The Cargo Man's Tale

By Jodi McClure

Mardus lives on a tranquil farm outside the gates of Rome, but when he befriends a gang of intimidating boys who work on the city's docks, he's drawn into a much darker world. Attracted by a chance at power among their little hierarchy, he attempts to lead two lives, but when a brutal fight goes wrong, he and his friends are forced to flee their home.

Enamored by the amazing stories of an old merchant seaman, Mardus believes his life on the sea will bring adventure and fortune, but soon the hard reality sets in. Tempted by a lucrative offer from an odd couple to deliver a mysterious cargo, the beleaguered young man discovers an ancient secret that could change his life forever...if he can manage to make it back from the delivery alive.

'The Cargo Man's Tale' is a sweeping YA historical fantasy adventure set in 60bc Rome. From the author of 'Swing Zone' and 'Homebound.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jodi McClure
• Release date: Sep 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301250523

Jodi McClure

Whenever I write, I try to imagine what the reader will expect and then do the exact opposite. I am always striving to create a story no one has seen before, to stand far off the beaten path...well outside the box. Beneath my stories there are debates that look at old issues from fresh perspectives. Realistic characters with all the good and bad that entails. Settings that take you someplace else and tease your imagination. I want the reader to walk away thinking, "Well, that was new." ...in a good way.

Book preview

Chapter One

A bee crawled in aimless circles against a tiny crack in my wall, deceived by the light it saw as freedom - the light that kept it trapped. I moved slowly, quietly, trying to get it cupped and out the door before my mother saw it. My hands hovered over it, the way I had seen my father do it a dozen times before. I tried to keep them steady and not think about its stinger, cursing my mother for transferring to me her fear of these tiny insects.

I had to make myself do it, though. I didn’t want my father to be bothered from his work. Not this time. Sucking in my breath, my hands inched closer, but I hesitated a moment. The bee flew upwards towards the thatched ceiling and around the corner of my room.

I heard the frantic crash as my mother jumped up from her loom. There’s one in the house. There’s one in the house. It’s gone after me. Help me, Darius, it’s after me!

Rushing to the door, I opened it, hoping it might fly out.

My mother stood cornered, her hands batting wildly at the air, screaming, Dariuuuusss!

Not far out in the field, I could hear my father whoa his ox.

I’m coming, Olivia. Don’t despair, he shouted, his voice both reassuring and full of jest. It amazed me he still acted as if this wasn't an annoying task. Three times this week already he’d been called upon to aid her. I’m here, love, he announced as he entered the house. I’ll save you. Where is this winged offender?

Folded face first in the corner, my mother peeked through her fingers and nodded towards the far wall.

Ah, I see it, he said, in a hushed voice. Go on outside, Mardus and I will take care of this.

She darted out the door as I peered around the corner.

My father shook his head at me. Why did I marry that hysterical woman?

His joke was made with fondness, as playing the hero in the rescue of my mother appeared enjoyable to him. While he waited on the bee to land, he studied me. I’d seen that disappointment on his face before. Surely you could have handled this one, Mardus?

I didn’t see it, I lied.

Once the bee came to rest, he cupped it with stable hands and strolled casually outside.

I’ve got it, love. You’re saved. He released the bee into the air above him.

My mother dashed back towards the house. She stopped at the door, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her eyes scanning the air.

My father raised a brow at her, awaiting the usual praise, but she gave him no such recognition. He’d bought the hives and was therefore responsible for this torment being inflicted upon her.

"I can’t take this anymore, Darius. I can’t. I can’t even think straight at my loom, always watching the walls now. It’s enough. You’ve got to get rid of them."

But we’ve made fair coin off the honey. Approaching my mother with his arms out, he drew her into a hug and rocked her affectionately, trying to calm her nerves. You’ve liked having honey for our morning bread, haven’t you?

"We can buy honey. I know it’s expensive, but really, Darius, I just…I don’t like them. Please!"

My father sighed in defeat. There, there, all right, love. The market is busy enough. I’ll go see what we can trade them for. Don’t be distressed. I don’t like to see my Olivia distressed.

She smiled, her face beaming with appreciation as my father kissed her on the nose.

Mardus! He called me over to him and tousled my black hair. Bring the ox in.

I nodded, galloping like a horse full speed across our small farm to where our ox stood idle in the field. This wasn’t an especially hard task for a boy of thirteen but I was short and lean with wiry limbs and still a bit unwieldy with a heavy plow. Raising it awkwardly, I wavered side to side as I walked the ox slowly back towards his pen.

Don’t trade them for wheat, I didn’t like that last batch of wheat, my mother was saying. And not barley again, good Ceres, what a disaster.

