“Your name will be exalted on the Senate floor for this, commodore,” the mate called as he groped his way across the dozens of marines tossing the enemy bodies into the sea. When he was finally at Libo’s side, he added, “Perhaps it shall propel you to even greater fortune, sir.”
Libo could see that the man harbored something within him, that he was playfully withholding some information, but the exertion of the battle had left Libo too drained to guess or even care what it might be.
“Lookouts aboard the Remus have spotted a ship approaching, sir. One of ours.” The mate assumed a forced somber tone, as he added, “She flies the black flag of mourning, sir, and she’s signaling.”
After a brief moment of consideration, Libo’s thought quickly converged on the worst news possible.
“Pompey?” he asked hesitantly. “Has Pompey been defeated?”
“No, sir. It’s not as bad as all that. It’s the admiral, sir – Admiral Bibulus. He’s dead, Neptune bless him.” After allowing Libo to process that information for a few moments, the mate added with a grin, “And you, sir, are ordered to return to Corcyra, with all dispatch. I’m guessing they want you to replace him. I’ve got ten denarii on it with the sailing master.”
Libo ignored him, but stared out at the approaching ship carrying the black banner. A moment ago, he was overcome with the joy of the victory. Now, a cloud had descended on him, and he did not know why. Though he grieved Bibulus, he could not perceive the admiral’s death as a tragedy. Too many had suffered under the whimsical notions of that troubled man. In fact, hearing of the admiral’s death had given him an odd sense of peace. It was only after the mate had mentioned the rest of the message that his spirits sank, as if the mate’s predictions had already come true and he bore the heavy burden of command on his shoulders. A thousand thoughts coursed through his mind at once, all of them weighty.
He looked down at the slumped body of the dead Rhodian admiral. His troubles were over. He would never have to deal with incompetent officers, insurmountable food shortages, and unconscionable Senators ever again. Perhaps he now drank goblets of wine in the afterlife with his fathers, laughing his merry head off.
As the news quickly spread throughout both ships, more cheers erupted. The ovation was meant to bolster him, but it had quite the opposite effect and he silently wished it would stop. He gazed into the dead Rhodian’s half-opened eyes and, for the briefest of moments – in the time that a porpoise might leap above the waves to disappear in the next breath – Libo wished he were with him.
X
Calpurnia had not been surprised when news of her father's death reached her. She had been weaving in the garden of her father's seaside villa overlooking the bay of Corcyra, as she was fond of doing in the late afternoons that she might watch the shadows slowly stretch across the bay as the sun sank behind the mountains – the same time of day it was now.
She could see that same garden now from where she stood on the main deck of the moored Argonaut. Marjanita fidgeted beside her, and while Calpurnia gazed upon the shore, the irritable handmaid glared inboard, returning the stare of any passing sailor or marine who eyed her mistress in the least hostile manner. Calpurnia cared little if the sea-weary crewmen looked or not. Her mind was too filled with thoughts of what she had done, and what she still must do.
The colorful awnings and tiled roofs of the seaside town dressed the hills around the harbor, matching the equally vibrant sails and canopies stretched across the decks of the anchored vessels. The gray clouds that had marred her father’s funeral that morning had dispersed, letting the late afternoon sun draw long shadows among the hills and across the bay. A ribbon of smoke trailed into the sky from the town square, the remnants of the pyre that had burned hotly only hours ago.
He was gone now. Her father’s troubled spirit was free of the distresses of this world and now journeyed to the afterlife. Perhaps the prayers she had unceasingly chanted over the past weeks had been answered after all, and now his soul would truly find peace. But even that elusive prospect did little to soothe her guilty heart.
"Pardon me, my lady,” a voice said behind her. Calpurnia turned to see Naevius, the captain of the Argonaut, his face set in an expression to match his reverent tone. “I do not wish to interrupt your contemplations."
Marjanita scowled at the intrusion, but Calpurnia greeted him warmly, assuming the brightest smile she could manage. "You are not interrupting. You have been very kind to extend to me such courtesies today. I know I have distracted you from many more pressing duties."
"Not at all, my lady," Naevius said, standing aside as a pair of slaves lugged one of the late admiral's sea chests to the rail, where it would be harnessed to the ship’s crane and lowered to the waiting launch below. "I have no other duty on this day than to ease your grief in any way that I can."
"You are very kind," she replied cordially, though she suspected the polite captain was like all the others and had thought her father insane. He smiled kindly to her face, but was inwardly brimming with joy that he would not have to suffer another day under the mad admiral’s harshness and sometimes cruelty. Yes, she knew her father's faults. She knew them all too well, and thus she could not blame the sailors and marines for the many sidelong glances and bitter looks, as if she were the lingering essence of the insanity.
A whip cracked nearby in short succession. Calpurnia turned to see that the wielder was a paunch, short man with the blotches of a beard on his face. He laid into a large slave with great vigor and pleasure. The bare-chested man whom he drove did not have the face of a slave, though his body certainly seemed accustomed to manual labor. His physique contrasted to those around him as that of a powerful lion striding amongst foxes, and Calpurnia caught herself swallowing once as she watched his bulging back and leg muscles straining beneath one of her father’s larger chests. She had once seen three porters struggle to lift the same chest, and she marveled that any one man could bear so heavy an object.
“Move faster, damn you!” the potbellied man shouted venomously.
The slave was not moving slowly by any means, and she immediately got the impression that no pace would be fast enough for the irritable little man. The big slave simply stared at the deck, his face set like chiseled marble as he lugged the burden, never once acknowledging his tormentor, or the stings of the whip.
“I said, faster! Are you deaf? What was your century comprised of? I did not know Caesar recruited little girls into his service? You move slower than my morning turd! Oh, uh, excuse me, my lady.” This last was said when the irritable little man caught sight of Calpurnia. At first, he smiled at her and nodded respectfully. But then, after a rather blatant study of her figure, the pig-faced man raised his eyebrows and licked his lips in an expression so licentious that Calpurnia had the sudden urge to vigorously scrub her person and burn her clothes.
Upon seeing this affront, Marjanita stepped forward with her hand at her belt, but Calpurnia quickly waved her off, not wishing to cause a scene. The detestable man stared for several moments longer before cracking the whip again and leading the slave on.
“Must that little man be so malicious?” Calpurnia asked the captain, after the pair had passed.
“Oh, that is Barca the overseer, my lady,” Naevius answered apathetically, evidently having missed the inappropriate look. “I know it must be unpleasant for your eyes, but such treatment is sometimes necessary.” He turned to face her after the chest was swayed out over the beam under creaking cordage and straining hemp. “And I believe that is the last of the admiral's items from the hold, my lady. Shall I escort you to the admiral's quarters now?"