“Wind’s holding steady, sir!” the Vulcan’s captain called up to him from the main deck, as if to reassure him that the breakers, clearly visible only a few miles off the starboard beam, would not present a threat.
The Vulcan rode near the center of the convoy, where Antony had a good view of the ships ahead and astern, each one brimming with men and beasts. He had been keeping a mental note of which vessels also contained a portion of the thirty million sesterces from the aerarium. He had personally selected those vessels for their seaworthiness, and so far, all had made it across the Adriatic unscathed.
He still marveled at the odd turn of events that had put him here, only a few miles from his final destination and the attainment of his ultimate objective – to be the sole ruler of Rome.
One week ago, such dreams had seemed hopeless and lost. Postumus’s treachery on Basada had nearly scuppered his plans. The double-dealing old bastard had played him for a fool, and had nearly managed to kill him and make off with the treasury gold. The betrayal had enraged Antony, not because his own force on the island had been annihilated, but because he had sincerely led himself to believe that his agreement with the Raven was genuine, and that the shadowy leader of Rome’s underworld truly intended to designate him imperator of all Roman armies, making him the de facto ruler of the empire.
After the disastrous battle for Basada, from which Antony had only just managed to escape with his life, he had gone straight to his headquarters in Brundisium, retiring to his chamber to stew for several long hours. He lost himself in a bottle of wine while wracking his brain for some way in which he would explain his dawdling to Caesar, should Caesar defeat Pompey, and, conversely, how he might excuse his allegiance to Caesar should Pompey and the Senate prevail. He fell into a dark, angry mood, and by the time sleep overcame him he had considered abandoning the army, Caesar, Rome, Italy – everything – not by committing suicide, but by fleeing over the Alps to disappear among the barbarian tribes of the north.
Then, the next morning, after summoning his legates and the eunuch Orestes to begin mapping out a new plan, forcing himself to once again play the part of Caesar’s loyal lieutenant, everything suddenly changed.
“Forgive me, General.” One of his guards interrupted the bleak consultation. "But a man and a woman are outside craving to be admitted. The man claims to be a centurion of the Tenth Legion, one Lucius Domitius.”
Antony shot a panicked look at Orestes, who seemed just as perplexed by the news.
“Allow him to enter,” Antony said after a few moments pause, and then smiled politely to the assembled legates. “Let us have a recess, gentlemen. Go fill your cups, while I hear what this mule turd wants to say.”
The confused legates filed out of the room, leaving Antony and Orestes alone to receive the two visitors. A very drenched and very tired looking Lucius Domitius entered with a woman who was just as bedraggled. While the sight of Lucius shocked Antony, for the simple reason that he had given express orders to Marcellus to have the centurion killed once they reached Greece, it was nothing compared to his astonishment when he realized the woman was the Raven’s agent whom he had received four weeks ago, and who had delivered the message that had started this whole affair.
“Your presence here surprises me, Lucius,” Antony said with forced joviality.
“I’m sure it does, sir,” the centurion replied.
Antony could not decipher whether the centurion’s manner was courteous or canny, but he continued to pretend that he was pleased to see him.
“I’m shocked by your presence, Lucius, and your dreadful condition. Juno’s tight arse, man, you smell like a fish market! Where in Neptune’s dark crevice did you come from? And what are you doing with this strumpet?”
“I believe you know this woman, sir.”
“Indeed I do,” Antony replied, eyeing her narrowly. “And I am grateful to you, Lucius, for bringing her to me. She is a deceitful little witch who deserves nothing less than the poena cullei.” He glanced at the eunuch, then back at the woman sinisterly. “What say you Orestes? Shall we sew her up in the sack with a viper? No, that would be too quick. Perhaps we can get our hands on that rabid monkey you pointed out in the market the other day. Of course, we’ll let the auxiliaries have their way with her first.”
Orestes nodded his concurrence but said nothing. Antony noticed that the eunuch seemed oddly uncomfortable in the presence of the other two. He dismissed it, knowing well that Orestes was a social idiot and tended only to impart his thoughts when discussing matters of state and strategy.
“This woman is not your enemy, sir,” Lucius said forcefully. “I have brought her here because she has a message for you – from the Raven.”
Antony eyed him suspiciously. “How came you to know about the Raven, Lucius? You were sent as a bodyguard. Marcellus was not to tell you anything.”
“He passed the message on to me, sir,” Lucius shrugged, as if he did not understand. “You see, we were attacked by the enemy fleet. He was killed, and I was taken prisoner. The enemy admiral and some senator – I forget his name – they put me under the lash, sir. They interrogated me for days on end.” The big centurion turned and pulled down his wet tunic, displaying fresh red scabs running across the muscled ridges of his vast back. “I was in a terrible state, sir, and I don’t remember all that I said. I guess I must have told them what Marcellus told me.”
Antony considered for a long moment, and then it suddenly dawned on him. “Postumus and Libo!” he said fervently. “They intercepted our message! Do you realize what this means, Orestes? It means the Raven never received it. It means Libo and Postumus were nothing more than opportunists trying to insert themselves in this affair. It means,” he paused, looking at the woman, “the letter this woman carried was legitimate. This confirms it came from the Raven and was not one of Postumus’s tricks as we had thought. You said yourself the seal was authentic. Then the Raven truly did offer me command of the armies.”
The woman nodded. “That is correct, Excellency. When my master did not receive your reply, he suspected something had gone amiss. He dispatched me to contact you again. The last time I visited you, I was conveyed to Italy by a fishing vessel, but the journey has become much more perilous since then. I boarded the flagship Argonaut, disguised as a handmaid to a noble woman who was taking passage back to Italy. While at sea, I came across this centurion. He recognized me and told me everything that had happened. I helped him escape and we both slipped aboard the vessel that now lies sunk in the channel. By the grace of Athena, we survived, and now stand before you.”
“Indeed,” Antony said, his recent ire at the woman all but forgotten. “And where is this new message?”
“It is a verbal message,” the woman replied succinctly. “My master, the Raven, will honor the same agreement proposed before, with one exception.”
“And that is?”
“You must find a way to bring your troops across the sea.”
“That is difficult, especially with your master’s fleet sitting off my coast.”
“My master does not control the fleet. He has no influence over Libo or Postumus. You can be sure, he will deal with them in his own good time, but for now you must cross the sea without his assistance. You are to meet him at Nymphaeum, on the Illyrian coast. He will erect a scarlet pavilion on the strand south of the town that you may know it is him. You must land your legions there, and the treasury gold, and you must arrive within one week. If you fail to do this, he will consider you his enemy, and his agreement with you will be nullified.”