She nodded and smiled, hiding her inward frustration. She had wished for all items, no matter how perishable, to be left undisturbed. Of course she suspected foul play in her father's death. How could she not, when he was reviled in so many corners of the republic? She had seen his decomposing body as the family slaves had prepared it for its fiery burial, and had been assured by them, and by her own eyes, that his body contained no wound of any kind. Naturally, she suspected poison, but how could such a thing ever be proved?
The sun-bleached curtain was parted. She entered the small antechamber and then passed through to the quarters beyond. She stopped just inside the doorway for several long moments, catching the faint aroma of the olive oil her father had often used on his weathered skin. The room had his essence and felt as though he had just left. The cot with blankets still ruffled. The chests lining the perimeter, some open, some with the contents spilling out onto the deck. The empty breastplate and helmet adorning the crosspieces in the far corner, facing her, as if watching her every move. The small table with charts rolled and strewn amidst a scattering of ornate paperweights, each resembling a horse or wolf head. Some charts were bundled, some crumpled and tossed aside.
"You see, my lady," Naevius said, waiting a respectable interval before entering behind her. "It is as we found it."
Calpurnia did not doubt that was true. She would have been more suspicious had every item been in its proper place. The condition of the quarters was like a reflection of her father's mental state. She crossed to the rack holding the armor and gazed curiously into the hollow eyes of the bronze faceplate, her lithe fingers tracing the features of the cold steel as though they were her father's.
"I will, of course, see that all is packed and sent ashore whenever you give the word, my lady," Naevius said carefully, his eyes glancing at the open window.
"I will not inconvenience you long, Captain," she replied, sensing the trace of urgency in his tone, and quickly deducing the reason for it. "Who has been chosen to replace my father?"
"It is only rumor, my lady, but it is said that Scribonius Libo has been given that honor."
"And when does he arrive?"
"The coastal watchers sighted his squadron yesterday, entering the straits. If that is true, he should arrive anytime now."
Calpurnia could see the harbor entrance through the window, the sea beyond glittering in the setting sun. No warships were approaching as far as the eye could see, only a cluster of fishing craft returning with the day's catch. She did not know Libo, other than to know that he had been trusted by her father.
As the setting sun peeked into the window frame, its orange rays gleamed against the bars of the cage in the opposite corner. Calpurnia had been so overcome with the memory of her father that she had quite forgotten about Odulph. But her father’s pet augury was not there. The cage was empty, its unlatched door creaking on its hinges ever so slightly as Argonaut felt each swell of the harbor.
"Has Odulph been removed to the shore, Captain?"
"No, my lady. As I said, the quarters are as we found them. The creature was gone when we discovered your father. The door to the cage was found ajar, as you see it now. We suspect the creature was lost overboard."
"How curious," she said, fingering the lock that still held the key. She had seen that key so often hanging from her father's neck. He never parted with it, that she remembered. "Did Odulph take the key from him, or did he open the cage willingly?"
"Impossible to say, my lady."
"Or did someone else open it?"
"No one else entered this room."
"Are you certain, captain?"
"Quite certain. It was I who found him, on the floor, over there. There was no one else. The creature was gone, and the admiral was dead, Neptune bless him."
"I have never seen this key off of my father's person."
"Nor have I, my lady. I can only surmise that the admiral, for some reason, decided to unlock the cage just before his ailment struck, then the creature, confused in its sudden freedom, leapt out of the portal and into the sea."
"And why do you assume this? Might not Odulph have taken the key from my father's body, and freed himself?"
Naevius eyed her reluctantly, "I would have preferred not to show you this, my lady, but under the circumstances..."
He reached down and swept aside a carpet that had been covering the floor. Calpurnia gasped briefly when she saw the crimson stain on the wooden planks beneath, marking the spot where her father's body had been found. It was more than an arm's length away from the cage, too far for even Odulph's long arms to reach.
"I believe your father chose to open the cage, for some unknown reason, perhaps to perform one of his rituals. The creature made some sudden movement that took the admiral by surprise, a shock his overstrained body could not withstand. His heart froze, and he fell to the floor, dead. The creature panicked and leapt over the side. You can see there the bloody prints of the creature's stumps leading to the port hole. You know as well as I, its brain was little more than that of an ape. It had no knowledge of what it was doing."
"And you don't think Odulph killed my father?" she asked, more to see Naevius's reaction to the suggestion of murder.
The captain shrugged. "There were no marks on the body, my lady, and no handprints in blood as one might suspect had the creature strangled him."
"Perhaps there was another here, in my father's quarters, at the same time?" She watched him closely. "Did he have any visitors that day?"
The captain made a poor display of straining to recollect before answering. "None, my lady. The admiral spent most of the day in his quarters and was seldom seen on deck."
"Did the fleet have any visitors, captain? Anyone at all?"
He looked back at her, his face quickly turning to frustration beneath a thin layer of courtesy. "No, my lady. Now, I must leave you. I apologize, but there are many things to be done before Libo's arrival. Might I find someone to assist you in going through the admiral's things? The hour is getting late."
