As the Faun entered the hazardous stretch of water, Libo expected to see missiles taking to the sky, but he was astonished when not a single projectile was loosed. There were helmets above the fort’s ramparts, and he could see the trails of black smoke emanating from the pitch pots inside, but no missiles flew. If they did not loose their barrage soon, the Faun would be through without a scratch, for her oars were rising and falling at a pace that must have every oarsman heaving for air and straining every last muscle to its limit.
If the Faun got through, Antony’s vessels would be sunk for sure. If the Faun got through, the slaughter of this day would have been worth it.
Then, as Libo watched, the Faun’s masts suddenly changed aspect. She was turning, inexplicably, maddeningly toward the fort. She turned so sharply that her masts leaned heavily and her larboard side seemed to dig into the water. To make such a turn in the middle of such a narrow, rock-lined channel was utter madness, even without the menace of an enemy fort. Libo grasped for some explanation. It came to him, in the space of a few heartbeats, and left him cursing his own impetuousness and lack of foresight. For the Faun had not turned of her own volition. She had run upon a cable, strewn at an angle across the neck of the passage. Now she staggered along the unseen obstruction, unable to push through it, and with too much momentum to back away. The cable was probably made of stout iron links such as those Libo had seen used in ports of the Far East during petty trade disputes between kingdoms. Whatever its make, it was too stout for the Faun’s rowers to overcome. Libo watched in utter helplessness as the bireme’s impetus carried her along the angled barrier like a sheep to a slaughter pen, until she grounded on the rocks directly beneath the fort’s towers.
The next moment, the sky filled with streaking yellow darts that rose from the fort and descended upon the helpless Faun. There could be no escape. Her decks and masts burst into flames as glowing bolts laced with pitch drove into the oak bulwarks spreading fire and death. The oars no longer moved, the rowers having long since abandoned their benches to join the frantic figures that now ran to and fro on deck, searching for a means to escape the raging inferno. They leapt over the side in droves, some alight, some flailing. Flickering strands of burning cordage dropped into the sea, and the tenuous masts soon followed. Before the fort’s engines could loose their third volley, the whole ship was an indiscernible, fiery mass.
It was over now, Libo knew, the realization of the complete and utter nature of the defeat overshadowing his thoughts like an evil spirit. Had Centurion Lucius Domitius been among those escaping the Faun, or had he died in the flames? Had he laughed when his dart struck Flavius, leaving Antony unscathed, setting into motion the chain of events that had allowed the traitor to escape, had destroyed the Faun, and had allowed the treasury reserves to be carried away? Did that son of a whore find it amusing to see the shocked look on all of their faces?
Two paces in front of Libo a marine was felled by a pilum that had been thrust into his ribs by a crouching legionary. In an uncontrollable rage, Libo dashed forward, batted the spear aside and buried his sword in the legionary’s gullet. Then in one sweeping motion, in which he harnessed all of his rage, he lopped off the man’s head, and in the tottering helmet, saw the face of Lucius Domitius, and it would replace the face of any man he fought this day, for he held nothing but disgust for the centurion now. But in a truthful moment, and with the clash of steel resounding around him, Libo knew that it was really his own fault for putting such trust in one who had been his enemy only days ago. How could he have been so stupid? He had led these men to their deaths. He had sent the Faun into certain destruction. He was their admiral, and he was responsible. They would search him out in the afterlife, clawing at his soul for retribution, for a youth deprived, for an honorless death in a barren place unwatched by the gods.
The legionaries closed in, and Libo cast aside his thoughts to take up sword and shield in the dwindling battle line with his warriors. He fought beside them, hammering at the enemy shields and striking injurious blows at every opportunity. Blood sprayed from open arteries. The air was thick with the odor of the dying. The press of the jostling combatants was enormous, and he found himself hacking and slashing, not caring if the next jabbing steel point ended his life.
But then, the fates intervened once again.
The press of the enemy suddenly relaxed, and then was no longer there. Libo glanced over his shield and, before his red-hued eyes, the enemy formation came apart. Legionary after legionary cast aside the encumbering shields and javelins and darted for the shore off which sat their one remaining craft. Upon seeing this, many of the archer auxiliaries followed suit.
“Blessed Jupiter!” one of the marines cheered, and then the others joined in, raising their blood-stained blades above their heads. Libo looked to see what had caused such revelry amid a carpet of the dead and dying, and when he saw what they were cheering about, he nearly joined in the euphoria.
Three triremes had landed on the seaward side of the island, and from their decks spilled a horde of marines and sailors, at least a hundred in number, all gleaming with arms and all shouting the battle cry. The trireme captains must have pushed their crews to the limits of endurance to get them to row so swiftly, for Libo knew well that these three ships came from the inshore squadron, which had been cruising off the coast several leagues away.
Faced with a new group of warriors that looked to be even more daunting than the one that had slain so many of their comrades, and filled with the knowledge that the one remaining vessel could not possibly carry them all off, Antony’s troops had broken. The fresh swordsmen chased the fleeing legionaries and archers into the surf, where men reached with desperate hands, clamoring to be pulled aboard the overloaded craft. But many of these were batted away by their own comrades, for the encumbered vessel was already teetering as it pushed away from the shore and steered for the harbor. Those unfortunate enough to be left behind met the vengeful blades of their pursuers and turned the lapping waves scarlet as they were slaughtered without mercy.
