Rome: Tempest of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series)

by R. Cameron Cooke

"Wait, Admiral!" Libo said in a rush to stop him before he gave his next command. "Do not do this! These men are Romans. No matter how the tyrant has wronged you in the past, I beg you, do not hold these men responsible for it. You have the honor of the victory. Why taint it with such an act? Would you not shame the brigand Caesar more by showing mercy?"

  Bibulus shot him a wild scowl that might have melted stone. "They are Caesarian scum, Libo. They are guilty. No doubt they were among those who waylaid me on the streets of Rome, accosting my person in the most grievous of ways. Imagine it, Libo. I, a consul of Rome, disgraced so, excrement heaped upon me, my lictors assaulted, my dignity besmirched before all." He pointed a shaky finger at the vessels, his voice growing more tremulous the more he spoke. "It was their doing! It was they who kept me sealed up inside my house for the duration of my consulship. Do not mention honor, commodore! They have none!"

  Libo thought it highly unlikely that any of the captive troops had belonged to the gangs that had kept Bibulus away from the forum during the tenure of his consulship, for the simple reason that most of them had been mere boys at the time. The year in which Bibulus and Caesar had shared the consulship was more than a decade in the past, but the grudging admiral still harbored ill-will, if not flat out hatred, toward his former colleague. Libo wished to head-off the massacre of so many Romans, but he could see that all of his pleas would fall on deaf ears.

  "The augury has spoken, Libo," Bibulus said with a tone of finality. “Now, let them die."

  The admiral then raised a single hand in preparation for giving the fatal order, but paused when a sudden spate of guttural noises emanating from the cage drew his attention away. Bibulus slowly crept closer to see what the creature was doing. Odulph had retreated to the far corner, its hair-covered body wracked with spasms as it tried to digest the mass of olives it had just devoured. Some of the most inhuman noises Libo had ever heard now came from that cage. He wanted to look away, in sharp contrast to Bibulus who observed the creature's agony with open-mouthed expectation, as if watching the birthing of a calf.

  Finally, with a final heave, the creature ejected the contents of its throat. A single slimy, round object shot out of the cage and rolled to a stop at Bibulus's feet. Libo could clearly see that it was an olive, shiny and grotesque in an oozing pool of saliva, but it was completely intact.

  Bibulus's eyes instantly filled with wonder at the omen, and he appeared utterly speechless. Libo, however, saw his chance and wasted no time in exploiting it.

  "There, Admiral!" Libo exclaimed. "The message could not be any clearer. The gods give life to these men. For what other meaning could be ascribed to such an auspice?"

  "Quite right," Bibulus replied, after staring at the disgorged object for a long moment. "You are quite right, commodore." The admiral then turned to face him. "But only one."

  "One?"

  "One. And that I leave up to you."

  Libo was incredulous and inwardly perturbed at the admiral's interpretation. “I do not understand, my lord. One cannot be – "

  "Choose quickly, Libo," Bibulus interrupted impatiently. "I will not keep Caesar waiting!"

  Libo swallowed once, gazing at the mixed transports with their crews and passengers lining the decks, all looking back at the flagship. How was one to make such a choice? Bibulus was looking more impatient with each passing moment, and so Libo made the only logical choice he could.

  "The ship with the orange pennant. Spare that one, if you please, my lord."

  Bibulus smiled and then turned to a nearby aide. "Order that ship to pull clear of the rest. The rest are to stay where they are or they will be sunk immediately."

  The signal was given, and the large transport complied, its oars slowly thrusting it away from the other captives and closer to the flagship. When it had moved far enough, Bibulus's face seemed to come alive with a vengeful fury.

  "Now, Caesar, my old colleague!" He shouted at the figures on the walls of the far-off fort. "A little something for your amusement!”