Calpurnia did not answer. She knew the captain wanted her and every trace of her father removed from his ship as soon as possible. What's more, she knew that he was lying. She gazed upon the bed, moved to it, and began to stroke the place where her father's head had spent its last night on this earth. She allowed a tear to streak down her face as the captain watched, and he grew visibly more uncomfortable at the display of emotion and the silence between them. Finally, when she felt that he had seen enough to pluck at the few heartstrings he had, she turned to face him.
"I have decided not to go ashore this evening, captain. I will sleep here tonight, in my father's bed. I will feel close to him, his scent, his aura, one last time."
"My lady," Naevius said, fumbling for the right words. "I wish nothing more than to accommodate you, but I am afraid that is quite impossible. The new commander will -"
"- will arrive at any moment, yes, I know. But his squadron is not yet in sight and the sun is nearly down. You know as well as I that he will not risk the narrow shoals of this harbor at night. So, he will not arrive until tomorrow at the earliest. And when he does, I am sure he will be delighted to hear how generously you treated his predecessor's grieving daughter and, with this one kind allowance, helped to mend her aching heart."
Naevius’s displeasure was evident on his face, but he eventually capitulated. "Very well, my lady. I will see that a guard is placed on your doorstep and that you are escorted everywhere you go."
"The guard at my door will be sufficient. I do not require such an escort."
"But I must insist, my lady. My men have been at sea a long time, and may not be in their right minds should they see a lovely lady such as yourself wandering the deck alone. Should any one of them insult you in the smallest way, I will certainly feed that man to the sharks, but it is wise to take such a precaution regardless."
"Oh, very well," she replied with a sigh.
"I will also place several slaves at
your disposal to see to all of your bodily needs."
"Thank you, but the slaves will not be necessary. My own handmaid will suffice."
Naevius swallowed hard, as if her every word were a parry to his. "Then perhaps you would honor my officers by dining with us this evening? Senator Postumus has also been invited."
"That is most kind, captain. I would be delighted."
"Splendid. Well, until then, I will leave you in peace, my lady.”
Naevius ducked out of the room, his manner overly courteous as he left.
So, the senator was also staying the night aboard. The thought made Calpurnia’s heart skip a beat. Could it be so simple? Could her immediate suspicions be correct, and the answers she had come searching for so easily obtained?
Moments later, Marjanita entered the room. She had been waiting just outside in the antechamber.
"Shall I prepare these quarters for you, my lady?" the handmaid asked, her eyes revealing her surprise at the mess.
"No. Have my things brought aboard from the barge, and leave me in peace for a few moments."
"Yes, my lady, but please forgive me. I overheard what that oaf was telling you. Do not believe it for a moment, my lady.”
“Do not believe what?”
“Your father’s heart did not fail him, my lady. He was murdered! As I told you before, I was watching the stars on the night of his death. I am certain of what I saw. Mars reached his apogee just as the moon rose from a purple horizon, and such signifies the murder of a great man. There is no other meaning. Oh, do not believe that fool, my lady. A foul murder was committed that night, in this very room!”
XI
When the handmaid had left, Calpurnia strolled to the window and gazed out at the anchored fleet riding on the glistening bay. It was a sight that never ceased to dazzle her. From this vantage point she could see nearly three dozen warships, each one a world unto itself, each with its own captain, its own officers, marines, sailors, craftsmen, slaves, and internal politics. The ships were like the republic, orderly and seemingly harmonious when viewed from without, but within filled with scheming and strife.
Between shifts in the breeze she heard a woman's laugh echo across the bay. There were victualing craft in the harbor, gliding lazily between the long shadows, rowing from one ship to another, providing everything from food, to clothing, to carnal pleasures. A group of half-dressed women were just leaving a nearby quinquereme. A mass of salivating men crowded against the rail, laughing and making obscene gestures. Obviously, the women were whores, and the gaggle of sea-weary men their most recent patrons. They waved back gamely to the sailors as their small boat rowed for the next warship down the line. They could not afford to rest while the fleet was in harbor, when a year's income could be had in the course of a few days. The lewd exclamations of the lascivious men, laced with some of the most bane euphemisms Calpurnia had ever heard, repulsed her. Yet it was simple and honest, and sometimes she longed for a simple and honest life. Did those whores on the barge have to bother with the facades of the elite? The men they served were plain and straightforward, with one purpose only, whereas the men she had to deal with were duplicitous and patronizing. At times, she longed for the obscurity of a commoner’s life, and dreamed of a day when the family's honor was not hers to defend.
As the only surviving child of Bibulus, Calpurnia now represented the family in all matters, taking the place that would have been fulfilled by her two brothers had they not both been murdered in Egypt. The deaths of Drusus and Quintus had been the tipping point, the brim over which her father's mind had spilled into madness.
