Her head was lying on my chest, but her facewas turned away from me, so I could only go by her words, whichwere, “I was just curious.”
Suddenly, I had a flash of what I supposemight be called insight, which prompted me to ask her gently, “Areyou curious about the number? Or who they were?”
I got the answer by the way I felt her bodystiffen, but when she turned her head so that we could look eachother in the eyes, she did not hesitate in her answer.
“Both,” she began, then added, “butmostly who they were. Were they all barbarians?”
Ah, that’s what this is about, I thought,but rather than give her a direct answer, I countered with aquestion, “When I was Cogidubnus’ hostage, whenever my name wasmentioned, I heard a word used. What does it mean?”
The truth was that I already knew, because Ihad asked Ivomagus at some time in the last days of mycaptivity.
Her cheeks had already been flushed fromwhat we had just done and they instantly darkened, but rather thansounding defensive, she sounded rueful as she said, “Itmeans…savage, I suppose is the best word for it in Latin.” She puther hand under her chin and smiled up at me, “I take back myquestion about who they were. But how many?”
“Why does it matter?” I protested, butbefore she answered, she turned away from me and returned to herformer position, yet I could hear the smile in her voice as sheanswered, “Because I promised myself I would only give myself to agreat warrior who has slain many of his enemies.”
I knew that it was impossible, yet the firstthought that went through my mind was, has she read my father’saccount? Because this conversation was eerily similar to one thatmy mother Giulia had with my father during their brief timetogether. This was followed by my suddenly wondering if I had beenconceived shortly before that conversation, and I suppose it wasinevitable that this led my mind immediately to the possibilitythat had just happened between Bronwen and me. It was a terrifyingand wonderful thought, all at the same time, so it took me a whileto fall asleep.
The three of us headed to the docksthe next morning, and the first thing I noticed was how we couldsee our breath, making my choice of the fur-linedsagum a good one.
As much to pass the time as gleaning anyinformation, I asked, “Do either of you remember in the Prefect’saccount what time of year he was there?”
“It was seven months,” Alex replied,“and it was right after Pharsalus.”
I hated myself for admitting it, but I hadto ask, “When was Pharsalus again?”
To my intense relief, the expression ofembarrassment on Alex’s face meant that I would not have to endurebeing reminded, and while there was no reason for it, I was stillsurprised when it was Septimus who answered, “It was in August.Or,” he added with a grin, “Sextilis, since August didn’t existback then.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten.” Afterthinking a moment, I asked, “Do either of you remember the Prefecttalking about what the winters are like there?”
Neither of them could recall either, but bythis time, we were at the end of the street leading to the largedock complex that now is on both sides of the river. As weexpected, men were already hard at work, and we wandered around,stopping at each ship to ask a member of its crew its nextdestination, but none of them were going to Narbo. I believe it wasabout the fifth or sixth ship when one of them thought to ask whywe were going to Narbo. When I explained that we were seeking amaster who was either planning to or willing to sail to Alexandriaat this time of year, he laughed, but he was pointing to theopposite side of the river.
“The ships that sail the open seasdock over there,” he told us. “If you’re going to find anyone who’smad enough, or,” he grinned, showing all six of his teeth,“desperate enough to take you, it will be over there.”
Thanking him, we crossed the bridge, anddespite my lack of experience in these matters, I could instantlysee the difference between the ships on this side of the river,because without exception, they were much larger than theircounterparts on the other side.
“Maybe we won’t need to go to Narbo,”Alex commented as we approached the first ship nearest to thewooden bridge that had been constructed a few years earlier. Wenoticed that it was being unloaded, which I took as a good sign,thinking they would be looking for a cargo, but it was the exactopposite. One by one, we were either flatly rejected, sometimeswith laughter, or the appearance of the ship did not inspireconfidence in us. There were only three ships left when, once more,another master pointed us in the right direction.
“I heard that the master of thePersephone was asking around foranything to take to Cyrene. It’s not Alexandria,” he shrugged, “butit is closer than here.” He cackled at his own humor while wesmiled politely, then Alex asked, “And which one is thePersephone?”
He pointed to the last ship in therow, between which were two open spaces, which gave us a good viewof it. It was a trireme,similar in design to the ship that we had boarded months before onthe Amisia, although this one had two masts, with a smaller mastset on the upper deck of the bow, and even in the moment, I knewthat my reaction to it was colored by this, and I sensed that Alexwas no different in his feelings. Nevertheless, I began walkingdown the dock for the ship.
Septimus was the one who suggested, “Youknow, we still can go to Narbo if this doesn’t work out.”
While it was a good idea, it was not thesuggestion itself that raised my eyebrow.
“We?”
Septimus looked genuinely startled,exclaiming, “Of course ‘we’! You certainly don’t think that I’mgoing to stay here, do you?” He laughingly added, “And I had toargue for a watch with Miriam because she kept