  With a single downward sweep of Bibulus's arm, forty bowstrings twanged, four great engines recoiled on their mounts. The flaming missiles took to the air, converging on the helpless vessels. Following the cue from the flagship, a dozen other quinqueremes released their lethal weapons as well, filling the sky with hundreds of parabolic black streaks that followed the trails of the first missiles. A cry of horror went up from the cluster of transports as hundreds of terrified men saw their doom approaching. Officers could be heard shouting orders in a desperation to get their ships underway again, but only a few of the oars complied before the flaming death crashed into the weather-beaten fleet. Giant boulders lathered in burning pitch broke through warped planking to burrow within the lower decks and holds. Screams of shackled slaves unable to escape the bounding stones of death carried across the water.

  Sails caught fire and were instantly consumed. Burning canvas and cordage fell to spread fire to the decks and bulwarks. Frenzied sailors and legionaries ran this way and that, some leaping over the side, some into the flames while others, transfixed by arrows, crumpled to the deck twitching or dead. The flames jumped quickly from one vessel to another, and soon merged into an incongruous mass in which one burning hull was indistinguishable from the next. The screams of the suffering resonated across the water, and touched a chord of dishonor within Libo. For this was no way for Roman soldiers to meet their deaths, and he had to keep reminding himself that there was nothing he could have done to stop it.

  Before the last cries were silenced aboard the burning wreckage, Bibulus gave another order.

  "Signal that ship to draw closer, Quintus," the admiral said to the Argonaut's captain while pointing at the unscathed ship with the orange pennant.

  As the sole surviving transport complied with the signal and slowly stroked closer to the flagship, Libo silently thanked Jupiter that at least these men would be spared.

  When the listing vessel heaved to less than a stone's throw from the flagship, Libo could see that large sections of planking were missing where she had been thrashed by the storm. Dozens of faces peered over the rails, some pale and sickly, some gripped with fear, others glowering. There were legionaries in various states of armor and arms, and sailors in short tunics, some with light mail shirts. A party of several dozen bare-chested slaves of nearly every race passed buckets of seawater up from belowdecks in a long line that ended at the railing, where each bucket was emptied in its turn and then dropped through an open hatch to be filled again. A pulsating flow spewing overboard from two lead pipes intimated that many more men toiled belowdecks on the bilge pumps.

  Libo's seasoned eye told him they were fighting a losing battle. He was just about to suggest to Bibulus that a galley be brought up and lines secured to stabilize the teetering craft, when the admiral addressed him.

  "There they are, Libo," Bibulus said perfunctorily, gesturing at the mass of men crowded on the vessel's main deck. "Choose."

  "I'm sorry, Admiral. I'm not sure I understand –"

  "The augury indicated that one should be spared. And since you were so precipitate in interpreting the message from the gods, I think it only right that you should choose the man who is to live." Bibulus was not smiling now, the perturbation evident on his face. "Choose, Libo. Select one man to receive mercy."

  Libo could sense that now was not the time to point out that if thirty olives digested meant that thirty ships were condemned, then certainly the one intact olive meant that the gods intended for this entire ship and crew to be spared. Libo detected that he had already gone too far, and Bibulus was letting him know it.

  IV

  As Libo scanned the hundred or more bleak faces staring back at him, he could find no measure by which to select the one to be spared. They all looked the same, as men condemned to the cross. The cluster of legionaries on the transport’s foredeck looked haggard and frightened. Surely he could not spare one of these. And how could he choose from the Greek sailors and let the
Romans die?

  "I must defer to your superior judgement, Admiral," Libo said with the utmost courtesy. "Such a noble act of mercy should come from your hand, not mine."

  Bibulus seemed amused by that. "Well said, Libo. It is rather indulgent of me, considering all that I have suffered at the hands of these devils. But, alas, even I am not worthy to make such a decision. Since the gods have called for mercy, the gods shall choose who is to be spared." Then, turning to the rail, Bibulus raised his voice to speak across the strip of water. "Listen to me, all of you!"

  Every man on the captured transport turned an attentive and hopeful eye toward the admiral.

  "You are Caesarian scum, and I have no use for you!"

  "Begging your pardon, my lord!" echoed a voice from the transport. Moments later a tanned, dark-haired man wearing the shortened tunic of a sailor groped his way to the rail. "I beg permission to speak!"