No, not barley. I won’t make that mistake twice. He shook his head, laughing.

The barley. She’d never let him forget it, since they had argued over its purchase to start with and my father had invoked his ‘final word’ on the matter. Sometimes, I think she prayed for that wet season just to spite him.

I returned to my father, climbing up to sit on our fence, as mother continued her extensive list of things he shouldn’t get. She looked radiant in the sunlight, the little gems in her hair combs and necklace glittering as she shook her head. Standing barefoot in a simple linen toga against the gray stone of our home, her skin so perfectly white, as if she’d been chiseled by a sculptor from a thin slab of unblemished marble. I rarely saw her shine this way. She usually never stepped outside without her cloak.

I’ll find something of use. Don’t worry. Go on back in the house, my father said, finally losing his patience. He gave her back a gentle pat meant to persuade her towards the door. Then, he started for the city gate, which sat just a few minute’s walk from our home.

And take Mardus with you! my mother called after him. Please!

All right, woman, all right. Back in the house! My father beckoned to me with his head. I ran eagerly up the road after him.

You’re making your mother crazy, he said.

I grinned, but remained silent. I knew I’d been too much of a problem to her lately, but I’d been so miserably bored. I’d outgrown playing as a child. Constructing miniature stone cities in our garden no longer held my attention, nor did walking all the way down to the bridge by the river to sail my toy boats down the Aniene. With my schooling concluded and hired slaves to tend to our fields, there had been little else for me to do than get on my mother’s nerves.

Following my father closely, I nearly doubled my pace to keep up with his long strides. We lived right off Nomentana road, the first farm house on the left outside the Collina gate. The gate, built out of large imposing stones, was one of several that gave passage into our city, the great Republic of Rome. We both waved to the legionaires as we passed underneath it. The same teams of men had guarded that gate for the past five years and every one of them knew me by name.

Tall red brick buildings surrounded us as we cut through Caesar’s piazza. There was a statue here that was my favorite in the city. Not cold and still, but alive and full of motion. A soldier firmly seated upon an armor-adorned warhorse – whose curved neck and open mouth surged forward towards battle. It looked so real, just frozen in time. The gardens here were of no interest to a rambunctious blue-eyed boy since I’d not been allowed to play in them but, if I had been, I’m sure I would’ve wrecked them in little time. There seemed no point in gardens, or fountains for that matter, when they were off-limits to children who would have known how to put them to their best use.

The market was a chaotic place to me, compared to the tranquility of our farm. Vendors vied with one another for everyone's attention, ensuring a steady stream of strange clucking noises and guttural shouts. My father paced up and down the crowded aisles, twisting at his blue stone ring, his mind caught up in deep thought and contemplation.

We could trade for a horse. I offered my wishful but uninvited opinion.

Mardus, you know I don’t need a horse. Stop trying to make me buy a horse. He shook his head at me with a good-natured smile. What would I do with the thing? But...chickens. He stopped to admire the birds. I could build your mother a hen house for them and she could have fresh eggs. Do you think she’d like that?

She definitely would, I answered for myself.

Yes. A fitting investment, I think. You can never be too sure, but that should never stop you from trying. You should always jump in when opportunity presents itself. Fortune favors the bold!

I rolled my eyes at his statement, mimicking his words, having heard this speech from him more times than I could count. His investments weren’t always profitable, but in truth he had done very well for us three. We owned our farm with its five fertile acres and he had acquired the ox, three sheep and a mule. We were definitely one of the better off families among the modest farms, although we suffered next to the larger estates and villas that dotted our hillside, villas owned by men who honestly hoped to see us fail, as covetous as they were of any land not yet their own.

Having made his trade, he turned for home. Our bees would be two chickens by tomorrow’s eve and my mother’s frayed nerves would be soothed.

Passing back through the gate, my father stopped to chat with the legionaires. He brought up politics once again, engaging them at length with his ‘expert’ opinions. Rome certainly gave him an abundance of things to talk about. It seemed nearly every day there was a new war, conquest or conspiracy. Between Cicero and Caesar alone, he could spend hours in discussion with these men.

I just stared at the soldiers, listening intently to their voices while they debated with my father. They always sounded so self-assured – a trait I greatly admired. My childhood dream was to be a legion commander. Even when I grew older and understood it was a position afforded only to the wealthy, I still held on to that dream, assuming there would be exceptions made for myself.

