CHAPTER TEN
The crew was inarching aboard the forward gangplank of the liburnian Eagle under the eyes of a squadron of Household Cavalry. Working over the stern gangplank was a gang of a dozen slaves with their tunics knotted up around their waists. The slaves were singing cheerfully as they brought aboard the last of the provisions, grain and wine in sealed pottery jars. Their light-heartedness was in stark contrast to the attitude of the free crewmen.
"Blazes," Gaius complained as he squinted against the sunlight, "what prison do you suppose they rounded the crew up from?"
Perennius was on the Eagle's poop with Gaius, Calvus, and a pair of preoccupied ship's officers. The agent watched the shuffling column with an interest equal to his protege's and with far greater experience to draw from. The number of sailors was right or close to it. The men were more or less of working age, with the swarthy complexions and muscles of men used to labor outdoors. For that matter, they seemed to be in good health when one made allowance for the sores, scars, missing limbs and eyes, and the other similar blemishes to be expected in any group of sailors. "No," the agent said, "they were probably all free men until last night or so when the Army swept some fishing village." He frowned as he considered. "Or maybe some boarding houses here in Ostia. Bad in the long run. Bad for taxes, bad for trade . . . bad for the Empire, I guess, for an imperial decree to affect its citizens like - "
he gestured to the glum file of seamen - "this. But in the short run, it had to be done."
Gaius snorted. "You're convinced of that?" he gibed.
Perennius looked from his friend to Calvus, standing beside the young courier and showing no concern at the conversation. "I'm always convinced that what I'm told to do is necessary," the agent said. He laughed. "I only get into trouble when I come up with ideas myself."
Gaius started to laugh with the older man, but the question on the surface of his mind made the laughter thinner than he had intended.
"Who are these, then?" asked Calvus. He pointed to a separate contingent marching down the quay toward the Eagle. There were scarcely twenty of them. They carried arms - spears and belt gear, with helmets and plain shields slung on their field packs - but they showed no more capacity to keep step than the sailors had. The section leader was at the left front of the short column of fours. He gave a sharp salute to the officer in charge of the detachmen of Household Cavalry. That worthy ignored the salute after a disdainful look at the newcomers.
Perennius swore with a bitter fury. He leaped to the main deck with the lithe twist of a cat charging. Officers were trying to organize the milling seamen, sending rowers below to their benches to clear the vessel for casting off. The agent slipped through the mass behind the point of his left shoulder, making as little contact with the other frustrated men as was consistent with the swiftest possible progress through them to the stern gangway. Gaius followed, using his greater size to make up for his lack of finesse. His chest and shouted threats cleared a path for Calvus, behind him, as well. By the time they caught up with Perennius, however, the agent was already reading the diploma handed him by the leader of the section of troops.
"By the icy shades of Hell!" Perennius shouted. He slapped the wooden tablet closed against a palm no less hard and handed the document to Gaius. "Read that," he snapped. "How in the ..." The Illyrian's voice trailed off as he glared at the contingent of troops. The tight-lipped leader of the unit had made two attempts to defend him-
self against the agent's fury. Now he was staring straight ahead. His men were describing a series of variations on "At ease."
Aloud, Gaius read, " 'Master of Soldiers, West, Bureau of Assignment, to Commanding Officer, Liburnian Eagle. April 14. This order transmits Draft 737, twenty effectives under a watch-stander, as Marine complement of said vessel. In accordance with instructions 12th instant, Director of Administration.' " The courier looked up from the document to the troops. "But Aulus," he said, "you said there'd be a full eighty men including the ones that'd be getting off with us. And none of these are missile infantry."
"None of them are goddam infantry at all!" the agent snapped.
The troops were an assortment more varied than the sailors had been. One in the front rank was a Nubian from well below Elephantine. His head had been shaven, but the hair was beginning to grow out again in tight ringlets against his sepia skin. By contrast, several of the others were Germans - tall and blond and sunburned to the point of blistering. The remainder of the draft fell between those extremes with a certain bias toward eastern physiognomies, Syrians and Cappadocians predominating. The closest thing to a common denominator among the troops was the prevalence of shackle-scars on their ankles. In some cases, the marks were fresh enough to be bleeding.
"You," said Perennius to a blond man. "How long have you been a soldier?"
The fellow turned to the man beside him and whispered a question. Without waiting for the other to translate, Perennius switched from Latin to Border German and repeated, "How long have you been a soldier?"
The blond man drew himself up proudly. His exposed skin was pocked with sores, and a sunburn gave him the complexion of an over-rouged corpse. "All his life, Hermann has been a warrior," the man said. He spoke in heavy Schwabish, the dialect of the tribe which had grown to the point of calling itself the 'All-Men,' Alemanni. He gripped the pommel of his standard-issue sword. It looked absurdly small beneath his huge, bony hand.
"But Hermann's leg irons got struck off some time this morning, didn't they?" Perennius said bitterly. He turned to Calvus. "Our so-called Marines are a draft of freed slaves," he said. "The orders were clear, so somebody's playing games in the Ministry of Soldiers. Well, we'll send these back and start looking for the whoreson who's getting in my way!"
"How long will that take?" the tall man asked.
Perennius had not really expected a response to his diatribe. He paused in mid-stride and looked back at Calvus. His mind was assimilating the implications of the question. "Two, maybe three days," he said carefully. "Do we have a deadline you haven't told me about?"
Calvus glanced down the section of Marines. The agent made the same calculation simultaneously. He walked along the quay toward a lighter unloading hyenas destined for the amphitheatre. Gaius frowned, but this time he did not follow the other men without being summoned. Perennius had a useful vocabulary in a score of languages, and the traveller had proven his fluency in still others. Neither of them were willing to bet that they had a language in common which was not shared with at least one of the newly-conscripted Marines, however.
"I haven't made a point of this," said Calvus against the backdrop of growling beasts, "because I knew you were acting as quickly as possible. But the - " he swallowed - "Guardians located me once. By now it seems evident that the one you killed was here by himself and that there will not be another attempt until another can arrive from Cilicia. . . . But even if they must rely on - locally-available transportation, every day makes the second attempt more probable."
Perennius sucked his lower lip between his teeth. He turned. "Longidienus!" he shouted down the quay. "Watch-stander!"
The leader of the Marines braced to attention. He at least was a trained soldier. "Sir?" he replied.
"Get your men aboard. We'll be sailing as soon as the captain tells me he's ready," Perennius ordered. In a low voice, he went on to the traveller, "I suppose you know how the bug found you?"
Calvus lifted his forehead in negation. "We hadn't ex-