The Silver Eagle (47 page)

Fabiola graciously inclined her head in response, but her thoughts were all of bloody revenge.

Brutus led her outside. ‘You look tired, my love,’ he said, stroking her arm. ‘You can sleep on the journey. I’ll wake you when we get to the ford.’

Barely able to conceal her anger, Fabiola nodded.

‘Rome awaits us,’ called Caesar from behind them. ‘The die has been cast.’

‘And may Fortuna grant that it falls on a six,’ answered Brutus, grinning.

Fabiola wasn’t listening. You would even rape your own daughter, she thought furiously. Filthy bastard. A boiling rage consumed her, renewing all her energy. She would not rest again until Caesar had paid for his crime. And whether he knew it or not, Brutus would be the tool. Fabiola would work on the flash of suspicion that she had seen until it was a roaring flame of resentment and jealousy. And she would take her time.

Mithras, she prayed fervently. And Jupiter, Greatest and Best. Grant me just one more thing in my life.

The death of my father.

Chapter XXIV: The Erythraean Sea

Nearly eighteen months pass . . .

Off the Arabian coast, summer 48
BC

A
hmed and his pirates survived because they lived carefully. The Nubian captain kept the dhow in the waters around the horn of Arabia, which all ships rounded on the way to and from India. By day, they sailed along the coastline, searching for vessels that were small enough to overwhelm easily. Then, before dark every evening, Ahmed would seek out secluded coves and bays to anchor in. Wary since Cana of his crew being recognised as corsairs, he avoided any inlets with villages or towns unless absolutely necessary. In quiet anchorages, no prying eyes could watch them. And there they found brackish water in shallow streams, trickling down from the mountains that formed the backbone of southern Arabia.

The pirates’ solitary lifestyle meant that for much of the time, their diet consisted solely of fish caught with hand lines. This was monotonous in the extreme, and at every opportunity, Romulus would go hunting with his bow, often returning with a small desert antelope. His comrades were delighted by his skills. They won no favours with Ahmed, however. From the first day on board, neither party had trusted the other in the slightest, but it suited both for the relationship to continue: Tarquinius had the
Periplus
, the ancient map which guided their voyage, and Romulus could fight like three men. Meanwhile, Ahmed kept sailing west, which took the friends closer to Egypt.

The area had proved to have plenty of passing ships, the majority heading west. Plying the lucrative route to the towns far to the north, most were large and carrying well-armed crew. These the Nubian steered well clear of: there was no benefit in pointlessly wasting his valuable men. From time to time though, they would come across smaller, vulnerable merchantmen. Then they would strike.

The corsairs’ tactics were simple. When a prospective prey was sighted, they would sail as close to it as possible. Pretending they had not noticed, the crew busied themselves about the deck with the old fishing nets kept for this purpose. Ahmed relied on the fact that his double-ended dhow with its triangular sail looked like any other off Arabia and Persia. Of course every captain knew that pirates were nearly as numerous as fishermen, and his approach rarely worked for long. Their victims would set off on a different course, keeping plenty of distance between them and the dhow.

As soon as their ruse began to fail, Ahmed would roar for the specially fitted oars to be manned. With ten men rowing on each side, the dhow could quickly catch slower merchant vessels over a short distance. After a short but bloody battle, the corsairs were inevitably victorious. Unless fresh crewmembers were needed, they took no prisoners. Romulus and Tarquinius took part in the attacks – they had to – but left the executions to other pirates. This restraint went unnoticed, thanks to their comrades’ bloodthirsty natures.

After more than a year, they had taken a dozen ships, and the hold was bulging with the proceeds, even though only the smallest, most valuable goods were kept – mostly indigo, tortoiseshell and spices. What was now below decks was worth a huge fortune. In addition, they captured a number of unfortunate slave women, whom Ahmed ordered left alive to service the men’s physical needs. On such a long voyage, it was important to keep morale high. Romulus found it very hard to ignore the abused women’s constant weeping, but there was little he could do.

