Marching With Caesar-Hostage to Fortuna

By R.W. Peake

With the defeat of Arminius and his confederation of German tribes, it’s time for the army of Germanicus Julius Caesar to return to their bases across the Rhine, including Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus’ 1st Legion. On their voyage home, a series of storms strike, damaging the ship bearing Gnaeus and two of his Centuries and eventually stranding them on the island of Britannia, in the land of the Parisii tribe.

Held hostage, Gnaeus’ release is secured by his real family in Arelate, but only at a terrible cost that Gnaeus’ honor will not allow them to bear. Rather than return to Ubiorum, Gnaeus risks his career, and possibly his life, searching for the man who, three years earlier, had cheated one of his uncles of a substantial portion of the fortune earned by the Prefect Titus Pullus, hero of Caesar’s 10th Legion and Gnaeus’ great-grandfather.

It is a journey that retraces the steps of the Prefect all the way to Alexandria, and Gnaeus will only have his family and his newly found love, a Parisii woman, to help him recover their fortune, and save himself and his family from being Hostages to Fortuna.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.W. Peake
• Release date: Feb 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781941226360

R.W. Peake

I am a 63 year old retired Infantry Marine, born and raised in Texas and currently living on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state. I have been writing since my first novel, written at the age of 10, when my friends and yours truly fought off the Soviet hordes, who just happened to pick my block to launch their invasion. That was their big mistake.But like a lot of dreams, it got sidetracked until recently, when I decided to focus my passion on an era and subject that interested me a great deal. Like my characters in Ancient Rome, I have served as the pointy tip of the spear of our nation's policy, and it is with this perspective that I tell the story of Titus Pullus and his friends.Marching With Caesar-Birth of the 10th Legion was my first published novel, and is the first in a completed series that covers the career of Titus Pullus, his adopted son Gaius Porcinianus Pullus, grandson Titus Porcinianus Pullus, and his great-grandson Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus. The most recent release is Volume XIX, Marching With Caesar-Catualda the Usurper.I also have a completed alternate history series, Caesar Ascending, that imagines a world in which Gaius Julius Caesar survives the Ides of March, embarks on his historical campaign against Parthian...then keeps going. Originally it's a bid to outstrip the Macedonian King Alexander by reaching the Ganges River, but evolves into a decade-long campaign that finds Caesar and his Legions marching to the end of the known world in the form of the mysterious Islands of Wa, modern-day Japan.Finally, in 2020, I began The Titus Chronicles, with Volume I titled Eagle and Wyvern, which tells the story of a descendant of Titus Pullus, (though he's unaware of any connection), named Titus of Cyssanbyrig, who at the age of fourteen answers the fyrd sounded by the Saxon King Alfred, marching with Alfred and his army to confront the Danish King Guthrum, culminating at the Battle of Edington. Blessed with the same prodigious size and strength as his ancestor, young Titus learns he is the recipient of a darker gift, and in his first battle earns the nickname The Berserker.The Titus Chronicles mark the first of an extended genealogy of the original Titus that will extend across the ages as the story of a line of men who have been born and bred for war, and are witnesses to some of the great historical events of the ages.

Book preview

Marching With Caesar – Hostage to Fortuna

By R.W. Peake

Also by R.W Peake

Marching With Caesar® – Birth of the 10th

Marching With Caesar – Conquest of Gaul

Marching With Caesar – Civil War

Marching With Caesar – Antony and Cleopatra, Parts I & II

Marching With Caesar – Rise of Augustus

Marching With Caesar – Last Campaign

Marching With Caesar – Rebellion

Marching With Caesar – A New Era

Marching With Caesar – Pax Romana

Marching With Caesar – Fraternitas

Marching With Caesar – Vengeance

Marching With Caesar – Rise of Germanicus

Marching With Caesar – Revolt of the Legions

Marching With Caesar – Avenging Varus, Part I

Marching With Caesar – Avenging Varus, Part II

Caesar Triumphant

Caesar Ascending – Invasion of Parthia

Caesar Ascending – Conquest of Parthia

Caesar Ascending – India

Caesar Ascending – Pandya

Critical praise for the Marching with Caesar series:

Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony

"Peake has become a master of depicting Roman military life and action, and in this latest novel he proves adept at evoking the subtleties of his characters, often with an understated humour and surprising pathos. Very highly recommended."

Marching With Caesar-Civil War

"Fans of the author will be delighted that Peake’s writing has gone from strength to strength in this, the second volume...Peake manages to portray Pullus and all his fellow soldiers with a marvelous feeling of reality quite apart from the star historical name... There’s history here, and character, and action enough for three novels, and all of it can be enjoyed even if readers haven’t seen the first volume yet. Very highly recommended."

~The Historical Novel Society

"The hinge of history pivoted on the career of Julius Caesar, as Rome’s Republic became an Empire, but the muscle to swing that gateway came from soldiers like Titus Pullus. What an amazing story from a student now become the master of historical fiction at its best."

~Professor Frank Holt, University of Houston

Marching With Caesar – Hostage to Fortuna by R.W. Peake

Copyright © 2020 by R.W. Peake

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Artwork Copyright © 2020 R. W. Peake

All Rights Reserved

For Barney Chapman

Fellow Texan, Lover of Rome

And

Number One Fan

Foreword

So, what does an author who writes about the Roman Legions making war do when there’s no war?

That was the question I was facing at the end of Marching With Caesar® – Avenging Varus Part II, and it was with a fair amount of concern that I revisited Tacitus, looking for something to continue Gnaeus’ story…and I found it in the line A few had been swept over to Britain, and were returned by petty kings.

I also recalled that Tacitus had mentioned that, the year before, when other Romans suffered a similar fate, they were actually held hostage.

