“It is interesting that Caesar insults us so,” Postumus said from beneath his hood. He and Flavius had quietly approached the spectacle. “Or are there so few true knights amongst Caesar’s host that he is forced to send idiots such as this one?”
Libo ignored the senator, but addressed the kneeling group. “It has been well-known on this coast for many months that the Senate-in-exile bears no ill-will toward those in Italy suffering under this conflict, including those who must continue their trade under the tyrant’s rule. It is also known, that those caught assisting Caesar in his military efforts will be punished.” The fishermen’s faces twisted into fear as they awaited his next words. “These men are guilty of treason. The knight will be put to death. The others will be added to the Argonaut’s complement of rowers and serve this ship for the remainder of the war.”
The young knight bowed his head, as if coming to peace with the verdict, while the fishermen, realizing they would be spared, stretched themselves prostrate at Libo’s feet, pouring out their thanks for his mercy. But their relieved looks quickly vanished when Postumus stepped forward.
“That is more clemency than your authority allows, Admiral,” the senator said succinctly.
“Sickness has swept through my decks, Senator. I am in need of rowers, and these men look strong enough. They serve our cause better alive, chained to an oar.”
“And I say, they will serve better as examples to others. The Senate is very explicit on what their fates should be. I demand that you have them executed, immediately. Let others who might be enticed to follow in their errant ways see how treason is rewarded.”
The fishermen began to protest, shaking their heads and clasping their hands together. They pleaded at Postumus’s feet, but this seemed only to disgust the senator more.
“Have them thrown overboard, Admiral. That is the only suitable fate for these miscreants.”
“Senator, I must protest,” Libo interjected. “I command here – “
“The ships and the fleet, and all military matters, yes! You made that very clear to me before, Admiral. But this is a political matter. And as the only representative of the Senate present, I demand that you carry out their will!”
Libo stared back at him for a moment, and thought to protest further, but then the realization of the futility of such an effort overcame him. He looked at the marines and gave a small nod.
The fishermen never stopped begging for mercy as they were pulled up by their bindings and shuffled to the gangway, each man stricken with panic. One by one, with their hands and feet bound, they were thrown screaming into the dark, boiling sea. Libo was sickened by the deed, but he was hopeless to stop it. He could see that Postumus brandished a smug visage, whether at the fates of the fishermen or at having exercised his dominance over the admiral of the fleet, Libo could not tell.
The deck grew silent after the last gargling voice was swallowed by the waves, and now the kneeling Roman awaited his fate. He kept his eyes closed and appeared to be muttering a prayer, seemingly oblivious to all around him. As a knight, he was entitled to a more honorable death and would be killed with the sword. The marines soon disrupted his final meditation, tearing his tunic, and stripping him to the waist in order to make the cut clean. A swordsman stepped forward to carry out the sentence, but before he lifted his blade to strike, Flavius suddenly called out for him to stop.
“Wait, soldier!”
Libo shot an irritated look at the adjutant, incensed that he would put the kneeling man through a more protracted interval, but Flavius did not seem to notice his irritation.
“I think, Senator,” Flavius said, smiling sinisterly, “this may be an opportune moment to put the admiral’s new valet to the test. Don’t you?”
Postumus appeared invigorated by the suggestion. “Yes, Flavius. An excellent opportunity indeed. How keen of you to suggest it.” Postumus then turned to Libo. “You say that former centurion of Caesar’s has had a change of heart, Admiral? Let us test that, at this very moment.”
“That is not necessary, Senator.”
“No, Admiral!” Postumus said sharply. “I really must insist! We cannot stake the success of our mission simply on your intuition. We must know for certain!”
Libo glanced at Lucius. He stood by the rail, his chiseled face streaming rain and sea spray, and forming a countenance that could be taken for fierce determination or sheer boredom. It was impossible to tell whether he had even heard a word of the exchange. He seemed completely unfazed by the deaths of the fishermen or the imminent execution of the young knight.
Libo knew that he could refuse, but some part of him wanted to know if Postumus’s suspicions were correct. Was Lucius playing him for a fool? Did he really despise Anthony as much as he claimed? The fact that Anthony tried to have him killed should be enough to set him against the Caesarian cause, but Libo had seen crazier loyalties before, especially from the ranks of the centurions. He had heard of centurions leading mutinies against their own general and turn around to fight vigorously for the same general once their grievances were answered. As much as he admired and was fond of Lucius, he had to know for certain where his loyalties now lay.
“As you wish, Senator,” Libo finally said, then motioned for Lucius to approach.
“Yes, sir,” Lucius said evenly, not even glancing at the young man kneeling on the deck only a few paces away.
“Lucius, that man is a traitor and has been sentenced to death. You will slay him. He is a knight, so make it quick.”
“Yes, sir,” Lucius replied. Without hesitation, he strode over to the kneeling man and accepted the sword from the marine. As he took up position behind the condemned man, the marines and the other bystanders stood back to allow ample room for the swing of the blade.
With sword in hand, Lucius set his feet firmly against the tilting deck. The wind howled through the masts, making the sails flap wildly, like the wings of an angry dragon. It was so deafening, in fact, that Lucius almost did not hear the words muttered through the gritted teeth of the man he was to slay.
“Lucius,” the man said, never turning his head. “Thank, Jupiter. I thought it was you, but I could not be certain. Glad I am that it will be your stroke, and not that of one of these novices.”
This was said low enough that only Lucius could hear. Lucius coughed lowly, but said nothing in response, knowing full-well that Libo and Postumus’s eyes were watching his every move, searching for any hint of hesitation.
Of course, Lucius knew the knight that now laid his neck bare before him. Lucius had recognized him from the moment the marines had dragged him aboard. It was Horatius Pullo, a tribune of the Tenth, whom Lucius knew casually and with whom he had marched on various campaigns across Gaul. It did not surprise Lucius that the young knight would volunteer for such an assignment as this. Pullo was prone to such recklessness. Lucius could remember more than one patrol along the wood-shrouded paths of northern Gaul in which the blundering tribune had nearly led his men into an ambush. Still, Pullo was never known to shirk the battle line. He was not the best of officers, nor the brightest – but there certainly were worse.
Taking a moment to adjust the placement of his fingers on the cold wet sword grip, Lucius knew that he had little choice but to carry out the task before him.
“My cloak, Lucius,” Pullo mumbled again. “Do not let it leave your person.”
Lucius rested the rain-beaded blade on the knight’s shoulder as if judging the distance to his victim’s neck. He did not need to do this. He was a skilled swordsman and could lop off Pullo’s head without a thought. He was stalling, waiting to see if Pullo had anything else to tell him.
The pause, however, was noticed by Libo.