"I would rather die here, sword in hand, than as one of your captives. I have witnessed your mercy." He pointed to the mass of burning ships out on the water.
"You will not be killed," Libo said reassuringly.
"Do you swear to that before all these men?" The centurion, who had seemed resistant and hell-bent on dying where he stood only moments ago, now suddenly showed signs of amenability, as if he had been waiting for Libo to say the right words.
Bibulus, who had been petulantly observing the exchange, sighed heavily and spoke before Libo could respond. "In Jupiter's name, you half-wit, we've been all over that. I have sworn that no harm -"
"Not you!" The centurion interrupted so abruptly and with such authority that the stunned admiral seemed lost for words. The imposing warrior then pointed a bloody sword at Libo. "I want your word, not his."
Libo could see that Bibulus was red-faced at the insult and ready to give the archers clairvoyance to shoot, but he had to act before that happened. The incensed admiral looked at him suspiciously, as if testing how he would respond to this undermine of his authority. Then he saw a beguiling expression on the centurion's face, as if the warrior knew exactly the precarious position in which he had just placed him, and was equally curious as to how he would respond. This centurion was either a reckless fool or a calculating charlatan who had perhaps sensed the friction between Libo and Bibulus and had looked to exploit it to his advantage.
"I know I speak for Admiral Marcus Calpurnias Bibulus, as well as myself," Libo said carefully, ever mindful of Bibulus's mistrustful eyes. “Centurion Lucius Domitius of the Tenth Legion, you have our mutual word of honor that your life will be spared. Let the scribe mark it in the log.”
Libo was more immediately concerned with the admiral's reaction to this, but Bibulus seemed pleased and nodded his concurrence. The admiral’s response was scarcely faster than that of the centurion, who immediately pitched the bloody swords over the side and raised his hands in obedience. The warrior’s surrender had happened a bit too abruptly, and it left Libo wondering exactly who was being played for the fool.
"Nothing here, my lord," the Argonaut’s marine centurion called across the water, after his men had finished searching the sinking ship and driving their swords through every shuddering body. "Soldiers' kits and a hold full of grain, that's about the sum of it. Should we start transferring it all to Argonaut?"
The Argonaut’s captain was about to answer, but then thought better of it and glanced at the admiral for guidance. "The grain, my lord. Shall we fetch it aboard?"
"Are you mad?" Bibulus looked at him as though he had just asked permission to put the flagship on the rocks. "And let Caesar see that we are desperate for rations? That we have stooped to the baseness of common pirates? Oh, he would certainly have a laugh at that, captain. Never!"
"Of course, you're right, sir. Sorry, sir."
The marines ushered the now stripped and shackled centurion across to the flagship at the point of the spear, blood and perspiration rolling off his muscled frame onto the freshly scoured deck.
"He looks fit for the end of an oar," the captain quipped in a poor attempt to hide the awe they all felt. The centurion's broad shoulders were even more imposing when towering only a few paces away, and prompted the flagship’s officers to keep wary hands on the hilts of their sheathed swords. "Clean him up and put him below with the slaves. We'll make good employment of him."
"Begging your pardon, Admiral," Libo said, knowing that he had to act now. He was certain the dying knight had imparted something of importance to the centurion, and he was sure that it was connected to the orange pennant. But he could not simply interrogate the man here in front of all of these others, especially the half-mad admiral, who was too lost in the head to know what to do with the information. "I respectfully request that the prisoner be given to me. As you know, the plague that swept through the fleet last month left me well below my complement of rowers. Besides, this man belonged to Caesar's cherished Tenth Legion, and obviously has a rebellious nature. Let me take him, if it pleases you, sir.”
After a wary glance at the centurion, Bibulus's face again transformed to a smile. "No. He shall remain aboard the flagship. We have need of oarsmen, too.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Libo knew he could not protest any further without giving away his true intents. And then he noticed the centurion cast an oddly perceptive glance in his direction before being led away, as if the man had read his thoughts and knew precisely the reason for the request.
“I would have you come to my quarters, Libo,” Bibulus said, smiling in an oddly genial manner, after the centurion had been taken below. “There is a private matter we need to discuss.”
"I will be honored to join you, Admiral."
As the officers retired, the broken transport was cast adrift, her scuppers trickling blood like crimson tears, as if she were cognizant of the fate that awaited her. Once the distance had opened, several balls of burning pitch were launched into her, and the hulk of death was quickly transformed into a raging inferno. Her decks burned from stem to stern, the stench of roasting human flesh carrying thickly across the water. At some point, the flames crawled up the masts, too. The last victim of their withering attack was the lonely orange pennant, which fluttered one last time before the silk caught a spark and was instantly consumed in a brilliant light, its blackened remnants carried off in the next gust.
V
The stern cabin of the Argonaut was not spacious by any means, but it far surpassed anything enjoyed by the captains and commodores in the rest of the fleet. Libo sipped at the wine he had been offered, enjoying the warmth of the crackling brazier, and contrasting the accommodating quarters of Admiral Bibulus to his own cramped cabin aboard the Remus. How many nights he had spent at sea, shivering in his damp hammock, as the Remus cruised in some remote corner of the empire, dreaming of a time when he might rate such a cabin, or such a ship.
The wine was watered down much more than he liked, but he was thankful for any kind of drink after the death and destruction of this day. He had to keep reminding himself that it had all been for the good of the republic. He sat patiently in one corner while Bibulus was attended to by a pair of slaves who were swiftly and proficiently rubbing down his naked body with oil. When they had finished, they produced two bronze strigils and proceeded to vigorously scrape him clean with the small, curved instruments. Finally, the bath was concluded with a conservative washdown from a bucket of rainwater.
As Libo waited for the cleansing ritual to conclude, he could not help but cast eyes at the opposite corner, where the creature’s cage now sat, borne there by four burly slaves after Bibulus had retired to his quarters. The creature skulked against the bars on the opposite side, and gave no sign of consciousness, save for a labored breathing that seemed to fill the room. Libo could not see its face, but he felt an unnerving certainty that the one piercing eye watched him from beneath the mat of tangled hair.