I drifted for three days. Birds flew alongside, mocking my imprisonment in the infinite space of the ocean. The sun bore down mercilessly, and my thirst became unbearable. I began to hallucinate, imagining ships where there were none, and seeing old friends, long dead, emerge from the darkness at night as I drifted through broken and troubled sleep. Mattias came to me often during those terrible days; he was worn and haggard, his smile gone from his face. I reached out to him, but always he drew back. Crispus called to me from the lines of the Fighting Fifth, alone, surrounded by enemies. I tried to help, but I could never reach him. At dawn on the fourth day, I was ready to give in; the water beckoned to me and voices called from its depths.

Marcus.

I was delirious, now, my skin roasted by the sun, wracked by fever, driven mad by thirst

and hunger.

            Marcus. It was Caelia, her face translucent, her black hair spread out in a fan behind her as she hung in the water, arms spread wide. Her lips moved, forming my name, and her eyes sparkled with the pure green of twin emeralds.

The sea sang to me again from its slate-grey caverns. I was ready. I had made my peace with my gods and with my ancestors. I had given my all in the war, fought with honour, and had tried one last desperate gamble to escape New Carthage and bring news to Rome of how the citadel could be breached. I had rolled the dice, but the gods tossed them back at me. They made their decision; so be it. I closed my eyes, spread my arms, and allowed myself to be carried from the wreckage into the water.

I drew in a breath, feeling a warm and salty embrace. I gagged, and then the water slid easily into my lungs. My eyes were closed, and images of my life danced across my narrowing field of vision. My sister, Cottia, playing with me when we were children—hide and seek, in the garden of our home in Arretium. My father, a prosperous merchant before becoming a soldier, working at his ledgers, looking up at me, smiling, and calling me over to be held in his strong arms. My mother, Tiberia, comforting me after I was stung by a bee while tending to our garden, at other times, baking small honey-loaves with bay leaves, the scent reaching us as we worked in the fields. The love of my family. Of my fallen brothers. Of Caelia.

It’s alright, Marcus. We forgive you, whispered Mattias and Caelia from across the void.

I was brusquely yanked from the enveloping darkness. Suddenly I was out of the water.

            ‘Lads, I think we have a live one’, a voice said, from the other side of the world. Water streamed from my mouth and nose. I drew in a breath, gagged, coughed, and vomited the contents of my stomach. My lungs drained and I found myself staring at highly polished wooden planking.

            ‘Quickly, corporal, sit him up’. Another voice. I was dragged upright and spat more water out. I gasped for breath. A hand slapped me hard across my cheeks. A face swam into my field of vision. A face wearing a helmet, surmounted by a crest.

            ‘Are you alright, man? Can you hear me?’

            I managed a weak gurgle, more water escaping my mouth and noise. I leaned over and vomited once more.

            ‘Water’, I croaked. ‘Water.’

            ‘Yes, man, we fished you from the water, we—’

            I pushed at the vision in front of me, reaching for the flask at his belt. ‘Water’, I managed again.

            ‘Bring this man some water! Now!’ came the barked order. In a brief moment footsteps rushed to my side, and a cool flask was held to my lips. I upended it greedily, fighting the man who gave me this precious nectar. I wanted it all, now, at once.

            ‘Slowly, slowly. He’s probably been in there a while. Don’t give him too much.’ The hand holding the flask pulled away. I grabbed for it, but my weak attempt was easily knocked back.

            ‘Take him below. Dress his wounds and have someone stay with him and make sure he doesn’t go any further into shock.’

            I was picked up; the voices faded. Through eyes blurred with salt water I saw the sunlight fade, replaced by a growing darkness and the motion of being moved down a stairway. I was lain on the wooden floor, my head propped up by a rolled blanket. More water was pressed to my lips; I felt hands working on my burned skin on my arms and legs. The pain was incredible as I was carefully cleaned, and my limbs salved with cream and then wrapped in bandages. At some point, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

            ‘Welcome back’, said the voice above me. I was sitting against what appeared to be the bulkhead of a vessel. An officer’s crest loomed over me. Automatically I tried to stagger to my feet.

            ‘Easy, son’, said the man, easing me back down with a huge and calloused hand. ‘I am Aulus, commander of the Roman warship Dolphin. You are safe, now.’

            ‘Thank you, sir’, I croaked. ‘What happened?’

