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

by R. Cameron Cooke

  At the same time, the five ships from the harbor landed on the opposite side of the island. A similar sized retinue of armored legionaries also stopped at the water’s edge, allowing their delegation of three to proceed to the meeting spot at the island’s center.

  Libo waited with Postumus and Flavius while the other delegation advanced. The highest point on the island was scarcely the height of a man above sea level, so he was able to observe the approaching party from the moment they had debarked. He quickly identified Antony among the three men, his large stature and prominent forehead setting him apart from the others nearly as much as the polished bronze corselet glimmering beneath his billowing scarlet cloak. The Caesarian general had a commanding presence about him, marching briskly several paces ahead of the two men accompanying him. He wore no helmet, allowing Libo to see a visible measure of trepidation in his eyes as they scanned the low dunes around him, as if treachery lurked beneath the sand itself.

  Libo fidgeted internally over this opportune moment while Antony was in the open, but he knew the distance to the Faun was far too great. Not even Centurion Domitius, whom Libo prayed was at this moment watching from the scorpion hidden beneath the canvas shroud on the Faun’s bow, could hope to hit Antony from that range. He would need to wait until Antony was closer, and he wished to encourage him to come as close as possible.

  With this in mind, Libo forced a warm smile and raised a hand in greeting. "Salutations and blessings upon you, Marcus Antonius."

  Antony immediately stopped in his tracks, still a good twenty paces away, his face showing misgivings over the overtly friendly greeting, and Libo inwardly cursed himself for his own foolish error. Even more problematic were Antony’s attendants. While one was a blonde-haired, pasty white, clerical-looking type who wore an ill-fitting mail shirt over his pot-bellied torso, the other was a daunting knight of middle age who was well-armed and wore a glimmering bronze helmet with a flaring green plume. This grim-faced warrior had taken up a position between the two groups such that any missile aimed at his general would be blocked by his large frame.

  Antony seemed dismissive of Libo's salute. The leery-eyed general did not acknowledge him in the least, but smiled curtly at Postumus as if the senator were the only one worthy to address him.

  "Postumus, my old friend," Antony said, a bit too genially. "I must admit, I'm not surprised to find you involved in all this. You always were a scheming old son of a whore."

  Postumus looked back at him contemptuously. "No less surprised than I to find you standing here today, a man so devoid of principle that he would cheerfully sell out his master for his own personal gain."

  At this, Antony seemed to check himself, as if choking back the response that was on his lips. After a smile that appeared much more genuine, he spread his palms wide. "Come, come. These long-standing differences between us need not hamper this arrangement. There is no need for insults. Especially after the generous offer you have extended me. I am both honored and touched, Senator.”

  "I assure you, neither the offer nor the honor came from me,” Postumus said, still bridling. “I come to you today only at the bidding of the man I serve. Believe me, I argued that he could have gotten you for much less."

  The animation left Antony's features, as a player removes a mask. He regarded the senator coolly as he spoke through gritted teeth. "Take assurance, Postumus, that when all of this is over, and you tragically number among the fallen of this war, I shall personally see that your severed cock is delivered to your widow that she might honor it at the next Liberalia."

  “Most kind,” Postumus replied tersely. “Might I also assure you that –”

  "Please, gentlemen!" Libo said, stepping between them. "This is senseless."

  "Who is this upstart, Postumus?" Antony asked. “We were just getting started.”

  Postumus sighed. "This is Scribonius Libo. He commands the fleet that now blockades your coast."

  "Ah, yes, Bibulus's replacement. I remember you, now.” Antony’s tone was rife with unveiled condescension. "Pity to hear about old Bibulus. But, perhaps he got what was coming to him. The crazy bastard, burning my poor ships and soldiers like that. He always was a few rods shy of a fasces.”

  Libo nodded cordially, but said nothing, wishing that he could give the signal that would silence the traitor’s overconfident tongue, but still the green-plumed knight stood in the path.

  Flavius leaned toward Postumus and said quietly. “Shall we proceed with the business at hand, Senator?”

  “I think that would be wise, General,” Antony’s aide whispered, almost inaudibly.

  Postumus looked at Antony. “You know who we represent?”

  “Yes,” Antony replied. “I know who you claim to represent. But questions remain.”

