Julius held his hand up and squinted at it, then the barred door, over and over until the headache began to throb in his left temple. He let his hand fall and closed his eyes to its wasted condition after a month on rations that kept them from death but did little more. What he wouldn’t give for a cold oyster to slip down his throat! He knew it was stupid to torture himself, but his mind produced bright visions of the shells, as real as if they hung before him and as sharp as his sight had been before the fight on Accipiter.
He remembered nothing of that day. As far as his memory told the tale, he had gone from healthy and strong to broken and in pain in a moment, and for the first few days of consciousness he had been filled with rage at what had been taken from him. He had been blind in his left eye for long enough to believe he would never see again, and never be able to use a sword with any degree of skill.
Suetonius had told him that one-eyed men couldn’t be good fighters, and he had already found he was missing things as he reached for them, his hand swiping the air as he failed to judge the distance properly. At least that had come back with his sight, though the shimmering outlines he could see with his left infuriated him, making him want to rub the eye clear. His hand rose to do just that again in habit and he caught himself, knowing it would do no good.
The headache seemed to find another channel in his brain and worked its way into it until that spot throbbed in sympathy with the first. He hoped it would stay there and not go on. The thought of what had begun happening to him was a fear he had barely started to explore, but three times now the pain had swelled into flashing lights that consumed him and he had woken with his lips bitter from yellow bile, lying in his own filth with Gaditicus holding him down grimly. In the first fit, he had bitten his tongue badly enough that his mouth filled with blood and choked him, but now they had a strip of grimy cloth torn from his tunic to shove between his teeth as he convulsed, blind.
All the red-eyed, stinking soldiers raised their heads at the tread of steps on the narrow rungs from the deck above. Anything unusual was seized upon to break the endless boredom and even the two who were feverish tried to see, though one fell back, exhausted.
It was the captain, who seemed almost to glow with clean skin and health compared to the men of the Accipiter. He was tall enough to have to duck his head as he entered the cell, accompanied by another man who carried a sword and a dagger ready to repel a sudden attack.
If his head hadn’t been pulsing its sullen sickness, Julius might have laughed at the precaution. The Romans had lost their strength, unable to exercise. It still amazed him how fast the muscles became weak without use. Cabera had shown them how to keep themselves strong by pulling against each other, but it didn’t seem to make much difference.
The captain breathed shallowly, his eyes taking in the full slop bucket. His face was tanned and creased from years of squinting against the glare of the sea. Even his clothes carried a fresh smell in with him and Julius ached to be out in the air and the open spaces, so powerfully that his heart hammered with the need.
‘We have reached a safe port. In six months, perhaps you will be put down some lonely night, free and paid for.’ The captain paused to enjoy the effect of his words. Just the mention of an ending to their imprisonment had every man’s gaze fastened to him.
‘The amounts to ask for, now that is a delicate problem,’ he continued, his voice as pleasant as if he addressed a group of men he knew well instead of soldiers who would tear him apart with their teeth if they had the strength.
‘It must not be so much that your loved ones cannot pay. We have no use for those. Yet somehow I don’t believe you will be truthful if I ask you to tell me how much your families will bear for you. Do you understand?’
‘We understand you well enough,’ Gaditicus said.
‘It is best if we reach a compromise, I think. You will each tell me your name, rank and wealth and I will decide you are lying and add whatever I think would be right. It is like a game, perhaps.’
No one answered him, but silent vows were made to their gods and the hatred was clear enough in their expressions.
‘Good. Let us start then.’ He pointed to Suetonius, his gaze drawn as the young man scratched at the lice that left red sores on all their bodies.
‘Suetonius Prandus. I am a watch officer, the lowest rank. My family have nothing to sell,’ Suetonius replied, his voice thick and hoarse with lack of use.
The captain squinted at him, weighing him up. Like the others there was nothing to inspire dreams of wealth in his thin frame. Julius realised the captain was simply enjoying himself at their expense. Taking pleasure from having the arrogant officers of Rome reduced to bargaining with an enemy. Yet what choice did they have? If the pirate demanded too much and their families could not borrow the money or, worse, refused to, then a quick death would follow. It was hard not to play the game.
‘I think, for the lowest rank, I will ask for two talents – five hundred in gold.’
Suetonius spluttered, though Julius knew his family could pay that easily, or ten times that amount.
‘Gods, man. They do not have the money!’ Suetonius said, his unkempt body lending the feel of truth to the words.
The captain shrugged. ‘Pray to those gods that they can raise it or over the side you go with a bit of chain to hold you down.’
Suetonius sank back in apparent despair, though Julius knew he would consider himself to have outwitted the pirate.
‘You, Centurion? Are you from a rich family?’ the captain asked.
Gaditicus glared at him before speaking. ‘I am not, but nothing I say will make any difference to you,’ he growled before looking away.
The captain frowned in thought. ‘I think … yes, for a centurion, a captain no less, like myself … it would be an insult if I asked less than twenty talents. That would be about five thousand in gold, I think. Yes.’
Gaditicus ignored him, though he seemed to sag slightly in despair.
‘What is your name?’ the captain asked Julius.
He too considered ignoring the man, but then his headache throbbed and a spike of anger rose in him.
‘My name is Julius Caesar. I command a twenty. I am also the head of a wealthy house.’
The captain’s eyebrows rose and the others muttered amongst themselves in disbelief. Julius exchanged a glance with Gaditicus, who shook his head in a clear message.
‘Head of a house! I am honoured to meet you,’ the captain said with a sneer. ‘Perhaps twenty talents would be right for you as well.’
‘Fifty,’ Julius said, straightening his back as he spoke.
The captain blinked, his easy manner vanishing.
‘That is twelve thousand pieces of gold,’ he said, awed out of complacency.
‘Make it fifty,’ Julius replied firmly. ‘When I have found you and killed you, I will need funds. I am far from home, after all.’ Despite the pain in his head, he mustered a savage grin.
The captain recovered quickly from his surprise. ‘You are the one that had his head broken. You must have left your wits on my decks. I will ask for fifty, but if it does not come, the sea is deep enough to hold you.’
‘It is not wide enough to hide you from me, whoreson,’ Julius replied. ‘I will nail your men to a line of crosses all along the coast. Your officers I may have strangled out of mercy. You have my word on it.’
The soldiers erupted into a shout of cheers and laughter at the captain, who paled with anger. For a moment, it looked as if he would step further into the cell to strike Julius, but he mastered himself and looked around scornfully at the