  "Who are you?" Bibulus asked impatiently.

  "I am the captain of this vessel, my lord. My men and I do not bear any allegiance to Caesar. We are simple Athenians who make our trade shipping goods between Spain and Africa. We had been away from these waters for many months, and were on our way home, when we stopped in Brundisium to water. There, we were immediately seized upon by Caesar's lieutenants and forced to carry these troops across the sea. We had no way of knowing this act was in defiance of the great Pompey and the Senate of Rome. Now that we know these things, we spit on Caesar and all of his followers. I beg you, great Admiral, have mercy on me and my crew."

  Bibulus did not appear moved in the least. "Mercy shall be extended, but only to one."

  This announcement caused an audible groan from the captives, many of whom now outstretched their hands in supplication.

  "Who is to be spared, my lord?" the Greek captain asked, after managing to quiet the small commotion around him. He spoke in Latin, a tongue that the majority of his crew, more than likely, could not understand. "I would humbly offer my services, my lord, should you choose me. I am a skilled navigator and can serve you well in any capacity you desire. The rest of these are mindless deck hands, not worthy of –"

  "Hear this, all of you!" Bibulus interrupted. "The old ways will tell us whom the gods have chosen. You will fight to the death."

  As the admiral's statement was translated into Greek and other tongues, and as the comprehension moved through the crowd, so did the clamor of protest. At first, both Romans and Greeks alike expressed a collective outrage at the cruel pronouncement, but after the initial shock wore off, they began casting suspicious glances at one another, as if to question the intentions of their own shipmates. Still, none appeared eager to comply with the edict. Libo noticed that the Greek captain was an exception to this. While the others raucously objected, he remained silent, rubbing his chin and sneaking sidelong glances at the hatchways, as if formulating a plan in his head.

  Bibulus appeared somewhat amused by the remonstrations, but finally raised one hand to silence them. "I vow that the man who is still standing, after all others have been slain, will not be harmed. That man shall live. Before Juno, you have my word."

  This did little to change the fervor of the protests. The Caesarian legionaries shouted vile curses on the admiral, demanding that he slay them all together that they might die honorably as soldiers, not as gladiators for others' amusement.

  Libo felt pity for them, but there was nothing he could do. Still puzzled by the orange pennant, he scanned the roiling crowd for any recognizable face, any person of importance, any badge of office, but no man stood out over the others. It then occurred to him that the Greek captain would certainly know its meaning, and he began contemplating how he might convince Bibulus to let the Greek live.

  Libo was still contemplating this when he suddenly realized that the Greek captain had disappeared. He was nowhere to be seen on the deck. Could he have gone below?

  The answer came a heartbeat later, when a tumult erupted near the aft hatchway. There were legionaries there, but they were not shouting curses at the admiral like the others. Libo saw a flash of steel in the sun, and then saw the legionaries crumple, their faces twisted in pain and horror. They were being assailed from behind. When they finally fell away dead, Libo saw who had slain them. The Greek captain had emerged from the hatchway at the head of a band of screaming sailors. To a man, they were bedecked in bronze helmets, mail, and arms of all kind. In a whirlwind of swinging blades and jabbing points, they set upon every unsuspecting man, killing Roman, Greek, and slave alike. Before the legionaries realized what was happening, more than a dozen of them had fallen victim to the plunging Greek swords. Many, still weakened from sea-sickness, were cut down before they could draw out their own gladii. Bare necks were severed, mail shirts stabbed through, and men hacked to death like animals.

  The sailors, accustomed to the sea and little affected by the stomach-churning rolls of the previous evening, advanced from aft to fore in good order – thrusting, slashing, and slaying. The Greek captain stood in their second rank, pushing his men onward, encouraging them to kill without mercy. Evidently, he had convinced the small cadre that their best chance was to stand together. Confusion and madness now spread throughout the entire ship. Those who, moments before, had stood side by side in defiance of the admiral, now stood embraced in deadly struggles. Men without weapons were killed quickly, and then the armed men turned on each other. Single combats abounded. Some twos and threes united in many places, ganging up on individuals and killing them with a ruthlessness stirred from the evil depths of their souls. But as more and more fell to sword and cudgel, the small alliances invariably dissolved. This was not the case with the sailors under the Greek captain who kept his men together, even ordered them to open ranks to invite the stouter men to join them. Those whose skills lay more in seamanship than swordplay were not allowed inside the formation, and were killed outright.