  “Then let this settle those questions.” Postumus held up the ring bearing the raven signet and tossed it into the sand at Antony’s feet.

  The blonde aide leaned over to retrieve it, and studied it intently, before turning to Antony and nodding. “It is authentic, General.”

  “My, my,” Antony said, shaking his head and glancing impishly from Libo to Postumus. “Had I not seen it, I would not have believed it. The Senate-in-exile and the fleet both on the Raven’s leash. I suppose Pompey’s army is as well, eh?”

  “I think that my presence here, along with Admiral Libo, confirms that,” answered Postumus.

  “Yes, but who is the Raven? That is the most intriguing question of all. Is it you, Postumus, my old chum?”

  The senator did not blink. “An agreement has been made. We are here to receive the treasury gold from you. I assume you have brought it with you.”

  Antony glanced over his shoulder to the beached ships behind him. Four of the craft were mastless galleys, their decks shaded by bright green canvas awnings, beneath which stack upon stack of crates were visible.

  “It’s all there,” Antony said smiling.

  “Of course, but we wish to inspect it, all the same.”

  “You are welcome to do so.”

  Antony gestured to the blonde aide. Postumus did the same to Flavius, and then both aides walked together to the moored galleys, where planks were run out to receive them. While Antony and Postumus remained on the beach staring at one another, Libo watched the adjutants in the distance. They pulled open one crate after another, inspecting the contents of each. Both men appeared to be immersed in deep conversation, and Libo found that odd.

  What could they be discussing at such great lengths? Was it possible they were old acquaintances? Had they known each other prior to the war?

  But Libo’s attention was drawn away from these thoughts when the knight moved closer to Antony to whisper something in Antony’s ear. He had moved just enough to yield a clear path between the Faun and Antony. As much as Libo desperately wished to give the signal and send the missile on its deadly flight to end the life of the despicable traitor, he hesitated. There was something going on here, and he wanted to know more. Postumus’s behavior was unsettling to Libo. It went beyond play-acting. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The senator appeared much too natural in his discourse, his demeanor too comfortable, like that of the two aides who now returned still talking in low tones.

  The next moment, the opportunity had passed. The knight had returned to his former position, and the shot was again obstructed.

  “It appears to be the agreed upon sum, my lord,” Flavius reported to senator with a cunning glance.

  “Excellent!” Postumus replied, his face adorned with the first genuine smile Libo had ever seen there.

  “You do realize, my old friend,” Antony butted in, “the gold remains with me until I have been instated as commander of the Optimates forces, and Pompey deposed?”

  “I do not have such a decree in my hand,” Postumus stated matter-of-factly. “If I did, you would surely suspect it to be a fabrication. I do, however, have this, bearing the Raven’s own mark.”

  Postumus took a small scroll
from his belt and handed it to Antony’s aide, who in turn gave it to Antony.

  “And what in Juno’s arse is this?” Antony held the document between two fingers as if it reeked.

  “A pledge, in writing, from the Raven, vowing that you will be given command of the armies, and that such a pronouncement will be made, once this gold arrives safely in Corcyra.”

  Antony laughed out loud, but then stopped quite abruptly, his eyes turning sinister as they glared back at Postumus. “Never! Not one ounce. Not one sesterces will you have, until such a decree is in my hand and I receive word from my own trusted agents in Epirus that Pompey’s army has been placed under my command. Those are my conditions, Senator! Now drag your aged carcass back aboard your ship, and take that word to your master. And tell him, next time, if he wishes for more than the severed heads of his emissaries to return, then he had better not extend such an insulting offer!”

  “Be careful, Antony,” the senator said evenly. “Consider well your situation. The Rhodian fleet has been destroyed. Libo’s fleet blocks your passage. You cannot combine with Caesar. You sit in Italy with four legions amongst a populous that is, at best, docile, if not prepared to take up arms against you should Pompey prevail in the coming battle. Should you somehow manage to cross the sea and join with Caesar, Pompey will still outnumber you both in short order. And what would you gain by such an act? The honor of being a lap dog to Caesar? Hear me, Antony. I am offering you the dictatorship, to be the face behind the Raven, given free reign over the empire, your power and authority nearly absolute.”

