Cenchreae, Corinthia
Five days after the ship had sailed from Myra, Macarius pointed out the port of Cenchreae at what Jurian could only describe as an elbow of land in the middle of the Aegean Sea. The Greek mainland swept up in low ridges to their right, while to the left he could see the jagged coast of the Peloponnese drifting away south. Right at the juncture of the two lay the port, gleaming in white stone and azure blue sea. After days of rough seas and rain, Jurian couldn’t imagine a more pleasant sight.
“How far out are we?” Jurian asked, shielding his eyes.
“An hour,” Macarius said. “Less if this wind holds up.”
Mari climbed up onto the deck to stand beside them, winning a broad smile from Macarius.
“I’ll miss having you all on board my ship,” he said. “That giant does wonders as ballast.”
Mari laughed. “I wish you were going to Rome.”
“Eh,” Macarius said, shaking his head. “I’ve been to Rome. Too crowded for my taste. Once you get the open sea in your blood, nothing else will do.”
“Is it dirty?”
“Fairly clean, as cities go,” he told her. “Just be careful. The Romans’ so-called tolerance doesn’t extend to everyone any more. You might think the way you act is normal, but it’s not.”
“I’m not going to change how I act,” she said.
“No one’s asking you to,” Jurian said, straightening up from the rail to look at her. “But changing how you’re acting and not acting at all are two different things.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Jurian met Macarius’s gaze and shook his head. Mari could be astonishingly stubborn at times, but it was a naive stubbornness. She didn’t understand how the world worked. Part of him wished he could let her stay in that innocence.
Macarius clapped Jurian on the shoulder and left them to direct his crew, who were pulling out the slender oars to guide the ship into the harbor. Soon they eased the vessel up along the quay and cast the mooring lines, securing them in place. Jurian and Mari stayed where they were, out of the way in the ship’s stern, watching the controlled chaos of the crew and dock workers swarming the ship’s hold. Menas emerged from the cabin and joined them on the deck.
“Well, you both look ridiculously healthy,” he grumbled, casting an appraising eye over them.
Menas seemed a bit worse for wear, Jurian thought. Even after he’d gotten used to the ship’s motion, he hadn’t eaten much. His skin had a rather dull pallor and he looked a bit unsteady as he reached for the ship’s rail.
“When can we get off this scrap?” he asked.
“Soon as those men get the cargo down the ramp,” Jurian said. “I’d rather not get in their way.”
Menas nodded. “I left our things below.”
“I’ll get them,” Jurian said. “You never did get your sea legs, did you?”
He retrieved their belongings from the cabin and, on his way back, found Macarius sitting on a wooden barrel in the ship’s hold, staring at the cargo in utter disbelief.
“Everything all right, Macarius?” he asked.
Macarius just shook his head, mouth agape. “I don’t believe it. That rascal!” Jurian gave him an encouraging gesture to explain. “Nikolaos said the merchants wouldn’t object to our bringing in ten fewer amphorae of oil. Well, the official mensor just finished measuring the weight of the oil we brought.”
“And?”
“Ten fewer amphorae. Full weight of oil. How does that even happen?”
“Maybe you miscounted?”
“I don’t miscount!” Macarius cried, but he laughed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Nikolaos is truly a marvel. I don’t know how he does it.” He shook his head again and got to his feet, directing Jurian toward the ramp. “See there on the far side of the docks? There are some wagons that carry cargo from Cenchreae to Lechaeum along the track of the old diolkos. It’s not more than an hour’s ride across the isthmus. You could barter a ride with one of the drivers, or I suppose you could walk.”
“I’ll see what Mari wants to do. We walked halfway across Anatolia, anyway. Another few miles won’t bother us.”
Macarius regarded him curiously. “What sent you walking that far in the middle of winter?”
“We had enemies in Satala,” Jurian said after a moment. “And one of them swore to make it his life’s mission to hunt us down. We cut across the mountains to Myra to avoid his pursuit, after we saw them on the road to Ancyra. I just hope they lost our scent there.”
“Sounds like a nightmare.”
