“What?” Caesar looked up and glanced across the ravine, seemingly seeing the enemy for the first time.
“The engineers, sir. They are in great peril. They await your order to withdraw.”
“Well, of course, they should be withdrawn,” Caesar answered as if he was surprised it had not yet been done. “What are you waiting for, man?”
“But you wished the bridge to be salvaged, sir – ”
“Does your hand need holding, too, Publius, as it seems Antony’s does? Get the men out of there!”
“Yes, General.”
Publius barked orders to his tribunes and then watched with suppressed irritation as they rode up and down the north bank shouting for the engineers on the south side to abandon the bridge and hasten back across. But it was too late. The shouting centurions had already formed the engineers into an orbis as was expected when hopelessly outnumbered, the last ditch circular formation bristled with outward pointing spears. It was often the last terrifying thing a charging horseman beheld before the angled pila impaled his horse and he found himself flying into the rear ranks to be savaged by a dozen waiting gladii. Several of the Galatian and Cappadocian riders met this fate as the lead squadrons crashed into the formation with a clap like that of thunder. The beasts whinnied as they were driven onto the planted pila, but several horses broke through the line and, with blazing eyes and stomping hoofs, began spinning wildly inside the Roman ranks, crushing ribs, limbs and skulls in their paths. One rider threw a javelin at an unseen man beneath, and then began slashing wildly with a curved sword. Two bloody hands grasped this rider’s leg and yanked him off of his mount, pulling him down into the fray where he was lost from view. Another Galatian cried in alarm as a legionary climbed onto his mount behind him, wrapped one arm around the horseman’s neck, and brutally wrenched him from the saddle. The Galatian fell kicking amongst the stabbing gladii below. Other legionaries fought bravely, and bravely met their ends transfixed by the deadly lances.
As the orbis was slowly torn apart and lost from view by the swirl of horsemen, one centurion, helmetless and separated from the rest, stood poised with a bloody pilum, fending off one horseman after another. With every thrust that felled an enemy rider, he let out a lusty “Hail, Caesar!” At every pause in the attacks arrayed against him, he turned to face across the gorge, staring up at the hill upon which Caesar and his staff sat, and again shouted out “Hail, Caesar!” The words were distinct and clear above the din of the melee.
What madness! Publius thought. Then, it suddenly occurred to him that the battle-crazed centurion was none other than the man Caesar had demoted only moments ago. The centurion was berserk now, blood streaming from his temples, a cluster of twitching bodies at his feet, and no other Roman anywhere nearby that could possibly come to his aid. He was doomed, yet even now, his last devotion was to Caesar, or so it appeared. Perhaps the madness of battle had simply overcome him. Either way, Publius marveled at the influence the master politician turned general had over the rank and file. Even those who had reason to hate him, in the end, would go to their deaths to please him.
It was not long before the centurion’s fortune ran out. From all sides, more leveled lances closed in. When one of the centurion’s parries missed a thrusting shaft, the unfettered lance tip buried itself deep within his exposed neck. A sudden crimson spout dressed the manes of the nearby horses, and the centurion fell dead without another sound.
The entire staff had watched the centurion’s final moments, and many commented to one another on his gallantry. Publius himself was quite shaken by it. He turned to Caesar, expecting the consul to be equally as moved, but Caesar had already turned his attention back to the letter.
“Damn, Antony!” Caesar said. “If my army was not afoot in two lands separated by fifty miles of boiling seas, what I wouldn’t do to Pompey!”
“Pompey comes on brazenly, General,” Publius replied half-heartedly, still thinking of the centurion. “He hounds our heels at every turn. It seems he does not fear us.”
“He does not fear us, Publius, because he outnumbers us. Pompey is a wise old soldier. As archaic as his battle tactics tend to be, he is a fair strategist. He knows I cannot feed my army in this land. He has seen to it that the countryside was scoured to deprive me of forage. Now, he forces me away from the sea, my only source of reinforcement.”
“The map shows that we will encounter a river on this road, Caesar. Without materials to build a proper bridge, we will have no choice but to fight.”
