Libo counted to five, hoping it would be enough time for Lucius to adjust his aim. Then, with a single hand that he fought to keep from trembling, Libo touched his brow.
The extended bare arms of Antony and Postumus stopped just short of joining – as both were suddenly spattered red by a shower of fresh blood.
XXVII
Lucius watched from his concealed perch on the Faun’s high prow as the two delegations met on the gleaming sand stretching out before him. The sinister-looking, man-sized artillery piece on which he now rested his chin was ready to loose, torqued to its full strength, its two-foot, iron-tipped bolt carefully aimed to account for both wind and distance. Now he waited for Libo’s signal. He felt sure his shot would run true, providing a rogue gust did not sweep across the islet at the wrong moment. He had spent the early morning hours assessing the scorpion’s power, loosing three missiles into the sea under the watchful eyes of the Faun’s captain, as the little ship sat alongside the Argonaut waiting for the delegation to transfer on board. Lucius had been pleased to discover that the scorpion was in prime condition. The torsion springs were made from the finest strands of women’s hair, and the energy released by the stout twisted cords was consistent between shots.
The morning had gone according to plan. Once the delegation had gone ashore, Lucius had prepared the weapon under the canvas shroud. Aside from a few curious glances, the sailors had ignored him, the captain directing most of them to linger in the stern. The captain eyed Lucius suspiciously, but he did not interfere, undoubtedly following instructions given him by Libo prior to going ashore.
Everything had gone according to plan, except for one unexpected turn of events.
From his crouched position, Lucius looked over his shoulder to see that Marjanita was still there, crouching only a few paces away, also hidden from the shore by the ship’s bulwark. She had appeared on deck, quite suddenly after the delegation had gone ashore, and Lucius could only assume she had stowed away belowdecks. Her presence was unexpected, but Lucius knew exactly why she was here. Undoubtedly, Calpurnia had sent the she-warrior handmaiden to ensure that Lucius kept his end of the deal. The dagger tucked into the handmaid’s sash was distinctly visible, and was most likely intended for his throat, should his bolt not fly true and snuff the life out of Postumus as agreed. Of course, it was possible the wicked weapon was meant for him in either case. Calpurnia had certainly been around Roman politics long enough to know that when one plotted a murder, one must also plot the murder of the assassin.
At first, Lucius had found it odd that the bireme’s captain had seemed unalarmed by Marjanita’s presence, allowing her to shadow Lucius’s every move. But then it occurred to him that Calpurnia probably had more allies in the fleet than did Libo. This may even be the very vessel Marjanita had visited that night, back in Corcyra, when Lucius had seen her naked form climb aboard.
Lucius smiled playfully at her now before turning his attention back to the cluster of men on the beach. Her face still contained something bordering between loathing and hatred whenever she met his gaze, but there was something tempered about her expression now – for, only a few hours ago, they had lain in each other’s arms, their mingled forms glimmering with perspiration in the dim lamplight. It had been a wild experience, and perhaps he had gotten a little more than he had bargained for. Once left alone in the cabin, Marjanita’s initial reluctance had seemed to give way to total acceptance. In the blink of an eye, she had tossed away her own clothing, and then proceeded to disrobe Lucius just as abruptly. At first, he thought she simply wished to get the whole foul business over and done with. But then, much to his surprise, she came at him with a carnal fury in her eyes, pouncing upon him as a ravenous tigress leaps on her prey. Lucius was completely thunderstruck as she pressed her lips to his, her athletic body forcing him to the deck with a ferocity more suited to a wrestling match, and he soon began to wonder whose fulfillment was truly being addressed. She attacked him as one deprived of food might lay into a table of baked meats, never once stopping, even as the pipes announced the changing of the watch. The ship might have driven into a cyclone for all Lucius could tell, so intense was the alacrity of her passion, her flat stomach and small breasts heaving such as he had only seen in the vivacious dances of the most primitive barbarian tribes. He could still feel the marks on his chest and biceps left by her clawing fingernails. The whole thing had been hysterical, animalistic, barbaric, but there had been one moment, after her spent body had collapsed onto his, her cheek resting upon his chest, when she had reached up with a single trembling hand and had gently caressed his unshaven face. It had been, perhaps, the only affectionate touch of the whole encounter, but there had been something especially gentle about it, some measure of tenderness that went beyond simple lust. In that instant, Lucius had felt as though she were reliving a cherished moment from her distant and all but vanished past, when she had held a man from her native land, a man of the far away East whom she had loved and would never see again.
But now, she waited to kill Lucius, and perhaps that was the hesitation he detected on her face. Of course, she would have to do it, for Lucius did not intend to kill Postumus. Should he assassinate a senator of Rome in such a manner, his life would be forfeit. Whether Rome was ruled by Caesar or the Senate, he would never be able to escape such a tarnish. At the same time, he thought killing Antony, Caesar’s favorite lieutenant, an equally self-destructive solution. Calpurnia and Libo had each planned well in choosing him as their assassin, for he was expendable.
He watched now as the tall senator and the equally tall Antony appeared deep in discussion, with Libo and the aides looking on. The squad of marines milling about on the beach, just below the Faun’s prow, held their shields and javelins nonchalantly, only half-paying attention. Most appeared more concerned with dodging the incessant rain of droppings from a mass of seagulls flapping overhead. Five hundred yards away, Antony’s legionaries on the far side of the little islet looked to be similarly distracted.
The conference between the great men appeared to be coming to a head now. Antony was approaching Postumus, the bastard brandishing a smile on that ape-browed face of his.
Lucius selected his target carefully. It was a clear shot, with no obstructions. There was no way he could miss. He watched Libo’s hand and waited for the signal. Libo looked nervous, or enraged, Lucius could not tell which, and he was just beginning to wonder if the admiral was ever going to give the signal, when suddenly the admiral’s hand came up and touched his brow.
A heartbeat later, Lucius pulled the pin and the engine recoiled, flinging the deadly missile into the air. Lucius watched the flight of the bolt to see if he had judged the wind correctly, and he had. The missile was flying directly where he had aimed it.
A silent satisfaction came over him as the shaft struck its target squarely in the torso, only to be surpassed by the satisfaction he felt next as all Hades broke out on the tranquil little islet.
XXVIII
Both delegations turned to discover the source of the blood, for neither Postumus nor Antony were injured. They gaped in horror at the gory point of the shaft that now protruded from Flavius’s abdomen. Flavius’s face was white with disbelief as a torrent of red streamed down his legs to be picked up by the wind and sprayed in the direction of Antony and Postumus. He finally fell to the ground, writhing grotesquely, the firmly lodged shaft repeatedly beating against the sand with every twist of his body. Within moments, the lifeblood had ebbed and his form went motionless, locked in an attitude of agony.