“Sometimes I wonder how we survived,” Jurian said. “By rights those mountains should have buried us.”
“And this person who’s chasing you? What’s he on about?”
Jurian shrugged. “He hates my family. More than anything he hates me. And I think he sees me as his stepping stone to a brilliant career in the Legion…and his father’s favor.”
“Do you think he’ll follow you to Rome?”
“I hope not. Like I said, I hope we lost him in Anatolia. But he’s got big ambitions. And he doesn’t let go.”
Macarius put a hand on his shoulder, more serious than Jurian had ever seen him. “This man…he was with the Legion?”
“His father was.”
“Jurian, listen. Rumor flies fast in the Legion. I don’t know how, but I swear those birds they use for their auguries carry news from one Legion to another. Your little group is painfully noticeable, and if this man has been talking about his quarry, you’re marked targets already. A giant, a strikingly beautiful young woman, and a young man with hair like fire? Just keep your eyes open, and steer clear of the Legion for now.”
Jurian’s hand tightened. “My whole purpose is to join the Legion,” he said. “What else do I have?”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t try. Just be aware what you’re up against. All right?”
“Thanks,” Jurian said, and he meant it, even if he knew he sounded brusque.
“Now get your crew out of here. Looks like my men are mostly done. Godspeed, Jurian.”
Jurian nodded his thank and turned away, joining Mari and Menas down on the strangely stable dock. As they made their way through the crowd, Jurian told them what Macarius had said about crossing the isthmus.
“We should walk,” Mari said. “We’ve been cooped up on the ship for five days. Besides, it will save us a bit of money.”
Apparently without noticing, she opened the bag Nikolaos had given her and dropped a few coins in the palm of a beggar sitting by the roadside. Menas and Jurian exchanged a glance and Jurian couldn’t resist a smile.
Leave it to Mari to try to save money while spending it.
They stopped at the dockside market to get some food—anything besides fish, they all agreed. As they waited for their food, Jurian watched a few sailors of the Roman navy standing nearby, drinking the cheap posca that sailors and soldiers alike consumed in vast quantities—a nasty, bitter concoction that Jurian was by now heartily sick of.
“I heard it was a dragon,” one of the men said. “Can you believe that? A dragon. A real one.”
“I was there a few weeks ago,” another said. “We’d just taken some Legionaries to Apollonia. The Cyreneans were about to send some poor child to her death, thinking it would keep the beast quiet.”
“Not a beast,” said a tall, narrow sailor with silver in his hair. “Their god. Only human blood will do for him, it’s said.”
One of the sailors turned his head, brushing his thumb discreetly over his forehead. But not discreetly enough.
“Gods, Tertius, be careful with that. You looked just like one of those Nazarenes when you did that.”
Jurian stiffened and stepped closer to Mari. She met his gaze anxiously, pale with alarm. Tertius said nothing but kept his head turned aside, while the other sailors stared at him aghast.
“You’re kidding us, aren’t you?” asked the first sailor.
“Tertius didn’t sacrifice to Mercury before we sailed.”
“You’re not one of those traitors are you? You put our whole voyage at risk!”
“I did nothing of the kind,” Tertius said, quietly.
“We barely survived that squall. Were you trying to kill us?”
“Is that what your God commanded? Kill the nonbelievers?”
“Look at him, he’s got guilt written all over his face.”
“Where’s your God now, Tertius?” one of them taunted. “What does He tell you to do about this?”
He swung his fist and struck the sailor on the jaw, sending him spinning to the earth. The man didn’t have a chance to recover before one of the other sailors kicked him, violently, in the back and another drove his foot up under his ribs. The older sailor dragged him halfway off the ground to punch him again. Tertius groaned and twisted, blood pouring from his mouth.
“Fight back,” Jurian hissed under his breath, his hands clenching in fists. “What’s wrong with you? Fight them!”
He doesn’t even have a chance. Not with nine of them all attacking him at the same time.
No one in the market moved. Some watched the scuffle through lidded eyes, through sidelong and hidden stares, but no one stepped forward to intervene. Finally Jurian ground his teeth and started for the knot of sailors, but a hand on his tunic brought him up short.
