It was time for the man who had lived so long in the shadows to manifest himself to the world. The gold, now riding in the holds of Antony’s ships, was the key to his ascendency. Deprived of the gold, Caesar’s army would blow away on the next breeze. With the gold, the Raven would bribe the last few key senators that he needed to tip the balance of power in his favor. Pompey would be ostracized for incompetence, and the Raven would be appointed to take his place. The Senate-in-exile would make it all look very official. They would appoint him dictator, with the commission to restore the republic – but he would do so much more than that. Rome and her great empire were too large to be governed by ancient rules concocted when she was nothing more than a fledgling kingdom. She needed a stronger leader – one all-powerful man to put an end the quagmire that the Senate had become, one unassailable leader to end the mockery of the voting assemblies.
Rome needed an emperor.
Up until now, the botched plan had been recoverable, providing the treasury gold was seized. But where was Antony taking it? Surely not to Caesar. Not this far north. Whatever Antony’s destination, Libo did not seem willing to put his fleet at risk to stop him.
At that moment, Postumus decided that he had suffered the young admiral long enough. It was time for action. It was time to salvage the situation before all was lost.
Postumus carefully eyed the two steps of planking between him and Libo. They were alone on the tower, and Libo was turned away from him, leaning out against the tower’s low bulwark while watching the fleeing armada. With cold calculation, Postumus waited for the ship to roll over the next wave, and then he acted. Rushing forward, he shoved Libo with all of his weight. Postumus was older, and the warrior in him long since dormant, but he was a much larger man than Libo, and had little difficulty in knocking the distracted admiral off balance. Libo was taken completely by surprise. His groping arms reached for the rail, but too late to stop him from toppling over the edge. He flipped once, falling with a single shout of shock and anger before impacting the deck twenty feet below.
After hearing the unmistakable thud, Postumus glanced once over the rail to confirm that the admiral’s form indeed lay on the deck below and was unmoving. By the time the senator had climbed down to the main deck, a cluster of officers had gathered around the body. Postumus was met by his bodyguard who had been waiting at the base of the tower, and then by Naevius who had been with the group hovering over the fallen admiral but who now rose as the senator approached.
"Does he live?" Postumus asked the captain briskly.
"He still draws breath, your excellency, but..." the captain stammered, looking from the senator to the high platform and then back again, a hesitant suspicion on his face. "Were you not upon the platform with the admiral?"
"Yes, indeed I was, captain. Your admiral is very fortunate to be alive. Evidently, when the ship took that last roller, he lost his balance and fell."
Naevius looked at him in disbelief, but Postumus dismissed it. It did not matter whether this insignificant man believed it or not. He was growing tired of pandering to these petty fools. “Now, captain. We have no time to lose. You will please make haste and deploy the sails again."
"Deploy them, sir?"
"Was I not clear?"
"Yes, Senator. It's just that...the admiral -”
"Your admiral lies bleeding and unconscious at your feet, captain, and the enemy is getting away!" Postumus said red-faced. "Now set the damn sails and get those oars moving. Whip the damn rowers until they scream, for all I care, but I want speed out of them. We are going after Antony's fleet!"
At that moment, Calpurnia emerged from the cabin, the two slave girls behind her. She glanced once at Libo's still form and then looked at Postumus with disgust in her eyes, as one beholds a snake with the lump of a half-digested field mouse in its gullet.
"What transpired here, Senator?" she said poisonously. "Did Admiral Libo get in your way, too? Or did he simply discover who you really are?"
Postumus fumed inside. He had had enough of her, of Libo, of the incompetent idiots of the fleet, the army, all of them. He snapped a finger at Naevius. "You will run up those sails and stop Antony from entering that channel or I'll have you scourged before the fleet! Do not shorten sail again until I give you express permission to do so. Is that clear?"
The captain nodded reluctantly and began giving orders.
Postumus then turned back to face Calpurnia. Her eyes still bore malice but they soon changed to fear as he darted to her in three steps and grabbed her arm with enough pressure to bring tears to her eyes.