Which made me think: why not Gnaeus? How would that happen, how would it play out, and what ripple effects would it have on not just his career, but his life? Herein lies the answer to what Marching With Caesar® – Hostage to Fortuna is about, but as it is with all the stories I tell, I at least try to make it about more than what it may seem. This book is as much about the power of family, whether they be tied by blood or service, as it is anything else. Like Gnaeus, I am an only child with no siblings, and I came late to the knowledge of my father’s side of the family like he does, but unlike Gnaeus, I didn’t suffer any kind of travails that would require that side of my family to come to my aid. However, much like Gnaeus, I had to grapple with what this sudden realization of a previously unknown side to my very existence meant to me, and how it shaped the man I was to become.

It is, frankly, something that I am still grappling with in many ways, and in that sense, I believe Gnaeus will be facing a similar challenge.

As always, thanks to Beth Lynne, my longtime editor (although I still like the word snuck better than sneaked), and to Laura Prevost for another great cover. Recently, I began doing a series of podcasts, of which there are currently four, and they are under the title Marching With Caesar Podcast Series by R.W. Peake, and you can find them on iTunes, or directly at https://www.buzzsprout.com/670249.

Otherwise, I don’t really want to give too much away in the Foreword, so this one will be short. All I can say in addition is that I hope you, my faithful readers, enjoy the story at least as much as I enjoy creating them.

Semper Fidelis,

R.W. Peake

February, 2020

Historical Notes

In many ways, this was probably the most difficult book I’ve written so far, both from a pure storytelling perspective, which I mentioned in the Foreword, and because this covers areas with which I have, or had, very little experience.

I’ll cover the easiest one first, and that is what Britannia was like in the very early First Century C.E., for which there isn’t much of a written record. My choice of the Parisii was based on my looking at a map and seeing how unlikely that a ship blown off course would make it all the way to the southern, and better-known part of the island the Romans called Britannia. From there, it was a matter of finding out what I could about the area of the island controlled by the Parisii, which according to ancient sources, was around the Humber River, which the Greeks called the Abis, and is how Gnaeus refers to it. As always, I relied on the superlative Barrington Atlas for more information, and those who either possess the Atlas, or are far more versed in the Britannia of the First Century C.E., may notice that I have placed the ancient city of Petuar on the southern bank, not the northern bank as it’s depicted on the map. I did this intentionally, since every source I could find places the Humber as the dividing line between Parisii and Brigantes territory. Hopefully, this is not an egregious sin. Petuar is the non-Romanized name of Petuaria, and is where the city of Brough is located. Danum, the only other habitation I mention, is the city of Doncaster, and I made it the Parisii capital because of its geographical location and not from any information that it ever served as such.

As far as the Parisii themselves, for this I relied heavily on Caesar’s Commentaries, for the simple reason that I don’t believe that their customs, style of dress, and the way they groomed themselves would have changed all that much in the roughly 50 years between Caesar’s expedition and Gnaeus’ shipwreck. I also made some assumptions, which is the luxury an author of historical fiction has, and that is how, given the seeming connection to the Parisii along the Seine, I endowed the Briton Parisii with a Celtic/Gallic personality, although I made sure to give them chariots, unlike their mainland relatives.

This brings us to the other part of this story where I was in uncharted waters (forgive the pun), and that was in nautical matters. While I was able to find several examples of what a trireme of the type that might have been used by Rome in general, and Germanicus in particularly might look like, when it came to the interior, I was in vain. Those few examples of interiors I could find seemed to be for ships made for war and not transport, so I was left with my imagination on what such a craft might have looked like on the inside.

There had to be sleeping space for not just the crew, but the passengers; as lacking in comforts as life for the Legions of Rome may have been, I am hard pressed to believe that these men would have been expected to sit on benches. Besides that…where would those benches be aboard a ship powered by oars? As I envisioned the layout, the only way I could see it working was to have hammocks, in tiers, strung from the bulkhead to the center of the ship, which I describe as a walkway that runs down the middle of the part of the ship where the rowers were located. During this invention process that took place completely in my head, I recalled something I learned when I was in the Regional Museum of Arles, in 2010, very soon after the discovery of a shipwreck in the Rhone River that contained, among other things, what is considered to be the last, or one of the last, likenesses of Julius Caesar in the form of a bust. However, it was a more mundane cargo, and when I reviewed the video and saw the double rows of amphorae that were arranged down the middle of the wreck, I realized that it was likely the area under the walkway that provided space for the storage of cargo, or in the case of a troop transport, the gear carried by the men being transported.

Now, as to the men who were doing the rowing, Tacitus states that some of the ships were crewed by the Legionaries themselves, but nowhere did I find any indication that they provided the crews for every single vessel. Also, while slaves were definitely used to crew ships, from everything I’ve read, it wasn’t nearly as straightforward as that, and there were ships crewed by freedmen or, in that area, free Gallic natives. What readers might notice was I don’t mention the use of chains, at least when these men are at the oars. As I researched further, it became clear to me that the practice of chaining men to the benches wasn’t a feature of the ancient world, and when one thinks of the relative scarcity of iron, that makes sense to me, along with the fact that weight would always have to be a consideration. And, especially for seagoing vessels, unless a slave crew could coordinate a mutiny, one or a handful of slaves wouldn’t be able to overcome a crew.