“Don’t be a fool,” Menas hissed in his ear. “They’ll do to you what they’re doing to him.”
“Two against nine has got to be better than one.” Jurian’s hand found the hilt of his seax. “And I’m not helpless.”
Menas planted a hand on his chest and held up a warning finger, then strode over to the attackers himself and lifted two of them clear off the ground by the backs of their cloaks.
“Back away,” he growled at the others.
The sailors he held snatched at the collars of their tunics, faces red. The others froze and stared up at him, mouths open in disbelief, but Tertius lay still in the dirt.
The older sailor measured Menas, eyes narrowed with suspicion or calculation. Finally he jerked his head in a nod, ushering the others back with him. After they’d retreated a few steps they turned and stalked away, and Menas sent the last two sailors sprawling in the dirt. They scrambled to their feet, choking and coughing, and stumbled after the rest of their group.
Mari moved before Jurian could stop her, darting to Tertius’ side and kneeling down beside him. She clasped his shoulder with one hand, laying the other on his blood-spattered cheek. After a moment she pulled away, white-faced and shaking.
“He’s dead,” she whispered, and signed her forehead.
“Mari!” Jurian hissed, glancing around anxiously, but to his relief no one seemed to be watching. “Come away now. Leave him. The port guards will see to him.”
“They killed him! They killed him for making the signum. Why would they do that?”
“They mock those poor Cyreneans for their barbarous rites and then they do this,” Menas said. “They’re not so different.”
Jurian hurried back to the market stall and scooped up the food the merchant had prepared for them, paying more than they owed in the hope that the man would forget their interference.
“Menas,” he said as he came back, and nodded at Mari. “We need to go. Now.”
Menas nodded and helped Mari to her feet, guiding her gently but relentlessly toward the track of the old diolkos. To Jurian’s relief, no one stopped them to question them, and no one followed them, but he didn’t slow his determined pace until they’d left the port far behind.
They reached Lechaeum by early afternoon, though a blanket of storm clouds had rolled in to darken the sky to a twilight brightness. A chill wind had been chasing them down the paved track the whole way from Cenchreae, as if the low mountains on either side of them had funneled all the wind into the valley, and by the time they stepped out onto the walled Lechaion road near Corinth, Jurian’s hands and toes were completely numb and his eyes stung from windburn. Menas grumbled about the dangerous seas between Lechaeum and Portus, but Jurian ignored him. The giant had been in a dark mood ever since they’d docked at Cenchreae.
They bypassed the city of Corinth and walked another hour down the marble road, marveling at the arcades with their shops and the brand new, massive complex of Roman baths. People pressed all around them and stray dogs wove expertly between the legs of the pedestrians, hunting for scraps of food near the market stands. The air hung thick with smells. Some were pleasant—spices and incense, roasting food, the smoke of coal fires. Others were less so, with so many unwashed travelers crowding the road stinking of sweat and brine.
“Saints, there are so many people,” Mari muttered, dodging neatly around a man who was either drunk or too long a sailor for dry land.
Menas laughed mirthlessly. “You think this is crowded? Wait until you see Rome.”
Jurian caught Mari’s anxious look and smiled. When she turned back around, he fixed a glare on Menas. “You could try to help me keep her spirits up. Scaring the wits out of her isn’t going to make anything better.”
Menas grumbled and folded his arms, but he didn’t say anything else. With an exasperated sigh, Jurian gave up and led the way, keeping Mari close beside him. Eventually the marble road opened to meet the great port of Lechaeum. Jurian’s stomach knotted as he caught his first glimpse of the span of Roman triremes at dock, more than they had seen in either Myra or Cenchreae. But he spotted only one or two navy sailors in the sea of dock workers and merchant crews.
“Orosius,” Jurian said. “That’s who Nikolaos told us to find. Aulus…something…Orosius.”
“Lollius,” Mari said promptly. “Aulus Lollius Orosius.”
“Thanks,” Jurian muttered.
“Did you say Orosius?” someone asked just behind them.
Jurian turned and found a dock worker standing there, his arms laden with cargo.
“That’s right. Do you know him?”
