“This woman is not your enemy, sir,” Lucius said forcefully. “I have brought her here because she has a message for you – from the Raven.”
Antony eyed him suspiciously. “How came you to know about the Raven, Lucius? You were sent as a bodyguard. Marcellus was not to tell you anything.”
“He passed the message on to me, sir,” Lucius shrugged, as if he did not understand. “You see, we were attacked by the enemy fleet. He was killed, and I was taken prisoner. The enemy admiral and some senator – I forget his name – they put me under the lash, sir. They interrogated me for days on end.” The big centurion turned and pulled down his wet tunic, displaying fresh red scabs running across the muscled ridges of his vast back. “I was in a terrible state, sir, and I don’t remember all that I said. I guess I must have told them what Marcellus told me.”
Antony considered for a long moment, and then it suddenly dawned on him. “Postumus and Libo!” he said fervently. “They intercepted our message! Do you realize what this means, Orestes? It means the Raven never received it. It means Libo and Postumus were nothing more than opportunists trying to insert themselves in this affair. It means,” he paused, looking at the woman, “the letter this woman carried was legitimate. This confirms it came from the Raven and was not one of Postumus’s tricks as we had thought. You said yourself the seal was authentic. Then the Raven truly did offer me command of the armies.”
The woman nodded. “That is correct, Excellency. When my master did not receive your reply, he suspected something had gone amiss. He dispatched me to contact you again. The last time I visited you, I was conveyed to Italy by a fishing vessel, but the journey has become much more perilous since then. I boarded the flagship Argonaut, disguised as a handmaid to a noble woman who was taking passage back to Italy. While at sea, I came across this centurion. He recognized me and told me everything that had happened. I helped him escape and we both slipped aboard the vessel that now lies sunk in the channel. By the grace of Athena, we survived, and now stand before you.”
“Indeed,” Antony said, his recent ire at the woman all but forgotten. “And where is this new message?”
“It is a verbal message,” the woman replied succinctly. “My master, the Raven, will honor the same agreement proposed before, with one exception.”
“And that is?”
“You must find a way to bring your troops across the sea.”
“That is difficult, especially with your master’s fleet sitting off my coast.”
“My master does not control the fleet. He has no influence over Libo or Postumus. You can be sure, he will deal with them in his own good time, but for now you must cross the sea without his assistance. You are to meet him at Nymphaeum, on the Illyrian coast. He will erect a scarlet pavilion on the strand south of the town that you may know it is him. You must land your legions there, and the treasury gold, and you must arrive within one week. If you fail to do this, he will consider you his enemy, and his agreement with you will be nullified.”
“Why Nymphaeum? Why so far north?”
“That your legions might reinforce Pompey’s army without any interference from Caesar.”
“Do you not mean my army?”
“It shall only be yours once the treasury gold is in my master’s custody. Until then, Pompey commands.”
“Your master gives me an insurmountable task.” Antony had said frustratedly. He pondered his predicament for a long moment, searching for a solution. He glanced at Orestes. “What about you, Orestes? Any ideas creeping into that deviant cerebrum of yours? The Rhodian fleet is at the bottom. I have a collection of rotted river scows, not proper transports, and Libo watches my every move. Now that he controls Basada – ”
“There is a way,” Lucius had said suddenly before the quiet eunuch could respond. “Pardon my interrupting, sir.”
Antony had sighed. “Go on, Lucius.”
“Libo’s fleet is worse off than you think, sir,” Lucius had said. “Their water casks are near empty. They’ve enough to get them through a week or so, but if you give him a chance to water his fleet, he’ll have no choice but to take it.”
And Lucius’s suggestion had been the key. The cavalry patrols had been recalled, and Libo had taken the bait.