And, not surprisingly, close quarters, especially during a period of time where hygiene was…less than perfect, being in a closed compartment would create an olfactory experience that tends to stick in one’s mind. This is something with which I have experience, and what becomes apparent is that fairly quickly a group of people in an enclosed space, or in a situation where they can’t bathe, become accustomed to it to the point they don’t notice…until they leave that group, or they’re informed by someone else, as I and twelve of my fellow Marines who had been in the field for three weeks were ordered to report to the clinic that served active duty and dependents on Camp Pendleton found out, when a little girl about five years old, turned to her mother and said, "Oh, Mommy, they smell horrible…" right before she threw up. This isn’t necessarily historical, but since I try to immerse myself in that age as I write as much as possible, it was definitely something that crossed my mind.

The process of relief that I describe is completely my own, and again is based in my immersion in the story as I write it, and I think, How would I do that? As far as the means by which men seated on benches in three tiers would move about when they weren’t rowing, again the series of smaller walkways, really nothing more than lengths of lumber about four inches wide and at three different levels seemed the way it would work. Having two men manning one oar on the lowest level is based in my somewhat limited knowledge, and every depiction I’ve seen the lowest oars are the closest to the hull and as a result the rowers would have less leverage because of a shorter oar. Hence, my guess that it would take two men for an even distribution of power.

My description of the crane is based on the models that I have seen, but one early mistake I made was in the assumption that it could swivel; that wouldn’t show up for several more centuries. Consequently, the question then becomes, how could one raise up a ship, either from the ground where it’s being constructed or repaired, and get it into the water, or vice versa? Again, this is based in a slightly analogous experience when I worked as an ironworker, and there was a situation where for some reason I can’t recall, the crane we were using was stuck in a single position and couldn’t swivel. Using a series of cables and ropes, while the crane operator carefully let out the slack, we were able to move a large piece of steel for the building we were constructing into another spot that wasn’t directly in front of the boom of the crane. Naturally, a ship, even an ancient one, is going to be far heavier, and far more complex, but I believe the principle is the same.

My descriptions of Alexandria come directly from the research I did for Marching With Caesar-Civil War when Titus the Elder serves with Caesar during his seven month interlude during the civil war, and is based on the same assumption that I made with Britannia, that not much changed in the half-century since Titus the Elder was there. The Praefectus Augustalus was a real office created by Augustus, and Gaius Gallerius was the officeholder in that period of time, and the 22nd Legion had been in Egypt for decades at this point. Finally, the trip to the agora, and the tale told by the nameless merchant about kinnamon, which I kept in the Greek because I’m sure my readers would recognize it, actually came from research that I have been doing for the Caesar Ascending series, specifically from the book Through The Jade Gate-China to Rome, by John. E. Hill, which is a scholarly work about the famous Silk Routes of the 1st and 2nd Centuries C.E. I included this tale because, if anything, it should demonstrate that the concept of marketing was alive and well and living in the times of Ancient Rome.

Long-time readers might also note that there’s not much description of terrain in this work, mainly because terrain doesn’t play much of a role on the ocean, and the area around ancient Petuar is as flat as my hometown of Houston. The only real question about it is whether it was heavily forested then. Based on what little descriptive information I could get my hands on, it seemed that there weren’t that many forests, at least with trees of the type that could be used for a mast, in the vicinity. The one error I avoided was when I researched and learned that the only form of evergreen, Scots Pine, or as we Americans call it Scotch Pine, is in…yes, Scotland, so I made the type of tree that was favored by ancient shipbuilders for generic masts.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

When I boarded the transport, a trireme named the Brizo, along with the First and Second Century for our return to Ubiorum, I cannot say that it was without a fair amount of trepidation. While I had spent several days on a boat, there is quite the difference between floating down the Dubis and Rhenus, and sailing on the open sea. It was true that everyone, from the ship master down to the lowest crewman, took particular pains to let us know that we would never be out of sight of the coastline, yet that certainly did not do much to ease my mind, and I did know that my Optio Saloninus had been sacrificing almost nonstop to every maritime god he could find, both Roman and Gallic. Despite the assurances of our master and crew, I could not help noticing how the wind got much stronger as we drifted downriver on the Amisia; fortunately, I was so occupied with getting the men settled in for what was only supposed to be a voyage lasting at most a week, that it was only a passing thought. There had been some discussion about how our wounded would be transported, and whether it was better for them to take the longer overland journey or be put aboard ship. As I had learned, and the more experienced officers know as well, we inevitably lose wounded men when they are put in a wagon that is not traveling over a good Roman road; the constant jolting and bouncing causes sutures to tear or mending bones to break again. Yes, transporting the wounded by sea can be hazardous as well because of rough seas, but it was widely accepted that transporting them by ship would be easier on them, and frankly, the fact that it was even a discussion is more indicative of how we view traveling by sea.

Certainly, the Pili Priores had harassed Primus Pilus Sacrovir, and I was right there with my counterparts. We were even willing to offer up part of the bounty that we had been told we were going to be paid when we returned to Ubiorum to bribe whoever in the praetorium was responsible for deciding who sailed and who marched. Finally, he had had enough, and it took an explosion of his temper with us before some of my comrades accepted that persisting in their attempts to get the 1st among the Legions who would be marching back was a bad idea. It is not that I was unsympathetic; I did not want to get on a ship any more than they, or our men, did, but I had recognized that it was not happening, as had Macer, so neither of us participated in the last delegation to the quarters of the Primus Pilus. However, there were logistical issues concerning the transport of the wounded; specifically, whether they were going to be kept with their respective Centuries or transported together along with the medici and Legion physicians distributed among them. The fact that it required nine ships for the two Legions going by ship, our 1st and the 21st, was a sobering reminder of the cost of what so far are the final battles against Arminius. And, despite what transpired, I still cannot fault the decision of Primus Pilus Sacrovir, which Germanicus approved, to put them all together, despite what happened. I suppose it was too much to expect that the respective numbers of wounded meant that all of our wounded in the 1st could be kept together, but twenty of them had to be loaded aboard the last ship of the complement belonging to the 21st.

