“Hold him, Cador! We don’t want tolose a Pilus Prior, especially this one! He’s a favorite ofGermanicus!”
As grateful as I was, Vellocatus’ mockingtone set my teeth on edge, and I am afraid that it was Cador, thesecond in command, who suffered as I reached out with my right handand grabbed his own forearm. And, I confess, hearing his yelp ofpain made me feel better in the moment, but fairly quickly, I wasout of immediate danger, although Vellocatus’ tone reminded me ofmy father as well.
“Pilus Prior, you need to get backbelow. If,” he allowed, “you want to help, go below and check onyour men.”
Honestly, the thought of making my way towhat under the best of conditions is an extremely cramped space wasunpalatable; I could not even imagine what it was like at thismoment. It is true the rankers are given hammocks, but the amountof space and lack thereof, both to either side as well as above andbelow, since they are stacked together, is one of the bitterestcomplaints the men have, although the stench from the men at thebenches all around them is a close second. There were two ways toget to the main compartment; actually, there were three, but thethird one was at the opposite end of the deck near the bow, andthere was no way I was going to use that. Consequently, I opted toessentially slither across the deck like some sort of serpent, backto the ladder, intending to drop down into the space between thecabin and the wooden partition that at least partly sealed off thenoise and stench, where there was another door leading to the maincompartment.
Despite fully expecting to slip orlose my grip on the ladder when the ship was struck by yet anotherwave, I somehow made it below on my feet, holding on to the ladderto remain upright. The first thing I noticed was that the water wasnow up above my ankles, sloshing about from the movement, and Iwondered if, by opening the door, the water would go pouring intothe main compartment. I mention this only as an example of myinexperience in thinking that somehow the main compartment would bedry, or at least drier. The inner door did open more easily becauseit was tucked under the edge of the deck and protected from thewind roaring through the hole, but I think it was less than threeor four heartbeats before I was regretting my decision. My concernabout water rushing in was groundless; if anything, it was theother way around, and only the Hortator, who was perched on a wooden platformjust above the upper row of oarsmen, was even partiallyprotected.
Naturally, there were no lamps lit, butthere was a bit of light because the holes for the oars were notplugged, which they normally are at night when the oarsmen areallowed to rest and the ship is powered by sail. The problem wasthat along with the light, torrents of water were pouring through,and I sensed as much as saw my men moving on both sides of theraised walkway where the guards who are always present were allclinging to one of the vertical posts that support the upper deckabove our heads. In fact, I was doing the same thing, but I wasalso trying to find either Saloninus or Columella, the Optio of theSecond Century, whose brother had been the Optio of Fabricius’Century until he lost an arm, and the man technically in command ofthe Second since I had not yet informed him of my decision topromote Saloninus. I heard Saloninus before I saw him, roughly inthe middle of the ship.
“Bail, you cunni! Stop your fucking whining and praying tothe gods, because they’re not listening! You heard Motius! If wedon’t at least keep even with the water level we have now, we’regoing to the fucking bottom.”
Honestly, it was Saloninus’ words that mademe recognize that the flurry of movement I was seeing was actuallywhat I hastily counted to be about two dozen of my men using theleather buckets that were for that very purpose, working as quicklyas they could. Even with the dark, however, it did not take me longto see that there were not enough buckets to keep up with the waterthat came pouring in, first on one side, then on the other, as theship continued to roll.
“The rest of you grab your helmets!” Iroared several times before the men began to obey, and as theyresponded, I risked moving further along the walkway.
Slaves they may have been, but Icannot fault the courage of any of the oarsmen as they struggled tomaintain the drumbeat rhythm that, honestly, I could barely hearover the other noise. A cynical man would point out that ofcourse these men were working sohard under terrible conditions; they were enslaved, and their fatewas inextricably entwined with their masters’, but I do not believeit matters. I saw several of my men closely enough to recognizethem, mostly because they turned their eyes to me, and perhaps itwas my imagination in the gloom, but I was certain I saw thepleading expressions on their faces as they looked to their PilusPrior to help them. I suppose that was what prompted me to dropdown off the walkway, landing in water that was knee deep, whichmeant that the hammocks of the men on the lowest row werecompletely submerged at the moment.
“Here, Pilus Prior.” I turned to seethat it was my SigniferGemellus, thrusting a helmet at me, and I took it, then inone motion bent over and filled the helmet, holding on to the sideof the walkway as I leaned as close to the nearest oar hole tothrow the water out.
Soon enough, almost every man, at leastthose I could see in the cramped space, was busy, and we worked ata feverish pace, though I have no idea how
