You know,’ Dorus told Pullo, ‘This won’t turn out the way you think.’
Pullo ignored him. They were marching Dorus up to where the camp was being marked out, the two marines held him securely, but their prisoner was less interested in resisting as he was in being humorous,
‘I’ve always admired that military silence thing you soldier boys do. It makes for such easy conversation.’
‘Here will do.’ Pullo said, and the marines released Dorus at the break of the sand.
‘Name.’ Barked the centurion flatly.
‘Name what?’
‘Your name.’
Dorus knew that his situation was actually quite serious, as no one on the beach knew him and any proof of his authorisation to look at the ships would take hours for the Elder Torquatus to send down, his best hope was that the boys would row back along the coast and bring word of his predicament to the villa.
Yet, the idea of the marine commander arresting his own future captain through a mixture of an excess of caution and understandable ignorance was for some reason irresistibly funny to him. He had time to waste and there was little point in trying to explain to a suspicious soldier that he was actually assigned to one of the ships now stern up on the beach.
Soldiers had always bored him. Many that he had known had been fine men, but there was a particular breed that were just so ruled by their own vine staff’s and traditions that they immediately became a source of amusement to Dorus.
‘I know my name.’
Pullo’s face remained impassive.
‘Tell me your name.’
‘You don’t know it?’
The centurion was checked slightly by the question, not because it was particularly clever, but because two responses collided in his brain; he not wishing to give an answer and play the idiot’s game.
‘Are you refusing to cooperate because you are simple or because you are afraid of betraying yourself?’
‘Does that question require an answer?’
Pullo glared at him, though it was hard to tell because he didn’t actually change his expression, rather there was just an added intensity to his gaze that had not been there a moment before.
It pleased Dorus that he had made the centurion angry, out of the corner of his eye he even saw one of the marines hide a smirk. Now stupidly enjoying being able to poke the soldier, Dorus allowed an undignified toothy grin to stab at his cheeks.
‘The staring that you do. Is it because you are simple minded or because your parents were as ugly as gorgons?’
This remark had several opposite reactions, not all of which were what might be termed equal. The amused marine snorted as he stifled a laugh. Everyone within earshot froze, as if struck by a neutralising force from the heavens that turned them to marble and a purplish red colour seeped into Pullo’s face which now bulged with veins.
This latter effect was missed by Dorus who, suffused with an innate sense of mental superiority and hoping to elicit an outright chortle from the now equally purple faced marine behind him, continued with, ‘Children stare at ugly things you know.’
Occupied as he was with the effect his words were having on the frightening head of the centurion, he was however oblivious to the leathered knuckles on Pullo’s equally frightening hand turning brighter shades of white as his grip tightened on his vine staff.
****
Dorus regained consciousness quite quickly considering the strength of the blow, but it was an unpleasant sensation to discover he was now drowning. Shocked by having his head forcibly submerged in the foaming shallows, he groped his way back from the darkness, gasping for air, only to gulp in a full measure of salt water,
You know,’ Dorus told Pullo, ‘This won’t turn out the way you think.’
Pullo ignored him. They were marching Dorus up to where the camp was being marked out, the two marines held him securely, but their prisoner was less interested in resisting as he was in being humorous,
‘I’ve always admired that military silence you soldier boys do. It makes for such easy conversation.’
‘Here will do.’ Pullo said, and the marines released Dorus.
‘Name.’ Barked the centurion.
‘Name what?’
‘Your name.’
Dorus knew that his situation was actually quite serious, as no one on the beach knew him and any proof of his authorisation to look at the ships would take hours for the Elder Torquatus to send down, his best hope anyways was that the boys would row back along the coast and bring word of his predicament to the villa. Yet, the idea of the marine commander arresting his own captain through a mixture of an excess of caution and understandable ignorance was for some reason irresistibly funny to him. He had time to waste and there was little point in trying to explain to a suspicious soldier that he was actually assigned to one of the ships now stern up on the beach.
Soldiers had always fascinated him. Many that he had known had been fine men, there was a particular breed that were just so ruled by their own vine staff’s that they immediately became a source of amusement to Dorus,
‘I know my name.’