I cannot say I was surprised when Alex approached me to ask, Gnaeus, I’d like to be assigned to the ship that have the wounded from our Cohort. I think I could help.

I knew that he was right; while not quite a full medicus, Alex had become quite skilled, something I had been told from the Legion’s chief medicus himself, but I still shook my head.

No, I’m going to need you with me. I’m going to be working to fill our empty spots, so I’m going to need you as my clerk.

He frowned, and for an instant, I thought that he might have seen through the fiction, but he was actually thinking of something else.

I thought the Primus Pilus said we’re going to wait to get back to Ubiorum.

He did, I agreed, then shook my head again. But I’m not going to wait. I think if I just go ahead and make the decision that, even if the Primus Pilus doesn’t like it, he still won’t countermand me.

I saw that Alex immediately understood that, while I would be handling all of these promotions, I was doing it for one man specifically.

Ah, he said softly. Saloninus.

I was pleased, but not surprised, that Alex had immediately divined my intentions as it concerned my current Optio, Aulus Saloninus. In my opinion, and I knew there was broad agreement among the other Centurions, and even with Marcus Macer, who had been in my post before being advanced to Secundus Pilus Prior, that Saloninus was the most qualified of all my Optios to be advanced to the Centurionate. And, just based on his abilities and record, he would have already been wearing a transverse crest. The problem lay in our system, and frankly, our stubborn insistence on clinging to what I consider to be nothing but ignorant superstition. During the battle that we call the Long Bridges, Saloninus had been the Optio of my Second Century, and during the battle, had taken a spear thrust to the right eye. What had impressed me, and our men in the Century at the time was how, despite what was a gruesome wound, he had continued to carry out his duties, stopping only long enough to have a bandage wrapped around his head to cover what I had seen was a serious wound. However, since long before I was under the standard, or even my great-grandfather, the great Camp Prefect Titus Pomponius Pullus, once a man received a disfiguring wound, he was considered ineligible for promotion. Now, if you were to scour the mountain of written regulations created by Divus Augustus during his four decades in power, you would not find one word that says this; yet, we all know that it is there, and it hearkens back to a day when it was considered a fact that anyone who suffered some form of disfigurement to their face was cursed by the gods. And, as far as it goes, it does make sense that no men would want to follow a Centurion who the gods have turned away from, but only if you accept the idea that the gods control all as a fact. I do not, and the truth is that I do not know many men who do anymore, but this is where our stubborn insistence on doing things the same way for decades and even centuries because that is how our ancestors did it comes into play. While we do not believe it any longer, not many of us are willing to risk going against a long-standing tradition; however, I was willing to do so, for the simple reason I believed that Aulus Saloninus was the best choice to become a Centurion. The fact that he was on the same ship meant that there was some awkwardness, because I wanted to surprise him, but when you are sharing the quarters normally occupied by the ship’s master, there is quite a bit of whispering and other acts of subterfuge that are required.

I will say that this situation occupied my time and attention, so I did not really notice that we were exiting the river mouth into the open sea. In fact, my first hint was when I almost lost my feet because the ship lurched suddenly as its bow collided with a wave, and within a matter of heartbeats, I despaired of continuing to work at the tiny desk that was nailed to the deck in the master’s quarters. Instead, I got up and left the cabin to stand on deck, although I am making it sound easier than it was. Since this was my first time aboard a ship in the open sea, even if it was still barely a furlong or two away from the coast, I would characterize my gait as more of a stagger than a walk, and I found myself snatching at anything that was unlikely to move to maintain my balance. The first thing I noticed as I reached the deck was the tangy taste of the air, certain I could taste the salt in it. The sun was shining brightly and there were no clouds, which I took to be a good sign, but when I approached the master of the trireme, which we had been informed was named the Brizo, a Gaul named Vellocatus and a member of the Venelli tribe who had been part of the first fleet Germanicus used when we began our campaign against Arminius the year before, and commented on the fair weather, he gave me a sourly amused look.

Oh, he seemingly agreed, it is...now, Pilus Prior. But, he turned and since his hands were on the steering oar, used his head to nod to the north, if a storm does come up, it will be from that direction. And, he added ominously, it will come fast.

Needless to say, I was not pleased to hear this, but I felt the need to point out, But we’re returning to Ubiorum weeks before the end of the season, and this is the quietest time of the year for storms. At least, I hastened to amend, that’s what we’ve been told.

That’s true. Vellocatus nodded. He was quiet for a few heartbeats, and I could not suppress the feeling that he was having a bit of fun at my expense, although he was wise enough to maintain a sober demeanor. But I’ve been at sea since I was a boy of eight years old, Centurion, and over the last forty years, I have learned that the gods do not always feel like giving us mortals a quiet few months on the sea.

Despite my certainty that he was toying with me, nothing in his manner suggested he was telling anything but the truth.

Well, my Optio has made sacrifices to not only Jupiter, Fortuna, and Neptune, but he sacrificed to your gods as well.

This did not seem to impress Vellocatus, although he did say with a shrug, It cannot hurt, Centurion. Now, he said somewhat pointedly, if you will excuse me, I need to attend to my duties.

While I did not care all that much for his tone, we had already agreed that once we put to sea, Vellocatus was in command, including the right to determine who was allowed out on deck at any given moment. At this moment, only the officers were present, so I headed over to Saloninus, who was leaning on the railing of the ship, staring north, in the opposite direction of the coast.

Are you watching for a storm? I asked in a teasing tone. Or for some huge beast that will devour us?

What if it’s both? he retorted, although he did offer a thin smile.

Deciding that I would cheer him up, I told him, I wanted to let you know about a decision I’ve made.