Libo bent over to catch his breath, dropping both sword and shield in the sand. But as he spit the blood out of his mouth from an earlier blow that had dislodged a tooth, he saw a shadow appear beside him. He looked up to see that it was Postumus, his face as inscrutable as it had been before the battle, or any other occasion, detached and unaffected by the gore all around him. He was staring at Libo as if waiting for an answer.
“Well?” the senator said impatiently.
“Well what?” Libo replied puzzled.
“I asked you a question, Admiral. My adjutant is dead, and the deal with Antony in shambles. I demand an explanation! What happened? Who shot that arrow?”
Normally a brutally honest man, Libo felt that this time he was justified in deviating from the truth, especially when dealing with a man whose own loyalties were questionable.
“I tell you plainly, Senator, I know not. There are indeed agents of the enemy lurking within the fleet. I suspect it might have had something to do with the attack on Lady Calpurnia the other night.”
Postumus shook his head disgruntledly and walked away, either dissatisfied with the answer or uncomfortable with the direction Libo had intentionally steered the discussion.
Some marines walking by were chuckling to themselves, and Libo overheard the words Scribonius Libo Basadan. Perhaps that would be his legacy, he mused, the conqueror of Basada. He had conquered a useless strip of sand devoid of water and life, and which would soon become the burial ground for these mangled corpses all around him. Like a nagging pain, he felt the weighty burden of command return to his shoulders, for his fleet was low on provisions and water. It would be difficult to maintain the blockade much longer – and now he faced a most difficult decision.
XXIX
A ragged handful of tired figures pulled themselves from the waters of the channel onto the rocky shore below the fort. Helmeted faces peered down at them from the towers and shouted threats
, commanding them to remain where they were or be cut down by a hail of arrows. A squad of spear-wielding legionaries appeared at the palisade gate and began descending the path towards them.
Lucius and Marjanita were among those emerging from the waters. Lucius carried the half-conscious woman over his shoulder and gently laid her down onto a dry rock. She was slowly coming to now, and as she did, she realized that her hands were bound.
"Where are we?" she asked dismally. "Where have you stolen me off to?"
"Not stolen, girl – saved," Lucius replied, pointing to the channel and the burning wreck of the Faun, aground and collapsing.
“Saved me?"
“Aye, girl. And that after you tried to kill me with that knife of yours.” He bore his thigh to her, revealing the long gash that still dripped blood from the wool wrapping he had applied. He smiled and added, “You should thank me."
She shot him an annoyed scowl as she struggled against the bonds. They had been placed there by the Faun’s sailors, and Lucius was now glad that he had decided to keep them on her.
"You lying dog!" She spat after finally giving up trying to break free. "My mistress instructed you to kill the senator! Not the aide!"
Lucius shrugged. "I didn't like the aide."
"You betrayed my mistress! You betrayed me, just as I knew you would. I should have cut your heart out last night!"
"Hold on, lass! My deal was with Lady Calpurnia, not with a slave."
She looked up at him defiantly, but there was something else in those eyes beyond venom, something deeper that told of personal pain.
"A slave paid your price!" she finally said in disgust.
Lucius had been light-hearted with her up to that moment, but now he saw that he had gone too far. He saw that the moniker of slave had struck a chord with her, and he regretted it, for he wished the woman no ill will. In all of the many slaves Lucius had encountered in his travels, he had known very few that did not yearn for freedom. Certainly, the life of a house slave for a great family like the Calpurnii was comfortable when compared with that of a wheel walker deep in the silver mines of Gades. But for one with the soul of an adventurer, like Marjanita, any bondage, no matter how lenient, must be unbearable. The tattoos across her shoulder and breast spoke of a time when she had enjoyed freedom. He had noticed them last night in the dim light, and now he saw their true magnificence under the light of day. Horse, shield, lance, and bow were depicted there in decorative splendor, all renderings that a man might wear, but these were adorned with intricate and deliberate curves that made them distinctively woman’s. In his youth, he had read of the Amazon warriors of the great plain, the women who loved and slew men as lustily as the swashbucklers of the pirate coasts. They chose honor before life, and would never let a gift go unreciprocated or an infraction unrequited. Were these the trappings of her former life?
