Douglas Jackson: Avenger of Rome

Aurelius misinterpreted Valerius’s look of alarm. ‘Yes, it is unusual, but she is an unusual young woman. Her father’s daughter, I would say. Her mother died in Antioch two months ago, after a long illness, and the Emperor offered the use of this ship as soon as he heard. She bears her grief like a soldier. Your companion the young tribune is also invited to attend, as well as the commanders of the two classis galleys.’

The master’s entreaty to Poseidon must have been successful because the Cygnet and her two outriders cut an arrow-straight furrow across the cobalt waters of the Aegean and they anchored in a sheltered bay with the mountains of central Achaea a brown haze in the distance when the sun was still well above the western horizon. Valerius could make out a settlement on the far side of the bay. After consulting with their host’s freedwoman, a widow called Tulia whose every disappointment was written in her curled lip and small, suspicious eyes, Aurelius sent a swimmer to organize fresh fruit and vegetables and anything else that would enhance the meal, while a rough table built by the ship’s carpenter was set up in front of the lady Domitia’s curtained tent. The arrival of an imperial ship had caused a sensation in the village, and within an hour small boats were ferrying back and forth with the produce of the land. Others, filled with spectators, simply anchored while the occupants stared in awe at the great gold-painted hull.

‘Keep them away unless they have something to sell,’ Aurelius roared as one boat came too close to his paintwork. ‘I don’t want any thieving Greek getting on board this ship.’

Valerius washed on deck in a bucket of sea water, and Serpentius erected a curtain to allow him to dress in privacy. Over his best tunic with the broad stripe of a senior tribune on the hem and sleeves he wore a moulded leather breastplate embossed with silver and the white cloak which differentiated him from any other officer in the legion. No sword or crested helmet, for this was a purely social occasion. He ran his hand through his hair and exchanged a glance with the Spaniard.

‘You look like a scarred old tom leopard in a dress, but you’ll do,’ was Serpentius’s opinion. ‘I’ve seen you looking less nervous before a fight. Mind you, that Tulia’s face is enough to scare a Scythian sword-swallower into an early grave. Or is there someone else who frightens you?’

Valerius decided not to hear the final sentence. Tiberius, scrubbed, polished and wearing armour buffed to a mirror shine, was waiting just the right distance from the table to be polite. Beside him stood the two captains of the escort galleys, who if anything appeared even younger than their companion. They saluted Valerius, warily eyeing the wooden hand and the vivid red line that scarred his face from below his left eye to the corner of his mouth, but Tiberius noticed his smile.

‘I apologize if we have amused you, sir.’

‘Never apologize for amusing someone, Tiberius; there is not enough amusement in the world. And never mistake jest for insult, or you may find that winning a battle costs more than you are willing to pay. I was just thinking that you fight as if you were born with a sword in your hand.’

The young man nodded, accepting the compliment as his due. ‘Thank you, sir. And it’s almost true. My father was legate of the Fifteenth Primigenia and later the Eighth Augusta, so my brother and I grew up in military headquarters on the Rhenus and in Moesia. We loved him, of course, but he was a man of little imagination and our education was limited to basics such as grammar and rhetoric. He was very insistent that we should be self-sufficient in every way, so we trained and exercised with the soldiers each day. The armourer first fashioned me a small sword when I was four years old, I believe, and apart from the occasional childhood illness I have held one every day from that to this.’

He was interrupted as the curtains of the tent fell back and the lady Domitia Longina Corbulo took her place at the head of the table. She had exchanged red for blue, a long flowing gown that bared the unblemished flesh of her shoulders and was low enough to give a hint of shadow between her bound breasts. Dark, piercing eyes took in each of the guests in turn. She could only have been seventeen at most, but the way she carried herself reminded Valerius of an Egyptian princess, slim and lithe and at one with herself and her destiny. Confident, but not arrogant. Clear of mind and clear of purpose. Tulia, the freedwoman, emerged to sit on a second small bench. The younger of Domitia’s slave girls, a pretty dark-skinned child who looked about fourteen, led Aurelius to the longer bench on the hostess’s left before returning for Tiberius and the two young naval commanders and finally Valerius, who ended up sitting closest to Domitia in the place of honour to her right.

The general’s daughter waited until they were settled before she spoke.

‘You must forgive me for the unorthodox seating arrangements, honoured guests, but this is an unorthodox occasion. I hope you will not find it too upsetting not to recline. I fear our couches are so narrow that we would all end up falling to the deck — that is what we call the floor of the ship, is it not, master Aurelius?’ She said it with a smile and Aurelius answered with an embarrassed grunt which Domitia gracefully accepted as agreement. She clapped her hands twice and the slave girls appeared with silver cups and a jug of wine. ‘I have taken the liberty of watering it, but only slightly, because it is very fine, and fine wine deserves not to be adulterated too much, do you not agree, tribune?’

The question was directed at Valerius, but the wine and the ability to answer seemed to stick in his throat. It was a few seconds before he was able to speak and when he did the banality of his words horrified him. ‘I am afraid my acquaintance with wine of this quality is so fleeting as to deny me an opinion, my lady Domitia, but…’

Tiberius saved him. ‘A Falernian, I think, brother Valerius,’ he interrupted. ‘And perhaps aged ten years, but I’m sure you would have outed it in the end. The sweetness is the key; nothing that came off those slopes could generate so much honey in less time.’

Valerius heard a snort of annoyance from the far end of the table.

‘I am afraid Tulia disapproves of our gathering,’ Domitia explained. ‘As she disapproves of much that I do. But surely it is not right to be confined to our quarters on an adventure such as this? It will be the first time in two years that I shall have seen my father. In any case, I wished to congratulate you on the condition of your ship, captain Aurelius. I had heard sea voyages were arduous and dangerous, but apart from Tulia’s constant complaining this has been most pleasant.’ Aurelius bowed his shaggy head. ‘May I ask how long it will be before we reach Antioch?’

‘We are at the mercy of the sea gods, lady,’ the sailor ventured. ‘But with good fortune we will reach Syria in just over a week. In a few days we will call in at Creta to resupply and take on cargo.’ He produced a rare smile. ‘Timber, olive oil and cloth will offset the cost of the voyage. The Emperor is a generous man, but he likes his ships to turn a profit.’

The fare was surprisingly good. Domitia had brought on board a plentiful supply of preserved food, and a selection of fresh and pickled vegetables from the village was followed by shoulder of hare, cuts of salted pork and two whole chickens. Aurelius had supplied a sizeable tunny fish, cooked black on the outside and bloody in the middle as the crew of the Golden Cygnet preferred it. The taller of the two naval officers ate voraciously, as if he never expected to see food again, while the other held Valerius’s attention with a lecture on shipboard fighting tactics.