This seemed to interest him, slightly, and when he turned to regard me, I was struck by how it was his right eyebrow that was raised in the kind of inquiring expression people have, despite the fact that the eye was gone.

Oh? What’s that, Pilus Prior?

I’ve selected Structus’ replacement, I answered, and now he was truly surprised.

But I thought the Primus Pilus said we’re waiting until we get back to Ubiorum, he exclaimed.

He did, I allowed. "But I know that my choice might be a bit of a…surprise, so I’ve decided to make it and sign the warrant, then turn it in to the Praetorium when we get back. Shrugging, I tried to sound confident as I said, Sacrovir may not be happy about it, but he’s not going to overrule my decision."

I was now staring off in the distance, but I sensed him looking at me, and I was certain that he would understand that I was speaking about him.

However, after a few heartbeats, he asked, Well? Who is it?

That got my attention, yet when I looked at him, I could see he was truly in the dark, so I suppose I ruined the moment somewhat by snapping, Why, it’s you, you idiot.

Me? he echoed. Shaking his head, he repeated, more softly, Me?

The expression on his face quelled any thought I had of having more fun at his expense, and I stood erect, pivoting so I was looking down directly into his good eye as I said, in all sincerity, Aulus, there was no other man I even considered for the post. You’re the best Optio I’ve ever had, and the men of the Second wouldn’t want to follow anyone else.

Truthfully, I had never asked any of the men who I commanded for an admittedly brief period of time, but I was, and am confident I was right, although given what we were going to be facing, by the time I actually did turn in that warrant to the Praetorium, I do not think that Sacrovir gave it a second thought.

I cannot say whether the storm that came roaring from the north that would prove to be so catastrophic to our fleet and create a disruption in not just my life but all of the men of the First and Second Centuries had hit during the daylight hour would have made any difference or not, but I can only speak for myself that being awakened by being dumped from my hammock onto the deck, only to continue rolling across the cabin until slamming into the side of the ship certainly contributed to my sense of disorientation…and yes, fear.

Gnaeus!

As far as I knew, Alex just called my name once; later, he told me he called for me several times. He had managed to remain in his hammock, after a fashion, by wrapping both arms around the canvas, although he was hanging upside down, which I could not see anyway because it was totally dark in the cabin. When I collided with the wooden wall, my head hit hard enough to ignite thousands of sparks behind my eyes, yet as dazed as I was, it was the sounds I recall most vividly. I am not a superstitious man; I do not believe that we are surrounded by numeni who are bent on causing all manner of mischief and mayhem, but the shrieking sound that only later did I determine was from the crack of space between the wooden shutters that were securely fastened shut and the frame that held them made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. That, however, was the only thing that was standing, because when I tried to struggle to my feet, the deck seemed to drop out from under me, except this time, it was in the opposite direction, and sent me careening across the cabin. Instead of hitting the opposite side of the Brizo this time, I collided with the desk that was fastened to the deck, which I clung to with all my strength. Since this was the first moment I could clear my head, this was when I became aware of something that was even more frightening than the shrieking wind. To my inexperienced ears, it sounded as if the Brizo, which prior to this instant I felt certain was sturdy and sound enough to stand up to any storm, was literally breaking apart around us. There was a low-pitched groaning noise that seemed to emanate from beneath our feet, while from up above and farther forward, it sounded like a dozen men were snapping kindling over their knee.

Are you all right? I had to shout this to be heard, and Alex shouted back that he was.

Saloninus, for some reason, had opted to stay below with the men that night, which I confess had made me feel a bit guilty, but not enough to do the same thing. Now, however, I felt that I had to leave the cabin to at least check with Vellocatus, who was presumably standing almost directly above us trying to keep the ship under control. I had no idea how I was going to do that when the deck under my feet was so unsteady, but after a few heartbeats, I thought I had gotten a sense of the rhythm to the movement.

I’m going out on deck!

Even as I heard the words and recognized my own voice, there was a part of my mind screaming at me to remain inside, arguing that Vellocatus had made it clear he was in command and there was nothing I could offer in a situation like this. Nevertheless, I felt myself staggering towards the door, but when I reached it and tried to open it, it did not budge; at first, I thought it had somehow been jammed, assuming that the sound of tortured wood we were hearing was from the door frame warping under the strain. In fact, it was not; the only thing keeping the door closed was the power of the wind, which we were heading directly into as Vellocatus struggled to keep us from foundering.

The ladder that led up to the deck was just a couple paces away, but the square hole in the deck that enabled movement from below acted like a funnel, and I quickly learned that the shrieking I had been hearing was not just from the secured shutter in the cabin, but from the wind howling through that relatively small square. There was at least three or four inches of water sloshing around my feet, but it was nothing compared to what I was about to face as I finally shoved the door open then slowly climbed the ladder, clinging to each rung with all of my strength. My tunic was already soaked, and when my head emerged into the open air, I was immediately blinded by the spray that struck me with enough force that it was painful, feeling as if a thousand tiny needles were being shoved into my face. It was only slightly less dark than the cabin, but just as I pushed myself up the last rungs to emerge on deck, there was a flash of lightning that briefly illuminated our world, such as it was, and I have never been as frightened as I was in that moment, with one exception, when I was kneeling next to my father in his last moments.

