Amid the carnage, the Argonaut was raised and carried forward with each successive surge of the green water. A spiked rock formation twice her size lay unavoidable in her path. But she drove on flying the colors of her admiral, and of old Rome.
XXXIV
Every man crowded aboard Antony’s transports watched with elation as ship after ship of the Optimates fleet foundered before their eyes. The legionaries cheered lustily when the giant Argonaut drove onto a rock and was left high out of the water by an ebbing wave, teetering there for a few heartbeats before her spine broke against the weight of her three decks, the sickening sound of the fracture resounding across the distance. She broke into two giant tumbling pieces, oars twirling in the air, masts falling with fluttering sails still attached. At the receding of the next wave, nothing remained but a mass of snapped timbers and twisted sheets.
From the stern deck of the Vulcan, Lucius watched the ruin, astounded at how quickly the massive Argonaut, which had seemed so indestructible when he had walked her decks, was reduced to flotsam. He heard an uproar of laughter coming from above and looked to see a cluster of legates and staff officers observing the same devastation from the Vulcan’s tower. Antony was there, looking very regal in a purple cloak and bronze cuirass, a superior smile affixed to his face as though he already wore the dictatorship. The bastard appeared pleased with himself, freely accepting the heaps of compliments bestowed on him by the other officers, as if he alone and not fortune had been responsible for the successful crossing. Lucius did not know what bothered him more, the bastard Antony or the bootlickers that swarmed on the next up and coming man like blood-sucking mosquitoes, hoping to endear themselves to the powerful man regardless of his virtues. Antony was having such a good time as the center of attention that Lucius was tempted to march over and reveal to those arse-kissers Antony’s true intentions, but he did not. There would be time for that later.
Savor the meat that it be sweeter in the consuming, he told himself.
He looked back out at the line of shoals, now littered with the hulks of ships, and began to wonder at the fates of Libo and the fair Calpurnia. Were they among the hundreds of heads that now bobbed in the foam about the rocks? He could not fathom how one might escape such a violent space. Even the few figures that managed to scramble onto the higher shoals were soon picked up and dashed to death by the unpredictable pulses of the sea. The smaller triremes and biremes were struggling to stay off the rocks themselves, but a few were dutifully venturing closer in to pick up survivors. Perhaps Calpurnia and Libo were among those they now pulled from the sea. Perhaps Postumus was as well, though he hoped not. That was one gray head he would like to stave in with an oar, had he the chance.
As Lucius stood there, watching the milling ships in the distance, thinking of the treacherous senator, it suddenly occurred to him that something did not quite add up. Postumus had chosen to ship aboard the Argonaut undoubtedly to make certain that he was the one to keep the secret meeting with Antony. But if the original letter arranging the meeting was sent by Calpurnia, and not by him, then how could Postumus have known about it? True, the senator claimed to have informants in Antony’s camp, but surely these would not have been privy to such intimate details. Antony was a mule’s arse, but he was crafty enough to keep such information confidential. Even Marcellus, Jupiter rest his blackened bones, had not been allowed to carry a written document and had been instructed to commit Antony’s reply to memory. Somehow, the message that Marcellus had imparted to Lucius with his dying breath had made it to Postumus’s ears as well.
Lucius thought hard, trying to recall that night, weeks ago, at Antony’s house in Rome, when he had been the centurion of the watch, when Marjanita had arrived bearing the forged letter. He had conveyed her to Antony’s chambers, and had remained at the door when he announced her arrival, as was the custom, since it was impossible to guess what state of undress or sexual engagement the promiscuous general might be in. Antony had appeared at the door, drunk as usual, and reeking of wine. He had not allowed Lucius to enter, nor had Lucius wanted to. Lucius simply turned the cloaked Marjanita over to Antony, who eyed her with curious amusement as he ushered her into the room, and then Lucius had left and had not seen the woman again that night. But, in the far recesses of his mind, he seemed to remember hearing laughter and voices before the general answered the door. Might not someone else have been in the room with the general prior to Marjanita’s arrival?
Antony was still on the quarterdeck, surrounded by his cortege of officers and advisors. Was it possible that one of those men had been with the general that night? Was it possible one of them had heard Marjanita’s message, and had sent a courier off to Postumus informing the senator of the secret rendezvous, the orange pennant, of everything? If that were true, and one of those smiling, adoring officers was indeed an agent of Postumus, what would he do now that the senator had failed to stop Antony’s legions and the treasury gold from crossing the sea? Would there not be a final contingency plan in place – a catchall solution for stopping Antony, should all other plans fail? If that was the case, then Antony was in great danger, for now would be the time to put such a plan into execution, before the legions got ashore, while they were still a disorganized mass scattered across dozens of vessels. If an assassin’s blade lurked among that tight cluster of cloaked officers, it might very well be inching toward the general at this very moment.
Lucius was not sure he really wanted to save Antony. He was sure the blowhard of a general still had it out for him, and would take the first opportunity to send him on some perilous errand hoping to be rid of him. But, still, a quick death was too good for Antony. Lucius wanted a much more satisfying reprisal. He wanted to see the bastard squirm in his boots, and that kind of gratifying revenge would only happen if Antony lived.
At that moment, Lucius resolved to do whatever he could to save the bastard.
But who was the traitor? He could not simply stroll up to the general and ask him who had been with him in his quarters that night. If it was one of the aides hovering about Antony, Lucius would have no way of knowing. They were all bedecked to some degree in arms and armor. Any one of them might, at any moment, bury his blade in the distracted general’s back before Antony’s bodyguards could react.