Pullo’s face remained impassive.
‘Tell me your name.’
‘You don’t know it?’
The centurion was checked slightly by the question, not because it was particularly clever, but because two responses collided in his brain, not wishing to give an answer and play the idiot’s game.
‘Are you refusing to cooperate because you are simple or because you are afraid of betraying yourself?’
‘Does that question require an answer?’
Pullo glared at him, though it was hard to tell because he didn’t actually change his expression, rather there was just an added intensity to his gaze that had not been there a moment before. It pleased Dorus that he had made the centurion angry, out of the corner of his eye he even saw one of the marines hide a smirk. Now stupidly enjoying being able to poke the soldier, Dorus allowed an undignified toothy grin to stab his cheeks.
‘The staring that you do. Is it because you are simple minded or because your parents were as ugly as gorgons?’
This remark had several opposite reactions, not all of which were what might be termed equal. The amused marine snorted as he stifled a laugh. Everyone within earshot froze, as if struck by a neutralising force from the heavens that turned them to marble and a purplish red colour seeped into Pullo’s face which now bulged with veins. This latter effect was missed by Dorus who, suffused with an innate sense of mental superiority and hoping to elicit an outright chortle from the now equally purple faced marine behind him, continued with, ‘Children stare at ugly things you know.’ Occupied as he was with the effect his words were having on the frightening head of the centurion, he was however oblivious to the knuckles on Pullo’s equally frightening hand turning brighter shades of white as his grip tightened on his vine staff.
****
Dorus regained consciousness quite quickly considering the strength of the blow that knocked him out, but it was an unpleasant sensation to discover he was now drowning. Shocked by having his head forcibly submerged in the foaming shallows, he groped his way back from the darkness gasping for air only to gulp in a full measure of salt water, which choked him.
Fighting the pressure on his head, he emerged like a breaching whale with a loud, throaty, cry, and the marines that had dragged him there and dunked him, took a few steps back and laughing, sized him once more to pull him back to dry land.
With water running from what seemed like every cranial orifice, Dorus collapsed, choking uncontrollably onto the sand, the grains coating his arms and legs like a second skin, while his throat and temples turned purple as he expelled the last of the salt water from his lungs, the veins of his throat and temples thickening with the effort.
Centurion Pullo crouched onto his haunches and observed his struggles with a kind of innocent curiosity. He craned his head, tilting it to one side so as to try to catch the prisoner’s gaze and said. ‘I’ve always been quite fascinated by drowning you know. Tell me what is the sensation like?’
Spitting water, Dorus gurgled a strangled answer, ‘Don’t go by me. Go try for yourself… and find out.’
Pullo’s blank expression creased and he allowed a smirk of amusement to briefly occupy it. Emitting a light, ‘ha,’ he nodded fatalistically. ‘You know if you weren’t so dead set on persuading me you are a spy, I’d almost think you were clever. Funny even, right lads?’
The marines, relaxed and off-guard, readily agreed, nodding their heads and grinning but they instantly regretted it and became statues when the centurion sharply asked why they thought smiling at a superior officer was remotely correct.
Pullo returned his eyes to his prisoner, Dorus had noted that though the centurion had laughed, his eyes had remained quite unaffected by his apparent mirth. Looking closer, he saw that behind the muscle, which lent a certain grandeur and nobility, Pullo’s features were quite unpleasant to look at, a certain reptilian coldness exuded from a languid sharpness, protected by bulwarks of healthy muscle and years spent in the field.
‘So, funny man.’ Pullo said with deliberation, ‘I don’t know wether you are actually trying to spy on these ships, or are just an idiot looking to get his head caved in, but because you make me laugh I’ll explain the situation to you.’ Dorus received a prod from the vine staff and suddenly realised his head hurt, and discovered he was bleeding from where Pullo had struck him.
Blood, bright scarlet and surprising to see had spread across his wet face and was discolouring the sand below him.
‘I’m listening.’ He said, dabbing his scalp with his hand.