“Wrong, Publius,” Caesar said in a lighthearted tone. “There is another option. We can simply float down the river back to the sea and bid the men swim for Italy.”
A cheer rang out from the far side of the bridge. Bloody lances were held aloft as the horsemen celebrated the massacre. All of the engineers and slaves had fallen. Now, with no Roman left alive on the south bank, the Cretan archers on the north bank stepped up and threw back their cloaks to reveal quivers brimming with feathered shafts. As one man, they notched their arrows, and within moments, wave after wave of deadly missiles were sailing over the expanse and into the jumbled squadrons of reveling cavalry. The revelry turned to panic as riders began to fall, and injured horses began running frantically in every direction. Soon the mounted squadrons retreated back up the road, leaving several of their number behind.
“Pompey’s infantry will be up before nightfall,” Publius said. “I believe we can salvage no more, General.”
Caesar nodded, Publius issued orders, and the surviving engineers assembled to fire the remnants of the bridge.
“Pompey will not cross here,” Caesar said. “He will worry that we might try a quick march to Dyrrachium. He will move closer to the coast and shadow our movements, staying between us and the sea.” Caesar’s face then lost all expression as he stared at the burning bridge, as if a thought had suddenly crossed his mind.
“What is it, General?”
“Pompey will stay between us and the sea,” Caesar said distantly, staring at the fire for a few more moments before suddenly wheeling in the saddle to face Publius. “He will stay between us and the sea! That’s it, Publius!”
“I am not sure I understand, sir.”
“Hand me that map, Publius.” Caesar took the map and stretched it across the neck of his horse, hurriedly tracing out several lines with a bony finger. His face lit up with joy when he found whatever it was he was looking for. “Yes, yes, of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?”
“Think of what, my lord?”
“We need Antony, Publius,” Caesar said vigorously, ignoring the question. “Damn him for his timidity, but we need him now! I must go to Italy at once. I will ride for the coast tonight. I’ll find something to get me across – a fishing boat, a skiff, anything that floats, for Jupiter’s sake – but I will get across!”
“Please, Caesar,” Publius pleaded. “That is madness. Even if you could avoid Pompey’s patrols and reach the coast, the seas are too treacherous this time of year. We cannot risk you. Not to mention what the men might do, should they hear you’ve gone back to Italy.”
“Antony’s message reached us here without problem,” Caesar said optimistically. “Why should it not be the same with me? It will only be for two or three days at the most, Publius.”
“I think I speak for the rest of the legates, Caesar, when I say we cannot allow it for fear of your safety.” Publius exchanged glances with Caesar and saw that the consul comprehended his true fear, which was the prospect that Caesar might choose to remain in Italy and abandon the army. “There must be an alternative solution, my lord.”
“Not likely, Publius. Antony has spurned all of my previous summons. Perhaps he will obey, if I interrupt his debauchery in person.”
“There has to be another way, sir. Perhaps we could send another. One of the tribunes? A young gentleman would have a much better chance of getting through unnoticed.”
“Perhaps you are right, Publius.” Caesar sighed and
watched as the bridge began to collapse in a shower of sparks. He then looked at the map, and said again, “Perhaps you are right.”
XVII
The fleet cruised quietly across the moonlit Adriatic. It was the second night at sea after leaving Corcyra. Aboard the Argonaut, Senator Postumus sat on a chair in his stateroom dictating a letter to Flavius who sat at a small desk lit by a single lamp. They were interrupted by one of the senator’s bodyguards who knocked on the door and announced that Postumus had a visitor.
"Why are you here?" Postumus said, as Barca crept into the cabin, appearing somewhat nervous.
The paunchy overseer did not answer, at first, but scanned the small cabin, as if to see if someone else might be there, hiding in the shadows.
“You may speak, man,” Postumus said, somewhat annoyed at the oaf’s anxiety. “There is no one here but the three of us. I would not have admitted you otherwise. Are you here to tell me that you have finally completed the task I asked of you? Is the centurion food for the sharks?”
“Forgive me, Excellency,” Barca replied humbly. “But the senator bad me do two things.”