            ‘We found a field of wreckage drifting in the sea, east of the Balaeric Islands. In the midst of it we discovered a number of bodies, none living. Then, a day later, we found you, flailing about in the water like one of Pulcher’s chickens.’   

‘Were there any other survivors, sir?’ I asked.

            ‘No, son. Just you. Everyone else was dead. You must surely have Neptune watching over you. He wouldn’t even allow you to drown.’ He squatted down. ‘What is your name, son?’

            I hesitated, and then told him. ‘Marcus Tiberius, Varus, sir. I was—I am, a legionnaire with the Second legion in Spain, the Glorious Second, under Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio, rest his soul.’

            ‘And how did you come to be out in the middle of the ocean, Marcus Tiberius Varus from the Glorious Second?’

            I swallowed. ‘I was on my way to Rome. I carried a message—or at least, I thought I did—to the Senate, from Hasdrubal, son of Gisgo, the commander at New Carthage.’ Aulus’ eyebrows went up sharply.

            ‘Whatever for?’ he demanded.

‘Sir, it’s a long story. I was taken captive after the battle in which our commander was martyred. I was knocked out on the battlefield and woke up in New—’

‘Spare me all the bloody details, and get to it’, Aulus snapped, bristling with hostility.

‘Sir, I know how to take New Carthage. I saw the way in. It’s impregnable, but there is a

way. Hasdrubal wanted someone to take his propaganda message to the Senate, to convince them that even our own soldiers saw the futility of continued combat. But—’

‘Corporal!’ came the barked order.

‘Sir, wait, please. It’s not what you think. I fooled Hasdrubal into thinking I believed him. I deceived him. My sergeant, sir, he taught us in our training about Carthaginian deception, and that we should expect it. I tried to turn the tables when I had the chance. I saw a way off the rock, a way to get my intelligence on the fortress to Rome, for action. But Hasdrubal discovered my ruse, and ordered me executed at sea. We were attacked by four Roman triremes, and our vessel sunk. I ended up in the water.’

Aulus looked at me coldly, but I could see that he was listening.

‘Sir’, I implored him, ‘there are prisoners there. Roman prisoners. Men who fought with valour against incredible odds. There are Spaniards, too, held hostage by the barbarians. Do what you will with me, but please pass my information on to your commanding officer or the land commander in Spain.’

‘The land commander in Spain?’ he snorted. ‘Have you not heard? I supposed you haven’t, given your secret mission.’ He rolled these last two words around in his mouth, before spitting them out.

‘There is no land commander in Spain. After the death of the Scipios, the survivors were scattered to the wind. They rallied for a time under a junior officer named Marcius. Later, a former consul, Claudius Nero, I think it was, went out to organise them, but even he gave up and declared the Spanish war unwinnable. Nobody will touch the Spanish command.’

Aulus sighed, and seemed to soften slightly. ‘Now, as for you, I am not quite sure what I will do. I am not convinced that you are who you say you are, nor I am entirely satisfied that you are telling the truth. On the other hand, if what you say is true, then I don’t want to be responsible for throwing your worthless body back in the water and denying we ever met before you’ve talked to someone higher up the food chain.’ He sighed once more, and rubbed the top of his head.

‘No matter. In a few days we will be putting into Massilia to restock our supplies and take on a new detachment of marines. At that point, I will hand you over to the post commander and you’ll become someone’s else’s problem. Until then, you will remain confined here under guard. Do you understand?’

‘Yes sir’, I said, forlornly. In less time than it took to saddle a horse, my rescue had become just one more prison.

After a day, Aulus relented somewhat and allowed me to take some air on deck. I was restricted to the quarterdeck, and always with a marine corporal to watch over me. I was on board a giant vessel—a quinquereme, with five banks of oars. A great stylised dolphin crested its prow, and a tall mast sprouted from its centre, a striped sail bowed taut under the fresh breeze, blowing us to the northeast. All around us was open sea, without another ship or any land in sight.

We remained under sail, and I kept myself to myself. The marines gave me a wide berth, and few of the crew talked to me. My wounds were checked daily, with new bandages applied, and slowly, with the help of some good food and plenty of clean water, and a little wine, I began to regain my strength. Two days later, the sail was dropped, and the crew took to the oars. I was spared this duty, and Aulus permitted me to stay on deck as we made our approach to Massilia.

The city was an ancient Greek colony, and a long-time Roman ally. A smudge on the horizon, it grew as we passed the pickets keeping watch around the harbour. A small boat came out to land a pilot on board to guide us to our berth.