‘Funny how the sight of your own blood can focus a mind.’ The centurion murmured with much too much insight for Dorus’ taste, ‘Tell me here and now who you are and what your business is, or I will let the lads have some fun with you and then pack you off to a magistrate in Neapolis where you will be handed over to certain agents of the republic for some more artful questioning.’
‘Torture?’
‘That is the word.’
‘Seems like allot to put up with for the sake of showing my wife’s nephews some ships.’
Pullo nodded ‘Ah, yes those boys, good runners, and it would appear strong at the oars as well. Did you teach them?’
‘I did.’
‘So you do live on this coast?’
‘Surrentum.’
‘Point it out to me.’
Dorus turned towards the mountainous peninsula to the south, vague in the bright sunlight and pointed to the town, a collection of pale white buildings, so small that they looked like tesserae stood on end. One of the marines whispered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘d’you suppose the boss knows if that’s right?’
The other marine did not answer audibly, but slowly turned his head from one side to the other. Pullo looked out to the town, glad the man was finally cooperating.
‘And your name?’
Dorus sighed, ‘My name is Lucious Iulus, formerly son of, Dorus. Shipwright, ask anyone at Surrentum.’
Pullo narrowed his eyes, ‘Not a Latin then?’
‘No,’ a new voice called from an unseen quarter. Pullo rose up and looked to see a hale looking man of military age, but with a curiously rearranged face, standing a few feet away with a confident air, wearing seaman’s garb. Dorus looked too, catching a familiar inflection, and instantly began to relax as he recognised the face and tone of his former gubernator, Tullius, ‘On the weather deck we called him Navarchus, but ashore and in the rowing benches we usually called him, Rhodian.’
****
On Dorus’ old ship, Tullius had always been considered good looking. This was a particularly cruel joke as indeed he had been an Adonis like figure when he had first put palms to double helm, and he still cut an athletic figure but a Punic slinger had ruined his good looks with a well aimed shot at Drepanum that crushed his nose, destroyed his right eye and took away a proportion of his cheek, causing scars and contusions to make his face look like it had been created by a blind sculptor. He now wore the bullet around his neck, inscribed with spidery African characters that when translated read, ‘If you can read this, I have missed.’ It had cost him his aquiline silhouette, but while the crew had kept together, huddled around fires made of the wrecked roman fleet on the west Sicilian coast, they kept calling him Handsome Tullius.
‘You know this man?’ Asked Pullo.
‘I do.’
‘And you are?’
‘His Gubernator, my name is Tullius.’
Pullo’s frowned, ‘His what?’
‘I’m sorry, it’s a nautical term, it means I control the tiller on a ship he commands.’
This nettled Pullo, on a day where his patience had already been stretched too far.
‘This man told me he was a shipwright!’ He cried.
Tullius looked at Dorus, who now got to his feet and said ‘I am awaiting my confirmation to command.’
Pullo had seen enough disappointment in his life to recognise the descending feeling of sinking spirits when you discover the ground you thought was solid is in fact porous. The ship had put to sea with a temporary captain for just the reason put forward by his prisoner, the other two vessels had captains, but there was some irregularity, or opposition from Admiral Pulcher which had delayed the Rapax from getting hers. Then all of a sudden the term Rhodian struck a chord in Pullo’s mind as being familiar.
This passage of thought showed through a succession of brow and eye movements on the centurion’s face. If he was honest, Dorus was now becoming concerned as well.
‘You are to command this ship?’
Dorus looked over at Rapax, ‘I don’t know which one I will be given,’ he answered honestly, ‘that is why I was inspecting them with my wife’s nephews.’
‘Why did you say nothing to be about this when I question you?’ Pullo asked, ‘Just to make fun of me was it?’
‘It is true, I don’t enjoy the company of soldiers. But no, not entirely. I had no one to vouch for me, there seemed no point in talking sensibly until someone came to find me.’
Pullo was quiet, a sure sign of his anger, then he came upon an idea and turned to Tullius and asked him a few questions.
‘So you are not from this coast?’ He asked at last.