In that instant of light provided by the gods, I saw the upper deck stretched out in front of me, but what captured my horrified attention was what looked to my eyes like a solid wall of water that towered what I estimated was at least ten feet above the high carved wooden prow of the Brizo, the top of it curling in a manner that anyone who was watched waves crash onto a beach knows, seemingly heading directly for me. It was only because of that glimpse that I managed to actually drop a couple rungs back down the ladder, grabbing the top rung with all of my strength as what had to be an immense amount of water crashed down onto the upper deck. The entire vessel shuddered, almost as if it was a human who had just been struck a mighty blow, and my ears immediately picked up that deep groaning sound, which at least informed me of the cause of what I had been hearing earlier. An instant after the wave crashed over the prow, the water trapped on the upper deck by the high sides of the trireme came rushing towards me, and I was drenched with icy water that reminded me of the plunge one takes in the frigidarium. Not surprisingly, I got a mouthful of seawater, causing me to gag a bit, but understanding that another towering wave would be coming shortly, I scrambled up and out onto the deck, whereupon I essentially crawled over to the ladder leading to the upper deck at the stern where I saw Vellocatus standing, with the man I had been told was the second in command of this vessel, his name Cador, both of them needing to cling to the steering oar. Timing it, I scrambled up the ladder, and it was only as I reached him that I heard from down below the rhythmic thumping from the man I had learned was called the Hortator, whose only job is to beat on a wooden drum with a cowhide cover stretched tightly over it that gives the oarsmen the rhythm of the speed they are supposed to stroke. There was another flash of lightning, although this time I heard the thunderclap whereas with the first one I have no memory of hearing it, while the flash gave me a glimpse of the three banks of oars on the right and closest side of the ship to where I was standing, the water streaming from the blades looking like trails of molten silver. What stuck in my mind was seeing that all three banks of oars were well out of the water, and in fact it looked as if the heaving sea was several feet below even the lowest bank, making me wonder how in Hades Vellocatus could keep this ship under control.

What are you doing up here, Centurion?

Even with all that was happening, I could not miss the demanding tone, and honestly, I realized it was a good question. What was I doing out here? I thought. If this Gaul had suddenly appeared on a battlefield, I would have posed the same question.

I…I just came to see if there’s anything I can do.

Even with all that was going on, with the howling wind and lashing spray, I could hear the lame tone of my voice, and even in the darkness, I saw the bitterly amused look the ship master gave me. I also noticed that he had a rope fastened around his waist, the other end of it lashed securely to the railing that only then did I realize actually served a purpose other than to give seasick Legionaries a place to lean on as we puked over the side.

Yes, he shouted, his attention returning to the front of his ship. You can get back…

He might have finished, but I certainly did not hear him because another wave came crushing downward to slam onto our ship. This one was obviously more powerful because it made the vessel slew so violently that, before I could react, my feet flew out from under me, and I went slamming into the deck yet again. I felt myself sliding, much as I had in the cabin below, except this time, I could see well enough to understand that the ship was tilted at such an angle that it was as if I was descending down a slope, except that what waited for me at the base was a black sea, flecked with white, and I was certain that I was doomed. I know how to swim; somewhat unusually, it was my mother Giulia who insisted that I learn, although now I understand that, knowing me better than anyone, she knew my destiny lay in a life under the standard, but I had absolutely no illusions that if I was ejected from the ship into the water, I was a dead man. The hand that clamped down on one arm reminded me of the kind of grip my father, my real father, Titus Porcinianus Pullus, was capable of exerting, and my progress towards my death was suddenly arrested.

Hold him, Cador! We don’t want to lose a Pilus Prior, especially this one! He’s a favorite of Germanicus!

As grateful as I was, Vellocatus’ mocking tone set my teeth on edge, and I am afraid that it was Cador, the second in command, who suffered as I reached out with my right hand and grabbed his own forearm. And, I confess, hearing his yelp of pain made me feel better in the moment, but fairly quickly, I was out of immediate danger, although Vellocatus’ tone reminded me of my father as well.

Pilus Prior, you need to get back below. If, he allowed, you want to help, go below and check on your men.

Honestly, the thought of making my way to what under the best of conditions is an extremely cramped space was unpalatable; I could not even imagine what it was like at this moment. It is true the rankers are given hammocks, but the amount of space and lack thereof, both to either side as well as above and below, since they are stacked together, is one of the bitterest complaints the men have, although the stench from the men at the benches all around them is a close second. There were two ways to get to the main compartment; actually, there were three, but the third one was at the opposite end of the deck near the bow, and there was no way I was going to use that. Consequently, I opted to essentially slither across the deck like some sort of serpent, back to the ladder, intending to drop down into the space between the cabin and the wooden partition that at least partly sealed off the noise and stench, where there was another door leading to the main compartment.

Despite fully expecting to slip or lose my grip on the ladder when the ship was struck by yet another wave, I somehow made it below on my feet, holding on to the ladder to remain upright. The first thing I noticed was that the water was now up above my ankles, sloshing about from the movement, and I wondered if, by opening the door, the water would go pouring into the main compartment. I mention this only as an example of my inexperience in thinking that somehow the main compartment would be dry, or at least drier. The inner door did open more easily because it was tucked under the edge of the deck and protected from the wind roaring through the hole, but I think it was less than three or four heartbeats before I was regretting my decision. My concern about water rushing in was groundless; if anything, it was the other way around, and only the Hortator, who was perched on a wooden platform just above the upper row of oarsmen, was even partially protected.

Naturally, there were no lamps lit, but there was a bit of light because the holes for the oars were not plugged, which they normally are at night when the oarsmen are allowed to rest and the ship is powered by sail. The problem was that along with the light, torrents of water were pouring through, and I sensed as much as saw my men moving on both sides of the raised walkway where the guards who are always present were all clinging to one of the vertical posts that support the upper deck above our heads. In fact, I was doing the same thing, but I was also trying to find either Saloninus or Columella, the Optio of the Second Century, whose brother had been the Optio of Fabricius’ Century until he lost an arm, and the man technically in command of the Second since I had not yet informed him of my decision to promote Saloninus. I heard Saloninus before I saw him, roughly in the middle of the ship.