‘Come to port, sir, if you please’, the pilot said, and Aulus gave the command. Several other changes in our course followed as we entered the channel leading into the port.

‘Up ahead, sir, take care for a strong current, running to starboard, and mind that outcrop fine off the port bow.’

Aulus grunted an acknowledgment, and turned and spoke to the helmsman. A pleasant breeze carrying the tang of a working harbour drifted over us as we inched closer.

‘Here, sir’, the pilot indicated. ‘Back oars.’

‘Back oars!’ Aulus barked, and the men of the Dolphin slowed the vessel to a crawl.

‘Starboard watch! Ship oars!’ he ordered a few hundred yards later.

‘Helmsman, rudder to port’, he finished, and we glided ever so gently against a wooden jetty, with the number seven painted on it in large red lettering.

‘Port watch! Ship oars! Thank you, pilot’, Aulus said, shaking the man’s hand and giving him a couple of bronze coins. Our vessel was made fast by the shore crew and as lines were tied on to cleats I looked about. By Neptune, what a sight! At least twelve of the massive quinqueremes lay berthed in the harbour, along with numerous troop transports and over twenty fast triremes and biremes. Everywhere there was the bustle of men hurrying to and fro, loading and unloading ships, marines joining or leaving vessels, and piles of goods of every kind being marshalled by quartermasters.

‘You will remain here until I have consulted with my superiors’, Aulus said to me, the hardness gone from his voice. ‘Corporal Felix will be responsible for you.’

‘Yes sir’, I said. And I went below, to wait.

At about this time, the dreams began. I would wake in the night, drenched in sweat, feeling an immense pressure in my chest. The creaking walls of the Dolphin closed in on me, while in my fevered nightmares I found myself alone, in the shield wall of my maniple, a horde of elephants and faceless Libyans advancing methodically towards me in total silence. I opened my mouth to call my comrades for help, but no sound came out; looking around me, I saw only the faces of the dead, red handprints on their armour weeping gore. Aelius, his eyes missing, blankly awaited orders. Stertorius, his arm raised, javelin held high, screamed noiselessly, his face a red and gaping hole. I always looked for Mattias, my anchor and my brother through so much, but he was nowhere to be seen. Caelia, who had spoken to me from the depths of the sea, had vanished, and nor could I see Crispus, a smart squid in his polished armour. Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio was there, however, his head separated from his body and held by his hands, resting to his front. A warped grin gazed up at me, the lips moving. As I tried to move towards my commander to hear what he had to say, I remained rooted to the ground. The smell of elephants oppressed me, and now the hammering of a thousand Libyan booted warriors on the march, their breathing, the rattle and dull jingle of their armour, overwhelmed me.

            A hand shook my shoulder.

‘Marcus’, Felix spoke to me in a comforting voice. ‘It’s alright. You’re on the Dolphin.’

             His face appeared to me out of the half-light of the third watch, lanterns providing the briefest of illumination while sentries moved restlessly at their guard posts.

            ‘Drink this’, he said, passing me a flask of wine. I took a draught.

            ‘Thanks, comrade’, I said. I was drenched in sweat and my woolen tunic stuck damply to my clammy body. I could smell my own grime.

            ‘We’ve all had the dreams’, he said sympathetically. ‘They get easier, with time.’

‘I hope so’, I said.

‘For me,’ Felix went on, squatting on his haunches, ‘it’s the ship going down—the first vessel I was on. It was lost in a vicious storm near the Spanish coast. The Wavecruncher, she was, a horrible flat-bottomed transport. I only survived by ditching my armour and weapons, but I was sucked down as she went. I heard the boat collapsing in on itself underwater, there was a rush of air, and there I was, bobbing at the surface with a few others.’ He shook his head. ‘Neptune was watching over me that night, I tell you, but I still dream of it.’

            ‘For me it’s the battle where I was wounded’, I replied. ‘I keep seeing the elephants, always the damned elephants. By the gods, they were terrifying. And I see the dead, but they are alive, only they are mangled and can’t speak… it’s.. it’s just awful.’ I took some more wine.

            ‘Try to get some sleep, friend. There’s a few hours left until daylight. And in the meantime, you’re safe here. Massilia is a fortress, and our men are everywhere.’

            I passed the flask back to Felix, lying back down in my lonely corner of the deck, and eventually drifted back to sleep.

