‘I didn’t get their names,’ Vitulus replied, ‘and when we tried to question them, they fled down one of the alleyways. We chased them but Fiumicino is like a rat’s maze. We lost them.’
Septimus nodded as if he understood and agreed but his suspicion of Vitulus was heightened. Somehow he knew Vitulus would have an excuse as to why Septimus could never question the villagers. And the story he had told. All three civilians escaping from an experienced commander and two legionaries? The odds were certainly against it. Septimus looked at Vitulus but the commander did not hold his gaze and the centurion walked away. He was half-way back across the main deck when he spotted Lucius on the aft talking with Gaius. He approached the two men.
‘How is the Captain?’ Gaius asked.
‘No change, Gaius,’ Septimus replied. ‘All we can do is wait.’
Gaius nodded. Lucius had told him as much an hour before when he had come top-side.
Septimus looked back over his shoulder, spotting Vitulus still standing on the foredeck, leaning easily against the rail.
‘Vitulus says there was no legionary involved last night,’ Septimus said as he turned back to the two men.
Lucius nodded, ‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I spoke with one of Varro’s guards earlier. He said the same thing.’
‘You don’t believe their account of what happened?’ Septimus asked, judging Lucius’s tone.
‘Do you, Centurion?’ Lucius replied.
Septimus paused for a second only. ‘No,’ he replied.
‘Then there’s one other thing to take into account,’ Lucius said, stepping forward and lowering his voice. ‘One of Varro’s men is not on board.’
‘You’re sure?’ Septimus asked, rocked by the information.
Lucius nodded, ‘Varro had four men with him last night when he boarded. Now there are only three.’
‘Did you say this to the guard you were talking to this morning?’ Septimus asked.
Again Lucius nodded. ‘He said I was mistaken, that only he and two others were guarding the tribune on this voyage.’
‘Could you have been wrong?’ Septimus asked, remembering the evening before when he had seen the tribune on deck with three men. Lucius had corrected him at the time by saying the fourth man must have been below decks.
‘He’s not wrong, Centurion,’ Gaius answered. ‘I saw them too, as did half the crew.’
Septimus nodded and turned once more to look down the length of the galley. Vitulus was still there. Septimus began to think that he should challenge the commander on his version of the events of last night but he thought better of it. To challenge him meant revealing his suspicions. To say nothing gave him the opportunity of watching Varro without attracting attention. He nodded to himself as he reached the conclusion of his thought. From now on the enemy were seen and unseen, both Carthaginian and Roman, and for the first time he was given an insight into his friend’s world.
Belus stepped back, panting, the bloodied knife hanging limp by his side. The Roman captain had passed out again, his ravaged face still transfixed with an expression of pain and anguish. The room seemed strangely dark and Belus noticed for the first time that the sun was setting in the western sky, its passage turning the sky a burnt red, darkening the day prematurely. Belus moved to close the hatches but he hesitated, abruptly aware of the overpowering smell in the room, the dank sweat smell of fear mingled with the sweet odour of freshly drawn blood and underneath, the acrid smell of urine from when the terror of anticipation had overcome the captain.
Belus suddenly felt suffocated by the choking air and he stuck his head out of the port-hole. The air was too fresh and he coughed violently as it struck his lungs. The wind rushing past filled his ears and he turned his head away from the flow. There were no sounds from above, no cries of pain or shouts of laughter and Belus briefly wondered when it had all stopped. He ducked back inside the cabin and lit one of the lanterns hanging from the ceiling above. The light ebbed and flowed across the cabin with the roll of the ship, at one moment illuminating only the Roman captain’s legs and then showing him in the full glare of the lantern.
Belus missed a breath at the sight, the few minutes’ pause breaking the trance that had descended over him as he tortured the Roman. The captain was unrecognisable from the man who had stood on the aft-deck of the Roman galley earlier that day, shouting defiance across the closing gap, issuing orders for his men to stand fast against the pirates as they boarded. The creature before Belus now was a broken shell, robbed of all dignity by hours of incessant pain. Belus raised his knife and examined the blade as he had done hours before. It was dull in the lantern light, matted with blood, some fresh, some hours old and the hand holding it was similarly coated. Belus was suddenly ashamed and he rammed the tip of the knife into the table top. He had never tortured a man personally, although he had seen it done many times, and he was acutely aware of how easily he had slipped into the role.
Belus recalled the questions he had asked and repeated over the preceding hours, sifting the information in his mind, suppressing the thoughts that reminded him of the moments when the captain had finally broken down each time. The evidence was now overwhelming and Belus consciously justified his decision to torture the Roman himself. He was the first captain they had captured and his knowledge was more valuable than any crewman. Left to the pirates they might have killed him prematurely or accidently. Because of his meticulous approach, Belus had been able to confirm all the previous reports and fill in the missing details. That justification caused Belus to step back and nod to himself but as the lantern light once more revealed the Roman, Belus was robbed of his assuredness.
The Roman had been a man of honour, certainly ex-military given his ability to judge the implications of the questions Belus was asking him and the Carthaginian instantly decided that the captain deserved a fate better than the one that had befallen the rest of his crew. Belus opened the cabin door and ordered one of the crew to fetch two others and report to the main cabin. They arrived a minute later and upon seeing the Roman, they smiled.
‘Is he dead?’ one asked.
‘No, he is unconscious,’ Belus replied.
‘Do you want to finish him off before we throw him over the side?’
‘No, I want you to bring him to my cabin,’ Belus said, an edge to his voice, ‘and have him cleaned up and his wounds tended.’
The pirates hesitated, wondering if the Carthaginian was joking, unsure as to what to do next.
‘Now!’ Belus shouted, suddenly angry, ‘and make sure he is treated well. I will check on him in thirty minutes.’
The pirates grumbled but they manhandled the Roman to his feet and dragged him from the main cabin, conscious that the Carthaginian was untouchable while on board and he could punish them without fear of retribution.
Belus watched them leave and then silently closed the cabin door once more. The lantern light continued to wash over the room, illuminating the now empty chair, with blood soaked bonds scattered on the floor beneath it. Belus re-examined his decision once more. He didn’t know if the captain would survive, Belus hadn’t considered it when he was torturing the man, but now he hoped he would. If he could grant mercy to this one man then perhaps he could regain some of his own honour, robbed from him by the pirates with whom he served, a detestable alliance that today had turned him into one of them.
CHAPTER TEN
The Aquila sailed into the harbour of Brolium under a full press of sail, her finely balanced hull making the turn around the protective headland within a half ship length. Gaius stood braced at the tiller, his own balance matching that of his charge and the muscles of his arms bunched and relaxed with every slight adjustment of the rudder. Atticus watched him in silence, admiring as always the easy manner of the helmsman that belied the incredible skill he commanded. The captain sat under a canvas awning, the edges of the sheet flapping in the strong north-easterly, but the awning holding firm to create a shelter from the noon-day sun.
Atticus’s fever had broken the day before, two days out from Rome. He remembered waking up in the darkened cabin, feeling numb and breathless, unable to move. His mind had screamed panic in the darkness, a
