Now, as Libo and the others watched, Odulph’s arm groped outside the cage like a probing rake, the long nails grinding along the planks, tickling the ears of every man. Libo saw Bibulus stare with mouth agape, practically willing the creature to find the olives. But, at that moment, a man amongst the file of marines suddenly coughed, loud enough to break the silence. The knotted hand instantly withdrew back inside the cage, accompanied by a loud, guttural grunt that seemed filled with hate and indignation.
Bibulus’s face instantly lost all of its fatigue and turned red with anger. He searched the deck for the source of the interruption, and it took very little effort to find it, as the other marines were subtly inching away from the offending man. The marine turned white with fear as the admiral of the fleet marched swiftly across the deck to face him, but he made no move to run. There was no sense in running, for he knew the fate that awaited him. Every man in the fleet understood the admiral’s mystical fancies were to be taken with the utmost seriousness, just as they all knew the punishment for defiance, either intended or otherwise.
The unarmed admiral said no words to the soldier. He reached for the marine’s gladius, drew it out of its scabbard, and without a pause, drove the blade into its owner’s abdomen. Bibulus was no longer endowed with the strength of his youth, and thus it required several thrusts to push the razor sharp point through the links in the man’s armor. After a small exertion, the sword pierced the marine’s abdomen, starting a rush of blood from beneath the mail shirt that ran down his legs. Seeing this, Bibulus simply released the hilt of the weapon and briskly walked back to the spot where he had been observing the cage, returning all of his attention to Odulph. Whether the admiral heard the cries of agony of the stumbling marine or saw the terrified expressions of the surrounding onlookers, he gave no indication of it. Eventually, the stricken marine dropped to the deck, his face contorted in pain as he vainly clutched the few inches of steel that was not buried in his belly, and then quickly expired in an expanding pool of blood. Without a word, the body was lifted hand and foot by two other marines and callously tossed over the side.
It was at that moment, that Libo caught sight of that single, terrible eye staring back at him from the cage. The creature had only one eye, the other one likely having been gouged out during his time in Parthia. Like those of so many barbarians Libo had encountered from the Far East, the creature’s eye was nearly all black, tainted with yellowish hues where it should be white. The eye was wild and maniacal, filled with pain and hatred. But there were moments – mere glimpses – when Libo swore it carried an intelligence, a wherewithal that spoke of a comprehension well beyond the simple pursuit of the next meal. It struck Libo, perhaps because the look seemed so out of place in such an anomaly of nature. But there was more than just intelligence there. There was satisfaction, and perhaps a hint of mischief, as a spoiled child might look after successfully duping his overly eager father.
“Come, Odulph,” Bibulus now spoke in a paradoxically delicate manner. “Come, now. It is alright. We must not keep the illustrious Caesar waiting. Surely, he watches us at this very moment.”
Libo glanced at the fortified camp upon the shore and concluded that the admiral was probably right. The scarlet tents and standards of Julius Caesar were there. It was very likely that the dictator himself was one of the many men on the battlements, observing the Optimates fleet.
“What shall Caesar see?” continued Bibulus to Odulph. “Come now, you can tell me. What shall we show Caesar? Yes, what shall the posturing bastard see? Will it be fire, or mercy?”
Bibulus waited patiently for an answer, but the creature did not move. Libo understood the admiral’s insistence on such rituals, but, after witnessing the outright murder of the unfortunate marine, he was tiring quickly of this foolishness.
“Perhaps, Admiral, one of the usual auguries might serve just as well in this instance,” Libo offered.
Bibulus turned to face him, looking as though Libo had just told him his ears were green. “Chickens are for the peasantry, Libo! You cannot seriously expect me to use a chicken. Only a true seer can foretell the destinies of great men. Odulph has been blessed by the gods. Jupiter and Mars speak through him, man. I’ve told you this before. The rites must be performed properly.”
“Might I ask what we are deciding on, sir?”
“Wait!” Bibulus snapped, though not at Libo. One of the admiral’s aides was approaching the cage. “Stop! What are you doing, Sextus?”
The officer paused, looking slightly puzzled. “I was only going to add this.” He held out a single olive. “It is only proper, sir, now that the navarch Libo’s prize has been added to the lot.”
Bibulus grinned nervously. “Yes, yes! Quite right! That must be it! Yes, please add it at once! Put it down and move away. Quickly, now!”
The officer did as he was instructed and backed away from the cage. The addition of one more olive seemed to have sparked the interest of the creature. It began to stir once again, the gnarled hand venturing outside the bars ever so slowly.
It did not take Libo long to deduce that the one additional olive represented the Caesarian transport that he had captured, and therefore it followed that the other olives must represent the rest of the prizes sitting off Argonaut’s beam.
Then, in an animalistic frenzy, the creature suddenly scooped up the olives and crammed them into its mouth. It took only two swipes of the giant hand before every last olive had been consumed, the ravenous ingestion quickly followed by a loud belch.
This seemed to be just what Bibulus had been waiting for. A mad countenance overcame him as he again faced the shore.
"You see, Caesar? You see?” His voice reached a new shrill height. “The gods cast their favor upon me this time!”
Snatching a burning torch from a marine attending the nearest catapult, the crazed admiral dashed the fiery brand into the pitch pot and quickly moved down the deck, igniting the pitch supplies for the other engines until all were sending black smoke into the air. He then looked scathingly at the cluster of captured vessels.
"Wait, Admiral!" Libo said in a rush to stop him before he gave his next command. "Do not do this! These men are Romans. No matter how the tyrant has wronged you in the past, I beg you, do not hold these men responsible for it. You have the honor of the victory. Why taint it with such an act? Would you not shame the brigand Caesar more by showing mercy?"
Bibulus shot him a wild scowl that might have melted stone. "They are Caesarian scum, Libo. They are guilty. No doubt they were among those who waylaid me on the streets of Rome, accosting my person in the most grievous of ways. Imagine it, Libo. I, a consul of Rome, disgraced so, excrement heaped upon me, my lictors assaulted, my dignity besmirched before all." He pointed a shaky finger at the vessels, his voice growing more tremulous the more he spoke. "It was their doing! It was they who kept me sealed up inside my house for the duration of my consulship. Do not mention honor, commodore! They have none!"
Libo thought it highly unlikely that any of the captive troops had belonged to the gangs that had kept Bibulus away from the forum during the tenure of his consulship, for the simple reason that most of them had been mere boys at the time. The year in which Bibulus and Caesar had shared the consulship was more than a decade in the past, but the grudging admiral still harbored ill-will, if not flat out hatred, toward his former colleague. Libo wished to head-off the massacre of so many Romans, but he could see that all of his pleas would fall on deaf ears.