"You are coming with me, my dear!" he said through gritted teeth, then turned to his bodyguard and pointed at the slave girls. "Her ladyship and I are going below for a private conference. Slay them both if either tries to follow!"
The girls shrank back at the threat and the sight of the exposed blade in the large warrior’s hand, and Postumus, with the frightened Calpurnia in tow, disappeared down the aft hatchway. They descended ladder after ladder, the senator nearly throwing her down one landing after another, until they were in the dank hold, only lit by the narrow shaft of light emanating from the hatch above.
He pushed her down onto the deck and stood over her, a savage, hateful expression on his age-lined face.
“You dare lay your foul hands on a lady of Rome?” she said brazenly, trying not to reveal how frightened she was.
“A lady, no,” he said sinisterly. “The strumpet daughter of a half-mad buffoon, who meddles in affairs of which she has no comprehension, yes. A little girl who has taken it upon herself to throw off the course of an empire by her own personal vendetta. This is not a lady of Rome who now lies before me. A true lady of Rome knows her place. A true lady of Rome does not involve herself in the dealings of men. You are a mere child, with a child’s understanding of the world.”
“This child has a sufficient grasp to have discovered who you really are, Senator,” she said, angered at the condescension in his voice. “Your actions confirm all of my suspicions. You are the Raven!”
At this, Postumus roared back with laughter, a maniacal full-bodied laugh. It was the first time Calpurnia had seen him truly amused.
“My dear lady Calpurnia, wherever did you get such a fantastical idea?”
When she did not answer, he tore open the neck of his tunic and bared his chest to her. A crop of white hair adorned the muscles that were sagging with age, but there was no raven tattoo, nor a mark of any kind. She stared in disbelief as the reality of it sank in. She had been so certain, and now she was confused. How could she have been wrong about Postumus? And if he was not the Raven, then who was?
Then, she suddenly remembered the cloaked man she had seen discoursing with Postumus at her father’s funeral. His face had been hidden, shadowed by a hood on that drizzly day. He had spoken to Postumus at great lengths in a manner that suggested he was his equal, if not his superior. Might that man have been the true Raven?
She sighed, flustered by her own hasty assumptions. Now she was guessing. Grasping at straws.
“It does not matter,” she finally said, trying to remain composed. “If you are not the Raven, then certainly you are one of his henchmen. You are a member of their sect. Whoever the master is, you do his bidding.”
“I will not deny it, my lady,” he said, now seemingly entertained by her discomfort.
“Then you are responsible for my brothers’ deaths, no less than your master. It was your associates who murdered my brothers, and then left the signet of the black Raven with their mutilated bodies as a warning to my father.”
Postumus laughed again. “Let me ask you, my lady, was it you who first discovered this ring among your brothers’ personal effects?”
She did not know why he asked this, but she wanted to keep him engaged that she might discover more. “It was as I told you before. My brothers’ things had been placed in my father’s study. Naturally, my father must have also seen it.”
“And h
e made no mention of it? Do you not find that odd, my lady?” He was speaking to her as a tutor leads a student to an answer. “Allow me to propose a different scenario, since you have made great leaps of hypothesis and are too ignorant to see the gaps in your own logic.”
She wanted to tell him to shut his mouth, to stop his lying tongue, but she could not, for the answer was beginning to dawn on her, even as he continued.
“The signet of the black Raven, my dear girl, is sacred to the brotherhood – or the sect, as you call it. It is a symbol of authority. You no doubt deduced this, since you used the one found in your father’s chamber to mark that false letter to Antony.”
She began to protest ignorance of this, but was stopped by a wave of his hand.
“Don’t bother denying it, my dear. It is very clear to me now. We in the brotherhood errantly assumed that your father had sent the letter, which is why he was killed. But now I see very plainly that it was you all along. You sent that message, hoping to spawn a ripple in our secret communications that would ultimately expose the Raven’s identity. Very clever, my dear, though foolish and futile as you will soon learn.”
