Libo nodded in acknowledgement, and then turned his attention back to the bay where dozens of small boats, loaded down with amphorae and casks of all size, pulled to and from the tree-lined shore of the small bay. The captain correctly sensed that his admiral was deep in thought and wished to be left alone, and so he moved on. But such courtesy was not extended by Postumus who brusquely approached Libo for the third time since the changing of the watch.
“I say again, Admiral, this is a profound waste of time,” the senator exclaimed hotly. “The fleet should make for Corcyra, without delay. You are a failure, sir! You have failed to secure the treasury, and now you attempt to cover for that failure by overplaying your blockade duties.”
“The treasury was never my mission, Senator,” Libo replied, and then added with slight contempt in his tone, “Though I’m sure it was yours all along! My duty is to keep Antony’s legions from crossing the sea, and that is precisely what I shall do, even if it means staying afloat until the spring.”
“My dear young man, do you hear yourself? Do you know who you sound like?”
“Once we have watered,” Libo said, ignoring the remark. “We will resume station off Brundisium, and wait.”
“We have been waiting for far too long already!” Postumus took in a deep breath, as if to control his aggravation. “Very well, Admiral. If you must have it your way, then I insist that you immediately detach one of your fastest ships to convey me to Corcyra. It is imperative that I make my report to the Senate posthaste. If the Raven discovers that his plans have been thwarted before the Senate can launch an investigation and expose the traitor, then he will have the upper hand. He will have time to slip away – or worse, to negotiate a new deal with Antony. Such a plan may already be in the works, as we sit here doing nothing!”
“I regret that I cannot spare any vessels at the moment, Senator,” Libo said dismissively.
Postumus shook his fists in frustration, veins pulsing at his temples, but he eventually turned on his heel and left.
Libo had lied, of course. The absence of one ship would not impact the effectiveness of the blockade, but he did not believe for one moment that Postumus wished to hurry back to expose the Raven. A veil of distrust had fallen between them in the week since the battle on Basada. The senator obviously suspected Libo had something to do with Flavius’s assassination, and Libo suspected the senator of colluding with the enemy without the true authorization of the Senate. Whoever got to Thessalonica first, with the most believable story, would garner the Senate’s favor, and to that end, Libo dared not let the senator go.
Postumus had made similar requests over the past few days and had accepted Libo’s refusals politely and professionally, evidently not wishing to appear too desperate. But today, the mask of courtesy was falling away. And now, without his aide around to keep his brutish side in check, the loutish senator was resorting to personal slurs, openly dubbing Libo a failure on the deck of his own flagship within earshot of many of the crew.
Libo sighed, glancing once at the position of the sun. Even when considering the source, he knew there was some truth to that sobriquet. The battle, though technically a victory, had cost him one bireme, its entire crew, and several dozen marines. In exchange for these losses, he was now lord over a tiny island that had no water and about as many bird droppings as granules of sand. Regardless, he had placed a small garrison of marines there, if only as a gesture, and in the week since the battle, they had done little but stare across the water at the helmeted figures on the walls of the enemy fort.
The fleet had also accomplished very little. It had cruised aimlessly off Brundisium, watching and waiting for a move by Antony that never came. There had been no sign of activity, either in the harbor or against the wharf. The bulk of Antony’s transports were hidden inside Brundisium’s inner harbor, and they made no appearance. The green draped treasure ships that had escaped from the island had been beached on the harbor side of the promontory, under the lee of the fort, and had not moved since the day of the battle. They had remained there, as if daring Libo to send a raiding party to capture them. Postumus had suggested that such an attempt be made, but Libo had rejected the idea, certain that the seemingly helpless craft were bait for an unseen trap. He needed only point out the charred wreck of the Faun, slowly eroding with each flood and ebb of the tide, to remind the senator of the fort’s lethality.
It had soon become apparent to Libo that Antony had decided to wait him out, perhaps guessing, or perhaps gleaning from prisoners taken from the Faun, that Libo’s fleet was perilously short of water. There had been a few rains, and many of the ships had used canvas awnings to catch some of the precious liquid, but it had not been enough, and Libo had found himself approaching a decision point.
He had sent ships up and down the coast to scout out inland streams, but each had been met at the shore by the menace of Antony’s cavalry who shadowed the fleet at every turn. Many of these horsemen were Gallic auxiliaries, mounted on steeds raised in Gaul that could ride fifty miles in one day, and then do it again after a night’s rest. They were numerous, and sometimes it seemed as if the whole coast were alive with the wild riders. Even when Libo sent out individual vessels, sending them as far as twenty leagues down the coast, the whooping cavalry was there, brandishing a fearsome array of long swords and lances. Libo was near the point of ordering half of the fleet to return to Corcyra – an order that would surely have pleased Postumus – when, yesterday, a welcome report had been received from his scouting vessels.
Antony’s cavalry had disappeared. The galloping columns that had adorned the seaside hills were nowhere in sight and appeared to be entirely absent from the coast. Whatever the reason for it, Libo had decided to capitalize on the blunder. He had ordered one squadron to cover the approaches to Brundisium, while the rest of the fleet made all speed for this isolated bay in which they now lay anchored, twenty leagues to the north.
Now, the water crisis was over, and his initiative seemed to have paid off. Still, he felt uneasy.
The hill-lined bay seemed eerily quiet. His squadrons had been there for most of the night. Now, it was nearing midday, and still, the only activity ashore was that of his own work parties and a few farmers who curiously observed the anchored fleet from the distant heights. The enemy was nowhere to be seen.
There had to be a reason for it. Surely, word of the fleet’s movements had reached Brundisium by now, and Antony’s cavalry should have responded. Perhaps the cavalry had been sent to quell a revolt in some other part of Italy. But Libo shook his head, resisting the urge to hang onto the optimistic assessment. All of his instincts told him that it was too easy. This stroke of good fortune was too good not to have some devilment behind it.
He heard a woman’s voice behind him and turned to see Calpurnia giving orders to a group of slaves. The slaves passed the lady’s baggage in a long line from the stern cabin to the starboard gangway where a launch awaited her.
“It is a pity that you must leave us, my lady,” Libo said, approaching her. “The Argonaut and her crew will miss the joy of your company.”
“You are most kind, Admiral,” she said affectionately. “My father would have been pleased with your generosity.
“Are you sure I cannot send one of my officers ashore with you? Especially now that your handmaid has gone missing. You still have a long journey ahead of you.”
“That will not be necessary. I have ample money to hire transportation to Rome. I shall miss your kindness, very much.” She looked past him. “I shall not miss others.”