"It's murder, Tiro. As surely as the death of that wagon driver was murder."
"Murder is a legal term, Gordianus. It doesn't apply to slaves, and it has no meaning on a battlefield."
"Perhaps we can simply knock him unconscious… drag him into the hut…"
Tiro made a face. "You muddied your mind reading those Greek novels while we sat out the storm in the mountains. All hairbreadth escapes and happy endings! This is the real world, Gordianus. There's only one sure way to get rid of this fellow. Fortex will see to it. It's what he's trained for. Now smile; we have company."
The centurion rode up. He dismounted and walked toward us. There was a spring in his step; the short, brisk ride had exhilarated him. His smile was a little disdainful, but not hostile. I was only an ignorant civilian after all, a sheep that needed herding, not a wolf. He addressed me and ignored the others. "No civilians are allowed along the shoreline."
I held up the copper disk. "But Caesar himself gave-"
"The imperator has issued explicit orders regarding the shoreline. No exceptions." He raised his voice, apparently thinking I might be a little deaf.
"I… only wanted to have a look at this quaint fisherman's hut."
The centurion shook his head and smirked a bit. I was like a doddering grandfather who had to be indulged, but only to a point. He took no notice of Fortex, who circled behind him.
Blood pounded in my ears. In a matter of seconds it would be done. The young centurion, all flushed and smugly smiling, would be gripped from behind. Fortex would slit his throat- a flash of steel, a spurt of blood. His eyes would widen in shock and then go blind. A living man would become a corpse while I watched.
Beyond the centurion's shoulder, I had only a partial view of Fortex, but from his movements I could see that he was stealthily drawing his dagger. Tiro stood off to one side, playing the dutiful, retiring slave, holding his breath.
I reached for the centurion's shoulder and drew him toward me. Fortex, uncertain, held back.
"Do you have a grandfather?" I said.
"Two," said the centurion.
"I thought so." I walked him away from the skiff, away from Fortex, and toward the hut. "Is one of them a little deaf? A bit doddering?"
"Both of them, actually." He grinned crookedly. I had made him think of home, far away.
I nodded. "Well, young man, I'm neither doddering nor deaf. I can hear you perfectly well. My eyes are good, too. The reason I rode down here was because I saw someone go into this hut."
He frowned. The hut was crudely built, with a thatched roof. The thin door hung on rusty hinges. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. I saw a man in rags skulking down here on the beach, behaving suspiciously. I saw him go into this hut. I thought I should come to investigate."
"You should have called me at once." The centurion rolled his eyes, exasperated.
"But I know how busy you must be. It hardly seemed worth bothering you. Probably it's the owner of the hut, come back to fetch something."
"A looter, more likely." The centurion drew his sword. He walked up to the door and pulled it open with such force that the top hinge broke. "You, inside, come out!" He took a step closer, peering into the darkness. I followed behind, pulling my dagger from its scabbard. With one hand I knocked his helmet forward, over his eyes. With the other I raised the dagger and struck him hard with the pommel at the base of his skull. He fell in a heap at my feet.
I sheathed my dagger. "Make yourself useful, Fortex. Pull him inside the hut. And don't harm him!"
I stepped back and scanned the ridge. "I don't think anyone up there could have seen that, do you, Tiro? The hut shielded me from view. Besides, they're all too busy watching the city and the harbor entrance. I've managed to buy us a little time, but before long they'll miss him, or start wondering about our horses on the beach. What are you waiting for? Pull the skiff into the water and let's get going!"
Tiro looked chagrined. "Gordianus, I-"
"You should read more Greek novels, Tiro, and less of that insipid poetry Cicero produces."
Within moments we were in the skiff and away from the beach. Tiro unfurled the white sail. Fortex pulled hard at the oars. I sat in the prow, shivering. I had wet my feet getting into the boat. The water was colder than I expected.
I watched the shoreline. The centurion suddenly appeared at the doorway of the hut, looking dazed and rubbing the back of his head. I waved to him and returned the smug smile he had given me earlier. He staggered out of the hut, shook his fist, and yelled something I couldn't make out.
Fortex laughed. "I should like to have cut his throat. I've never killed a centurion. Ah well, perhaps another time."
The wind was with us. So was the current. We skimmed across the smooth water. The shoreline receded and the walls of the city loomed higher. Our course was a bit ragged- Tiro was not quite the sailor he made himself out to be- but despite some zigzagging we kept heading in the general direction of the port. It seemed almost absurdly easy, considering how daunting the task of getting into Brundisium had appeared to me the previous night.
The other skiff was upon us so quickly that it seemed to materialize from thin air. Tiro was busy with the sail. Fortex was rowing with strong, steady strokes. It was I who saw the skiff first, but not until it was almost within arrowshot of us. It was a long sleek boat, larger than ours, with two rowers and two archers, both of whom already held their bows aloft with arrows notched, aimed in our direction.
I looked to see where the skiff had come from, and noticed a strip of shoreline directly across from the port. A considerable contingent of soldiers was gathered there, along with a few small boats. Another skiff was heading out to join the first in pursuing us.
I nudged Tiro and pointed. Just as he turned to look, one of the bowmen released an arrow. We both flinched, but the arrow fell well short, into the water. It was a test shot to gauge the wind and measure the distance. The second bowman released a shot that came substantially closer. Meanwhile, with two rowers to our one, the skiff steadily gained on us.
"By Hercules, Tiro, can't you keep to a straight course?" I shouted. "If you keep zigzagging back and forth, they're bound to catch us before we reach the quay!"
Tiro made no answer. Perversely, it seemed to me, he veered off course, heading directly toward the city wall, instead of continuing at a more oblique angle toward the port. The skiff gained on us rapidly. I heard a noise like a hornet's buzz and ducked. An arrow flew over my head and tore into the sail, where it snagged and caught, the shaft flapping against the taut canvas. We were at their mercy, with no way to defend ourselves. I gazed at the cold water, bracing myself for the moment we would have to abandon the boat, debating whether drowning was preferable to death by arrows.
Suddenly I heard shouting above our heads and looked up to see soldiers manning the harbor wall. I saw the strategy of Tiro's navigation, to bring us close enough to the wall to put our pursuers in range of arrows from the city's defenders. The fact that we were pursued by Caesar's men was enough to bring Pompey's soldiers to our defense.
With a whoosh like carrion birds taking flight, a hail of arrows descended from the wall. Some fell closer to us than to the pursuing skiff. The water was dotted with little vertical splashes. None of the arrows struck a target, but the point was made. Caesar's men stopped closing in on us.
Tiro sailed parallel to the wall, heading for the quay. The pursuers likewise turned and sailed parallel to us, keeping their distance, trying to edge close enough to shoot us with their arrows without being shot themselves by the archers on the wall. I lay back and crouched as low in the boat as I could, not only to avoid arrows but to give Tiro room to move as he struggled with the sail.