter be good individual fighters, but brawlers, mostly. I got ter teach them how ter fight like a team. He tried to fall out the men on deck, but was met by puzzled stares and indifference. Barstids! They’re pretendin’ not ter understand me! After his fourth attempt to kick some order into the straggling lines of men, one of the men piped up: “Hey, Roman! Most don’t understand more than a word or two of Greek. You’re wasting your fucking time.”
Antonius stepped forward, flushed with anger and about ready to clobber the insolent sailor with his hickory stick, then reconsidered. He went nose-to-nose with the young sailor, glaring but elicited no flinching in return. He calmed his temper and hissed: “That is Centurion to you, sailor. Do you have a name?”
“Shmuel. Shmuel bin Eliazar.” No ‘Centurion’, no ‘Sir.’
This lad is tryin’ me patience! “Where are you from, Shmuel bin Eliazar?”
“Tyre.” Shmuel never blinked, never straightened up from his insolent posture.
“All right, Shmuel bin Eliazar of Tyre. What language would you recommend I use?”
“Aramaic.”
“I’ll tell you what, Shmuel son of Eliazar. I am going to make you my second in command. I am going to give you the instruction in Greek, and you get the men to carry it out, in whatever language you need to use. If they don’t, I whip up on you, and you whip up on them. Understood?”
Still not blinking, Shmuel replied, “I am hard to whip.”
Antonius was waiting for that insolent reply, and in a few quick moves, the young man was flat on his back on the deck with Antonius glaring down on him. Antonius extended his hand to help him up, but Shmuel attempted to wrestle the centurion down with him. Shmuel wound up face down on the deck, with Antonius pinning his right arm behin
d his back in a painful hold. “Maybe at the end of your training, you might be able to take me down, but not now. Tell them this is a demonstration of what they will all be able to do, if they pay attention. Tell them, and I speak enough Aramaic to know you said it right!”
Antonius helped him up, saving his new second a loss of face in front of the men he was to lead. Shmuel clearly seemed to understand that the centurion was not one with whom to trifle. “Yes… Centurion.” He turned to the men and repeated what Antonius had told him, and the men seemed intrigued with what they had observed.
“Now fall them out in rows of eight men each, an arm’s length between each man and the man in front and the man beside, no more, no less!”
The men fell into place, and Antonius, with Shmuel at his side, inspected each for wounds, signs of illness, and general condition, dismissing twenty for various reasons.
“Shmuel. Can you read and write?”
“Yes… Centurion.”
“Get me a list of these by name, and where they are from. Pick a squad leader from each row, and work through them to get things done.”
The rest of the day was spent in basic close-order drill, how to move as an organized group to the left or right, ending with conditioning exercises, windsprints along the two hundred foot deck. At the end, he thanked his optio, praising him and the deckhands for a good first day’s work in broken Aramaic. After the men were dismissed, he waived Shmuel over to the rail.
“Good job, today, really. Thanks.”
“Yes… Centurion.”
“Centurion in front of the men. Between us, I am Antonius. You are Jewish, Shmuel, I think. How did you wind up in Tyre?
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