“Did I now?”
“Yes, Excellency.”
“Well?” Postumus grew annoyed. “Have you completed both, or one, or none?”
“My lord asked me to do away with a former centurion, a man who now pulls an oar for this ship. Sadly, my lord, I have not yet accomplished this task. I have gone to great lengths to provoke him, but he is an obedient slave.”
“You are the chief overseer, man! I hardly think you need a reason to whip a slave to death. If you can’t incite him to strike you, then simply concoct some false reason to have him killed. I’m sure you know how to be rid of a slave that displeases you.”
“It is difficult, Excellency.”
Postumus eyed him. “Meaning, you want more money.”
Barca smiled meekly and shrugged. “But this is not the reason I have come to you tonight, Excellency. I come to report on the other task the senator has given me. I was to monitor the comings and goings of a certain female passenger, the Lady Calpurnia.”
"Yes,” Postumus sighed. “I asked you to keep your eyes open. What of her?"
“For the past two nights, at the changing of the watch, the lady has exhibited an odd behavior. She has descended into the hold and has remained there for nearly an hour before returning to her quarters. She has been alone on both occasions, leaving her handmaid in the stern cabin. On both occasions, no one has followed her into the hold, nor has anyone emerged after she has left. It is most curious, Excellency, and I thought the senator would wish to know of it.”
Postumus exchanged puzzled looks with Flavius.
“That is most curious,” Flavius said intriguingly. “You say no one else was in the hold with her during these times?”
Barca smiled, exposing his crooked teeth. “None of the lads will go down there, these days, my lord, lest they’ve got an armed guard with them.”
“Why is that?”
“They believe the lower deck is haunted, my lord. There have been some unexplained deaths down there, and it’s got men talking. They think it’s the ghost of old Admiral Bibulus come to collect his revenge.”
Flavius laughed out loud. “What a superstitious lot you sailors are.”
“If you say so, my lord.”
“Perhaps those superstitions will work to our advantage.”
“What are you thinking, Flavius?” Postumus asked, after seeing the calculating look on his adjutant’s face.
“I believe we may have an opportunity to eliminate all of our obstacles, Senator,” Flavius said. He then turned to Barca. “You say Lady Calpurnia does this every night, at the changing of the watch?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“So, it is likely she will visit the hold again tonight?”
“Very likely, my lord.”
“Then, tonight, you must do exactly as I say. You must take the centurion to the hold before the lady arrives. Shackle him and then leave. But before you leave, place the key to his shackles nearby, somewhere outside of his reach yet clearly visible. Is that understood?”
“Your instructions are clear, my lord.” Barca appeared hesitant. “It is just that…”
“What is it, man? Surely, you do not believe the hold is haunted?”
“No, my lord, it isn’t that. It’s just that the senator mentioned more money, and I thought perhaps –“
“You are a scoundrel, overseer,” Postumus interrupted, and then nodded to Flavius.
Flavius unlocked a chest and then produced a small bag which he tossed casually onto the table. The clinking of metal and the weighty sound lit a fire in the overseer’s eyes.
“Will that be sufficient?” Postumus asked. “There is more silver there than you might see in a year.”
“It is most generous, Excellency.” The overseer could not help but grin with delight.
“Then go,” Postumus said, dismissing him. “And be sure you do exactly as you have been told!”
“Yes, Excellency.”
“You wish it to appear as though the centurion attacked her?” Postumus asked Flavius, after the overseer had left the cabin.
“Precisely, my lord. I will take your guards with me. We shall use a dagger to kill the centurion, and then strangle the woman and leave the weapon in her hand.”
“Good. Once they are dead, we can finally clean up this mess Bibulus has made for us.” Postumus smiled.
“But, Senator, will not Admiral Libo suspect something?”
“He will, or he won’t. It makes no difference. I am convinced he knows nothing of this. When the bodies of Calpurnia and the centurion are discovered, he will certainly guess something is amiss, but you will arrange it such that the evidence speaks for itself.”
“And when we meet with Antony?” Flavius asked skeptically. “What will the admiral do then?”
