Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 (10 page)

Suetonius spluttered, though Julius knew his family could pay that easily, or ten times that amount.

“Gods, man. They do not have the money!” Suetonius said, his unkempt body lending the feel of truth to the words.

The captain shrugged. “Pray to those gods that they can raise it, or over the side you go, with a bit of chain to hold you down.”

Suetonius sank back in apparent despair, though Julius knew he would consider himself to have outwitted the pirate.

“You, Centurion? Are you from a rich family?” the captain asked.

Gaditicus glared at him for a moment before speaking. “I am not, but nothing I say will make any difference to you,” he growled before looking away.

The captain frowned in thought. “I think . . . yes, for a centurion, a captain no less, like myself . . . it would be an insult if I asked less than twenty talents. That would be about five thousand in gold, I think. Yes.”

Gaditicus ignored him, though he seemed to sag slightly in despair.

“What is your name?” the captain asked Julius.

For a moment, he too considered ignoring the man, but then his headache throbbed and a spike of anger rose in him.

“My name is Julius Caesar. I command a twenty. I am also the head of a wealthy house.”

The captain’s eyebrows rose and the others muttered amongst themselves in disbelief. Julius exchanged a glance with Gaditicus, who shook his head in a clear message.

“Head of a house! I am honored to meet you,” the captain said with a sneer. “Perhaps twenty talents would be right for you as well.”

“Fifty,” Julius said, straightening his back as he spoke. The captain blinked, his easy manner vanishing.

“That is twelve thousand pieces of gold,” he said, awed out of complacency.

“Make it fifty,” Julius replied firmly. “When I have found you and killed you, I will need funds. I am far from home, after all.” Despite the pain in his head, he mustered a savage grin.

The captain recovered quickly from his surprise. “You are the one that had his head broken. You must have left your wits on my decks. I will ask for fifty, but if it does not come, the sea is deep enough to hold you.”

“It is not wide enough to hide you from me, whoreson,” Julius replied. “I will nail your men to a line of crosses all along the coast. Your officers I may have strangled out of mercy. You have my word on it.”

The soldiers erupted into a shout of cheers and laughter at the captain, who paled with anger. For a moment, it looked as if he would step farther into the cell to strike Julius, but he mastered himself and looked around scornfully at the baying men.

“I will set high prices on all of you. See if you cheer then!” he shouted over the jeers as he left with his crewman, who locked the door securely behind him, shaking his head in disbelief at Julius through the bars.

When they were sure there was no one to hear, Suetonius rounded on Julius.

“What did you do that for, you fool? He’ll beggar our families for your stupid pride!”

Julius shrugged. “He’ll set the prices at what he thinks he can get, just as he would have before coming down here, though he might ask fifty for me, out of spite.”

“Caesar’s right,” Gaditicus said, “he was just playing with us.” He chuckled suddenly. “Fifty! Did you see his face? That was Rome in you, lad.” His laughter broke off into coughing, but he still smiled.

“I think you were wrong to bait him,” Suetonius continued, and one or two of the others muttered agreement.

“He killed Romans and sank
Accipiter
and you think we should play his little games? I’d spit on you if I had any,” Julius snapped. “I meant it too. Once I’m free, I will find him and cut him down. Even if it takes years, he will see my face before he dies.”

Suetonius scrambled at him, raging, but was held by Pelitas as he tried to get past.

“Sit down, you idiot,” Pelitas growled, shoving him back. “There’s no point fighting amongst ourselves and he’s barely recovered as it is.”

Suetonius subsided with a scowl that Julius ignored, scratching idly under his splint as he thought. His eyes took in the sick men lying in damp, stinking straw.

“This place will kill us,” he said.

Pelitas nodded. “We know they guard the top of the steps with two men. We’d have to get past them. Now we’re docked, it might be worth a go?”

“Maybe,” Julius said, “but they’re careful. Even if we could dig the hinges out of the door, the deck hatch is bolted from above every time someone comes in here, even Cabera. I don’t see how we could break it fast enough to get out before there’s a crowd waiting for us.”

