“Please! Enough!” he shouted in terror. Julius paused, risking another flashing glance around him. The pirates were faltering. Many were dead and those remaining had their arms in the air, calling for peace. Swords clattered to the deck. The archers that still lived put their bows down, careful with them even as they surrendered.
Taking a step back, Julius looked behind him and his heart lifted in pride.
His recruits stood there in shining uniforms, swords drawn and held in first position. They looked every inch a legion fifty, fresh and disciplined.
“Get up,” he said to the fallen man. “I claim this ship for Rome.”
The survivors were tied using the same cords brought for the crew of Ventulus. It was quickly done, though Julius had to order one of the crew restrained after he kicked his erstwhile captor in the head when the man had been bound.
“Ten lashes for that man,” Julius said, his voice firm and strong. His men gripped the sailor firmly, while the rest of the crew of Ventulus exchanged glances. Julius stared them down, knowing it was important that they accept his orders. Left alone, they would probably have cut the prisoners to pieces, taking out years of hatred in an orgy of torture and violence. None of them met his eyes and instead they drifted apart from the congratulatory groups that had formed. Finally, Julius turned away to supervise the rest of the capture. The rowers he had feared could be heard belowdecks, yelling in terror at the sounds of the battle above. He would send men to quiet them.
“Sir, over here!” a voice called.
Prax held the body of Pelitas, his hand pressing against an open wound high in the chest. There was blood around his friend's mouth and Julius knew as he saw him that there was no hope. Cabera might have saved him, but nothing else could.
Pelitas was choking, his eyes open without focus. Each tearing breath brought more blood dribbling from his lips. Julius crouched by the pair and many of the others gathered around them, blocking the sun. In the silence as they watched, the passing seconds seemed to last a long time, but finally the labored breathing ceased and the bright gaze faded into glassy stillness.
Julius stood, looking down at the body of his friend. He signaled to two of the others.
“Help Prax take him below. I'm not putting one of ours into the sea with them.” He walked away without another word and, of them all, only the officers from Accipiter understood why he had to show such a stern front. The commander would not reveal weakness in front of the men, and not a one of them doubted who led them anymore. Even Gaditicus kept his head bowed as Julius strode past him, walking alone.
When both of the ships were secure that night, Julius met with the other officers of Accipiter and they drank a toast to Pelitas, who had not made it to the end of his path.
Before sleep, Gaditicus walked on the moonlit deck of Ventulus with Julius. They were silent for a long time, lost in memories, but as they reached the head of the steps leading below, Gaditicus took his arm.
“You are in command here.”
Julius turned to him and the older man could feel the force of his personality. “I know,” he said simply.
Gaditicus formed a wry smile. “It was when you fell that I realized. All the men went after you without waiting for orders. I think they will follow you anywhere.”
“I wish I knew where I was leading them,” Julius said quietly. “Perhaps one of the men we captured will know where Celsus is. We'll see in the morning.” He looked away to the place on the deck where Pelitas had fallen. “Peli would have had a grand laugh about me slipping like that. It would have been a ridiculous way to die.”
As he spoke, he chuckled without humor. The brave charge straight at the feet of the enemy. Gaditicus didn't laugh. He clapped his hand on Julius's shoulder, but the young man didn't seem to feel it.
“He wouldn't have died if I hadn't wanted to find Celsus. You all would be back in Rome by now, with your names clear from disgrace.”
Gaditicus took the shoulder and turned it gently until Julius faced him once more.
“Weren't you the one who told us there was no point fretting over what might have been? We'd all like to go back and make better choices, but that just isn't the way it works. We have one chance, even if the world rests on it. I might not have sailed Accipiter down that piece of coast, but if I hadn't, who knows? I might have become ill or been stabbed in an inn, or fallen down steps and broken my head open. There just isn't any point in worrying about it. We take each day as it comes and make the best decisions we can.”
“And if they turn out badly?” Julius muttered.
Gaditicus shrugged. “I usually blame the gods.”
“Do you believe in them?” Julius asked.
“You can't sail a ship without knowing there's something more than men and stones. As for all the temples, I've always played it safe with my offerings. It doesn't hurt anyone and you never know.”
Julius smiled slightly at the practical philosophy. “I hope . . . that I will see Pelitas again,” he said.
Gaditicus nodded. “We all will, but not for a while yet,” he replied. He dropped his hand from Julius's shoulder as he went below, leaving him there with his face turned into the sea breeze.
When he was alone, Julius closed his eyes and stood still for a long time.
* * *
The following morning, Julius split his men into two crews. He was tempted to take the captain's post in the faster pirate ship but, going on instinct, gave it to Ventulus's captain-owner, Durus. The man had missed the fight completely, locked in his cabin, but when he understood the situation, he stopped shouting about the cargo they had thrown overboard. He hated the pirates as much as any of the crew and took great pleasure from seeing them bound as he had been only a few hours before.
When Julius made the offer, Durus took his hand to seal the bargain.
“Both ships are mine when you've found the man you want?”