“He will follow orders, like all good soldiers do,” Postumus replied assuredly. “He will do as I tell him, believing it is the will of the Senate.” Postumus then chuckled to himself as he took a sip of wine.
“What is it, Senator?”
“I was just thinking, Flavius, how ironic it all is. If all goes as planned, this half-baked scheme of Bibulus’s, which he undoubtedly envisioned would cause our ruin, might very well leave us in control of the entire empire.”
XVIII
Calpurnia crept carefully in the darkness, listening and watching. She moved along a narrow walkway suspended above the black, knee-deep water sloshing in the bilge. Above her and all around her, the ship creaked with every tilt of the rocking hull. Stacked crates, casks, and amphorae were tightly lashed along both sides of the walkway. She was deep within the heart of the ship, where light did not penetrate, where the Argonaut carried all of the stores necessary to keep a one hundred fifty foot, three-decked warship, and its seven hundred-man crew at sea for weeks on end. There was even a small pen where a dismal group of swine rooted in the dark, awaiting their turn on the butcher’s block.
The small lamp burned dimly in her hand, its light seemingly swallowed up by the black voids around her. More than once, she had been startled by the sudden appearance of a scurrying rat, whose wiry-haired shadow was amplified to ten times its normal size by a trick of the light.
She had no reason to be afraid, she kept telling herself. She had ventured down into the dark hold two nights in a row now, under the strident belief that rats were not the only inhabitants of this dank, seldom visited place. Somewhere, in the vast compartment that stretched off into the darkness before her – somewhere in one of the hundreds of cavernous chambers formed by the spine and ribs of the ship – she would find him. He had to be here. She was certain of it.
As she took each step, the conversation she had earlier with Marjanita resounded in her head.
“No. I will not allow it, my lady,” Marjanita had protested, just as she had on the past two nights. “It is too dangerous for you to go by y
ourself, my lady. I insist on going with you!”
“Are you forgetting your place, Marjanita?” Calpurnia had reprimanded her lightly.
“It is my place to protect you, my lady.”
“I will be fine. He will never reveal himself, if you are with me. Your brusque manner would surely frighten him off. I must find him. I must know the truth about my father’s death.”
“But he is a creature, my lady – little more than a beast of the field. His mind is gone. And I never liked the way he looked at you.” Marjanita appeared disgusted at the thought. “His eye is like that of a vulture.”
It finally came to the point of threatening to punish her before the nearly insubordinate Marjanita ceased her protests and allowed Calpurnia to leave. Calpurnia could not hold Marjanita responsible for her perception of Odulph, for she was like the others, who had only seen Odulph in his bestial form – an enraged, caged animal that hated the world, only showing allegiance to the master who owned and fed him. But Calpurnia knew a different man – yes, man – for that is what he once was. Deep inside, she knew the soul of the man was still there, capable of love, and of being loved.
No one, not even her father, knew that a relationship of sorts had developed between her and Odulph. Just as no one knew about those long months in Antioch with her brothers dead and her father slipping into insanity, how she starved for companionship, for someone that might relate to her suffering and loss. Living in the immense governor’s estate, amongst a people whose culture and customs were far removed from those of the Latins, even under the protection of the unreservedly loyal Marjanita, she had felt so utterly alone.
She had come upon him quite by accident, in the estate’s vast, stone-fenced garden, one bright spring morning. That place, with its dazzling colors, enchanting aromas, and soothing fountains had always been a place of tranquility for her. Her father had had the cage moved to the sunlit garden that day for some superstitious reason or other, and had left it there as state business took him away for several hours. She had been thinking of her brothers, as she walked amongst the colorful rows of red, gold, and lavender, as she did every morning, when she rounded a hedge and found the cage sitting in her path, and herself face-to-face with the twisted features that had repulsed so many. Odulph’s sudden appearance had startled her, but then she was surprised to see that he had been no less startled by her. She realized that she had interrupted his careful study of a vibrant pink rose that swayed in the breeze slightly more than an arm’s reach beyond the bars of the cage, and she somehow sensed that he was very sad.
Rome: Tempest of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series) Page 16