“We could use Suetonius’s head,” Pelitas said. “A few sharp blows and one of them would give way. Either way, we win.” Julius chuckled with him.

The following night, one of the sick men died. The captain allowed Cabera to drag out the body and dump it over the side without ceremony. The mood of those left sank toward complete despair.

  CHAPTER
8
  

I
am surrounded by women,” Tubruk said cheerfully as they entered, bringing life and energy into the quiet
triclinium.
In the weeks that had followed Fercus’s bringing him inside the gates and passing the bill of sale into his untied hands, Tubruk had regained much of the peace he had lost in the city. Coming together each morning to eat had become a ritual for them, and Tubruk had begun to look forward to the light breakfast. Aurelia was always at her best in the mornings, and if he was any judge, there was true friendship between Cornelia, Clodia, and herself. The house had not seen laughter since before the slave riots, and they lifted Tubruk’s spirits.

His face had healed with time, thought he bore a new scar over his left eye to remember the ordeal. He recalled the relief he’d felt when he first saw the legionaries dressed in black on the city streets, a uniform the city would see for a full year of mourning at the Dictator’s death. Even then, the dark cloth had seemed inappropriate to the mood of Rome. Fercus had told him there was a fresh breeze blowing through the Senate, with Cinna and Pompey working to restore the old Republic and once again lay the ghosts of kings that Sulla had brought back to the streets.

The estate manager traveled only rarely into the city now, and always with caution. He thought the chances were good that he would never be linked with the poisoning of Rome’s leader, but it took only one accusation and the Senate would tear the estate apart looking for evidence. If they found Fercus and tortured him, the broker would give Tubruk to them, he was sure. The man had a family he loved, and honor and friendship crumbled in the face of that. Still, it had been the right thing to do and they had won, even though he would never know a day of complete peace again while Sulla’s friends and supporters searched for the assassin.

A month after his return to the estate, Tubruk had put on a heavy cloak and ridden to the city to make offerings at the temples of Mars and Vesta in thanks for the life of Cornelia. He had also prayed for the souls of Casaverius and the guard he had killed at the gate.

Cornelia had her daughter sitting on her lap, and Clodia was reaching out at intervals to tickle the baby under her armpits and make her laugh. Even Aurelia smiled at the childish giggles that came from Julia, and Tubruk spread honey on his bread with a mixture of emotions churning in him. It was good that Aurelia had found a little of the old happiness. She had been too long surrounded by stern men. When she had first held her granddaughter, she had cried without sobbing, tears falling from her.

Yet he was sure she was failing, and the thought brought him pain as he saw she had not eaten with the others. Gently, Tubruk pushed a plate of fresh, crusty bread over to her side of the low table, and their eyes met for a second. She took a piece and tore a sliver from it, chewing it slowly as he watched. She had said that eating brought on her fits and left her sick and vomiting. There was no appetite, and before he had watched her closely she had been losing weight alarmingly and hardly taking anything in.

She was wasting before him, and no matter what he said when they were alone, she would only weep and say she
could
not eat. There was no space in her for food.

Clodia tickled the child and was rewarded with a sudden belch of milky vomit. All three women rose as one to help clean it up, and Tubruk rose with them, feeling excluded and minding not a bit.

“I wish her father were here to her see her grow,” Cornelia said wistfully.

“He will be, love,” Tubruk said. “They have to keep those they ransom alive or the trade would stop. It’s just a business deal to them. Julius will come home, and now Sulla is dead, he can start again.”

She seemed to take more hope from his words than he felt himself. No matter what happened, Tubruk knew that even if Julius did make it back, he would not be the same after his experiences. The young lad who had taken ship to escape Sulla had died. Who would return was yet to be seen. Life would be harder for all of them after having to pay such a high ransom. Tubruk had sold some of the land of the estate to Suetonius’s family, who had bargained cruelly over the price, knowing his need from their own demand. Tubruk sighed. At least Julius would be pleased to have a daughter, and a wife to love him. That was more than Tubruk had.