"Bail, you cunni! Stop your fucking whining and praying to the gods, because they’re not listening! You heard Motius! If we don’t at least keep even with the water level we have now, we’re going to the fucking bottom."

Honestly, it was Saloninus’ words that made me recognize that the flurry of movement I was seeing was actually what I hastily counted to be about two dozen of my men using the leather buckets that were for that very purpose, working as quickly as they could. Even with the dark, however, it did not take me long to see that there were not enough buckets to keep up with the water that came pouring in, first on one side, then on the other, as the ship continued to roll.

The rest of you grab your helmets! I roared several times before the men began to obey, and as they responded, I risked moving further along the walkway.

Slaves they may have been, but I cannot fault the courage of any of the oarsmen as they struggled to maintain the drumbeat rhythm that, honestly, I could barely hear over the other noise. A cynical man would point out that of course these men were working so hard under terrible conditions; they were enslaved, and their fate was inextricably entwined with their masters’, but I do not believe it matters. I saw several of my men closely enough to recognize them, mostly because they turned their eyes to me, and perhaps it was my imagination in the gloom, but I was certain I saw the pleading expressions on their faces as they looked to their Pilus Prior to help them. I suppose that was what prompted me to drop down off the walkway, landing in water that was knee deep, which meant that the hammocks of the men on the lowest row were completely submerged at the moment.

Here, Pilus Prior. I turned to see that it was my Signifer Gemellus, thrusting a helmet at me, and I took it, then in one motion bent over and filled the helmet, holding on to the side of the walkway as I leaned as close to the nearest oar hole to throw the water out.

Soon enough, almost every man, at least those I could see in the cramped space, was busy, and we worked at a feverish pace, though I have no idea how long. At some point, I realized that the terrific noise had faded away, yet when I paused to try and determine if it meant the storm was slackening, it became apparent that, much like when we are in battle, the noise does not fade away; you just become accustomed to it. The ship would still shudder when a wave crashed down on us, and men would lose their footing and stagger, while even the slaves sitting on the benches would suddenly slide off. This was especially dangerous for the slaves on the lowest bank of oars because the water was up to their waists as they were seated, and I saw one man slip off his seat when the ship unexpectedly keeled over in the opposite direction than we were expecting. His comrade next to him did the natural thing, reacting immediately by letting go of the oar, except that it also put us in even more danger, because suddenly, that oar was dangling limply, and even with the wind, I heard a cracking sound when the men on the bench ahead of them swept their oars back to make the next stroke and their oars collided with it.

You ignorant dog!

This was shouted in Greek, but even before I could react, a figure dropped down from the walkway, making a splash as he struggled to the bench, where he grabbed the slave who was only trying to help his comrade by the hair, and yanking him savagely back down onto the bench.

If we do not keep the strokes even, we are going to founder, you stupid bastard!

He was grabbing the oar and shoving it into the man’s hands as he said this, but before he could reach down to help up the other man, whose head had at least broken the surface, the ship lurched in a sickening manner that was not part of the normal motion. The crewman would have joined the slave at the bottom of the ship, yet somehow, I managed to drop the helmet and grab the back of his soaked tunic. He glanced over his shoulder, and while I heard him say something, I could not make out the words, but I gave him a nod to assure him that I would not let go. His footing more secure, he reached down, and just as he had with the other man, grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled the man back up next to his companion.

With that done, he bellowed, again in Greek, If your mate loses his seat, he will have to fend for himself because you need to do your fucking job! Do you understand me?

It was not until some time later that the thought struck me that it was actually unlikely that these men did, at least not much of it; still, what mattered was that they obeyed when it happened again, this time on the opposite side of the ship. While this was taking place, now that the men were using their helmets to augment their comrades who were already working with the leather buckets, the level of water in the bottom of the ship began to drop. It was barely enough to notice at first, and it seemed as if as much time was spent by my men helping one of their comrades out of some difficulty caused by the plunging and rolling of the ship as they did the bailing. Nevertheless, somehow, it seemed as if one moment the water was over the knees of all of the men but me, then it was several inches below.

Centurion! I turned to see the crewman who had leapt down to save the two oarsmen, but he was now back on the walkway, holding on to one of the support beams with one hand. Seeing he had my attention, he shouted, in Latin, We are no longer in extreme danger from foundering. I thank you and your men!

My usual impulse when someone says something I consider to be superfluous, or perhaps a bit silly, is to be sarcastic, but this time, I stifled the retort about how neither my men nor I could have given a fart in a testudo about the crew; we were working to save ourselves.

What I did not realize was that he was giving me a hint, so when I did not move, he added, My suggestion is that you return to your cabin, Pilus Prior. We’re already crowded as it is, and, he did pause, then finished, you will just be in the way.

What he did not realize was that I was perfectly happy to leave, and I made my way back to the rear of the ship along the walkway, although I made sure to call out to those men I was close enough to that I could recognize them, offering them what encouragement I could. I had just left the compartment and was standing in the small open area, clinging to the ladder, when it happened. What happened, exactly, I would not know for a fair amount of time, but I do recall it began with the deck underneath my feet suddenly shifting again. However, I instantly understood that it was not in the manner to which I had grown, if not accustomed, at least accepted was part of the normal pitching and rolling in this storm. The best way I can explain it was that it was as if the ship suddenly pivoted and changed its orientation by a matter of ninety degrees, and because it was so unexpected, my feet flew out from under me so that I landed heavily on my back on the deck and I was now looking straight up at the ladder and hole. Somewhat ironically, my fall was cushioned by all the sloshing water so that I was not knocked senseless, at least at that moment. Then I heard a sharp, splintering sound that, while it was similar to the snapping I had heard earlier, was much, much louder, but I only had the barest sense of something appearing above the hole, moving so quickly that I am not certain how I understood that what was rushing at me was the mast of our ship. There was a horrific crashing sound, and I threw both my hands in front of my face…and that is the last thing I remember of that moment.

