Libo turned to see that she gazed upon Postumus, who leaned against the foredeck rail, facing outward and brimming with irritation as he watched the slow craft moving to and from the shore. The senator’s one surviving bodyguard stood beside him.
“You must watch the senator closely, Admiral,” Calpurnia said fervently. “He is most dangerous now that his plans have failed. Never trust him. Never turn your back on him.”
Libo smiled appreciatively, and was about to respond, when a hail came from the masthead.
“Ship there, sir!” The lookout in the tops pointed, his arm stretched out black against the blue sky. “At the entrance of the bay, sir! She’s heading this way! She comes on at the battle stroke!”
Libo looked at the mouth of the bay to see a trireme approaching the anchorage at a rapid pace, her three banks of oars dipping and falling faster than a man’s heartbeat.
“That’s the Genius, sir,” Naevius reported. “She belongs to Ursus Squadron.”
Ursus Squadron had been left behind to watch Brundisium, and Libo somehow knew at that moment that his fears had turned into reality, that this ship bore some ill news, and that he had made a dire mistake in bringing the fleet this far north.
As if to confirm his suspicions, a rash of signal flags ran up the yardarm of the approaching ship.
“The Genius is signaling, sir,” Naevius announced. “Enemy fleet at sea. Sailing in the direction of the Illyrian coast!”
“At sea, by Jupiter!” Postumus exclaimed, suddenly beside Libo. “Is the gold aboard, man?”
“We don’t know, Senator!” Libo snapped angrily, more frustrated with himself, than with the senator’s question. “Get the boats in, captain! Signal all squadrons to prepare for sea without delay!”
“Aye, sir,” Naevius saluted and then began barking orders.
As the previously peaceful deck transformed into a maelstrom of rushing sailors, Libo realized that Calpurnia was still there. He looked at her apologetically, but the admiral’s daughter seemed to understand perfectly. There would be no time to send her ashore now. Naevius would need every last hand to get the boats aboard, the oars manned, and the ship ready to sail. With a simple smile, she retired quietly to the stern cabin with her slave girls close behind.
“My lord Admiral,” the Genius’s captain reported somewhat nervously, after his ship hove to and he rushed across to the flagship. “My lord, Commodore Sardus sends you his respects and apologies, sir. The enemy fleet has put to sea. They drive northeast, towards the Illyrian coast under all sail!”
“What of the treasure ships?” Postumus asked impatiently. “Are they with Antony’s fleet?”
“Not now, Senator!” Libo retorted, then turned back to the restless captain. “Tell me what happened. Give me a full report.”
The captain looked at him with jittery eyes. It was obvious he had pushed his crew to the limit to get here. “Today started like any other, sir. The harbor was quiet, with nothing but a lugger or two pulling across every now and again, just as it’s been every day for the last week. But then, sir, just after the third hour, it was as if the very shore had come alive. Men were running everywhere, but to what purpose we couldn’t make out. There was a flurry of activity around those beached treasure ships moored under the lee of the fort, the ones with the green canopies. Then, before we knew it, they were underway, tearing across the harbor and making for the southern channel at all speed. They were moving fast, sir, with only a handful of biremes escorting them. Since our squadron was hanging off the northern channel at the time, the commodore figured they were making a run for it, trying to slip past us while we were at the top of our circuit. He understood what you said, sir, that those ships were likely loaded with gold and that they were to be watched closely, and seized if the opportunity afforded itself. Well, when they came out of the channel, the commodore made the decision to run them down. They turned south, following the coast, and that seemed odd at first, but then we just assumed they wanted to get away from our squadron before they headed out across the open sea. We made good speed, sir, but they led us on quite a chase. When we had nearly caught up with them, they turned their prows to the shore and the whole lot ran up on the beach as if they had reconsidered the whole voyage. The crews deserted the moment the keels scraped the sand, jumping into the shallows and scrambling over the hills faster than we could count them. We thought it was our lucky day, sir, for the crews had fled and there was no enemy around to contest our seizing the prizes.”
“Well?” Postumus demanded. “Did you secure the gold?”
The captain cast a doubtful glance at Libo, who nodded and then closed his eyes. For Libo understood everything now and did not need to hear the rest of the story. Postumus, on the other hand, had evidently not deduced what had happened and was growing visibly annoyed at the captain’s reluctance.
“What’s wrong, man?” the senator barked. “Can you not speak?”
“The ships were empty, my lord,” the captain said, averting his eyes to the deck.
“What do you mean they were empty?”
“When we searched them, my lord, the gold wasn’t there. The enemy must have taken it off in Brundisium. They must have done it in the night, when our garrison on Basada couldn’t observe them doing it.” The captain paused momentarily, distracted by Postumus who stared off into space as a man who had just heard that his house had burned down with all of his possessions in it. “Of course, we realized we had been duped, and beat a quick passage back to Brundisium, but only just in time to see the last ships of Antony’s fleet leaving the harbor under all sails bound for Illyricum.”
“How many ships?” Libo asked, forcing himself to retain his composure.
“At least sixty or seventy, sir. Transports of every size, stretching out over the horizon. There were a few warships among them, bringing up the rear. Enough to keep us at arms’ length. The commodore dispatched me here with the news, and I nearly killed my oarsmen getting here.”
“Thank you, captain,” Libo said calmly. “Return to your ship and prepare to get underway with the rest of the fleet.”
“Aye, my lord.”
As the captain marched off, Postumus turned to Libo with a look of disgust.
“Antony’s legions are at sea, Admiral! No doubt, the treasury is, too! Never in my career have I encountered such complete and utter incompetence! You can believe that when I return to Thessalonica, I will tell the Senate -“
“Tell them anything you like, Senator!” Libo interrupted. “Tell them if perhaps I’d had another squadron here, it would have made the difference! Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
Libo stormed off, feeling Postumus’s piercing eyes on his back as he descended the hatchway. Libo inwardly cursed himself at playing directly into Antony’s hands. He also found himself cursing Lucius Domitius, for if that bastard of a centurion had not betrayed him, none of this would have happened. A glimpse of a thought came to his mind – the thought that Lucius might not have died aboard the Faun, that the treacherous centurion might have made his way to Antony, and might have been the one to inform Antony of the fleet’s dire need of water. Could it be that Lucius was responsible for this whole turn of events?
By the time Libo reached his quarters and stretched a chart of the Illyrian coast across his desk, he had banished all such ridiculous thoughts from his mind. For he needed to think clearly now.
He had a fleet to catch.
XXXI
It was a motley armada, Marc Antony considered as he studied the ragged column of ships stretching off for miles in both directions. He stood atop the swaying arrow tower of his flagship, the Vulcan, an aging quinquereme left over from the days of the Cilician pirates. He was surrounded by his advisors and legates, all bedecked in field armor, all watching with nervous eagerness as the fragile fleet negotiated the pitching seas, driving north along the rocky coast of Illyricum.