He glanced at Clodia and found her looking back at him, with something in her expression that brought the blood to his face like a boy’s. She winked at him before turning back to help Cornelia, and he felt strangely uncomfortable. He knew he should be going out to see the workers who waited for his orders, but he sat and took another slice of bread and ate it slowly, hoping she would look his way again.

Aurelia swayed slightly and Tubruk moved quickly to her, taking her shoulder. She was incredibly pale and her skin looked waxen. He felt the lack of flesh under her
stola,
and the always present grief swelled in him.

“You should rest,” he said quietly. “I will bring you more food later.”

She did not reply and her eyes had taken on the lost gaze. She moved with him as he walked her away from the table, her steps faltering and weak. He felt her frame shiver against him as the trembling began again, each time leaving her weaker than the last.

Cornelia and Clodia were left alone with the child, who pawed at Cornelia’s dress to find a nipple.

“He is a good man,” Clodia said, looking at the doorway they’d gone through.

“A shame he is too old to make a husband,” Cornelia replied artlessly.

Clodia firmed her jaw. “Old? He is still strong where it matters,” she said, her voice sharp. Then she saw Cornelia’s bright eyes and blushed. “You see too much, my girl. Let the child feed.”

“She is always hungry,” Cornelia said, wincing as she allowed Julia to attach herself, pressing her little face deep into the breast.

“It helps you to love them,” Clodia said, and when Cornelia looked up at her tone, Clodia’s eyes were lined with tears.

*      *      *

In the cool dimness of the bedchamber, Tubruk held Aurelia tightly until the fit had finally passed from her. Her skin burned against him and he shook his head at her thinness. Finally, she knew him again and he lowered her back against soft cushions.

He had held her first on the night of her husband’s funeral, and it had become a ritual between them. He knew she took comfort from his strength, and there were fewer bruises on her these days, with her thrashing limbs gripped tight in his arms. He found he was breathing heavily and wondered afresh how it was possible that she could have so much strength in such a wasted body.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes half open.

“It was nothing. I will bring you a cool drink and leave you to rest.”

“I don’t want you to leave me, Tubruk,” she said.

“Didn’t I say I’d care for you? I will be here for as long as you need me,” he said, trying to force cheerfulness into his tone. She opened her eyes fully and turned her head to him.

“Julius said he would stay with me, but he left. Now my son has gone as well.”

“Sometimes the gods make a mockery of our promises, love, though your husband was a decent man. Your son will come back safe, if I know him at all.”

She closed her eyes again and Tubruk waited until natural sleep came before stealing out of the room.

*      *      *

As storms smashed the coast, the moored trireme pitched and rolled heavily despite the shelter of the tiny African bay, far from Roman lands. Several of the officers were retching, though there was no food to come up. Those who had water in their bellies from their meager ration struggled not to lose a drop, with their hands pressed tightly over their mouths. There was never enough and in the heavy heat their bodies craved moisture of any kind. Most of them cupped their hands as they urinated, gulping the warm liquid back as fast as they could before it was lost.

Julius remained unaffected by the rocking ship and took considerable pleasure from Suetonius’s discomfort as he lay with his eyes shut, moaning softly with his hands on his stomach.

Despite the seasickness, there was a new mood of optimism in the tiny cell. The captain had sent a man to tell them the ransoms had all been paid, traveling by land and sea to a secret meeting spot where an agent for the pirates had completed the last leg of the long trip and brought the gold to this distant port. Julius had felt it was a small victory that the captain had not come down himself. They had not seen him for months since the day he had tried to torment them, and that pleased them all. Had he come, he might have been surprised at what he saw. They had come through the lowest point of the captivity and were growing stronger.