“Unless one of them is sunk when we attack Celsus. My men will need a vessel to get back to Roman lands. I'd like it to be his, but he knows his business and taking it won't be easy, if we can find him at all,” Julius replied, wondering how far he could trust the captain. To be certain of his loyalty, he would let only a few of the Ventulus crew go with him onto the other ship. His legionaries would keep the captain's nerve for him, if it faltered.
Durus looked pleased, as well he might. Selling the captured ship would bring him far more than the value of the cargo he had lost, though he had groaned when he heard the ivory had been dropped overboard.
The main problem was what they were going to do with the pirates who had survived the fight. The wounded had been dispatched and dumped overboard with the others on Julius's orders. They had chosen their life and he had no sympathy for their cries. That still left seventeen to be guarded day and night. Julius set his jaw firmly. Their fate rested on his shoulders.
He had the pirates brought separately to the captain's cabin, where he sat calmly at the heavy table. Each one was tied and held tightly by two of his men. Julius wanted them to feel helpless, and the face he turned to them was as hard and cruel as he could make it. They had claimed their captain had been killed in the battle, which Julius wondered about. No doubt the man would prefer not to be known if he was amongst them.
“Two questions,” he said to the first of them. “If you can answer them, you live. If not, you go over the side to the sharks. Who is your captain?”
The man spat on the floor by Julius's feet, looking away as if uninterested. Julius ignored it, though he felt warm specks of liquid touch his ankle underneath the table.
“Where is the man Celsus?” he continued.
There was no response, though Julius noted the prisoner had begun to sweat.
“Very well,” he said quietly. “Let the sharks have him and bring me the next.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldiers said together.
The man seemed to come to life then, struggling and yelling madly all the way to the railing. They he
ld him there for a few moments, while the younger of the pair took a knife from his belt. He cut the cords holding the pirate's hands just before heaving him over to hit the sea in a great splash, screaming.
Both soldiers leaned on the rail to watch the pirate's frantic struggles. He seemed to be trying to climb the side of the ship, but the slippery surfaces defeated him.
“I just thought he should have a chance,” the younger man muttered as dark shadows in the water began to ease toward the thrashing figure. The sharks had been following the ships since the first bodies were thrown overboard and the pirate saw them coming for him almost as soon as the men above did. He went berserk in the water, beating it into foam around him. Then he was snatched from the surface and the two soldiers turned back to fetch the next man to be questioned.
The second one couldn't swim at all and just sank. The third cursed them all the way in, through the questions and out over the rail, right until he was taken under. More sharks had gathered in the water, sliding over each other in a bloody froth as they fought over the meat.
The fourth man spoke as soon as Julius asked the questions.
“You'll kill me anyway,” he said.
“Not if you tell me what I want to know,” Julius replied.
The man sagged in relief. “Then I am the captain. You won't kill me?”
“If you can tell me where Celsus is, you have my word,” Julius said, leaning toward the man.
“In winter, he goes to Samos, in Asia. It's on the far side of the Greek sea.”
“I don't know the name,” Julius said, doubtfully.
“It's a big island off the coast—near Miletus. The Roman ships don't patrol near it, but I've been there before. I'm telling you the truth!”
Julius believed the man and nodded. “Excellent. Then that is where we will go. How far away is it?”
“A month straight, two at the most.”
Julius frowned at the answer. They would need to stop for provisions and that meant more risk. He looked up at the two soldiers. “Throw the others to the sharks.”
The pirate captain scowled at the order. “Not me, though. You said I wouldn't be killed.”
Julius stood up slowly. “I have lost good friends to your people, as well as a year of my life.”
“You gave your word! You need me to guide you there. You couldn't find it without me,” the man said quickly, his voice breaking in fear.
Julius ignored him, speaking to the soldiers holding his arms. “Lock him somewhere safe for the moment.”
When they had gone, Julius sat alone in the cabin and listened as the remaining pirates were dragged out and over the side. He looked down at his hands as the noise finally came to an end and again he could hear the creaks and groans of a ship under sail. He expected to feel shame or remorse for what he had ordered, but surprisingly it did not come. Then he closed the door so he could weep for Pelitas.
CHAPTER 18
Alexandria sighed in irritation as she saw her brooch had been taken from the clothes she'd folded the night before. A quick look in the other rooms revealed that Octavian had left the house early, and she firmed her jaw as she closed the door behind her on her way to Tabbic's workshop. It wasn't just the valuable silver, or even the many hours she had put in shaping and polishing the brooch. It was the only one she had made for herself alone, and many of those who became buyers had seen and commented on it when they met her. The design was a simple eagle, which she wouldn't have chosen for her own shoulder if it hadn't become the symbol of all the legions and universally desirable. It was mainly officers who stopped her and asked about it, and to have it stolen by a grubby urchin made her clench and unclench her fists as she walked, her cloak falling loose around her shoulders and needing to be hitched up without the brooch.
Not only was he a thief but an idiot, she thought. How could he expect not to be caught? One worrying possibility was that the boy was so used to punishment that he had discounted it for the prize of her brooch, willing to take whatever came his way as long as he could keep it. Alexandria shook her head in irritation, muttering to herself what she would do when she saw him. He couldn't be shamed, even in front of his mother. She had seen that when the butcher's boys came for the meat he had taken.
