“I’m sure you’re right, sir.”
Libo smiled at the pat response. “I suppose we should get down to business then.” He looked thoughtfully at Lucius. “I need to know what the senator is up to. I believe it has something to do with the message Marcellus was carrying. You are my only prospect of learning the contents of that message. Do you not see, Centurion? We need each other.”
“You need me, sir? A centurion of Caesar’s?”
“Without your information, I am a blind man upon a precipice. Likewise, you need me, Lucius. For, without my protection, you will spend the rest of this war, and quite possibly the rest of your life, chained to the end of an oar. I’m sure you would rather leave this dreadful conflict behind you and go home to Spain. You have family there, do you?”
“I have nothing in Spain, sir. Besides, Italy is closer. Brundisium will do.”
Libo looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then smiled, “Ah, yes, of course. Antony is in Brundisium. Well, in any event, if you agree to help me, I shall arrange for your parole. If you choose to use it to seek your revenge, that is your business. Now, what say you, Centurion? Are we agreed?”
XXII
The fleet arrived off Brundisium the next day. The brief interval of fair weather came to an end just as the coast came into view. A bank of clouds rolled over the sea, bringing with it a cold stinging rain and shrouding the distant town and inner harbor with an impenetrable mist.
Libo had ordered the fleet to cruise several leagues offshore to ensure that no surprise shift in the wind put them onto the rocks. Now, he stood against the larboard rail, straining his eyes to see through the squall. He was aware that Lucius stood a few paces behind him, the former centurion and former slave now bedecked in a new uniform tunic and cloak. He was still forbidden from carrying arms, but his bindings were all gone. His new position demanded that he roam the ship freely.
As expected, upon hearing of Libo’s decision to make the slave his personal valet, Postumus was beside himself with anger. The senator had barged into Libo’s cabin unannounced.
“This is quite out of the ordinary, Admiral! Quite out of the ordinary, indeed! It shows poor judgement on your part. As the only representative of the Senate aboard, I demand that you place the Caesarian scum back in irons and confine him to the benches, where he belongs! You place this mission, and yourself, in too much danger trusting him.”
“He is part of this crew, Senator,” Libo had replied calmly. “He is, therefore, my responsibility. I came to the Argonaut without even my personal servants, since you and the Senate demanded I bring no one with me from the Remus. You may give me orders regarding this fleet, Senator. Send my squadrons where you will. But I will have the privilege of choosing my own valet.” Libo had eyed Postumus sportingly. “Besides, the slave has proved useful to me. He has provided me with much information about our mission – much more than you and the Senate have chosen to share. Tell me, Senator, who is it that we will be meeting on Basada, two days hence?”
Postumus’s face had instantly reddened with anger, and he had stormed out of the cabin without saying another word. Libo had quite enjoyed making the old bastard squirm for a change.
It had not taken Libo long to figure out the meaning of the message Basada on the Ides, and seeing Postumus uncomfortable was nearly compensation enough for the deal he had made to get it. Lucius Domitius had agreed to yield the secret message in exchange for his release. Lucius had kept his end of the bargain, and consequently Libo had appointed the centurion as his personal valet until a suitable time presented itself to drop him off somewhere on the coast.
Now, as Libo looked down the rain-swept deck, he could see the forms of Postumus and Flavius standing on the foredeck, conversing quietly within their hooded cloaks. Perhaps they were discussing how they might deal with this new problem. For, if they truly did plan to meet with someone on the isle of Basada, which lay on the periphery of Brundisium Harbor and under the enemy’s very nose, they would certainly need his cooperation.
As Libo pondered, his attention was suddenly drawn away by Naevius, who approached him and saluted.
“Ship coming alongside, Admiral,” he reported. “It’s the trireme Minerva from the outer squadron. She’s got a small vessel in tow, sir. She’s requesting to bring prisoners aboard.”
The two ships came together, and five bound men were marched across the gangplank at the point of the sword, ushered by the Minerva’s captain and a file of marines. The prisoners were quickly ordered to their knees on the pitching deck before Libo.
“Who are they?” Libo demanded.
“They claim to be fishermen, my lord,” the captain of the Minerva answered. “They were making great haste when we came upon them. They dashed through our blockade and tried to reach the harbor. They’d have made it, had their little craft not been swamped by a rogue wave.”
“Why were you running?” Libo addressed the kneeling men.
“It is not wise for any mariner to be out in seas like this, my lord,” said one, whose age and leathery skin indicated that he was the master of the others. The storm came upon us suddenly and blew us out to sea. We have been fighting to keep her afloat all day. Once we happened on a favorable wind, we made for the coast as best we could. We were simply seeking the safety of the harbor.”
“He lies, my lord!” Naevius exclaimed. “No fool with any sense in his head would approach the rocks at Brundisium in this weather – not unless he had orders to do so.”
Libo nodded, having already come to the same conclusion, and addressed the fisherman again. “This blow has persisted all day. I have scarcely seen a fishing craft in that time, nor have I expected to. Tell me, gentlemen, what is it that gives you such bravado to weather such a storm when the others of your trade dare not leave port? Could it be that you have not been at sea for days, but only hours? Could it be that you were running from Epirus to Italy, perhaps? Could it be that you are confederates of Caesar?”
“No, my lord!” the master said disgustedly, spitting on the rain-slickened deck. “We curse the name of Caesar and all who serve him! We pray for the day when Rome is once again ruled by the people and the Senate.”
The captain of the Minerva audibly scoffed at this. “Ask him to explain this, my lord.” He gestured to a marine who quickly approached and placed a small chest on the deck at Libo’s feet. The marine opened the chest and drew out its contents, tossing each on the deck – a leather cuirass, a cavalry helmet, a carefully folded cloak, a small purse filled with coins, and a scarlet band of silk. They were all Roman, all of good quality, and could only belong to a knight. The silk band was the most damning of the collection. Caesar had ordered his troops to wear such markings on their arms to differentiate them from Pompey’s legionaries.
“One of you is a Roman officer,” Libo stated rather than asked. “And it is not difficult to guess which.”
Libo then strode over to the youngest of the five kneeling men. The man stood out from the rest. He had short hair that was not matted and curled from years in the salty air. The young man’s skin was not wrinkled and leathery, nor were his hands calloused and lined with scars from a lifetime handling lines.
“Who are you?” Libo demanded. “There is no reason to lie now.”
The young man looked up, his eyes no longer humble and averted, but proud and defiant. He stared straight up at Libo as he boldly replied, “I serve Rome, and the consul Gaius Julius Caesar.”
“And what message were you bearing?”
“I bear no message. I travel to my home in Naples. News reached me in the field that my elderly father has died. I am returning to see to my family.”