Just beyond the cape, lay a vast bay lined with mile upon mile of gently sloping sand. The town of Nymphaeum was there, the agreed rendezvous with the Raven. Antony had kept the true reason for bringing his fleet this far north a secret. He had not even told his legates. No one else knew of his arrangement with the Raven but the silent Orestes, the dim-witted centurion, and that brusque eastern woman – whom he had ordered placed in irons until he indeed came face-to-face with her master. He had explained to his legates that a landing in this bay would place them in a perfect position to support Caesar, and they had not questioned him.
The bay was, in fact, quite the opposite. It was a good choice for avoiding Caesar's army entirely, for it was dozens of miles up the coast from the consul’s last known location. It would place Antony in a good position to join with Pompey's legions, which were closer than Caesar’s, and allow Antony to take command of the combined army. Then he would deal with Caesar, quickly and efficiently – and mercifully. For Antony bore no malice towards Caesar, but Postumus had been right. Had Antony continued to serve Caesar, he would have always been second to the great man. Now, with a powerful ally like the Raven behind him, his own prospects were far better. Who knows how long he would have to suffer the Raven's dictates before he had garnered enough power to have the enigmatic man and all of his followers rounded up and killed, but he knew it would happen. It was inevitable. Like his affability toward Centurion Lucius Domitius, his alliance with the Raven, would be only temporary.
“My mariner's blood advises against this, sir!" the captain called up to him skeptically, waiting for a decision, as the treacherous point of land drew ever closer. “If we must continue, sir, we must do so under oars alone.”
There was much risk, but there was so much to be gained. Would Libo follow him past the hazardous shoals? Or would he steer his fleet well out to sea to avoid the danger? If Libo chose the latter, then Antony would have won, for Libo would never be able to beat back into the bay against the wind and against the ocean currents in time to stop the landings. That is, presuming Antony’s own ships successfully weathered the cape. The only other alternatives were to surrender or fight.
There really was no choice.
“Auster be with us, captain! Auster’s lungs and Juno’s bouncing bosom!” Antony said loudly and enthusiastically, hoping to bolster the confidence of the grim-faced legates beside him and the open-mouthed legionaries below. “Take in the sails and row on! Put every last man on the oars if you must, but get me past that cape!”
XXXII
"Shorten sail, Captain!” Libo shouted from the top of the Argonaut’s forward tower. “And signal the rest of the fleet to do the same!"
In spite of the noise of the wind, he had no difficulty getting Naevius’s attention down on the main deck twenty feet below, for the captain was no novice seaman and had been expecting the order.
Boatswains began barking orders, setting dozens of sailors into motion, some loosening stays, others climbing into the shrouds to gather up the great sheets of canvas. Senator Postumus was the only other person on the tower with Libo, and he watched the sudden activity with confusion, for he could not understand why the admiral would give such an order. Why, indeed, when they finally had their prey by the tail?
Postumus had watched with some satisfaction as the cutting bows of Libo’s warships rammed and destroyed Antony's straggling transports, leaving behind a sea strewn with twisted wreckage and broken bodies. But the few scrapheaps they had managed to overtake certainly could not have carried any of the treasury gold in their holds. He suspected Antony would have placed the horde aboard the larger ships, and the vast majority of those still dotted the seascape only a few miles beyond the Argonaut’s bows. They appeared to be ripe for the taking, cornered by the rocky coastline.
“What are you doing, Admiral?” he demanded. “Antony’s ships lay before us. You must press on and take them!”
“I wish for nothing more, Senator,” Libo shook his head. "But I am afraid I cannot. The enemy drives too close to the shore.”
“That coast helps us, man! If those ships happen to sink in the shallows, it will be that much easier for us to recover the gold. Do you not see?”
Libo glanced irritatedly at him and then pointed ahead at a hilly, jagged finger of land beyond Antony’s ships and stretching out into the sea. “Do you see that point of land, Senator? It is called the Hammer of Rodon. Do you know why?”
Postumus shook his head with impatience.
“Rodon is the Illyrian god of the sea,” Libo continued. “And he has smashed many a vessel on those rocks you see adorning its base. The wind blows from the south now, and, aye, I could possibly weather that point, but there is no assurance that the wind will not betray us. It would put the fleet in too great a peril, and I will not risk it. I am sorry, Senator. The gods do not favor us today."
"Do I speak with Libo,” Postumus snarled, feeling his blood boil, “or Bibulus risen from the dead? This is no time for your adolescent superstitions, Admiral! You were appointed to your command for your skills as a seaman, not your deference for the gods. Now, do your duty, and stop those ships!"
Libo turned his eyes away from the shore and eyed him coolly. "This is not superstition, Senator! Any sea captain knows it is foolery to take a ship near such a shore, with such a wind. Do you not see the enemy ships? Even they have shortened sail. Not even Antony is so brash as to stretch a single foot of canvas on the masts at such a time."
Postumus saw that this was indeed true. Where Antony’s ships had, only moments before, carried straining sails aloft they now drove on under bare masts.
"What do you propose to do then, Admiral?" Postumus demanded impatiently. “Can you not do the same and pursue him?”
“I cannot follow Antony without putting this entire fleet in jeopardy.”
“Surely, his ships cannot stand up against yours. You will have them cornered. They will be forced to fight.”
“It will put us on a lee shore, Senator. We cannot risk it. We will have to give that shoal a wide berth, much further out than Antony is attempting.”
Postumus could see that the lead ships in Antony’s convoy had already rounded the point of land and were now hidden from view, presumably headed into the bay beyond.
“Are there any good beaches beyond that cape?” Postumus asked. “Any place for Antony to land?”
“Yes, many.”
“Then you must drive straight at him, Admiral. We do not have time for your prudence! He must not be allowed to land the gold. You must overtake him now!”
“No, Senator!” Libo said adamantly. “We will go around.”
“You are a fool, a naive fool. You never should have been given this command!
"You may address that complaint to the Senate when I make my report, Senator. I'm sure they will be eager to hear how intricately you were involved in the operations of this fleet.” Libo turned away dismissively to face the fleeing craft.
Libo had said it in a snippety fashion, and Postumus understood his meaning quite clearly. Libo intended to expose him, to lay out all of his dealings with Antony before his colleagues. Of course, that would create a colossal scandal, since Postumus was not here on any mission of the Senate, nor had he ever been. He was here to protect the interests of the Raven Brotherhood. He was here to make sure the brotherhood secured the treasury gold and that Caesar and the Senate in Thessalonica never saw a single denarius of it, for the time of the Raven had come at last.
It was time for the man who had lived so long in the shadows to manifest himself to the world. The gold, now riding in the holds of Antony’s ships, was the key to his ascendency. Deprived of the gold, Caesar’s army would blow away on the next breeze. With the gold, the Raven would bribe the last few key senators that he needed to tip the balance of power in his favor. Pompey would be ostracized for incompetence, and the Raven would be appointed to take his place. The Senate-in-exile would make it all look very official. They would appoint him dictator, with the commission to restore the republic – but he would do so much more than that. Rome and her great empire were too large to be governed by ancient rules concocted when she was nothing more than a fledgling kingdom. She needed a stronger leader – one all-powerful man to put an end the quagmire that the Senate had become, one unassailable leader to end the mockery of the voting assemblies.