Inevitably perhaps, the Nubian began to get edgy. Journeying so far from India was an experiment that had paid off, royally. It had been done thanks to his daring, and Tarquinius’ map. And the gods had been smiling upon his dhow. Like most men, Ahmed believed that the latter was something that would not last forever. He began to talk about sailing home.

It was an alarming development. Egypt was so near, and yet still so far.

The friends’ worries about Ahmed’s desire to return to India grew considerably in the days that followed. Bizarrely, fewer small ships seemed to be travelling through. Three weeks went by without a successful attack. In frustration, the pirate captain led his men on an assault on a large dhow with two large lateen sails like their own. But the merchant ship’s crew were tough, experienced Egyptians who fought like men possessed, and the empty-handed corsairs limped away from the engagement with four dead and several wounded. Tarquinius was lucky not to lose an eye when an enemy arrow grazed his left cheekbone and glanced away into the sea. While he laughed it off, Romulus saw it as a sign of the haruspex’ mortality. And the losses greatly reduced Ahmed’s ability to attack any vessel at all.

The captain’s foul temper was not helped by the discovery a day later of a minor leak in the hold, which had ruined some of the
olibanum
. This was the final straw.

‘The gods are angry!’ Ahmed said, pacing up and down like a caged beast. ‘We must be grateful that the damn wind will change soon. It’s time to set sail for India.’

The crew looked pleased. After this long away from their base, they were thoroughly homesick. Only Romulus and Tarquinius were dismayed by the captain’s decision, and all their attempts to convince the Nubian to change his mind failed miserably.

They were beginning to contemplate deserting the dhow when Mithras smiled on them once more. Anchoring for supplies at a tiny, fly-ridden settlement, the Nubian heard exciting news. Adulis and Ptolemais, a pair of towns on the opposite shore of the Erythraean Sea, were good places to buy ivory. It was from these locations that the Egyptians set out to hunt elephants and other wild creatures. This fortunate discovery rekindled Ahmed’s greed. There was still a short time before the south-west monsoon began, and it might as well be spent in pursuit of more riches.

Following his orders, the dhow turned and set sail on a westward course. A day later, it negotiated the passage into the narrow waterway which divided Arabia from Africa. In the cool light of dusk, Romulus saw the Ethiopian coast for the first time.

He had never felt so happy.

While he was pleased for Romulus, Tarquinius’ emotions were mixed. The possibility of making landfall in Africa could soon become reality. Old memories welled up, but he did not let himself utter the name that Olenus had given Egypt so many years earlier. So it gnawed away at his mind constantly.

The mother of terror.

The very thought made Tarquinius feel uneasy. After more than two decades, Olenus’ prophecy was being fulfilled.

He said nothing to Romulus.

The waters off the southern coast of Arabia had been calm, and the crew had stopped the normal routine of changing the heavy daytime sail for a lighter one every night. That evening was no different as the dhow moved through the water, scarcely making a sound. Phosphorescence sparkled in the bow wave. It was an effect that fascinated and confounded Romulus, and which he never tired of watching. Even Tarquinius had no explanation for the phenomenon, making the young soldier wonder if it was made by the gods themselves.

A myriad of stars filled the sky, illuminating the sea so well that the steersmen’s task was made easy. Covered by a rough blanket, Romulus lay on the deck, unable to sleep. He wondered, for the thousandth time, who might have killed Rufus Caelius, the noble outside the Lupanar whose death had precipitated all his travels. After long consideration, Romulus was utterly convinced that it had not been him. He sighed. What chance was there of ever discovering the real culprit? Romulus’ frustration at this could not dampen his spirits though. His situation now was better than it ever had been. After five long years of constant warfare and captivity, he was nearing a country where Rome’s influence would be noticeable. This previously unthinkable situation filled Romulus with exultation. I am a free man, he thought fiercely. A slave no longer. And no one except Gemellus or Memor knows any different. With Mithras’ help, his tattoo would suffice to protect him against men like Novius.

I am a Roman, first and foremost.

Romulus smiled.