My next memory is of swaying, not in a violent manner, but more of a gentle rocking that I immediately remembered was the motion that came from lying in a hammock on a rolling sea.

I must have moved my head, because the next thing I recall was hearing Alex’s voice as he shouted, or at least it sounded like it, Thank the gods! Gnaeus! Gnaeus! Can you hear me?

Yes, I snapped; even as I did so, I knew how I sounded, but it felt like Alex had just plunged awls into both of my ears. You don’t have to yell.

I opened my eyes just in time for his face to thrust into my vision, close enough that I could see nothing else but his broad smile, which made me feel more ashamed for my outburst.

What happened? I asked him, and the grin vanished as if it had never been there.

The mast, he explained. Somehow we got turned sideways so that the waves were coming from the side, and the force of the water was so much that it snapped the mast.

I felt myself frowning because it did not seem to make sense, and I countered, If we turned sideways to the waves, how did we not capsize?

That, Alex answered immediately, is what everyone is asking. But, he used a hand to indicate what I realized now was the cabin, where I was in my hammock, as you can see, we didn’t.

Maybe we did, but we’re in Hades and Dis is just toying with us, I grumbled, though I did not really mean it.

Frankly, I was relieved; we were alive, and is there anything more important than that?

So, what does Vellocatus say? I asked. We can still move under oar power, can’t we?

I got a hint by the sudden change in Alex’s expression, although he clearly decided that honesty, however brutal, was the best approach.

Vellocatus is gone, he told me tersely. He was swept overboard.

This did not make sense to me and I exclaimed, But I saw him! He had a rope tied around his waist, and it was tied to the railing! There’s no way he would have been swept away like that.

I cannot say that Alex became evasive, yet there was something…vague about the way he answered.

Cador said that the rope snapped, and before he could do anything, Vellocatus was gone.

I was about to argue the point, but even with the sharp pain in my head, I also realized it made no real difference, at least in the moment.

So Cador is in command now? Alex nodded, and I asked, And when do we get to Ubiorum? Did we get blown off course?

Now my de facto cousin—at least this is how I think of him—looked everywhere but at me, which prompted me to reach up and grab him by the arm, not hard enough to make him wince, yet enough to make him aware I was serious.

What happened? What aren’t you telling me?

Nothing! he protested, but he obviously saw this would not be enough, and he amended, At least, not much. Cador is being…closemouthed about it. He took a breath, then said, All I can tell you is that I’m pretty certain he doesn’t know where we are.

Perhaps not surprisingly, that got me moving, but when I began by swinging my legs out of the hammock, I had to stop, gasping from the shock of pain in my head from the sudden motion. It might sound odd, but this was the first moment where I thought to reach up and touch my head, or I tried to, my fingers instead encountering a heavy bandage.

What happened to me? I demanded.

I didn’t see it happen, he replied. I just heard. And, his mouth turned down, when I felt the mast come down, I left the cabin. That’s when I found you.

I moved more carefully, and while standing erect on the deck made my head hurt, it was bearable, although I still took my time to collect myself. The first thing I noticed was how stable the wooden deck felt compared to how it was rolling and pitching during the storm.

Have you talked to Saloninus? I asked Alex. He nodded. How are the men? What’s the situation?

Nobody got pitched overboard or died, he replied, but we have six men who broke something. Before I could form a response, he reached over to the desk, picking up a wax tablet, opening it up to read from it. Two men have a broken arm; one left and one right, both from the First, Servilius Caepio of the Sixth Section, and Vibius Potitus of the Third Section. Laevinas of the Eighth Section broke his ankle. In the Second Century, Lucius Fidenus of the Second Section broke some ribs, Capito has a broken jaw.

"That’s going to make playing the cornu difficult," I commented, but when Alex did not seem to appreciate the humor, I misunderstood why, because it had nothing to do with my former Cornicen.

The last one is Atellus of the Tenth Section. His expression turned grave, but I understood why when he said, He broke his back and can’t feel anything below his waist.

I am certain I do not have to explain that this is essentially a death sentence, especially for a ranker in the Legions, because the chances are very small that they have the money to hire someone or buy a slave to attend to their needs. And in the case of Gaius Atellus, it was an even bitterer blow because he was one of the solid men of the Second Century; even in my relatively short time commanding the Second, I had seen enough of Atellus to know his quality and his value to the Century. As I had learned from my father, there are a core group of men in any given Century who are the bedrock for the rest of their comrades, the men those comrades come to when they are in need, and who they look to for guidance in hundreds of small ways. Now that I had heard Alex’s report, I realized I could not put it off any longer, so I walked, somewhat unsteadily, to the door. When I stepped into the space, I came to a stop, gaping up at the buckled decking running along the left side of the ship, but it was the jagged and splintered hole just a foot from the opening at the ladder that at least partially explained how I was knocked unconscious.

Obviously seeing where I was looking, Alex explained, When the mast fell over, the crosspiece broke free and crashed through the deck. A piece of it splintered off and hit you in the head. At least, he shrugged, that’s what I think happened.

Who found me? I asked, suspecting I knew the answer, and Alex confirmed it, answering simply, I did.

Realizing that it did not ultimately matter, I walked across the space and opened the door to the main compartment. I was unsure what to expect, but it was certainly not as frantic as it had been, and there was no longer the stench of fear sweat. Yet,