  “Nearly?”

  “There will, of course, be reasonable limits established, for you will still ultimately answer to the Raven. But, he will remain in the shadows. For all intents and purposes, you will be the first man in Rome. It will all be very official and made legal by an arranged vote of the assemblies. You will be perceived as the savior of Rome, the man who healed our fractured empire and united it once again.”

  “I still hear nothing but promises, Senator,” Antony said sourly.

  “We, of course, anticipated your reluctance to part with the gold before such an order is officially announced. Thus, I am prepared to be your guest until that time arrives.”

  “My hostage?”

  “If that is how you wish to phrase it. My aide, Flavius, will remain with the gold and see that it reaches Corcyra safely. My master will then arrange for the Senate to issue a decree making you imperator over all Optimates armies.”

  Antony’s face softened. “Perhaps I might be persuaded, but let me be absolutely clear, Postumus. Should that decree not reach my ears by week’s end, you will die a most horrible death.”

  “I am well acquainted with your reputation for brutality. Given that, and knowing that you and I have never seen eye-to-eye, is it not further proof that I speak the truth? Would I place myself at your mercy, if I did not believe everything will transpire just as I have promised?”

  “So, you would be my guest,” Antony said to himself, rubbing his chin and leaning in to listen to the whispers of his aide.

  “Your guest,” Postumus completed his thought, “and an ambassador of sorts, to represent the Raven on your inner council.”

  “Sounds smothering,” Antony said cynically.

  “Then how does this sound? Once you are instated as the commander of the Optimates armies, your first duty will be to march your legions to Rome, where you will assert supreme control. When Caesar’s army hears of this, they will desert in droves, and Caesar will be hunted down and killed like a common outlaw. Pompey will be your subordinate, as will all other commanders in the field. The exiled Senate will return to Rome, minus a few that will meet with tragic accidents on the long journey from Thessalonica. Then you, Antony – the father of a new Rome – will convene a new Senate stocked afresh with the clientele of the Raven and your own staunchest supporters…”

  Libo’s stomach turned in revulsion while Postumus explained the elaborate plan. The senator was not merely concocting a story to convince Antony to part with the treasury money. This was real. As the scheme grew more and more intricate, and terrifyingly made logical sense, Libo became more and more certain of it. This was what Postumus had intended all along. He was, indeed, an agent of the Raven, and was carrying on the plan his master had conceived and now appeared to be close to successful completion. Libo half wanted to draw his sword and plant it in the senator’s gut before the traitor could say another word, but he refrained, content in the knowledge that once Antony lay dead in the sand, the senator’s plan would be foiled. He was sure now, more than ever, that he was doing the right thing, the noble thing, for how could he concern himself with honor when dealing with such vermin as these?

  It then occurred to him that Postumus would certainly have a plan for him, too. Did an assassin’s blade await him aboard the flagship? Surely it must, should he in any way obstruct the conveyance of the gold to Corcyra. Postumus knew he would never go along with such a scheme. The problem was Antony’s knight, who still stood in the path between Antony and the bireme. Should he chance it? Should he simply wipe his brow now, and let the fates decide – for he would never allow Postumus to leave with Antony. Both traitors must not leave this island alive. He had to count on the centurion to take care of Antony, then it would be his turn to act. Was Flavius close enough to interfere before Libo could drive his blade into Postumus’s back?

  Antony was glancing at all three of them as he listened to his rotund aide talking in his ear. When the aide finished, Antony nodded and stepped forward, extending his right hand.

  “Perhaps you and I got off to a poor start, my dear Postumus.” Antony’s demeanor had changed considerably. There was trust and acceptance in the warm smile that now crossed his face. “I believe we have come to an agreement. Shall we press hands on the bargain?”

  The two men stepped toward each other to shake hands. This was the moment, Libo thought. Antony had moved in front of the knight, and now stood unobstructed. He was in the clear.

  Libo counted to five, hoping it would be enough time for Lucius to adjust his aim. Then, with a single hand that he fought to keep from trembling, Libo touched his brow.

  The extended bare arms of Antony and Postumus stopped just short of joining – as both were suddenly spattered red by a shower of fresh blood.

