“Now, young Libo, while it is true that I would have much preferred to crush Caesar in the field before Antony could arrive, and while it is true that these new legions on my flank will force me to go on the defensive – temporarily, I might add – all is not lost. Dyrrachium is an excellent port. We can fortify her to suit our needs, I assure you. And do not forget, we have more food in Dyrrachium than Caesar and Antony will be able to find in all of Greece. Should we require more, we can resupply from the sea.”
“But, General,” Libo said in a more subtle tone, glancing once in the direction of the servants. “Less than half of our fleet remains to control the coast. We have a dozen ships at most.”
“It will be enough, Libo. Do not worry. With the seas in such turmoil this winter, and with the unexpected death of your predecessor, I had already anticipated that our fleet might meet with tragedy. Even now, my son Gnaeus travels to Asia Minor to enlist more ships and crews to our cause. The pirates of Cilicia owe me many debts. They will come. Fear not, by month’s end, we will have replaced our losses and will once again control the seas.”
“Suppose Caesar and Antony bring you to battle before then, sir.”
“I think it is safe to say, they will not.” Pompey smiled smugly. “I still outnumber them. I will make Dyrrachium impregnable, as I made Brundisium impregnable when we withdrew from Italy. Just as he did then, Caesar will pine away the weeks. One delay will lead to another. He may attempt a siege, but he will never be strong enough to attack. Scipio’s legions will soon arrive from the East, and we will once again have the upper hand. Whatever is left of Caesar’s starving, pathetic band will then be swept away like so much sawdust. Most will desert when they see the forces arrayed against them. Have no fear, Libo, we shall end the reign of this tyrant, one way or another.” Pompey’s voice then trailed off, as if a thought had suddenly crossed his mind. The smile left his face and he stared absently into the fire with unblinking eyes, his lined features, made more prominent in the orange glow. He drew a trace expression of sadness – or was it fear – as if he were in another time, another place, reliving some tragic memory deep in the past.
There was a long silence in the room, but Libo could not bear it any longer. He felt the shame weigh upon him like an anchor that could never be cast off.
“With your permission, great Pompey, now that I have discharged my duties in making this report to you, and wishing to bring no further dishonor to my family, I humbly ask to retire to some private quarters, that I may make my peace with the gods and commit suicide.”
Pompey came out of his trance and cast an odd look at Libo as if, for a moment, he did not recognize him. Then the general erupted in uproarious laughter.
“Nonsense, Libo! I will not hear of it! If there is one thing the republic will need when she rises from the ashes, it is honest men. You are an honest man, and I will not permit you to deprive Rome of your services, which I am sure will prove invaluable. Let us talk no more of suicide. I forbid it. Is that understood?”
“Yes, great Pompey.”
“There is one uncertainty, however, that you can clear up for me.”
Libo nodded, detecting that Pompey’s tone had changed and was now tinged with an air of suspicion.
“It has come to my attention that Senator Postumus was with your fleet as you blockaded the coast.”
“Yes, General. That is true.”
“I also understand that a meeting of sorts took place between Postumus and Antony, somewhere near Brundisium.”
“That is also true, sir. I was there, too.” Libo knew there was no sense in denying it. If Pompey knew about the meeting, then he surely knew who was in attendance. Pompey was testing him.
“And what business did the admiral of the fleet, and one of our most distinguished Senators, have with the enemy?” Pompey was no longer smiling. He was no longer the gentle old man. His face was now upturned, and he looked down at Libo with the same judgmental eyes that had condemned countless conquered peoples in his life.
Briefly considering Pompey’s earlier assertion that he was an honest man, Libo quickly contrived a half-truth. “The senator arranged the meeting with Antony, to discuss some personal matter that he would not share with me. He implored me to allow the meeting, and I acquiesced, hoping to capitalize on any opportunity to seize or slay Antony. I came very close to succeeding, but I was betrayed by a centurion of the Tenth whom I had taken into confidence.”
“Did you say of the Tenth? One of Caesar’s legions?”
“Yes, General. He was a captive who had convinced me he had come over to our side - one Lucius Domitius. A formidable fellow, but a liar and a traitor all the same. He shall receive due recompense for his treachery, if ever I lay eyes on him again.”
“And what became of Postumus?”
“I know not, General. I am told he went belowdecks just before my flagship foundered. The ship’s back was broken, and she came apart very quickly. More than likely, he was lost.”
Pompey nodded, apparently satisfied with his answers, and now appeared to turn his attention to the feast that had been laid out. From the adjoining chamber, came the sound of water being poured into a wash basin, and through the thin veil separating the rooms, Libo could see the figure of a man washing his hands while a servant poured the water for him. The man cleared his throat loudly as he completed his toilet. Libo was surprised, for he had not noticed him before. How long had he been there? At that moment, Libo realized that three places had been prepared at the table.
“Forgive me, General,” Libo said to Pompey. “I did not realize you had company. I do not wish to interrupt your dinner. With your permission, I will retire.”
“No, Libo. You are welcome. In fact, it is good that you are here. I wish to introduce you to one of our most generous supporters.” Pompey then called into the next room. “Come here, Marcus. There is someone I’d like you to meet.”
The curtain was pulled aside, and a refined man with short-cropped, gray hair entered the room. Somehow, Libo knew him to be around Pompey’s age, but in contrast to Pompey, this man looked young and vibrant in his movement and manner, and in nearly every other feature.
“You will forgive me. I could not help but overhear,” the man said, smiling with his lips but not his eyes. After drying his hands on a towel wrapped around his neck, he tossed the towel to a servant and approached Libo with an extended hand. But before the collar of his tunic fell back into place, Libo caught a glimpse of a faded black mark on the man’s upper chest. It was an old tattoo, and Libo’s mouth went dry when he realized what it was. He had only seen it for the briefest of moments, but he was certain of what he saw, and his mind reeled at the reality of it.
It was the profile of an open-mouthed raven.
“Marcus has been away from Rome for some time,” Pompey went on, patting the man on the back as he presented him to Libo. “But now he has returned to help us in our darkest hour. Admiral Libo, I have the honor of introducing you to Senator Marcus Valens.”
Unable to speak, Libo shook the offered hand.
“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Admiral,” Marcus Valens said. “Please accept my deepest sympathies for the loss of your fleet. I hope you will not think it rude, if I ask you to indulge me by recounting the story as we dine – most especially, the tale of that centurion who betrayed you. What was his name again? Lucius Domitius, was it? I am most eager to hear everything you can tell me about him.”
Rome: Tempest of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series) Page 31