Now, Antony’s convoy was close to reaching the natural harbor at Nymphaeum, and the designated rendezvous with the Raven. The crossing had not been without its problems. Every ship in Brundisium that could maintain no more than a foot of water in the bilge had been commandeered, be it merchant or fisherman, Roman or foreign, nearly eighty ships in all. They ranged in size from the three-decked quinquereme on which he now stood down to small, deckless galleys that could scarcely surmount the waves without being swamped. Even with this massive armada of assorted vessels, Antony had been forced to leave three cohorts of the Eighth Legion behind in Brundisium. Still, he had managed to ship the better part of four legions and eight hundred horse, along with engines and impedimenta, and now they were only a few leagues away from their destination.
They would not all make it, of course. The scraggly armada was spread out for miles, clustered according to their speed and seaworthiness. Thus far, only a handful had foundered in the rough seas, but now they were sure to lose many more.
“The enemy has overtaken the Nisus, sir!” the lookout above reported.
Antony looked astern and saw what he expected to see. Far off, a charging quinquereme smashed into one of the slower transports, turning it into splinters. It was the first ship to be overtaken by the enemy fleet which had been in full pursuit for the last several hours.
Libo’s fleet had appeared in the early afternoon, a forest of masts on the western horizon that had crept slowly over the edge of the world until the hulls were visible, their imposing bows cutting through the waves while gleaming oars rose and fell in rapid succession. As the sun had waned in the sky, the enemy had closed the distance and was now overtaking the tail end of Antony’s column as it crawled up the coast.
"That is the Argonaut in the lead, is it not?" Antony asked no one in particular, pointing at another of the enemy ships, a giant deceres with several ornate pennants whipping at its masthead.
"I believe it is, sir," replied one of the legates beside him.
"Where Postumus and his whelp Libo no doubt lick their lips, thinking they will catch us." Antony grinned, raising his hands in an obscene gesture. "Not today, you turds from a calf's arse!”
Several of the legionaries on the deck below chuckled mildly at his oath, but their merriment was guarded, for it was evident to all that they were not out of the fire yet.
In spite of his lusty invective, Antony himself had to admit an unnerving feeling at the sight of the massive Argonaut. She closed the range at an unsettling pace, coming on at full speed, her massive bow parting the waves as a plow tills the soil. The slower transports had no hope of escape, their leaky hulls were too cumbersome to evade. Like hunting falcons swooping down upon a field of mice, the giant flagship and her consorts singled out their victims. The Argonaut altered course slightly, choosing a single-decked transport to be the first to feel the bite of her jagged ram. Facing imminent destruction, many of the transport’s crew and passengers leapt into the sea mere moments before the fatal strike. The Argonaut ran upon the smaller craft from astern, at two or three times her speed. The transport shivered from the keel to the masthead and then came apart. Shattered timbers were scattered in all directions and the flailing bodies of men and beasts were propelled into the air. The Argonaut's momentum seemed unaffected by the disassembling vessel, as if she rode over a patch of open water. She quickly returned to her original course, continuing the pursuit while her sisters dealt with many of the other stragglers in a similar fashion.
The speed and efficiency with which the enemy fleet diced up the trailing ships was unsettling, but Antony watched the destruction with forced coolness for the sake of those around him. The slower transports would have to be written off. The majority of t
he convoy would make it, he kept telling himself.
A flaming ball arced across the sky and splashed into the water less than a ship’s length away from another transport. As Antony’s eyes followed the projectile’s path, he caught sight of Lucius down on the Vulcan’s stern deck. He was dressed like a proper centurion now, wearing mail armor and a helmet adorned with a plume of yellow feathers that fanned from ear to ear. While the legionaries around him stood on their toes to see the action and the pursuit, Lucius casually leaned against the bulwark, thumbing the hilt of his gladius and appearing disinterested.
Antony chuckled inwardly. The big idiot had no idea how close he had come to walking into his own murder, and he seemed oblivious to the fact that Antony still held a grudge against him. Had the fool not been captured by the enemy fleet all those days ago, he would now be lying in some shallow grave alongside the road to Thessalonica.
Do you not see yet, Lucius, you imbecile? You embarrassed me in Spain, and I never forget a personal insult. I always get my revenge, in the end.