  XXVII

  Lucius watched from his concealed perch on the Faun’s high prow as the two delegations met on the gleaming sand stretching out before him. The sinister-looking, man-sized artillery piece on which he now rested his chin was ready to loose, torqued to its full strength, its two-foot, iron-tipped bolt carefully aimed to account for both wind and distance. Now he waited for Libo’s signal. He felt sure his shot would run true, providing a rogue gust did not sweep across the islet at the wrong moment. He had spent the early morning hours assessing the scorpion’s power, loosing three missiles into the sea under the watchful eyes of the Faun’s captain, as the little ship sat alongside the Argonaut waiting for the delegation to transfer on board. Lucius had been pleased to discover that the scorpion was in prime condition. The torsion springs were made from the finest strands of women’s hair, and the energy released by the stout twisted cords was consistent between shots.

  The morning had gone according to plan. Once the delegation had gone ashore, Lucius had prepared the weapon under the canvas shroud. Aside from a few curious glances, the sailors had ignored him, the captain directing most of them to linger in the stern. The captain eyed Lucius suspiciously, but he did not interfere, undoubtedly following instructions given him by Libo prior to going ashore.

  Everything had gone according to plan, except for one unexpected turn of events.

  From his crouched position, Lucius looked over his shoulder to see that Marjanita was still there, crouching only a few paces away, also hidden from the shore by the ship’s bulwark. She had appeared on deck, quite suddenly after the delegation had gone ashore, and Lucius could only assume she had stowed awa
y belowdecks. Her presence was unexpected, but Lucius knew exactly why she was here. Undoubtedly, Calpurnia had sent the she-warrior handmaiden to ensure that Lucius kept his end of the deal. The dagger tucked into the handmaid’s sash was distinctly visible, and was most likely intended for his throat, should his bolt not fly true and snuff the life out of Postumus as agreed. Of course, it was possible the wicked weapon was meant for him in either case. Calpurnia had certainly been around Roman politics long enough to know that when one plotted a murder, one must also plot the murder of the assassin.

  At first, Lucius had found it odd that the bireme’s captain had seemed unalarmed by Marjanita’s presence, allowing her to shadow Lucius’s every move. But then it occurred to him that Calpurnia probably had more allies in the fleet than did Libo. This may even be the very vessel Marjanita had visited that night, back in Corcyra, when Lucius had seen her naked form climb aboard.

  Lucius smiled playfully at her now before turning his attention back to the cluster of men on the beach. Her face still contained something bordering between loathing and hatred whenever she met his gaze, but there was something tempered about her expression now – for, only a few hours ago, they had lain in each other’s arms, their mingled forms glimmering with perspiration in the dim lamplight. It had been a wild experience, and perhaps he had gotten a little more than he had bargained for. Once left alone in the cabin, Marjanita’s initial reluctance had seemed to give way to total acceptance. In the blink of an eye, she had tossed away her own clothing, and then proceeded to disrobe Lucius just as abruptly. At first, he thought she simply wished to get the whole foul business over and done with. But then, much to his surprise, she came at him with a carnal fury in her eyes, pouncing upon him as a ravenous tigress leaps on her prey. Lucius was completely thunderstruck as she pressed her lips to his, her athletic body forcing him to the deck with a ferocity more suited to a wrestling match, and he soon began to wonder whose fulfillment was truly being addressed. She attacked him as one deprived of food might lay into a table of baked meats, never once stopping, even as the pipes announced the changing of the watch. The ship might have driven into a cyclone for all Lucius could tell, so intense was the alacrity of her passion, her flat stomach and small breasts heaving such as he had only seen in the vivacious dances of the most primitive barbarian tribes. He could still feel the marks on his chest and biceps left by her clawing fingernails. The whole thing had been hysterical, animalistic, barbaric, but there had been one moment, after her spent body had collapsed onto his, her cheek resting upon his chest, when she had reached up with a single trembling hand and had gently caressed his unshaven face. It had been, perhaps, the only affectionate touch of the whole encounter, but there had been something especially gentle about it, some measure of tenderness that went beyond simple lust. In that instant, Lucius had felt as though she were reliving a cherished moment from her distant and all but vanished past, when she had held a man from her native land, a man of the far away East whom she had loved and would never see again.