Libo ascended to the hatchway and stepped out into the sunlight wearing his blue cloak and best armor. A file of marines in shining mail and helmets clinked to attention on the stern deck, while nearby the boatswain unfurled his lash until the long hemp strands hung freely, each one tipped with a jagged sliver of bronze. A scribe rubbed a wax tablet smooth in preparation for recording the next events. Postumus was there, too, chatting with Flavius as he leaned against the larboard rail, as if taking only a casual interest in the proceedings.
The prisoner, who had spent the night shackled to the mast, was brought forward without a struggle and directed to stand before Libo. He was accompanied by the overseer, whom Libo had learned was called Barca. Regardless of the prisoner’s cooperation, Barca repeatedly struck him with a small baton, prompting him to move faster. The overseer appeared to take great pleasure in it, but the prisoner seemed unfazed. The large, muscular man looked tough as a hob-nailed boot.
“Here is the prisoner, my lord,” Barca said lustily, and then struck the shackled man’s bare legs with the baton. “On your knees before the admiral, slave!”
With a steady eye, the prisoner complied, clearly of his own volition and not in response to the abusive treatment.
This pleased the overseer, who giggled with glee. Libo saw the shifty-eyed man cast a knowing glance at the idling Postumus, but the senator either did not notice or chose not to acknowledge him. Libo thought it odd behavior, but he had come to understand that this Barca was an excitable thug, as many of his profession were.
As Libo studied the prisoner’s chiseled face, with its single scar, a memory stirred. The man’s powerful arms bound behind him and the massive chest nearly bursting forth the seams of his tattered tunic would have been enough, had Libo not instantly recognized the steady eyes that now looked back at him. He had seen this man before, in the adornment of a centurion, standing alone amid a carpet of corpses on the deck of the captured transport – the same transport that had flown the mysterious orange pennant. With all that had happened in the past two weeks, Libo had quite forgotten about it. Now, a flood of thoughts came over him as he began to catalog this string of seemingly coincidental events. The orange-flagged ship, Bibulus's untimely death, Senator Postumus’s secretive mission, Calpurnia’s insistence on sailing with the fleet, and now the centurion standing before him accused of assaulting her. The string of events went far beyond a reasonable threshold of randomness. What connection could this man possibly have to Calpurnia? How came he to attack her deep within the bowels of the ship? And why would he? As Libo turned these thoughts over, the grim-faced Naevius cleared his throat and prompted the scribe to read the order.
"The slave, Lucius Domitius of Spain,” the scribe read aloud in a drawling monotone, “being found in the execution of an act of ruthless and licentious aggression toward a noble lady of Rome, will now stand before the commander of the fleet, Admiral Scribonius Libo, to receive his sentence."
Libo noticed that the prisoner did not appear anxious or fearful, as might be expected of one condemned to an excruciating death. The prisoner’s gaze carried the same vibrancy and confidence as it had when Libo had last seen him, when his hands were not bound by chains, but defiantly held two bloody gladii.
The clerk yawned once, and then took up the stylus to record the next moments.
“Cut and dry, my lord,” Naevius said dismissively. “One thousand lashes is the usual punishment for such an offense. That should be enough to lay the scallywag’s ribs bare. Then we’ll leave him on the grating to die slowly over the next few days. It will serve as a reminder to the others.”
Libo knew well the sentence for such an infraction, but he hesitated to enact it. He felt a sudden overwhelming certainty that this centurion was his one hope to discovering the common thread that bound all of these strange events together, the only man who could give Libo the information he so desperately sought. How could he surrender him to the lash? As Libo’s mind raced for a solution, he noticed that the prisoner was looking back at him as if he knew his very thoughts.
“Does the prisoner wish to make a statement?” Libo finally said.
Naevius appeared taken aback. “Admiral, perhaps you enforced a different code of discipline in Aquila Squadron, but aboard the Argonaut, a noble woman’s word is never questioned over that of a slave. It sends the wrong message, sir.”
“He is not a slave!” Libo snapped, irritated at the captain’s near impertinence. “He was a centurion of Rome in his former life.” He turned to look back at the accused. “Now I wish to know, Centurion, have you anything to say for yourself? Why did you attack the Lady Calpurnia?”
“Forgive me, Admiral!” Senator Postumus broke in before the prisoner could speak. “But I’m afraid I must agree with the captain. Our dear Calpurnia has already suffered enough. Must you add further insult to her honor by stretching out these proceedings? This man is guilty, and must be punished without delay. He has no right to speak. Who knows what foul disparagements he might heap upon her noble person before going to his death.”
“I do not think that shall happen, Senator,” a woman’s voice said.
Every head turned to see Calpurnia emerge from the stern cabin. Her appearance sent a murmur of astonishment throughout the assembled hands. She wore a flowing blue dress, and her hair was neatly braided and crowned with a circlet of gold. She was the picture of posture and regality, looking every bit as put together as if she were departing for a day in the market.
“My lady!” Libo said with genuine concern. “You should not be here. You should be resting.”
“Thank you, Admiral, but I am fine. I am not quite as frail as you believe me to be.” She fired a look at Postumus. “I am compelled to be here. For I will not sit in my quarters while an innocent man is punished.”
“Innocent?” Postumus interjected again, the enmity in his face equal to that of Calpurnia, though he smiled and nodded to her curtly as one might show patience to a child. “My dear lady, perhaps the horror of your ordeal has clouded your head. The man was found lying beside you in the hold. There can be no doubt of his guilt.”
“You must have the wisdom of Posidonius, Senator, to come to such conclusions so quickly. I am the one who was attacked. I was there, and I say he is innocent!”
“Fortunately, my lady, your delicate heart need not exert itself with such decisions. It is quite out of your hands. The crime occurred aboard this warship, and thus, it is a matter concerning the breach of military discipline. Admiral Libo presides over these proceedings. It is for him, and only him, to declare guilt or innocence.”
“How kind of you to remind me,” she replied poisonously, and then cast a questioning glance at Libo.
“I’m afraid the senator is correct, my lady,” Libo said sympathetically, partly to make up for Postumus’s rudeness. “Your benevolence does you great credit, but naval law demands that the criminal be punished. It is in the interest of good order and discipline. You do understand, don’t you?”
“Do you now patronize me, too, Admiral?” she replied indignantly. “Of course I know discipline must be maintained. But discipline is not served when an innocent man is framed and the true villain goes free.”
“You say he is innocent, my lady,” Libo said politely, before anything insulting could issue from the senator. “Do you have any proof of that?”
“The proof of my own eyes, and my own memory. I know who assaulted me, Admiral, and it was not this man. This man tried to help me, but his chains prohibited it. Could a shackled man be my attacker? Surely, you can see the absurdity of such a notion.”
“But, my lady,” Flavius spoke up suddenly, shooting an odd glance at the senator. “The scoundrel was not shackled when he was found next to you.”