While it was true Lucius had been an instrumental help ever since his return, Antony knew he would eventually have to do away with him. His own personal honor demanded it, notwithstanding the fact that the bothersome centurion was an atrocious bore. But there would be time enough for that, once the Raven had conferred upon him his new title.
“The Hammer of Rodon, General!" the Vulcan’s captain called, pointing ahead.
Antony wheeled around to see a finger of land stretching out across the convoy’s path. The convoy had been cruising up the seaward side of a vast cape covered with high green hills that poked above white cliffs lining the shore. The lead ships had now arrived at the northern end of this cape, where a thin, hilly outcropping extended nearly a mile into the sea, and continued well beyond that as a scattering of dark, half-submerged rocks, some the size of Saturn’s temple. Mariners had dubbed it the Hammer of Rodon, and the name suited it well. Even from this distance, Antony could see the tumult of white surf surrounding it.
“This is what I warned you about, General,” the captain called up to him. “The wind comes at us from the South now. We should manage to weather the cape, if the wind holds. But if it doesn’t,…”
The captain did not finish, nor did he have to. The hundreds of foreboding black teeth, where the sea swirled and spouted, gave a clear enough indication as to what their fate would be should the winds shift. Antony sighed, knowing that he could be throwing away his legions, not to mention the gold riding in the holds.
Just beyond the cape, lay a vast bay lined with mile upon mile of gently sloping sand. The town of Nymphaeum was there, the agreed rendezvous with the Raven. Antony had kept the true reason for bringing his fleet this far north a secret. He had not even told his legates. No one else knew of his arrangement with the Raven but the silent Orestes, the dim-witted centurion, and that brusque eastern woman – whom he had ordered placed in irons until he indeed came face-to-face with her master. He had explained to his legates that a landing in this bay would place them in a perfect position to support Caesar, and they had not questioned him.
The bay was, in fact, quite the opposite. It was a good choice for avoiding Caesar's army entirely, for it was dozens of miles up the coast from the consul’s last known location. It would place Antony in a good position to join with Pompey's legions, which were closer than Caesar’s, and allow Antony to take command of the combined army. Then he would deal with Caesar, quickly and efficiently – and mercifully. For Antony bore no malice towards Caesar, but Postumus had been right. Had Antony continued to serve Caesar, he would have always been second to the great man. Now, with a powerful ally like the Raven behind him, his own prospects were far better. Who knows how long he would have to suffer the Raven's dictates before he had garnered enough power to have the enigmatic man and all of his followers rounded up and killed, but he knew it would happen. It was inevitable. Like his affability toward Centurion Lucius Domitius, his alliance with the Raven, would be only temporary.
“My mariner's blood advises against this, sir!" the captain called up to him skeptically, waiting for a decision, as the treacherous point of land drew ever closer. “If we must continue, sir, we must do so under oars alone.”
There was much risk, but there was so much to be gained. Would Libo follow him past the hazardous shoals? Or would he steer his fleet well out to sea to avoid the danger? If Libo chose the latter, then Antony would have won, for Libo would never be able to beat back into the bay against the wind and against the ocean currents in time to stop the landings. That is, presuming Antony’s own ships successfully weathered the cape. The only other alternatives were to surrender or fight.
There really was no choice.
“Auster be with us, captain! Auster’s lungs and Juno’s bouncing bosom!” Antony said loudly and enthusiastically, hoping to bolster the confidence of the grim-faced legates beside him and the open-mouthed legionaries below. “Take in the sails and row on! Put every last man on the oars if you must, but get me past that cape!”
XXXII
"Shorten sail, Captain!” Libo shouted from the top of the Argonaut’s forward tower. “And signal the rest of the fleet to do the same!"
In spite of the noise of the wind, he had no difficulty getting Naevius’s attention down on the main deck twenty feet below, for the captain was no novice seaman and had been expecting the order.
