It had been an unusual outburst, and Calpurnia allowed the awkward moment to linger, pursing her lips in a small smile, waiting several long moments before responding.
“Your keen interest in the details of this affair warms my heart, Flavius,” she said derisively. “But bound or not, this man did not attack me.”
“Then you can identify the true offender?” Libo asked.
“Yes, Admiral,” she replied, never taking her eyes from Postumus, who now appeared slightly uncomfortable. She slowly raised her hand as if to point a finger at the senator, but then abruptly turned and pointed at another. “It was that man! There can be no question. He assaulted me!”
Every eye turned to look at the man she now accused. The devilish smile that had previously adorned the man’s face was now gone, replaced with surprise, confusion, and panic. Libo, too, was surprised. For the man whom Calpurnia now accused was the overseer Barca.
“Pardon my belaboring such a sensitive matter, my lady, but are you sure?”
“I am sure,” she answered without hesitation. “I saw him clearly in the light of the lantern.”
“No-no, my lady,” Barca stuttered, shaking his head. “It was not me. Not me, my lady.”
“Silence, vermin!” the handmaid snapped. She appeared ready to kill the man herself.
“But, how could it be me, my lady?” Barca stuttered nervously. “I did not see you in the hold last night. I…I was seeing to my duties last night.”
Libo saw Barca’s jittery eyes shoot a pleading glance at Postumus, and thought it very odd that he should keep looking in the senator’s direction.
“My dear lady,” Postumus said, cutting off the babbling overseer. “The light plays tricks on the eye. You were no doubt frightened out of your wits. While I’m sure you are frightened by the mere sight of this repulsive man,” the senator gestured at Barca, “there are so many like him on this vessel. How can you be certain he was the one?”
Marjanita stepped forward. “Last night, my mistress was wearing a cherished set of earrings given to her by her father. When I tended to her this morning, they were missing. This rogue must have made off with them before he fled.”
“Earrings, you say?” Libo asked, looking to Calpurnia for confirmation.
“Yes,” Calpurnia replied. “They were made of fine lapis lazuli.”
“Very well,” Libo sighed, glancing at Naevius. “I believe this can be resolved quickly, captain.”
“Aye, sir,” Naevius replied and then pointed to the front file of marines. “Go below, and search the kit of Barca the overseer.”
The marines saluted and marched down the hatchway. In the interval that followed, Libo noticed a staring competition of sorts between the short Barca and the tall prisoner. Barca smiled confidently, chuckled to himself, even cast taunting looks at the prisoner, no doubt filled with the self-assurance that the search would vindicate him. But, with each glance, Barca’s confidence began to visibly wane, for the prisoner did not appear in the slightest way concerned. He stared back at the overseer, his face set in a smug, almost amused expression, as if the two faced off across a latrunculi board and he had just played the winning move. By the time the marines trumped back up the ladder to report the results of their search, the overseer’s smile had faded completely and had been replaced with a look of dread.
Barca was now in a panic as the marines moved in, disarmed him of the baton, and bound him. The marine captain then approached Calpurnia and bowed, opening his hand to reveal two earrings of polished blue that twinkled in the morning sunlight.
“No…no!” Barca exclaimed disbelievingly. “This cannot be!” Again, he looked at Postumus, as if expecting some kind of assistance, finally pleading, “No… Senator…my lord, please…I -”
His pleas were quickly silenced by Flavius who was suddenly there and struck him violently across the face.
“Do not address the senator, scoundrel!” Flavius barked, as the bound man recoiled from the blow. “Who do you think you are?”
Barca was brought before Libo and the sentence was pronounced. A scratching noise was heard as the scribe vigorously rubbed out the centurion’s name, replacing it with the overseer’s, as casually as if he were correcting a mathematical error. Barca was practically sniveling as he was stripped of his clothes.
“Mercy, my lady,” he muttered under his breath. “Have mercy. It was not my fault. I wanted no harm to come to you.” When this drew no response from Calpurnia who looked out to sea as if he were not there, Barca cast a final pleading look at the senator. “My lord?”
Flavius moved as if to strike Barca again, but Postumus placed an arm on his adjutant’s shoulder to stop him. For a long moment, the senator stared at Barca as if he was considering whether or not to intercede on his behalf. When Naevius directed the marines to convey the condemned man to the grating, Postumus finally spoke.
“Wait, Captain Naevius.”
Libo watched with curiosity as the senator approached Naevius and the party of marines. A look of hope crossed the overseer’s face, but quickly evaporated when the senator drew a dark expression.
“Captain,” Postumus said without emotion. “It is possible this filth might further denigrate the lady’s honor as he endures the pain of the lash. Lady Calpurnia has suffered enough insults for one day. See to it that the rogue’s tongue is cut out.”
Naevius nodded and gestured to the marines, who quickly took hold of the overseer, one of them producing a pugio dagger.
“No! No! No!” Barca shrieked, his eyes wide with terror, his cries quickly degenerating into a perpetual dissonance of unintelligible screams.
XXI
Libo settled into the chair while Lucius stood on the opposite side of the cramped cabin, shifting his weight with the gentle roll of the ship.
“You are surprised that I summoned you here,” Libo said, pouring himself a cup of wine. “Are you not? Much more surprised than you were when Lady Calpurnia intervened on your behalf.”
“I did not attack the lady, my lord,” Lucius replied simply.
“You were facing certain death, Centurion. All of the evidence pointed to you. That lashing we both just witnessed, the overseer’s fate, might have been yours, had the lady not interceded. And yet, you did not appear the least bit concerned. You were as collected as a man preparing to bed down for the night. It was as if you somehow knew…” Libo eyed him suspiciously. “How do you explain that?”
“Perhaps ten years on campaign has dulled my fear of death, my lord.”
Lucius set his face in a stolid expression. He could tell Libo did not believe him, and indeed Lucius had given him a half-truth. While Lucius had spent many hard years suffering and witnessing unspeakable acts of cruelty on a hundred battlefields, and while those events had shaped him into the hardened warrior he was today, it had not been those experiences alone that had given him such an outward display of confidence on the brink of his own execution. Lucius had failed to mentioned the chief reason for his coolness, the event that had happened in the dark hours of the morning, after he had been apprehended and chained to the mast.
As he had sat slumped against the groaning fir column, trying to piece together the attack in the hold, and why Barca or anyone else might wish to do away with him in such a fashion, the handmaid had materialized out of the darkness. She had been cloaked in black and had moved as one with the night shadows, slithering from one dark corner to another, unseen by the deck watch, and completely unnoticed by Lucius until she was suddenly beside him.
“Do not turn to look at me, Roman!” She whispered harshly. “If you wish to live, you will answer my questions discreetly. Three weeks ago, you were in Rome, were you not?”
“I’m pleased that you remember, lass. You were dressed then much as you are now.” He then smiled and added. “But I prefer you as I saw you on deck the other night. Do you always swim in the nude?”