“You murdering blackguard!” She said enraged, clenching her dress in her fists and unable to curb the tears streaking down her cheeks.
“Do not put on such a show, my lady, for you long suspected that he was murdered. Yes, we did kill him. But surely, now you can see that you were partly to blame.”
“I?” She said incredulously.
“As I said before, you meddle in affairs you do not comprehend.” His lips made the smallest smile before he continued. “Did you know, my lady, that only the inner circle of the Raven Brotherhood is permitted to possess the signet ring of authority? The rings are used only to issue orders to other members of the brotherhood. Each ring is different, slightly altered, so that the recipient of the message can identify the sender simply by examining the mark.” He eyed her slyly. “It was not through any random deduction that we suspected your father of sending that letter to Antony, for you made your forgery well, my dear, when you used that ring to seal it. Your father’s mark was clearly visible.”
Calpurnia felt a numbness overtake her as she realized where he was steering her.
“Then the ring I found –” she started.
“Was your father’s, yes,” he finished her thought. “Your father was a member of the Raven Brotherhood, my dear.”
Her world felt turned on its side. Was it possible? Could it be that her father belonged to such a repugnant, secretive society, who disregarded the age-old procedures of the forum and made their moves in the shadows? Her head spun as she was faced with the stark reality of it, and she was finding it hard to breathe.
“He had become quite a burden to us in his final days,” Postumus continued, ignoring her distress. “You see, he defied us when he sent your brothers to Egypt. Your father was convinced that Caesar could not be defeated unless the brotherhood made an alliance with Ptolemy’s heirs. He felt that securing the grain of Egypt should be our paramount objective. Our master, the Raven, disagreed. But your father was insistent to the point of obsession – to the point of sending his own sons to negotiate with the Egyptian court in direct defiance of the Raven’s will. Your father gave your brothers his own ring as a symbol of their authority that they might negotiate on behalf of the brotherhood, an authority our master had not granted. We in the brotherhood were left with few options. Your brothers were killed to head off your father’s pig-headed imprudence. He had left us with no choice. The ring you used to seal your forged message to Antony bore your father’s distinctive mark. This was recognized by our agent on Antony’s staff, and he immediately informed the Raven of your father’s assumed treachery. The Raven naturally suspected that your father was trying to craft some deal with Antony in retaliation for your brothers’ murders. He was killed for this reason, and this alone. So, you see, my dear, it was all your doing.” He smiled devilishly at her stunned expression, and then added with mock pity, “It must feel terrible knowing that you murdered your own father.”
She wanted to leap at him, to scratch his eyes out, to choke him, but she knew any such effort would be easily overpowered by the large man.
“I have done nothing other than the duty of any daughter, of any sister,” she said through watery eyes. “I have sought to avenge my loved ones, and I will have succeeded on the day that you and your cronies are dragged before the Senate as criminals.”
A sudden iciness befell his countenance, and he slowly moved towards her.
“Such a day shall not come, Lady Calpurnia,” he said sinisterly. “And you are wrong. You have done far more than the duty of a daughter. You have interfered in the affairs of a man ten-times more powerful than your father, or any other man in Rome. And now you will tell me what foolishness you have wrought with Antony this time.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Your schemes do not elude me. Your handmaid, that Syrian woman, has not been seen since the fleet was off Brundisium.” He grabbed her arm and squeezed it tightly with a surprising strength. “We are alone, my dear. There is no one that will heed your screams. And now you will tell me where that woman has gone. Did you send her to Antony? Did she carry another of your forged messages? Why does Antony drive his fleet toward Illyricum? Tell me, damn you!”
“No!” she cried as his grip moved from her arm to her throat. “I don’t know! I have sent no message!”
“You lie!” he snarled, his face now contorted with rage. “Tell me, or I’ll wring your neck here and now!”
