Falco."
Slave or citizen?"
Freeborn." There was a chorus of jeers. I was hardly free now.
Oho, are you a man of three names?" Increasingly, I wanted to extract this joker's insides with the bilge pump.
I am Marcus Didius Falco."
Marcus Didius Falco, son of?" Cotys was ragging as enthusiastic ally as if he had done it many times before.
Son of Marcus," I answered patiently.
So, Marcus Didius Falco, son of Marcus The ritual phrases had a threatening ring. This was the rubric someone would carve upon my tombstone one day, if anybody ever found my. corpse. What's your tribe?" I had had enough. I really can't remember." I did know that pirates made a habit of hurling anti-Roman insults at their captives. Pirate insults feigned admiration of our social system, then led spitefully to drownings.
Well, Marcus, son of Marcus, of the tribe you can't remember, tell me. why were you spying on my ship?"
I came aboard following two sailors with a chest I thought I recognised."
My cabin monkeys, bringing my sea-chest aboard." The response was instant. Cotys was lying. His voice dropped; it acquired more menace. The surrounding crew were enjoying themselves hugely.
What did you want with my sea-chest, Marcus?"
I thought it contained the ransom for a man I am trying to trace. I wanted to discuss the situation with the people who say they are holding him."
What man is this?" Cotys scoffed, as if it were news to him. Informers hope to take the lead in questioning, but when your job entails invading places where you are unwelcome, you soon learn to let interrogations proceed the other way round. His name is Diocles."
Is he a spy too?"
He is just a scribe. Do you have him?" I asked quietly. I had absolutely no hope that Diocles was aboard this ship, though he might have been here once.
We do not." The declaration gave Cotys great satisfaction.
Do you know who does?"
Does anyone have him?"
If you are asking that question, do you know that he is dead?"
I know nothing about him, Falco."
You knew enough to send his friends a ransom note."
Not me." Cotys grinned. The way he spoke made me believe him this time.
Ah! So you knew somebody else had sent the note? You then ambushed the money, stole it from under their noses."
Would I do that?"
I think you're clever enough." He was certainly clever enough to know I was issuing compliments to soften him up. As he chortled at the flattery, I asked quickly, So who sent the ransom note, Cotys?" He shrugged. I have no idea." He knew, all right. This man would steal from anyone, but he would want to be certain whose loot he was hijacking.
Oh come! If you are going home to Illyria, what do you have to lose in telling me?" If he was going home, his partnership with the Cilicians must have broken up. So they could have issued the ransom note and Cotys treacherously took advantage. I'm not official; my mission is a private one," I cajoled. All I want is to find Diocles and rescue the poor sap. So, do the Cilicians have him?"
You must ask them."
I hope I have the chance!" I grinned, acknowledging that this depended on what Cotys did to me. He grinned back. I was not reassured. Hairs rose on the back of my neck. Why have you brought me on your ship?"
Someone is worried!" Cotys informed his leering crew. Relax, Falco!" he then sneered. We are just dipping the oars in the ocean on this fine afternoon, while we test out some mended leaks. It's a long journey back to our home country, but we have a funeral to attend before we sail. So we'll take you safely back to Portus, never fear. There was no need for your swordplay and screaming for help." I was careful not to ask whose funeral it was. Their countryman, Theopompus. I had no faith in this promise of a safe return to land. If the crew once decided I had been watching them too closely, I was definitely done for. I lost priority. Cotys turned away, to discuss some ship's business with a big, competent-looking man who seemed to be his sailing master. They checked over the side at intervals. A sailor asked Cotys something and glanced at me wickedly; further mischief was being planned. The sailor, a runt with a broken nose who looked as if he spent both voyages and shore leave fighting with all comers, disappeared down a half-ladder that led to the storage hold. A few minutes later, the same sailor ran up on deck, carrying a swathe of white material. Inwardly, I groaned. Cotys snapped back into taunting mode. Look, a toga! Marcus, son of Marcus must wear his proper toga, lads!" They hauled me to the middle of the deck. Forcing me to hold my arms out, they wrapped me tightly in the white cloth. It may have been a bedsheet; it felt like a shroud. They spun me around and around, as if hoping I would grow dizzy. That's better. Now he looks the part." Cotys had grown hoarse with yelling derision. He came closer, his stubbly chin barely an inch from mine. You're nervous again, Falco." It was a low growl. I wonder, do you know this game my lads want to play?"