After Lucius’s dart had skewered Flavius instead of the senator, Marjanita had come after him, as expected, brandishing her sinister dagger. He had been ready for her, meeting her wild jabs with counter-punches learned in countless fights in taverns and army camps. But Marjanita's moves had been far more adroit than those of any tavern brawler. She side-slipped his attempts to restrain her arms, slashing at him with a few strokes that might have killed him had they been a hand’s breadth closer. She had nicked him a few times, and had managed a stinging slash to his thigh, before Lucius had adjusted his defense. He had fought the warrior women of the German tribes once, and had learned after much pain how very different those women fought in hand to hand combat. They were difficult to pin down, and deadly accurate with their weapons, often using an attacker’s own momentum and brute force against him. Marjanita was much the same, and he quickly realized that he had to wait for her to attack, not chase her. It was during one such attack, after he had deflected a strong thrust of her dagger, that the Faun's sailors struck her across the head with a belaying pin, knocking her unconscious. The captain had ordered it, probably more in the interest of bringing order to his deck than helping Lucius. A runner had arrived from Libo, ordering the ship to get underway, and the captain was consumed with that task. He had instructed Lucius to stay out of the way and had paid him no more attention after that. After the vessel had grounded on the rocks and had come under the intense hail of flaming missiles, Lucius saw the Faun's captain and several sailors crushed under the weight of a falling yard. When the rest of the crew abandoned the ship, Lucius did too, but not before scooping up the still form of Marjanita.
Now, as they sat with the rest of the survivors waiting to be taken as prisoners, Lucius contemplated his circumstances. Should he identify himself as a centurion of the Tenth, he would surely be taken before Antony. How might he explain to the general his presence aboard the Faun? How might he preserve his own life should Antony denote him as a traitor and use this as an excuse to get rid of him? Then, a thought suddenly came into his head.
He nudged the still irate Marjanita and pointed out the legionaries clattering down the path towards them.
"They will take us captive, girl. When they discover who I am, we will be separated. I will go back to Antony's army, and you will go with the other prisoners." Lucius paused to let her contemplate all of the implications of that, and her simmering eyes told him she understood. "I can help you."
"I need no help from you, dog!" she snapped. "I would kill myself first. I deserve to die, for failing my mistress so."
"There is another choice."
She looked at him reluctantly, and he continued.
"Look out there," Lucius gestured to the fleet out on the sea, the giant Argonaut clearly distinguishable amidst the other black shapes. "Out there, on the flagship, your mistress is now alone and unprotected. How long do you think before Postumus figures out who was responsible for messing up his little deal with Antony? How long do think it will be before he arranges her murder?"
She eyed him balefully.
"I suspect he'll have her eliminated at the first opportunity." Lucius paused and then looked her in the eye. "But that does not have to happen. If Postumus and his friends in the Senate are defeated..."
She looked at him with reluctant interest. "How?"
Lucius looked up at the approaching soldiers. They had only moments now.
"I will demand that we be taken before Antony." Lucius smirked. "That should spoil the bastard's breakfast."
Marjanita was unimpressed. "How does this help my mistress?"
"Antony will recognize you as the same messenger who delivered the last message from the Raven. We'll pretend that I don't know anything, that I was captured and you sprung me from my chain at the oar so I could convey you to Antony. You just explain to him that the deal was foiled by Libo and Postumus, that neither of them ever spoke for the Raven, and that the true Raven still seeks to make an arrangement. If you are convincing enough, Antony may find the whole thing plausible. Tell him you've come with a new message and new instructions. Can you do that?"
"I suppose," she shrugged, curiously skeptical. "What then?"
"Why then, lass," Lucius smiled craftily. "Then you must say exactly what I tell you to."
XXX
“Our scouts ashore have signaled again, Admiral,” Naevius broke into Libo’s concentration. “Still no sign of the enemy, no sign of Antony’s cavalry, and we’ve been here nigh on eight hours. Blessed Juno, at this rate, we’ll fill every cask to bursting.”
Libo nodded in acknowledgement, and then turned his attention back to the bay where dozens of small boats, loaded down with amphorae and casks of all size, pulled to and from the tree-lined shore of the small bay. The captain correctly sensed that his admiral was deep in thought and wished to be left alone, and so he moved on. But such courtesy was not extended by Postumus who brusquely approached Libo for the third time since the changing of the watch.
“I say again, Admiral, this is a profound waste of time,” the senator exclaimed hotly. “The fleet should make for Corcyra, without delay. Yo
u are a failure, sir! You have failed to secure the treasury, and now you attempt to cover for that failure by overplaying your blockade duties.”
“The treasury was never my mission, Senator,” Libo replied, and then added with slight contempt in his tone, “Though I’m sure it was yours all along! My duty is to keep Antony’s legions from crossing the sea, and that is precisely what I shall do, even if it means staying afloat until the spring.”
“My dear young man, do you hear yourself? Do you know who you sound like?”
“Once we have watered,” Libo said, ignoring the remark. “We will resume station off Brundisium, and wait.”
“We have been waiting for far too long already!” Postumus took in a deep breath, as if to control his aggravation. “Very well, Admiral. If you must have it your way, then I insist that you immediately detach one of your fastest ships to convey me to Corcyra. It is imperative that I make my report to the Senate posthaste. If the Raven discovers that his plans have been thwarted before the Senate can launch an investigation and expose the traitor, then he will have the upper hand. He will have time to slip away – or worse, to negotiate a new deal with Antony. Such a plan may already be in the works, as we sit here doing nothing!”
“I regret that I cannot spare any vessels at the moment, Senator,” Libo said dismissively.
Rome: Tempest of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series) Page 25
