Bibulus strolled over to the table where a basket of figs had been placed by the senator’s bald servant, the one wearing the curved sword. The unspeaking man had remained outside during the entire conference, apparently standing guard over the figs, and preventing any sailors from touching them. This had been at the behest of Postumus who, as he departed, expressed his wish that Bibulus would break down and at least enjoy a portion of the sumptuous meal. It had been a kind gesture, perhaps a peace offering to make amends for all of the earlier insults.
The aroma of the fruit caught Bibulus’s heightened senses and made his stomach churn. It had been easy to display pluck in front of his guests, but now that they were gone the hunger pangs were more intense than ever. The temptation was driving him to delirium. Before he realized it, he had reached for one of the figs and had taken a bite. It had been long since he had eaten such things, and his mouth went wild with the sensation, almost rejecting it. It tasted bitter, at first, but then the sweet flavor he remembered so well filled his mouth and he savored every bite. Within moments, he had eaten two more. But before he devoured a fourth, he regained control of his senses and cursed his momentary lapse.
A sudden guilt washed over him. How would he know how far he could push his men if he did not suffer as they did? He knew that he must reject such pleasures.
At that moment, Odulph began to protest in his cage, making animal-like grunts and pointing a gnarled finger through the bars at the basket. Presumably, he craved some of the figs, too, but the manner in which he protested was more violent than Bibulus had ever witnessed before. Odulph jumped up and down, shaking the cage like a wild beast, repeatedly pointing at the figs on the table. Bibulus would have none of this defiance. Deciding that even auguries needed to be disciplined at times, he swept up the basket, marched to the open portal, and dumped the remaining figs into the sea.
He fully expected Odulph to erupt with anger over having been deprived of the morsels, but instead the creature drew strangely quiet, as if it was the presence of the figs that had disturbed him so.
Suddenly, Bibulus felt a massive pain surge through his stomach, enough to make him double over. The ache was deep and severe, but it eventually abated, and he was able to stand upright again. It left him wondering how many in his fleet must be suffering from the same malady.
Perhaps he had kept the fleet at sea for too long.
Again, a shooting pain wracked his mid-section, but this time it did not subside. The room began to spin, and the next moment he was on the floor shivering, his body oozing a cold sweat from every pore. This was certainly beyond hunger, and between unconscious moments, he tried to cry out, but every gargling attempt only fouled his mouth and throat with a foamy mixture of saliva and blood.
During one moment the pain eased enough for him to notice that Odulph was silently watching him, the one eye distinct amidst a mat of hair pressed against the bars. It was at that moment that everything became clear to Bibulus, as if a curtain had been lifted from his mind. He remembered now, the subtle movements of the slave who had brought the figs to his cabin. Postumus and Flavius were saying their goodbyes, and Bibulus had thought it odd when the slave lingered beside the table for a long interval after they had left. Bibulus had been about to dismiss the slave, but before he did, Postumus had re-entered the cabin under the pretense of forgetting his cloak. Bibulus had turned away from the slave at that moment, and certainly that was the moment when the slave tainted the figs with some kind of poison. The bald man with the sword was not a slave at all, but an assassin.
As Bibulus fought to remain conscious, his mind reeling from both the poison and the sudden revelation that he had been murdered, his thoughts strayed to Calpurnia. What would become of her, poor child? Would she live the rest of her life in mourning? Would she be married off to some noble and live a life fitting her station, or did Postumus have an assassin arranged for her as well?
As the pain intensified and his limbs began twitching nearly uncontrollably, Odulph still watched him with the single, wide eye, and Bibulus could see that it carried a look of sadness. Bibulus realized now that Odulph had surely seen the assassin’s movements, and he had tried to warn his master – a warning that Bibulus had misinterpreted as insolence.
Odulph had remained loyal to the end, and that thought gave Bibulus some comfort. His spasm-wracked hand then suddenly clenched on something near his chest, something small and metallic. He realized that he had taken hold of the finely polished key on the gold chain that hung from around his neck.
His numbed lips managed a smile. The game was not over.
Bibulus now summoned every last measure of strength left in him. He crawled on his belly, pulling himself toward the cage, his heart pounding like a drum at ramming speed, the pain more intense with each movement. When he finally reached the bars he managed to pull himself to his knees and peer directly into Odulph’s curious eye. A gnarled hand nervously stroked the overgrown trusses.
"You, and only you, have been my loyal vassal," Bibulus gargled in a strained whisper, each breath less filling than the last. "Now, you shall be the instrument of my vengeance."
Bibulus then held up the key in his trembling hands, and feebly inserted it into the lock that fastened the door to the cage. But lifting the key had consumed all of his remaining strength. All animation left his face. First his hand dropped to his side, and then his body slumped to the deck, lifeless before it came to rest, a mass of blood instantly oozing from his mouth and nose to find the cracks and pores in the weathered timber.
The lifeless eyes of Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus – consul of Rome, proconsul of Syria, Admiral of the fleet – stared hollowly at the key that remained inside the lock, and the grimy, hair-covered hand that now reached for it.
VIII
The morning sun peeked over the sharp, ridge-lined finger of land. The storms of the previous days had passed, and now only a whisper of a breeze floated out over the glittering sea. Here, the rocky coast was too often lashed by wind and wave to attract human settlement, but the passing sailor must not be deceived by its unspoiled aspect, any more than he should by a chaste virgin lingering outside a bordello. For many a galley-borne hero of civilizations past had beheld these same towering white cliffs and foam-shrouded shoals over the course of a millennium. The Phoenicians, making their way to far off Africa to raise Carthage so valiantly from the dust, burgeoning its own culture and traditions, but now forgotten and returned to the dust. The wayward Trojans, under the fabled Aeneas, fleeing from their vanquished city, led by the gods to the land of the Latins to found a new empire that would rule the world. The mighty Athenian fleet, at the height of its greatness, under the reluctant Nicias, pointing their bows toward resolute Syracuse to sail unto ultimate tragedy. The mercenary fleet of King Pyrrhus, with war elephants trumpeting anxiously in their berths, eager to be afoot on Latin soil to crush out the lives of so many Roman youths. Might the generations of man intersect by an imprint of a memory, this sight that had endured through the ages, unmarred by time and tide, would have been a common thread.
On this day, it would be the last sight beheld by many more such warriors.
Three dozen vessels in even succession crept out from a narrow cove, their oars caressing the water's surface to the rhythm of the drum. When the last ship had weathered the cape, the fleet abandoned the single-file line and effortlessly maneuvered into a formation resembling a giant diamond. An unintelligible order drifted amongst the staccato of the drums, and the lead ship, a quinquereme of three banks of oars, unfurled its giant square-rigged sail. Each of her consorts followed suit until a forest of purple canvas floated above the sea, catching every breath of the offshore breeze.