  Libo noticed that a similar alliance had assembled on the foredeck, where a few of the more steady Romans had formed into a battle line and faced aft, killing any Greek or slave that approached. Like the Greeks, they allowed only their own countrymen through, and soon the two opposing formations were all that remained on deck, separated by a carpet of twitching bodies. The Greeks far outnumbered the Romans, and presaged their attack with confident jeers and curses. But those few legionaries that remained were the stouter ones, and they answered the Greeks with taunts and challenges of their own, their red-tipped gladii poised to taste more blood. The Greeks would not take them without heavy losses, but the Greek captain goaded his men forward in spite of this, himself standing in the rear as they advanced.

  Libo then noticed two men that he had not seen before. They emerged from the forward hatchway behind the Roman line. One was tall and broad-shouldered and wore the cross-plumed helmet of a centurion. This man was hardy, with stern features and eyes that gave the advancing Greek line the minutest of glances, as if the countless battles in his past had imbued him with an instinct to quickly assess and deal with any threat. The crimson gladius in his hand told of many such threats that he had already dispatched belowdecks. The man with the centurion was also Roman. He was a noble, suited in a costly bronze corselet and black cloak. This man was much slighter in stature than the centurion, older, and trimmed with graying hair around his ears. He appeared sickly and feeble – either that, or he was badly wounded. He leaned heavily on the centurion as both moved to join the Roman line.

  Whatever ailed him, Libo thought, he was important – of legate rank at least – and very likely knew the reason for the orange pennant. As the opposing lines joined battle, and the first row of Greeks began jabbing boarding pikes at the clustered legionaries, Libo moved closer to Bibulus that he might speak unheard. Bibulus seemed lost in another world, but unlike the others on the flagship, who gleefully watched the melee and hooted and howled at each fatal thrust, the admiral gazed at the shore.

  "Admiral, I am certain there is some kind of importance attached to that shi
p. If not something, then someone." Libo waited for some response to this, but seeing that none was forthcoming, he spoke again. "That man there, under the protection of the big centurion, he looks to be of senior rank. Do you see him?"

  Bibulus cast a casual glance at the ship before turning his attention back to the shore, and said simply, "I see no such person."

  Libo was frustrated by this answer, but turned to see that the admiral had indeed spoken the truth. The middle-aged noble had quite disappeared amongst the cluster of legionaries that now desperately parried the thrusts of the Greek pikes. Libo did, however, pick out the centurion just as the big man's sword ripped open the throat of a sailor in a move that hardly spanned the blink of an eye. A spray of blood from his victim's open neck speckled the centurion's face and helmet, but it seemed to have little effect except to make him look more hideous and imposing to his attackers.

  The Greek captain soon recognized the difficulty this new warrior would present and directed two of his better armed swordsmen to advance on the centurion. Moments later, both men were stumbling to the rear, one clutching a blossom of crimson burgeoning from his groin, the other clawing at the slit in his helmet where a thrust of the centurion’s gladius had entered and turned one eye into jelly.

  Libo considered that the noble might be sitting on the deck just behind the centurion, unable to stand from whatever injury he had suffered earlier. Or perhaps he was already dead and lying amongst the growing number of Romans that had fallen to the unceasing thrusts of the deadly pikes. The Roman defense would fail. That much was clear. The Greeks were too numerous. Libo felt that he had to do something. If not now, then never.

  "Admiral, I have changed my mind. I have made my choice, and I choose to spare the life of that legate, if he still lives. I beg you to call a stop to this at once before he is harmed by those filthy Greeks."

  "It cannot be stopped," the admiral said dismissively. "The augury has chosen. Besides, I prefer the dirty Greek to the treasonous Roman."