Boatswains began barking orders, setting dozens of sailors into motion, some loosening stays, others climbing into the shrouds to gather up the great sheets of canvas. Senator Postumus was the only other person on the tower with Libo, and he watched the sudden activity with confusion, for he could not understand why the admiral would give such an order. Why, indeed, when they finally had their prey by the tail?
Postumus had watched with some satisfaction as the cutting bows of Libo’s warships rammed and destroyed Antony's straggling transports, leaving behind a sea strewn with twisted wreckage and broken bodies. But the few scrapheaps they had managed to overtake certainly could not have carried any of the treasury gold in their holds. He suspected Antony would have placed the horde aboard the larger ships, and the vast majority of those still dotted the seascape only a few miles beyond the Argonaut’s bows. They appeared to be ripe for the taking, cornered by the rocky coastline.
“What are you doing, Admiral?” he demanded. “Antony’s ships lay before us. You must press on and take them!”
“I wish for nothing more, Senator,” Libo shook his head. "But I am afraid I cannot. The enemy drives too close to the shore.”
“That coast helps us, man! If those ships happen to sink in the shallows, it will be that much easier for us to recover the gold. Do you not see?”
Libo glanced irritatedly at him and then pointed ahead at a hilly, jagged finger of land beyond Antony’s ships and stretching out into the sea. “Do you see that point of land, Senator? It is called the Hammer of Rodon. Do you know why?”
Postumus shook his head with impatience.
“Rodon is the Illyrian god of the sea,” Libo continued. “And he has smashed many a vessel on those rocks you see adorning its base. The wind blows from the south now, and, aye, I could possibly weather that point, but there is no assurance that the wind will not betray us. It would put the fleet in too great a peril, and I will not risk it. I am sorry, Senator. The gods do not favor us today."
"Do I speak with Libo,” Postumus snarled, feeling his blood boil, “or Bibulus risen from the dead? This is no time for your adolescent superstitions, Admiral! You were appointed to your command for your skills as a seaman, not your deference for the gods. Now, do your duty, and stop those ships!"
Libo turned his eyes away from the shore and eyed him coolly. "This is not superstition, Senator! Any sea captain knows it is foolery to take a ship near such a shore, with such a wind. Do you not see the enemy ships? Even they have shortened sail. Not even Antony is so brash as to stretch a single foot of canvas on the masts at s
uch a time."
Postumus saw that this was indeed true. Where Antony’s ships had, only moments before, carried straining sails aloft they now drove on under bare masts.
"What do you propose to do then, Admiral?" Postumus demanded impatiently. “Can you not do the same and pursue him?”
“I cannot follow Antony without putting this entire fleet in jeopardy.”
“Surely, his ships cannot stand up against yours. You will have them cornered. They will be forced to fight.”
“It will put us on a lee shore, Senator. We cannot risk it. We will have to give that shoal a wide berth, much further out than Antony is attempting.”
Postumus could see that the lead ships in Antony’s convoy had already rounded the point of land and were now hidden from view, presumably headed into the bay beyond.
“Are there any good beaches beyond that cape?” Postumus asked. “Any place for Antony to land?”
“Yes, many.”
“Then you must drive straight at him, Admiral. We do not have time for your prudence! He must not be allowed to land the gold. You must overtake him now!”
“No, Senator!” Libo said adamantly. “We will go around.”
“You are a fool, a naive fool. You never should have been given this command!
"You may address that complaint to the Senate when I make my report, Senator. I'm sure they will be eager to hear how intricately you were involved in the operations of this fleet.” Libo turned away dismissively to face the fleeing craft.
Libo had said it in a snippety fashion, and Postumus understood his meaning quite clearly. Libo intended to expose him, to lay out all of his dealings with Antony before his colleagues. Of course, that would create a colossal scandal, since Postumus was not here on any mission of the Senate, nor had he ever been. He was here to protect the interests of the Raven Brotherhood. He was here to make sure the brotherhood secured the treasury gold and that Caesar and the Senate in Thessalonica never saw a single denarius of it, for the time of the Raven had come at last.
Rome: Tempest of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series) Page 27