The soldiers who patrolled our road often stopped and leaned on our old gray wood fence to chat. They were like tiny triumph parades, standing out amongst the dull green fields with their bright red tunics and shining silver metal breastplates. I knew them only as conquerors and victors, proud looking men who belonged to the greatest army in the world. They were revered, respected, and incapable of defeat. In my small world they were very much like gods and, for this reason alone, I looked forward to joining the army.

Mother loved the chickens, but she immediately assigned me the unpleasant task of keeping their boxes clean, another chore piled on me in hopes of keeping me occupied. Chores are of little use, though, when you’re thirsting for adventure, and only increased my boredom. The world was such a big place while our farm grew smaller by the day. I could hear her whispering complaints about me to my father some nights when they believed me long asleep, but on this night, she offered a solution.

"You have to find something for him to do, Darius, he’s constantly underfoot. He has no other children his age nearby, no one to talk to all day. I feel bad for him, but what am I supposed to do? He’s out there all day with his stick swords attacking anything that moves. He’s completely destroyed the scarecrow and the hedges. I caught him today riding the mule, running the poor thing ragged down the road while he took swings at the tree branches."

He has too much energy, my father agreed. Gods, my poor mule.

You’ve got to start allowing him to leave the farm. Take him out a little each afternoon into the city, why don’t you? The library, perhaps, or over where they’re building the basilica. I’m sure he’d like watching that. Or the barracks, Darius. They’re not far down the road and you know he’d love watching the soldiers. He can go there himself. You know he would if you’d only let him.

The only time I actually was allowed to enter the city was on market day or for festivals and always in the company of my father. Whatever aversion he had to my being exposed to it as a child was becoming unreasonable in light of my age. I grew excited at the idea of being able to venture there on my own. A whole city to explore would afford me endless things to do.

I don’t know what good could come of it, he said, but perhaps a few days a week. All right.

The suggestion was a brilliant one on the part of my mother and I loved her for having made it. The more we ventured into the city, the more acquaintances my father made, and the more time he would spend in discussion and debate with them. I seized these opportunities to wander off on my own. I loved to walk to the barracks to watch the infantry train. Though these were common soldiers, to my imagination they were all men of the 10th Legion, infamous and elite.

The barracks had wooden buildings, an armory and training apparatus, bordering a hard dirt yard, sectioned off from the street by a low stone wall. I started going there most every day to climb up on that wall. Balancing atop it with a stick in my hand, I could copy their sword fighting techniques. Most of the soldiers were off fighting barbarians, but a few always remained garrisoned in the city. I had heard talk that they might build a new armory and barracks closer to the campus but since we never walked that far, I prayed that wouldn’t happen.

We never ventured towards the far ends of Aventine or Subura because, as my father would say, the closer one gets to the docks, the further one gets from civility. I didn’t understand this as a boy, although I was able to observe that deeper into the city there was a noticeable difference in the appearance of buildings and roads.

The area around our library gleamed. The piazza there was surrounded by buildings with tall columns and arches of polished marble and rigid stately statues all arranged with symmetrical unity, while the narrow moldy side streets leading off towards the Tiber were full of older buildings, made of rough uneven stone.

Further still were common people, crowded several floors high in thin-walled, timber framed insulas, who shared stinking public latrines and cluttered the muddy streets with their noise. I would never have ventured to that part of the city by myself, had it not been introduced to me a few weeks later. I stayed to the barracks. The only place I wanted to go. The only place I would have ever gone.

Chapter Two

I learned my father had other plans for me one evening, when he came to fetch me from the barracks wall. We were approached near its iron gate by a distinguished looking centurion. I knew centurions were important men because any time the army would pass down our road, they journeyed on horses in front of the soldiers. I thought this man was going to scold me for having been on the wall, but instead he greeted my father with familiarity and warmth.

Darius, you pompous old fool, how are you? The centurion’s voice being every bit as deep and commanding as I imagined it would be.

Decius Kostas! I haven’t seen you in years, old friend. I’m good, I’m well, and you look good. My father clasped his hands to this man’s, giving him a hug. Where have you been? When did you return?

I’ve been in Alexandria, if you can believe it, keeping the old man Ptolemy on his throne. I was starting to think I’d be there forever, but he’s finally passed on, and now suddenly Antony recalls me. He’s lucky I’m still loyal after all this time. I can’t say the same for the rest of our men there. I got back this morning, and now I hear I’m to help sweep up in Gaul. Gaul, Darius. He frowned with disdain. That’s the last place on earth I was expecting to go.

I was greatly impressed with my father that he knew such a significant man. They talked for several minutes of things I didn’t care about; the tribune, the consuls and war. He looked so striking in his uniform as if he'd been born a centurion. I stared at him the entire time. He was exactly the man I wished to become someday. He noted me at last, reaching down to put a hand on my head.

