“I respectfully ask you again, Admiral,” Flavius said after waiting several long moments for an answer. “Were there any survivors?”
Bibulus smiled and fed another almond to the heavily breathing Odulph. “One only – a centurion – one chosen by the gods.”
“Excuse me, my lord?” Flavius seemed confused.
“He fought like a lion, that one,” Bibulus said distantly, gazing upon Odulph as if he were in a trance. “Like a wild tempest, he fought, like a storm unleashed upon his foe. He was savage, yet honed and refined, like the perfect edge of a sword, fluidly and naturally moving amidst the deadly points arrayed against him. He struck down his enemies as an artist weaves a fine embroidery.”
Postumus seemed beside himself at this poetic indulgence, but Flavius ignored it and pressed on.
“Was there not a noble aboard, Admiral, of legate rank?”
“A noble?” Bibulus put a finger to his lips and pretended to consider, fully remembering the noble that Libo had begged him to spare. “Let me see…oh, yes, there was one. Of course, I caught sight of him only moments before he was slain. Had I been told that he was important, I might have intervened on his behalf. Sadly, no such word reached me.”
“Do you play games with us, Bibulus?” Postumus said irritably. “Of course you knew of his importance. You were the one with which he intended to meet!”
Bibulus did not understand what in Neptune’s deep blue sea Postumus was talking about, but it delighted him to see the senator so infuriated.
“Alas, that is a meeting he shall not be able to keep now,” Bibulus said, wishing to enflame the senator more. “For, certainly, the beasts of the sea are having him for dinner.”
“By Juno, Bibulus!” Postumus exclaimed like a heated kettle blowing its top. “You have really gone too far this time! Of all the imprudent deeds you have done in your life, this is far beyond anything -“
“What of the centurion, Admiral?” Postumus was cut short by Flavius, who had remained composed throughout, staring directly across at Bibulus. “We wish to speak with him at once. Please summon him here without delay.”
“Does the Senate now concern itself with the junior officers of our enemy?”
“Not the Senate, you rascal!” Postumus snapped. “Enough of this foolery! Your little jest is up. You know why we are here. Now, have the centurion brought here at once that we may unravel this knot you have tied.”
Bibulus could not imagine what these two fools might gain from talking with the centurion. In the week since the destruction of the transports, Bibulus could not remember setting eyes on him a single time. Presumably, the big warrior now stroked an oar on the lower decks with the hundreds of other slaves. The man’s fate had not been important to Bibulus, so he had quite lost track of him. It would have been a simple thing to send for him, to obediently do as they asked, but Bibulus did not wish to give Postumus, or his intrusive aide, the satisfaction of finding anything they had come looking for.
“That is not possible,” he finally answered.
“Why not, sir?”
“The man was transferred to the Remus under Commodore Libo, and the Remus is now more than a hundred leagues from here.”
“Do you mean to stand by that preposterous story, Bibulous?” Postumus asked incredulously.
“I do.”
Bibulus suspected the senator’s spies had already informed him that the centurion was aboard the Argonaut, but he had chosen to lie anyway. If the bastard wanted to speak to the centurion, then let him first admit to having agents aboard.
“Neptune’s arse!” Postumus struck his hands together in frustration. “Neptune’s arse, Bibulus! Why do you force our hand so?”
“Be careful not to mock the gods too often, Senator,” Bibulus replied, eyeing him coldly. “You are still at sea, and nowhere is a mortal more at the mercy of the divinities than on the high seas.”
Postumus and Flavius exchanged uncertain glances, as if they were not sure whether they should take his words as a threat, or as more of his vain ramblings. They exchanged a few whispers before facing the admiral again.
“When will Commodore Libo return?” Flavius asked.
“Difficult to say. He has orders to stop the Rhodian fleet at all hazards before it reaches Italy. Neptune knows how long he may have to lie in wait for them, if they come at all.”
“I must mention that I am somewhat concerned for your health, Marcus,” Postumus said, suddenly pleasant, his entire demeanor changed, as if the heart of the discussion was over and now only civilities and courtesies remained. “Your clothes hang on you like rags, my friend. I do wish you had not turned down the nourishment we offered. You carry a heavy burden on your shoulders, you know. And how is your daughter, Marcus? What would she be now, in her eighteenth year?”
“Calpurnia is twenty,” Bibulus replied guardedly, the mention of his daughter sending a shudder of anxiety through him. Postumus had asked about her in an off-handed fashion, but Bibulus understood the true intent of the remark. The senator was coolly reminding him that any resistance on his part could have long-lasting or fatal ramifications to his family. The thought of it made his heart feel like it weighed ten stone, the pain over the loss of his sons returning like that of an old wound. Calpurnia was the only family he had left, his one weakness. He could not lose her. He must not lose her.
“I have not laid eyes on her in many years,” Postumus continued. “I imagine she must be a beauty to behold now. Tell me, did she remain in Rome, as the dear families of so many of our colleagues were forced to do, or did she accompany you to Corcyra?”
“She is in Corcyra, Senator. Neither of us has been to Rome in many years. She was with me in Syria during my proconsulship there. I will rejoice on the day when I can show her the ancestral home of the Calpurnii of which the poor child scarcely has a memory.”
“I sympathize with you, Marcus. I, too, have children who have seldom seen Rome. Perhaps, soon, both of our families will return to the great city we both cherish.”
Postumus continued the small talk. He made no more mention of Calpurnia, and his conversation carried none of the venom of his earlier remarks. He talked of the state of the army, of Pompey’s health, and many other happenings throughout the eastern provinces. It was not unpleasant, but it felt artificial, as that of a politician preparing to make a run up the cursus honorum. Throughout, Bibulus’s thoughts drifted to Calpurnia. It had been more than a month since he had last seen her, standing on the wharf in Corcyra waving to him and smiling sadly as his launch pulled away. The thoughts of his daughter filled him with regret and guilt. Regret over the years of her youth wasted in some remote eastern province, while she could have been happily frolicking with her peers in Rome. Guilt over the shame she might suffer someday should he not wipe the blight of his past failures from the memories of the political elite. And guilt over the anguish in her eyes which he could never escape. He could ignore the sidelong glances of the marines and sailors, the murmurings of his officers, even the ridicule of Senators like Postumus, but he could never ignore that grieving look from his devoted daughter, those pained eyes that were like a mirror to his inner soul, and which confirmed what he inwardly suspected about himself – that the man whom she called father truly was sinking into madness.
After his guests had left, Bibulus watched through the portal as the sloop pulled away, Postumus and Flavius seemingly immersed in a heated discussion. They had not found what they had been looking for, that much was evident, and he swore never to let them bring his fleet to heel again. There was coastline to patrol, and this little diversion had already cost him several miles of headway. Antony’s armada could be driving east at this very moment.
At the next opportunity, he would send a personal letter to his own allies in the Senate. Perhaps that bastard Postumus would be castigated, if not exiled, once they discovered that he had been trying to undermine the authority of the admiral of the fleet in the pursuit of personal business. Postumus and his cronies were not afraid to flex their political muscle. Well, neither was he.