John Roberts - The Princess and the Pirates

“Will they grapple?”

“Not with us. They’ll be trying to get away, remember? No loot to be had on these ships, just a bunch of them killed if they win and the survivors crucified if they lose-no incentive to come to grips in that prospect. If they have to fight, most will be armed like me. If any wear armor, it’ll just be a piece of hide hung from the neck to cover the chest and belly, maybe a plain helmet that gives them plenty of air and vision, not the bronze buckets some of your marines wear. If we grapple them, they’ll try to board first, and they’ll fight like the Furies,” he made a gesture to avert the evil one may expect from speaking that dread word, “because that’s the only way they’ll come out of it alive.”

“And if we catch them on land?”

“For a shore raid they may use heavier weapons and armor. Some of them have fought in the armies and know how to do it right. But on shore, if it looks like they’re losing, they’ll think maybe they can run and hide. They may not fight as desperately.”

“What real advantages do they have?”

He thought for a moment. “First off, numbers. You have four Liburnians. They have six to ten most times. And, ship-for-ship, their numbers are still superior because every man aboard’s a fighting man. Rowers and sailors are all armed, and all fight when boarding time comes. Your corvus and Roman boarding tactics may tip the balance, but maybe not.”

“Because their leader is a Roman and knows what to expect.” He nodded. “Spurius. He’d’ve made a good skipper in the old days when we were a floating nation.”

“Tell me about him.”

“I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not all that much. I wasn’t close to him, not even in the same ship. I saw him on shore from time to time and sat in on the councils. Pirates aren’t organized like a navy, you know.” He spread his nostrils and took a deep breath of the sea air. “It’s a band of equals and everyone has a say. The leaders are just the toughest fighters, the best sailors, or the ones who are smartest about finding prey and getting safely away with the loot.”

“Which of those was Spurius?” I asked, fascinated by this look into a life so foreign from anything I was used to.

“Well, he’s no great seaman, as you might expect, being a Roman. But as a fighter he’s qualified to go up against the best of them, toe-to-toe, and come out with his enemy’s blood on his sword and none of his own on the ground.”

“That’s praise, coming from your mouth.”

He smiled with satisfaction. “I was taught young, and I was taught right. Anyway, some say Spurius was a Roman deserter who threw in with Spartacus and got away before the end came. I don’t know about that.”

“How old would you judge him?”

“About forty would be my guess.”

I thought about it. “The Slave War began in the consulship of Clodi-anus and Gellius twenty-one years ago and ended two years later. It’s conceivable, if he deserted as a young recruit. Anyway, go on. Tell me what he looks like.”

“Tall for a Roman, about your height, but wider built. Strong as an ox and quick as a cat. He wears a full beard and lets his hair grow long. Maybe he doesn’t want to look like a Roman, with your clean-shaven faces and short hair.”

“I don’t suppose you’d know how to distinguish our regional accents? It might help to know if he’s from Rome itself or some other part of Latium.”

He shook his blocky head. “Never heard him speak Latin anyway, just Greek and some Aramaic.”

“Aramaic? Did you go ashore in Syria or Judea?”

“We went there to sell loot once. I think that’s where I heard him speak it. Greek will get you by almost anywhere, but Aramaic is handy to know in the eastern parts.”

“Did he speak it well?”

“Better than me. Sounded as fluent as he is in Greek, and he speaks Greek like an Athenian. Why?”

I gazed off across the calm water. My weather luck was holding. “I’m just trying to build a picture of the man. I don’t want to be fighting a total stranger when we’ve drawn swords on one another. Many commanders just assume things about their enemies and leave it at that. They tend to die with looks of great astonishment on their faces.”

“That’s shrewd.”

“What is he like as a planner?”

“The best. He knows the trade routes, he keeps up on whose fleet is where, he knows the value of everything, and when, say, a load of fine glassware will fetch a better price in Berytus than in Jaffa. He’s been called a small-minded merchant for it, but never to his face.”

“Does he have regular contacts-shore-based merchants, for instance, who take his loot off his hands?”

“Certainly. But he always deals with them in private. It’s one way he hangs on to his leadership.”

“How did he get to be leader?”

“He organized one of the first crews, so he had his own ship going in. Any pirate may challenge the chief to a fight for leadership. I imagine that’s how he got to be top dog in the first place. I saw him deal with two such challengers myself. It didn’t last long either time.”

“He sounds like a formidable man.”

“He is that.”

“Does he have a second? Anyone close to him?” He shook his head again. “There’s no second in a pirate fleet-just the chief and the individual skippers. As for friends, he acts like every man of the fleet is his brother, but I never saw anyone who seemed closer to him than the rest.”

“Does he have a woman or women? Boys?”

“He takes a woman sometimes, after sacking a town. Never more than one and never keeps her more than a day or two, then passes her on to whoever wants her. I never heard that he fancied boys.” He shifted, catlike, to a roll of the ship. “And now, Senator, you know as much as I do about Spurius. He’s not a chummy sort, and I doubt anyone knows more than I just told you.”

“You are a gold mine of information, Ariston. I will be quizzing you further, but that’s enough for now. If you should remember anything else about Spurius, even a tiny detail, please tell me at once, even if it seems unimportant.”

He nodded and sauntered off, moving easily with the motion of the ship, which was beginning to make me uncomfortable. My short stay ashore had already robbed me of much of my seaworthiness.

Ariston paused for a second, then turned back. “One other thing: his ship is the Atropos. ”

That was something to mull upon. There are three Fates: Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. Clotho, with her spindle, spins the thread of each man’s life. Lachesis, with her rod, measures it. Atropos, with her scissors, cuts it. Atropos is known as “She Who Cannot Be Avoided.”

Ion came up to me. “We’ll be running out oars soon.” He looked at Ariston’s retreating back. “Where on Poseidon’s great domain did you find that one?”

“About where you’d expect. Why? Don’t you like him?” He shrugged. Greeks shrug a great deal. “He’s a sailor all right. But hard as it may be to credit, he’s too rough even for my pack of villains. I plan to sleep lightly while he’s on my ship.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I want everyone to sleep lightly from here on. I want to get these pirates, and I don’t want to waste a lot of time at it. Once we’re under oars I want to begin formation training with the other ships. While you’re seeing to that, I’ll be drilling the marines on deck. And I want a sharp lookout kept. It’s unlikely we’ll spot the pirate fleet so soon, but stranger things have happened, and I won’t spurn any gifts the gods throw my way. It’s a sure way to draw down their wrath.”

“As you command, Senator.” He walked away, barking orders. Now I had some idea of whom my enemy was. How strange to be coming all the way out here, into alien waters, and be facing a fellow Roman. If he was a Roman. It would not be that difficult to fake among foreigners. But somehow I had a feeling that the man was the real thing.