And this is little Mardus, then? Mars, he’s certainly grown. So much has changed, Darius. I’ve been away too long. I should’ve known it would be your son though, sitting there on the wall. Is there another boy in the city who admires the army so much?

My father shook his head towards me. Some things never change.

You still wish to be a soldier? The centurion offered a friendly smile as he pulled his great sword from its sheath.

I stood breathless, thinking he might let me hold it, and in a moment I knew I would never forget, he gripped it carefully by the blade and offered me its handle.

Careful how you wield it now. Your father and I are both too young to die.

My blood rushed, staggered by the sheer anticipation of holding a centurion’s sword. I took it from him eagerly, surprised it was so heavy, but using both hands to keep it aloft, its weight was no match for the excitement I felt. It was a magical moment for me, and had I known I’d only hold a sword once more in my lifetime, I would have held on to it so much longer.

The man started to laugh, apparently at my expense. Easy there, young fellow. You’re not strong enough yet, are you? You need to put more muscle on those arms. His words stung me. I was smaller than most boys my age, but I believed myself as capable as any centurion. I concentrated every last ounce of my strength into pointing that sword straight out at his chest. I stared fearlessly at him, wishing he would see I was stronger than he perceived, wanting him to take back his words.

He has the fire of fight in his eyes, Darius. Look at him. Make sure they give him to me when he’s ready. I could use a boy with that kind of spirit. I’ll have him rivaling Antony someday, mark my words.

I looked up at my father with pride, trying to raise the weapon over my head. Its cumbersome weight displaced my entire frame, nearly causing me to fall backwards. I swung around, barely steadying myself. Embarrassed, I glanced up at my father, catching his sad look of reproof.

Return the sword, Mardus. His eyes turned back upon the centurion, giving him an even gaze. I thought myself in trouble for having lost control of the sword, but my father smiled at me reassuringly as I did what I was told. He put his hands to my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. The man regarded my father with some curiosity.

He’s my only son, centurion. I appreciate your words, but he will be with me in my fields, not with you on yours. He’s destined for sowing and harvesting, not war.

Well, there’s a shame. The centurion frowned, and then realizing his words may be insulting to my father, he added, But where would the army be without our fine farmers?

My father nodded in proper respect and, after they exchanged a few pleasantries, he led me with my now sullen face off to a corner by the library stairs. I’d never considered, never even imagined, that my father would disapprove of my becoming a soldier. Right in front of that extraordinary man, he had crushed me so completely. Destined to become a farmer? It seemed the cruelest of betrayals. I didn’t want to look at my father when he stopped and turned me around, but when I did, I could see in his face he knew just how harshly his words had been received.

Look, Mardus, he said, I didn’t want to say this before because all young men have childhood dreams, but I thought you would grow out of this by now. I know you think being a soldier is wearing a fine uniform and helmet while you swing a great sword, but these men fight wars. Yes, a noble thing to be sure, when the war is honorable, but there are far too many commanders who know nothing but ambition. They strike up battles simply because they wish to show a few victories under their belt. They have no scruples about conquering anyone. It’s all politics, son, and the killing of innocents. I’m sorry, but I just can’t approve.

His explanations were lost on me at that moment. I could see my father’s countenance grow with frustration. He’d waited far too long to tell me this, and he knew it. My bottom lip began to tremble and I had to fight to keep my cheeks from feeling tears. My face flushed red and I bit down on my teeth, my fists clenching into small mallets. It was far more anger than any child should display towards their father, and yet I felt justified in it.

My father grew annoyed with this demonstration of temper. His voice turned cold and stern, snapping at me in biting fashion. "Look, all they would have you doing is building roads. That’s all they use the smaller men for, Mardus, is building roads. You’d probably not even get a taste of a sword. I’m sure that’s not what you want to do with your life."

I’d heard enough in that moment and refused to listen further. I didn’t care what he had to say. I was devastated, but I bravely decided in my heart that I would determine my own future, paying his desires no greater credence than he had paid to mine. I kept this revelation to myself, content that I was settled upon it, regaining my dignity for the time.

My walks with my father became shorter in subsequent weeks. With no desire to look upon the garrison, I could only sit silently nearby while he talked to his friends and, being conscious of my presence, he would keep his conversations to a minimum. I was fast becoming a hopelessly somber child, moody and withdrawn.

My father had once said to me that yielding to one’s fate was always the best choice, but that word, yield, just made me want to tug at the bit. I felt I had no real power to change my fate, but fate seemed prone to random detours and could be promptly set off on an entirely new course by even the slightest of circumstance.