By this time the Optio had drawn near and attempted to suggest the centurion leave the seamen be, but Pullo had points to score, future commander or not, he had been mocked for doing his duty and that would not go unanswered. Tullius answered in the negative which allowed Pullo to dismiss him as his vouchsafe.
‘It seems, navarchus, that in order to maintain the security of these ships you will have to yet satisfy me that you are who you say you are. The marines here will keep you under guard until that time arrives if you wish to send a messenger, talk to my Optio about it.’
****
Dorus and Tullius sat together under a tree that grew overlooking the landing place, watching the marines set up camp and talking.
‘When did you get here?’ Dorus asked, checking his rough bandage to see if he was still bleeding.
‘About three days ago.’
‘Did you come far?’
‘I was making my way down the coast looking for work.’
‘Did you know about the new fleet?’
‘I’d heard this and that, then when I was passing though Latium I got word that you were coming back and had asked for us.’
‘Who told you?’ Dorus asked, knowing the answer already.
‘A Quaestor, named Paulinus or something, he actually sought me out some months ago to ask about you and the noble Pulcher. Told me to make for Neapolis as he expected you’d be needing men you could trust before long.’
‘I’m surprised you believed him.’
Tullius smirked, making his once handsome face look more terrifying as the scarring intensified and the uneven teeth showed, ‘I didn’t,’ he replied ‘But I did believe in you.’
‘What do you mean.’
‘You weren’t done after Drepanum,’ Tullius said shaking his head for emphasis, ‘Pulcher told you so, but I knew, allot of us did, that you’d go back to the fleet one day if the war continued.’
Tullius saw that his former commander was unpersuaded by his loyalty.
‘Trust a little more, Dorus, you’ll live happier. And don’t be so modest, wait and see, you’ll have full oar benches within the month when word gets round that the Rhodian is back at sea.’
Dorus hugged his knees and rested his chin where they joined, ‘Something tells me my new Centurion of Marines might not be so eager to ship with me after today.’
Tullius laughed, ‘I hope he’s more fun when he get’s used to you. Had a dog like that once, hated strangers until you proved you weren’t some sort of curse from the gods.’
‘And how was that achieved?’ Asked Dorus humorously.
‘Feed him something usually. Stupid animal.’
They stayed like that for some hours, talking of the old times and the shipmates that they had served with, some who were lost and the men who were coming to join them, of the ships and their apparent merits and how they might handle. The sun had by now eased into the last quarter of the sky and was making all nature gleam and glow, sliding with unhurried languor towards the watery western rim of the multi-tone sky.
‘What have you heard about Pulcher?’ Dorus asked.
‘I heard he would rather see you dead than on a commissioned ship.’
‘My patron, the Quaestor, will not like to hear such talk.’
‘That Paulinus fellow? Why?’
Dorus heaved his shoulders ‘He thinks that for Pulcher to actively block me would be to admit he unjustly ruined me.’
‘This man does not know Pulcher very well,’ Tullius observed with a concerned expression, ‘To let you command again will be to let you have the opportunity to physically prove his accusations were unjust.’
Dorus shook his head ‘No, my friend, Paulinus doesn’t know Pulcher well at all. Nor why he knows he must destroy me, because he knows that if I hoist my awning over the stern of the Rapax, I’ll make her a legend in the navy of the republic as a ship to be mentioned alongside Argo, and in the end Pulcher will wish he had killed me.’
Tullius stared hard at his old commander, ‘As long as you understand that he knows that very well, you might just live long enough to succeed.’
‘For now I can leave Pulcher to Paulinus, he’s a clever man.’
A little later, in the peach tinted light, one of the marines approached and offered a flask of seasoned posca, both men took a measure with a mixture of gratitude and resignation.
‘Foul?’ Tullius asked screwing up is one good eye.
Dorus pursed his lips in a grimace and uttered an affirmative grunt.
Their laughter was then interrupted by the sound of the guards challenging someone approaching the camp from the road. ‘Let us hope this is someone coming to vouch for me,’ Dorus mused.
****
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