The desperate group of the first few months now waited patiently for their release. The fever had claimed two more, lessening the stifling crush a little. The new will to survive came partly from Cabera after that, who had finally managed to bargain for better rations for them. It had been a dangerous gamble, but the old man saw that little better than half of them would make it to freedom unless they were better fed and cleaned, so he had sat on deck and refused to heal another until they gave him something in return. The captain had been suffering at that time from a virulent rash he had picked up in the port, and hardly blustered at all before allowing it. With the food came hope and the men had started to believe they might see Rome and liberty again. Swollen, bleeding gums had begun to heal and Cabera had been allowed to give them a cup of white ship’s tallow to rub on their sores.

Julius too had played his part. When his splint was removed, he was horrified to see the way his muscles had vanished, and immediately set about the exercises Cabera had suggested. It had been agony in the cramped space, but Julius had organized the officers into two groups of four and five. One would huddle together as close as possible for an hour and let the others have the space to wrestle and lift their comrades as deadweights, building back the muscles they had all lost, before changing over and letting the other group work and sweat. The slop bucket had been knocked over too many times to count, but the men grew stronger and no more succumbed to fevers.

The headaches came less often now, though the worst would leave him almost unable to speak with the pain. The others had learned to leave him alone when he went pale and closed his eyes. The last fit had been two months before, and Cabera said that might well be the end of them. Julius prayed that was true. The memories of his mother’s illness had given him a terrible fear of the weakness that threw him down and forced his mind into the dark.

With the news that the ship was ready to set sail and head for a lonely piece of coast to set them down, the officers of
Accipiter
were jubilant and Pelitas had even slapped Suetonius on the back in excitement. They were still bearded and wild-looking, but now they chattered with fantasies of bathhouses and being rubbed down with oil.

It was strange how things changed. Where once Julius dreamed of being a general like Marius, now he thought of being clean as a greater pleasure. It had not changed his desire to destroy the pirates, however. Some of the others talked of returning to the city, but he knew he could not while his family’s money floated around in the hold of a pirate ship. His anger had pushed him to stand the sickness and pain that came from the hard exercise, and he had forced himself to do more and more each day, knowing he had to be strong if his word to the captain was not to be spit in the wind.

The motion of the trireme changed slowly, and the Romans gave a low cheer as the rolling steadied and they could hear the beat for the rowers as the ship moved into open sea.

“We’re going home,” Prax said wonderingly, with a catch in his voice. The word
home
had a strange power and one of the men began weeping. The others looked away from him, embarrassed, though they had seen worse in the months together. Many things had changed between them in that time, and Gaditicus sometimes wondered if they could work again as a crew even if
Accipiter
was produced whole and afloat for them. They had kept some semblance of discipline, with Gaditicus and Prax settling disputes and stopping fights, but the awareness of station had been slowly eroded as they judged each other by new rules and found different strengths and weaknesses.

Pelitas and Prax had become good friends, each seeing in the other something of the same phlegmatic outlook on life, despite the difference in ages. Prax had lost his swollen gut in the time in the cell, replacing it with hard muscle after weeks of pushing himself with the others in the daily exercises. Julius suspected that he would be pleased with the new lease on life when he was shaved and clean. He smiled at that thought, scratching a sore in his armpit.

Gaditicus had been one of those who suffered in the choppy waters of the dock, but he was gaining color as the ship cut through the waves instead of rocking in them. Julius had found a respect and liking for him that had been missing from his automatic obedience to the rank. The man had held the group together and seemed to appreciate what Julius and Cabera had done for them.

Suetonius had not flourished in the captivity. He had seen the bonds that had formed between Pelitas, Prax, Julius, and Gaditicus and resented bitterly Julius’s being included. For a while, he had been friendly with the other four officers, and two camps had emerged. Julius had used those groups to compete against each other in the daily training, and eventually one of the officers had cuffed Suetonius as he complained to him in whispers.

Shortly after that, Cabera had been able to bring the first decent food they had seen since the beginning, and they had all cheered. Typical of the old man to have given the fruit to Julius to hand out. Suetonius couldn’t wait for freedom and order to be restored, wanting to see the moment when Julius realized he was just a junior officer again.