Feeling rueful that I’d been so hurt by his words, my father took me on a spree of interesting outings, hoping to cheer me up. On this day, I followed him down a road we’d never once been down before. It grew crowded with people, dirty and poor, matching the buildings around them, and the further we walked, the more needy they seemed. Some wore clothing so old and torn, it scarcely remained on their bodies. We were bumped into and jostled without so much as an apologetic glance. Mule dung laid unaddressed in the middle of the street, with flies swarming all around it. I honestly couldn’t imagine why he thought to take me here.

We worked our way down one narrow alley after another, squeezing by trader's tables and store racks that intruded into the street. We walked past endless warehouses and a large inn made for foreign traders. I could hear the faint murmur of the crowds in their tavern and music from a lyre. When we turned the corner, I caught a fast glimpse between two buildings of a great barge on the Tiber. Even from this distance, its massive blue and gold sail pronounced it’s grandeur. I stopped to stare at it, lost to all things in that momentary vision. I felt my heart hold a beat, and then the ship disappeared from view.

Never slowing his pace, my father moved deeper into the city and I struggled to keep up. We came at last to a concrete ramp leading down to the port where the fishing boats and cargo barges made their homes. My eyes widened at them with fascination. I’d never seen any of this before.

Busy narrow ships lined the dock, filled with stained green ropes, molded metals, folded cloth sails and piles of netting. The barges were stacked with an amazing array of crates, grain sacks and jugs. Large rugged-looking men worked to unload these items onto the docks, and from there, several dirty-faced children were loading all the goods onto wagons and carts. They looked squalid, with frayed clothes and broken sandal straps, but I took little notice of this. My greater attention was drawn to the fact that they were laughing, and some appeared to be receiving coins for their work.

Who are those boys? I watched them closely with growing curiosity.

My father shrugged at my question. Poor children from the city, orphans mainly. Rome used to take care of its poor, but of course we can’t help everyone, or where would it end, but for children? These young boys have nothing. They work to save themselves from slavery.

I didn’t hear the words my father was saying, except that these children had nothing, which by my very observation wasn’t true. They had hands full of coins, which was well more than I had. My father had brought me here to show me the ships, which I admit captured my attention, but it was the group of boys that really seized my interest, because they were full of banter and humor, and the work for which they were getting paid looked like quite a bit of fun.

We stayed to watch the sailors for a while and then he guided me homeward, but I remembered which roads we took so I could return to the docks. I wanted to know those boys and possibly earn some coins for myself. I think I forgot all about becoming a soldier in that moment, because that was still the future, and this, this was now.

Chapter Three

Eager to reexamine the far side of the city, I raced through my chores the next morning. My father would never have allowed me to return there on my own, so I chose to hide my expedition by simply lying about where I was headed.

Is it okay if I go watch the men working on the basillica for awhile?

You know the way?

I nodded. I knew it well, not that it mattered.

All right then, but mind you're back in time for your dinner. If you cause your mother worry, I won’t allow it again.

I smiled, carefully at first, but once I’d cleared the city gate, that smile wound round my face. Darting nervously through the piazza and onward towards the crowded streets, I prayed I wouldn’t get lost. My senses heightened to everything around me, adrenaline pulsing through my limbs as I suddenly felt small and vulnerable among these innumerable strangers.

When I finally arrived at the docks, I crouched low at the top of the ramp, choosing to spy first from a distance. Despite their crude appearance, the boys struck me as being amicable. The way they talked and teased one another, I was given the impression they shared a strong camaraderie. I counted eight boys that day, all seemingly close to my age. The longer I observed them, the more I wished I was down there with them, part of their enviable gang. I didn’t stay but an hour, fearing somehow my parents would find out, but they thankfully suspected nothing, and so I returned the next day and a few days after that.

The boys labored on the docks all morning but were generally gone by late afternoon. I started to explore the roads around the immediate vicinity, hoping to grow more comfortable with these unfamiliar surroundings. Our city was situated on several broad hills, with rows of buildings each towering higher than the next by virtue of the incline. The long building up against the port was at its lowest point, and it faced the street behind. Along its back, a lengthy concrete walkway ran under countless small arches and columns.

The docks themselves were broad, with room for both man and cargo to pass each other unimpeded. They were made of a rough concrete, scratched and marred by dozens of years of use and weathered to an emerald sheen. Faded cloth canopies hung over stacks of upside down crates near the far wall by the stairs, and the older hands sat to relax there when they needed a break and some shade. The stairs, a narrow passage of eight stone steps, led to another side street, where I found rooming houses, ladies, stores and pubs which catered to the men who worked here.

As my mother began to encourage my daily