Perhaps it would be better not to mention it to Atia. The thought of seeing the humiliation on her face was painful, and even after less than a week in her new room Alexandria had come to like the woman. She had pride and a sort of dignity. It was such a pity that none of it seemed to reach the son.
Tabbic's shop had been damaged toward the end of the riots two years before. Alexandria had helped him to rebuild, learning a little carpentry as he remade the door and workbenches. His livelihood had been saved by the timely removal of all the valuable metals to his own home above, well barricaded against the gangs of raptores that had run wild while the city was in chaos. As Alexandria approached the modest little premises, she resolved not to burden him with her irritation. She owed him a great deal, and not only for letting her stay safe with his family during the worst of it. It didn't seem to need saying, but there was a debt owed to Tabbic that she had vowed would be paid.
As she opened the oak door, the sound of high-pitched yelling filled the air. Her eyes glittered in satisfaction as she saw Tabbic was holding the struggling figure of Octavian in the air with one brawny arm. The metalworker looked up as the door opened, and turned the boy to face her when he saw it was Alexandria.
“You won't believe what this one just tried to sell me,” he said.
Octavian struggled even more ferociously when he saw who had come in. He kicked at the arm that held him suspended apparently without effort. Tabbic ignored him.
Alexandria darted across the shop to the two of them.
“Where's my brooch, you little thief?” she demanded.
Tabbic opened his other hand and revealed the silver eagle, which she took and pinned back in place.
“Walked in as bold as anything and told me to make him an offer!” Tabbic said angrily. Completely honest himself, he hated those who saw thieving as an easy life. He shook Octavian again, taking out his indignation on the boy, who whimpered and tried to kick him again, his eyes looking around for escape.
“What shall we do with him?” Tabbic asked her.
Alexandria thought for a few moments. As tempting as it might be to beat the boy all the way down the street, she knew her possessions could still be snatched up by his little fingers at any time. She needed a more permanent solution.
“I think I could persuade his mother to let him work for us,” she said thoughtfully.
Tabbic lowered Octavian until his feet touched the floor. Immediately, the boy bit his hand and Tabbic hoisted him again with casual strength, leaving him to dangle in futile rage.
“You have to be joking. He's little better than an animal!” Tabbic said, wincing at the white tooth marks on his knuckles.
“You can teach him, Tabbic. There's no father to do it, and the way he's going, he won't live to grow up. You said you needed someone to work the bellows, and there's always sweeping up and carrying.”
“Let me go! I'm not doing nothing!” Octavian yelled.
Tabbic looked him over. “The boy's skinny as a rat. No strength in those arms,” he said slowly.
“He's nine, Tabbic. What do you expect?”
“He'll run as soon as the door opens, I'd say,” Tabbic continued.
“If he does, I'll fetch him back. He'll have to come home sometime and I'll wait for him there, spank him, and turn him round. Being here will keep him out of trouble, and it'll be useful for both of us. You're not getting any younger and he could help me at the forge.”
Tabbic let Octavian touch the floor again. This time he did not bite, but watched the two adults warily as they discussed him as if he weren't in the shop.
“How much will you pay me?” he said, scrubbing angry tears out of his eyes with his dirty fingers, doing little more than smearing his face.
>
Tabbic laughed. “Pay you!” he said, his voice filled with scorn. “Boy, you'll be learning a trade. You should pay us.”
Octavian spat a stream of oaths and tried to bite Tabbic once again. This time the metalworker cuffed him with the flat of his other hand without looking.
“What if he steals the goods?” he said.
Alexandria could see he was coming round to the idea. That was the problem, of course. If Octavian ran off with silver, or worse, the small store of gold that Tabbic kept locked away, it would hurt them all. She put on her sternest expression and took Octavian's chin in her hand, turning his face to her.
“If he does,” she said, fixing the little boy with her gaze, “we will have a perfect right to demand he is sold as a slave to pay the debt. His mother too if it comes to it.”
“You wouldn't!” Octavian said, shocked out of struggling by her words.
“My business is not a charity, lad. We would,” Tabbic replied firmly. Over Octavian's head, he winked at Alexandria.
“Debts are paid in this city—one way or another,” she agreed.
* * *
Winter had arrived quickly and both Tubruk and Brutus were wearing heavy cloaks as they cut the old oak into firewood ready to be carted back to the estate stores. Renius didn't seem to feel the cold and had left his stump bare to the wind away from the sight of strangers. He had brought a young slave boy from the estate to place the branches steady for him to swing his axe. The boy hadn't spoken a word since his arrival at Renius's heels, but he stood well clear when Renius swung, and his wind-reddened face fought to conceal a smile when the blade slipped and sent Renius staggering and swearing under his breath. Brutus knew the old gladiator well enough to wince in silent appreciation of what would follow if Renius saw the child's amusement. The work was making them all sweat and breathe frosty plumes in the winter air. Brutus watched critically as Renius swung, sending two smaller pieces spinning into the air. He raised his own axe again, looking over at Tubruk.