“Stoppello?”
“Commander Tiberius Stoppello,” Cornelius read from other scroll that had the names of the ships’ officers and crew. “Twenty years with the Imperial Navy, eight as a ship’s captain. He knows his way around the Mediterranean better than any man alive.”
Artorius looked at the parchment and grinned when he recognized one of the names, which he pointed to. “I think I know this man.”
“Hansi Flavianus,” Cornelius observed. “That’s unusual, he has a Roman family name, yet his given name is either Germanic or Nordic. It says here he’s Stoppello’s sailing master.”
“And if he is who I’m thinking of, he’s the brother of one of my centurions.”
Their time in the Imperial City had passed far too quickly. It was their last evening in Rome, and while his men enjoyed a final night in the port city of Ostia, Artorius took a walk in the vineyards with his stepmother. He was growing concerned about his father’s health, given the drastic change in his appearance since the last time he was home. He expressed this to Juliana.
“Your father has aged quite a bit over the past few years,” she confessed. Though now in her sixties, Juliana had aged rather gracefully, far more so than her husband who was three years younger than she. “He spends less time in the fields now, and recently had to hire an overseer to do all the tasks in the vineyards he used to enjoy.”
“How can he afford an overseer?” Artorius asked, concerned. “The upkeep of his slaves is costly enough. I cannot imagine that some wealthy patrician hasn’t tried to buy the vineyard out from under him.”
“Oh they have,” Juliana said. “One of the city tribunes named Cursor made him quite a reasonable offer just two weeks ago. I wish your father had taken him up on it.”
“So do I,” Artorius replied. “I know Tribune Cursor well. He is a good man, and one of the best cavalry officers I ever served with.”
“Your father likes living away from the chaos of the city,” Juliana observed. “I cannot say I blame him. I sold my cottage about two years ago. We used part of the money to hire the overseer and purchase a couple more slaves to work the fields. No, I think that regardless of how hard things may become, he will spend the rest of his days here.”
“What if I bought the house and the vineyards from him?” Artorius asked. “I would be accepting all financial obligations; you and father can continue to live here as my tenants.”
“I do not think he would wish to place such a burden on you…” Juliana started to say.
Artorius cut her short. “Mother, I have money. I am a centurion pilus prior, which pays a substantial sum. My annual wage is thirty times that of a legionary in the ranks. And remember, Diana comes from the Proculeius family. Her fortune and financial worth exceed mine considerably. A greater burden to me would be knowing that one bad harvest and you and Father could lose everything, to say nothing of his declining health.”
“I will talk with him,” Juliana said, a sense of relief showing in her face and demeanor.
Chapter X: Casting Off
Port of Ostia, Italia
May, 31 A.D.
Though grateful for the time he and Diana were able to spend with his family, Artorius was now anxious to get his men on the ships and headed for Judea. As his father-in-law had shown little interest in seeing him or Metellus, Diana had offered to go alone to pay her respects. The visit was, unsurprisingly, brief. She had yet to tell her husband what transpired between them.
Disciplinary problems had been minimal while his soldiers were in Rome. This came as a relief, seeing as many of the men under his command came from other units, and he was not familiar with their habits yet. Still, the lack of issues meant the screening process he and his fellow officers had done of the men’s service records had been effective.
He made his way down to the docks, where a pair of Quinquereme ships were waiting for them. These were the heavier class of Roman warships, so named because of the five rows of oars that protruded from each side.
“Centurion Artorius?” a voice said behind him.
He turned to see an older sailor who was mostly bald. What hair he did have was mostly gray. He was also very tall; a good half head taller than Artorius.
“Yes?” the centurion replied to the man, who immediately extended his hand.
“Commander Tiberius Stoppello,” the sailor said, clasping his hand.
“Of course you are,” Artorius replied with a grin.
“Come aboard, and I’ll show you where you and your men will be staying,” Stoppello explained as they walked up the plank and onto the ship, which was a bustle of activity. Magnus accompanied them and appeared to be looking around anxiously. Quartermasters were uploading supplies of rations and fresh water, sailors tended to the sails and masts, while oarsmen were constantly moving between decks.
“A miniature fortress on water,” Artorius observed. “How many men on your crew?”
“We have about four hundred sailors and oarsmen,” Stoppello explained, “With another one hundred and twenty marines once we’re refitted as a proper warship. For now, your legionaries will be acting as marines.”
“I have two nearly centuries of men riding on each ship, so it will be a tight fit.”
“No matter,” Magnus replied. “We’ve slept in cramped spaces before.”
“I’ll cramp your space with a fist in your arse!” The shouted voice startled the three men., Before they could react, a large figure swooped down from the top deck, tackling Magnus to the ground. The Nordic centurion was caught by surprise and fell to his back. The large man, with an equally blonde mop of hair, spewing obscenities as they grappled on the deck, throwing wild blows. Yet, for the violence of the spectacle, it appeared both men were laughing maniacally through it all.
“What is the meaning of this?” Stoppello snapped.
Artorius placed a hand on his chest as he made to move towards the men. The centurion was laughing to himself.
“I think I know,” he replied. He shouted, “And a good day to you, Hansi!”
The large man staggered to his feet, his eyes wild with traces of hair hanging in his face. “Oy! You must be Artorius…” Before he could finish, Magnus smashed his fist into his face, sending him sprawling. His insane laughter never ceased. “By Odin’s raven, you still hit like a girl, little brother!”
Commander Stoppello let out a sigh and shook his head. “I should have guessed,” he said. “For a moment, I thought my sailing master had gone insane. Hansi!”
“Sir!” the Nordic sailor barked, suddenly on his feet.
“You can express your sibling affections later. Right now I need you to ensure that all rations and water casks are secured, and then have the oarsmen make ready.”
“Right away!”
“I’ll be buggered,” Valens said as he stepped onto the deck from the gangplank. “That’s your brother?”
“And your brother-in-law,” Magnus added, his hands on his knees with his face sweaty and flushed. “Why don’t you go introduce yourself? I’m sure he’d just love to hear about your torrid adventures with our baby sister.”
“Thanks, but if his affections are anything like your grandfather’s, I think I’ll wait until he’s finished making you feel welcome.” He then turned to Artorius. “We’re ready when you are.”
The centurion nodded. “Have the lads come aboard and start stowing their gear. Commander Stoppello, when will we be ready to depart?”
“Within the hour.”
“Alaric, are you ready?” The question startled the young man. He looked up from where he was stowing his few personal belongings into a canvas sack and saw the sailing master, Hansi, standing over him. He had been dozing next to an empty crate on the pier while dock workers loaded cargo onto the waiting ship, before rousing himself to pack up his few possessions.