What more proof did he need that the gods looked out for him? He stared up at the Perseus constellation, the symbol of Mithras, as it chased the stars that represented Taurus, the bull, across the sky. ‘Let us both reach home safely, Great One,’ he whispered. ‘Even if there is a civil war going on.’

Tarquinius stirred, and Romulus looked over. Together with Brennus, the haruspex had shaped him into the man he was today. Loyal companions, the pair had become his two father figures – teaching and protecting him, always there to give advice when needed. Ultimately, Brennus had made the greatest sacrifice any man could for another. Now there was just Tarquinius, the enigmatic Etruscan, who knew so much. Too much? For himself, Romulus was glad that the future was often uncertain. Anticipating what would happen was a heavy burden, and wariness swamped him at the idea of divining seriously again. The memory of what he had seen at the crucifix in Margiana haunted Romulus still. Especially since the merchant Varus’ news had backed it up.

Romulus was sure of another thing. He did not want to know when, or how, either he or Tarquinius might die. Suddenly anxious, he found it difficult to let this disturbing idea go. Could it be soon? He scowled. Only the gods knew. In the dangerous world they inhabited, death was a daily possibility. Nothing could change that. To each his own fate, Romulus thought. And no man should interfere with another’s path.

Tarquinius twitched gently, deep in the throes of a dream.

It was an unusual role reversal, Romulus reflected. Normally it was the haruspex who lay awake for hours on end watching him. An adult now, he smiled.

As always, the rising sun woke him. Romulus opened his eyes to find Tarquinius sitting cross-legged on the deck beside him, chewing on some food.

‘The coast is in sight.’

Romulus rubbed the sleep from his eyes and clambered to his feet. Along the horizon, he saw an unmistakable line of land emerging from the night mist. Other members of the crew were also lined up against the rails, pointing. Even at a distance, it was clearly much greener than the opposite shore.

He turned to the haruspex with a smile. ‘It’s not far.’

‘No more than two hours.’ Tarquinius felt cold. What had Olenus seen in the lamb’s liver that day? He had never tried to ascertain the truth of it since. Although he occasionally predicted the deaths of others, Tarquinius was wary of doing the same for himself.

‘I’ll offer to hunt again this evening. We can just melt away into the bush,’ muttered Romulus. ‘They’ll never find us once it gets dark.’

Concealing his unease, Tarquinius gave him a brief smile. ‘Good idea.’

The dhow sailed closer as the sun climbed into the sky, and the Ethiopian coastline became clearer to the eye. There weren’t many trees, but there were far more signs of life than in the Arabian desert. Birds wheeled in great circles above while a herd of unfamiliar-looking antelope drank from a stream a little way inland.

Following the breeze, Ahmed ordered the steersmen to set a course north. The sight of greenery had put the Nubian in good temper. Where there was vegetation, there were animals. And the men who hunted them. Hopefully, they might encounter a vessel full of ivory in these waters.

Romulus’ mind was devising their escape when he heard a shout: ‘Ship ahead!’ He glanced around idly, and his heart leapt into his mouth.

About a quarter of a mile ahead lay a prominent headland. Emerging from behind it was the square sail and distinctive predatory shape of a trireme. He stared again. There was no mistaking the curved stern, the three banks of oars, and the enormous eye painted on the side of the prow to threaten the enemies it approached. Its decks were lined with marines, armed similarly to legionaries. Four deck catapults were already being loaded with massive arrows and stone balls.

Tarquinius also looked amazed. ‘Romans on this sea?’

‘Ship dead ahead!’ came the cry again.

Romulus didn’t know what to think. Previously, the Republic had always confined its naval presence to the Mediterranean. This new departure had to be an attempt to protect the valuable trade that the corsairs had been preying on. He grimaced. There was every chance that the dhow would not be viewed in a friendly manner. Which did not bode well for them.

Ahmed pointed in alarm. ‘What in the name of all the gods is that?’

‘It’s a Roman fighting ship,’ replied Tarquinius. ‘A trireme.’