His face was a hand’s breadth from hers, so close that his saliva spattered her lips as he spoke. She could not break free from his iron grasp no matter how much she struggled. The large, strong fingers were crushing her throat, slowly and deliberately. She found it harder and harder to draw breath and suddenly realized that Postumus intended to murder her whether she gave him an answer or not. She felt the blood in her bloated face and then began to lose feeling as his grip slowed the lifeblood from flowing to her brain. She felt herself go limp, her struggling hands losing all of their strength.
But then the grip suddenly lightened, and then was not there. He released her and she fell to the deck, and as she looked up at his tall form above her, she realized that he was not looking at her. Something had drawn his attention away, something in the shadows, and the lined face of the old senator seemed almost white with fear in the dim light.
She heard a great cry from the shadows, a piercing, bestial cry. Postumus stared back into the darkness as though he gazed upon his own corpse in the grave.
“What devilry is this?” She heard him say in terror. “Stay away from me! Stay away, damn you!”
But the next moment a shadow surged from the darkness, bounding across the lit space on its hair-covered arms in the interval of a heartbeat. It breathed heavily and seemingly grunted in anger as it rushed the terrified Postumus. But it stopped short of laying its large hands on the senator. There was no need, for the big man now clutched his chest, his face frozen with fright. A hollow sinking sound escaped from his open mouth before he collapsed to the deck, falling onto his side opposite Calpurnia, his wide eyes unblinking in the lamplight.
In her final moments of consciousness, Calpurnia felt giant hands upon her. But these were not the rough hands of Postumus. Though repellent in aroma and calloused like leather, the hands that held her now had a gentle aspect. They tenderly cradled her face and stroked her hair, accompanied by a muffled whimpering as the world around her fell to darkness.
XXXIII
A splash of spray bounded over the bulwark and doused Libo’s prostrate form, reviving him. He opened his eyes to find that he was being attended to by the Argonaut’s physician and several assistants. As the elusive memories of the sea chase and his own fall from the tower slowly fell into place, he felt a cascade of pain seemingly tap every nerve whenever he tried to move his shoulder or his arm. It was not to be ou
tmatched by the ringing throb in his head that urged him to close his eyes once again, to drift back into sublime unconsciousness and shut out the frenzy of activity all around him. He might have surrendered to that urge had his eyes not beheld the vast canvas sheets stretched to their full height above him, or had his ears not heard the protesting creaks of the straining masts.
Ignoring the pleas of the physician and the shooting pains in his body, Libo struggled upright, pulling on the shoulder of the nearby attendant until he was on his feet.
“Where are we?” he demanded almost incoherently. “Where is Postumus? Where is Naevius?”
As the deck hands passed the word for the captain, Libo found his way to the rail to survey the situation. The Argonaut and her sisters were flying before the wind, under all sail, their bows plunging in and out of the white-capped waves. They drove north, the southerly wind at their backs, the white-trimmed shoals of the rocky coast to starboard, the open sea to larboard. Just ahead, the rocky promontory stretched to a point that it nearly lay in their path. His own ships were perilously close and would only just narrowly avoid the shoals on this course. Libo could see that, with the southerly wind at their backs, his fleet had overtaken several more transports and was near to pouncing upon the crowded center of the fleeing convoy, which had only just rounded the point and was now heading into the bay. It had not been the distended sails alone that had allowed Argonaut and her consorts to close the distance so quickly. The rapid beat of the drums rang out in Libo’s throbbing head, and he could discern from the accelerated slap of the oars that they rose and fell at ramming speed – an exertion usually saved for the moments before impact. The intermittent white feathers alongside the other ships in the fleet told Libo that they, too, were pushing their rowers to keep station with the flagship. How long the oarsmen had been under such exertion he could not guess, but it had placed the fleet in a position to overtake Antony. Now, try as they might, the fifty-odd lumbering ships ahead would never reach the landing beaches before the onrushing rams of the Argonaut and her sisters caught up with them.
Rome: Tempest of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series) Page 28