Oh I think I do, Cotys."
I bet that's right. You look like a man who knows a lot This was a warning that Cotys was aware how clued up I was on his criminal role. A bumboat boy ran up and placed a wreath on my head, amidst delighted whoops from the others. The chaplet was several days old, a relic of some party, its fragile leaves now desiccated and scratchy.
A crown for a hero, hail, Falco! Acknowledge our homage, acknowledge." I forced myself to salute them.
You are fortunate." Cotys aimed his final dart. You have fallen among men of honour. We know of your privileges as a Roman citizen. Appeal to the Emperor. Is that right, Marcus, son of Marcus?" I nodded wearily. There was mock applause as I was pushed and pulled towards the liburnian's guardrail. Knowing what was coming, I tried to resist. It was useless.
Don't think badly of us, Falco," Cotys instructed. This man just loved playacting for his disreputable crew. Far be it from us to hold a Roman prisoner." He gestured to the head of a rope ladder which one of his men had just hung overboard at the rear of the ship. I had heard of this trick. I knew the rest. You are free to go, Falco. There is your road home, take it." I looked overboard. The ladder ended two feet from the water. It was swinging about madly. Slowly, I climbed up on to the guardrail and prepared to descend. A burst of laughter greeted my reluctant move. Clinging to a rope, I remained upright on the rail. The wooden top was wet and slippery. The fine goatshair rope I had gripped cut into my hand. As the ship surged forwards, every wave threatened to upend me. Once I started down the ladder, my fate was certain. I would be flung off it, either by accident or with assistance from the crew. Far out in the open ocean, where the famous Tyrrhenian currents raced, even a good swimmer would stand little chance. And I could not swim at all..
Seamen began to flick at me with ropes. At least the mock toga in which they had wrapped me protected me from the lashing. I climbed on to the ladder.
That's right, down you go!" Cotys grinned. Feeling for the sagging rungs, I lowered myself glumly. I could see a couple of fishing smacks, a long way from us. The shore looked far off too. We were in one of the Mediterranean's busiest shipping lanes – on the only afternoon that the route into Portus appeared to be empty. Above, I heard the rowers return to their stations; they were given a new order. The ship took up its course again. I was so close to the oars that as they dipped and rose they splashed me. Something was done to the mainsail. I clung on desperately as we turned out to sea on a long tack against the current, leaving the coast even further behind us, then I swung madly as we manoeuvred again. The rowers were working hard. Every time the steering rudder swung around to change direction, the ladder bucked outwards or bounced me against the hull; each time it was harder to avoid being thrown off. I managed to shed the mock toga. I pulled off the battered wreath and dropped it. A seaman, watching me from the rail above, cackled with laughter. I might still be a fool in the eyes of the crew, but I felt better. I was alive. So long as I clung on, there was still a chance for me. Still, I was helpless on a rope ladder, inches from the rising oars, on a ship sailed by professional kidnappers who knew I had uncovered their trade. Returning me to land was a lost promise. I knew too much about their activities and I had nothing to bargain with. They might be ignoring me at present, but I was nowhere near safe. I was still reviewing and discarding action plans when a new disaster struck. Above me on deck the crew were busy. The sailing master was still passing to and fro inspecting the hull; occasionally I saw his head as he looked over. Cotys had disappeared. Cotys must have gone to investigate the stolen money chest. I heard a roar, a yell of utter fury. Commotion broke out on deck. The rowers ceased their efforts and must have left their seats; the oars hung idle. The ship staggered and lost her momentum. This is a box of rocks!" Now Cotys leaned over the rail above me, shouting. In one hand I glimpsed big gold coins. In the other were pebbles, which he hurled at me. I ducked. One or two stung me. Seamen were crowding the rail; there must have been over forty in the crew that afternoon and most of them had left their posts to harangue me.