She had not just lost two brothers on that tragic day, years ago, when the news of their deaths reached the governor’s villa in Antioch. She had also lost a father. She had cried for days on end, until her eyes could yield no more tears, but she never saw her father cry. From that day on, he never uttered their names, and she seldom saw her true father again. He was as a body from which the soul had flown. In the years since, there had been only a few fleeting moments in which she saw the same smile and felt the same warm touch she had once known, but the unfeeling shell of a man was always quick to return. He began consulting the auguries more often than ever, pursuing the supposed will of the gods at every turn, the murder of his sons seemingly forgotten. Odulph was his preferred conduit to the deities, and in some ways his replacement for Drusus and Quintus, for she had often heard him discoursing with the mute captive into the late hours of the evening. He would talk while Odulph grunted from his cage, whether out of concurrence or irritation her father did not seem to care. Over time, through some twisted interpretation of Odulph’s eating habits, or bowel excretions, or the patterns in his lice infested hair, her father had convinced himself that the tyrant Caesar was to blame for all evil in the world, and that he must be destroyed. It had evolved into an obsession, in the end. Especially after he had been summoned back to the West to take command of the fleet against the tyrant.
She remembered the last time she had spoken with her father. The night was cold and rainy, and the fleet was set to sail the next day. She had planned to dine with him one last time, but was surprised to learn from the house servants that her father had taken a chariot off to a small shrine far into the hills of Corcyra, a habitation of the nymphs considered sacred by the locals. Calpurnia had immediately summoned her own chariot that she might go after him.
The place was in a narrow gorge closed in by rocky cliffs. There, a small marble shrine had been erected next to a fiery jet that issued from a hole in the ground. The immense flame seemed to have a life of its own, sometimes diminishing to little more than a torch, and then thunderously returning to the height of two men. Calpurnia had never seen it before and was amazed at how it continued to burn, even in the driving rain. She found her father there, as expected, his arms outstretched before the fire, his hair and tunic drenched, while some bearded hermit priest or caretaker of the shrine performed an incantation. The priest periodically dipped his hand into a ceramic vessel from which he drew out a pinch of a grainy substance, which from the aroma in the air Calpurnia took to be incense. The priest carefully handed the grain to her father, and then her father cast it into the fire. Each time he did this, he would glance with expectation at the priest who responded by shaking his head in disappointment, and then they performed the whole ritual again.
“Father, what are you doing here?” she had interrupted after watching the procedure repeated three times.
“Is that my dear daughter?” Bibulus had replied, turning his distraught face to the darkness from which she came. “Is that you, my dear Calpurnia?”
“It is I, father. And I wish to know why you insist on such foolishness the night before you sail. You should be home resting in your warm bed. You will not have another peaceful sleep for quite some time. Why do you distress yourself so?”
“Oh, Calpurnia. I knew not where to turn. Odulph will not answer me, and I must know the will of the gods before I sail! I must know that they are on my side!”
He seemed at his wits end, peering into her eyes as a child might cry over a lost toy. Calpurnia had seen such behavior from him before, whenever Odulph was in a mood and would not respond to his rituals. She would never tell it to her father, but she knew that the broken man inside the cage was not a mindless animal as the captain of the Argonaut and so many others believed. Odulph was a man – a living, breathing, thinking, and scheming man, like any other. He had learned to sense her father’s desperation, and often chose those times to be the least cooperative. Perhaps it was his way of gaining some sense of satisfaction, of wielding some measure of control, since his whole existence passed within the confines of the cage.
“I am sure the gods are with you, father,” she said, consolingly. “You sail for a noble cause, to stop the tyrant from tearing our republic apart.”
“Really?” he replied, suddenly defiant towards her. “Then see for yourself!”
Bibulus thrust out his hand a
gain, and the priest handed him a single grain of incense. Bibulus then closed his eyes and tossed the grain into the roaring flames. The grain passed through the bluish-yellow fire and emerged from the other side to fall onto the rocks beyond. Again, he looked at the priest who stared up at him with somber eyes and shook his head.
“There!” Bibulus said. “You see? The grain is not consumed.”
“It is raining, father. Perhaps it is damp –“
“No!” he interrupted, seemingly upset to the point of tears. “The priest says the nymphs always answer, rain or shine. And they say no. They say no, Calpurnia! Tomorrow, I sail to my own death, and Caesar marches to victory!”
As her father broke down before her, she shot a concealed look of anger at the priest who meekly adverted his eyes.
“Come now, father. Perhaps your questions are the problem.”
“My questions are simple. There can be no misinterpretation.”
“Please tell me.”
“I asked, will I defeat Caesar? And the answer was no. I asked, will Caesar be defeated by another? And the answer was no. Finally, I asked, will I survive this voyage? And the answer was no, Calpurnia! No, no, no! I am doomed. That must be why Odulph would not answer me. He foresaw my death, and he did not wish to tell me. The poor creature.”
“Father, I am surprised at you. You know you cannot ask these fire nymphs about matters of death. They do not answer questions pertaining to death or marriage. Is that not right, priest?”
The bearded man nodded somewhat reluctantly.
“You were asking about matters of war, and the nymphs know nothing of such matters. I am surprised this man did not remind you.” Again, she eyed the priest threateningly. “Now, father. Think of something you know to be true, something in no way connected to marriage or death, and let us see what happens.”
She gave the priest a hostile look. He did not meet her gaze directly, but he seemed to comprehend her meaning. She had been watching him closely before, and noticed that this time he collected a grain from a different side of the bowl.
Rome: Tempest of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series) Page 12