“That’s him over there,” the man said, nodding at a weathered ship a little further down the dock. “Blue tunic. Curly hair. Do you see?”
“I see him,” Jurian said. “Thanks.”
The man nodded and hurried away, and Jurian led the others toward the pilot. He was a little broader than his height warranted, and he watched them approaching with a closed expression in his dark eyes that verged on suspicion.
“You’re Orosius?” Jurian asked.
“That’s me,” he said. “How do you know my name?”
Jurian hesitated, trying to recall Nikolaos’ instructions.
Before he could remember, Mari smiled cheerfully and said, “We’re looking for a fisherman.”
One of the man’s thick eyebrows crept upwards. “Oh?”
“We were told you could help us,” Jurian said.
“Nikolaos, eh?” Orosius said with a faint grin. “So I might be able to help you. Depends on what you need.”
“Passage to Portus. Soon, if possible.”
“How does that rascal know?” Orosius muttered. “Every single time, he knows just where I’m going to be and where I’m headed. Very well. I’m loading up the cargo as we speak. Should be set to sail in a few more hours.”
“We can pay for our passage,” Jurian said. He jerked his head at Menas. “I know he’s a bit heavy.”
“The River Walker, aren’t you? Heard about you.”
Menas colored at that, but he only scowled and nodded.
“I’ll have to leave some cargo. Pay me for its value, and we’ve got a deal.”
Menas went with him to calculate the cost of the merchandise Orosius would lose, leaving Jurian and Mari on the dock, watching the workers drag stores of spice and olives into the ship’s massive hold. Jurian muttered a prayer of thanksgiving for the lack of fish, and Mari laughed under her breath.
“One more voyage, and then we’ll be in Rome,” Jurian said. “I’m not sure what to think about that.”
Mari hesitated, shifting the strap of the bag she had slung over her back. “What’s going to happen to me there, Jurian? Are you going to leave me when you go to join the Legion?”
“That’s a long way off,” Jurian said. “We’ll find our relatives and see what they can do for us.” He put his arm around her shoulders, trying to give her comfort when he only felt uncertainty. “Don’t worry. Just take it a step at a time. And listen, Mari. You are always most important to me, all right? More than the Legion, more than anything. I’ll take care of you. Always.”
She gave him her best smile and nodded. “Will you help me find the bones of the rock?”
Jurian let out his breath, because he hadn’t even considered asking Nikolaos about those enigmatic words.
“We’ll find them, whatever they are,” he said. “Someone in Rome must be able to help.”
Menas returned to usher them on board the ship, and no sooner had they settled their gear in the cabin’s narrow berths than Jurian heard Orosius shouting to his men. The boat rocked beneath them. Menas groused and rolled himself up in his cloak, waving Jurian away when he poked his head into the giant’s berth to check on him.
“Wake me up when we get to Portus,” he muttered. “If I’m still alive.”
“Menas, I need to talk to you,” Jurian said, ignoring his request and slipping into the berth. “I’m worried about Mari.”
That got Menas’ attention. The giant rolled over, but he couldn’t sit up without banging his head, so he just tucked a massive arm behind his neck and frowned up at Jurian.
“What’s wrong with her? She seems healthy and fine.”
“She’s fine, of course,” Jurian said, exasperated. “It’s not that. But what happened in Cenchreae…”
“Tending to a wounded man?”
Jurian rubbed his forehead. “You know that’s not what I mean. A man got killed for making the signum, and what did she do? The exact same thing, right in the middle of the market where everyone could see. You’ve got to talk to her. She won’t listen to me, I know, but she might listen to you.”
“What do you want me to tell her?” Menas asked, his voice dropping impossibly low.
“She just doesn’t think. She doesn’t seem to realize the danger she’s putting herself—all of us—in.”
Menas eyed him steadily. “Should she hide her faith out of fear? Is that what we’ve come to?”
Jurian groaned and leaned his head against the wall. “Just promise me that when we get to Rome you’ll keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t attract too much attention.”
Menas shifted onto his back and closed his eyes. “Right,” he rumbled. “When we get to Rome.”