Two weeks of this uneasy routine passed by. During the day I was allowed on deck and given basic duties to keep the ship in good condition—I scrubbed the wooden planking, cleaned the below decks area, and assisted the cook in preparing food for those of us who remained on board. In truth I was grateful for the work as it kept me from dwelling on the nightmares and from worrying about what the base commander might do with me.

            Always, I was amazed by the show of might on display at Massilia. Ships came and went at all hours—huge quinqueremes like the Dolphin, fast attack boats, transports, and all manner of other vessels. It was proof of our strength, and after the horror of our defeat in Spain seeing it filled me with hope. Across from us on the east side of the harbour lay the dockyard, and I watched during the days as new vessels were built from the keel upwards: each day more lumber arrived on horse-drawn carts to be manhandled into warehouses by legionnaires, stripped to the waist for work under the broiling Gallic sun. One afternoon, my duties completed for the day, I was sunning myself on the quarterdeck when a commotion on the docks caused me to sit up straight. One of the dock workers leaned over the railing of our berth and shouted something to one of the guards, and the news was among us.

            ‘Capua has fallen! The rebels have been beaten!’

My heart leapt. Seeing corporal Felix nearby, I hugged him, exclaiming ‘Capua! Capua! Those shitheads finally got what they deserved!’

Capua, the city that Hannibal and Philip had planned to lord over Rome was ours once again! Of course, before long, there were all kinds of tall tales being thrown around.

‘Lads’, Felix said, ‘Hannibal has been captured! He’s in prison in Rome!’ He hammered one fist into a nearby table.

‘Bollocks!’ said one of the marines. ‘When Capua was swallowed into the earth, he was there, and went with it!’

‘A load of shit!’ came another voice, drunk with happiness. ‘Carthage, not Capua, has fallen! King Philip has chosen Rome! The war is over!’

Of course, none of these stories were true. Several days after all this started an official messenger from Rome turned up at Massilia, and ships’ officers attended a conference with the base commander to hear the news. Afterwards Aulus summoned his crew to the quarterdeck and gave us the proper version.

‘Capua has been taken’, he said, ‘but the city, with all of its beautiful buildings, its fields, its settlements… all of it is ours.’

‘What about the people, sir?’ came a question from a marine,

‘Gone’, Aulus said simply. ‘Emptied of its people, driven into exile.’

‘Bastards got what they deserved, then’, the marine said, and we cheered.

‘There is one other story, men’, Aulus said. ‘I know not whether it is true, but it’s too good not to share with you all’ He grinned. ‘Hannibal, it seems, tried to save Capua by marching on Rome. He wanted our forces to leave Capua and come to him. I’m told that he stopped on a piece of land that, by some divine coincidence, was for sale.’

‘Sir!’ called Felix’, ‘I know this one, please let me tell it’.

‘Carry on, corporal’, Aulus said with a broad smile, gesturing for Felix to take his place. The atmosphere was electric. By Hades, we were due some good news.

            ‘You see, lads, the land was indeed on the market, but nobody wanted to buy it, because of the war.’ He grinned. ‘But guess what happened! As Hannibal and his force stared at Rome’s walls, and he menaced them and tried all sorts of tricks, someone started bidding for the land. And then another bid came in. And another. And soon the plot was sold for full market value, even while it was held by the enemy!’

            ‘Come on, Felix, you’re having us on!’ said Aulus, enjoying seeing his men in such good spirits.

            ‘No, sir, I tell you, it’s true.’ Felix was looking a little drunk, but it only made the story more believable.

            ‘And’, he went on, ‘at the same time as all this was happening, guess what else?’ He looked around expectantly, drawing out the moment.

            ‘Tell us!’ we cheered.

            ‘The Senate sent out a force, marching to Spain, from the other side of the city! They completely ignored the Carthaginian bugger and all. Comrades, we have passed the corner.’ He raised his flask. ‘Victory!’

            A shout went around the quarterdeck. Carried along with the rest, I drank deeply from my wine and yelled ‘Victory! Victory!’ over and over, until I was hoarse.

The next morning, my head hurt like hell, but for once, I had not woken, screaming, in the night. I worked at the shine of the quarterdeck planking with a renewed energy, polishing it until Aulus grunted that if I kept going any further, he would be able to see his own reflection.

Eventually I was called off the ship to attend a meeting with Aulus and the base commander. I stood stiffly to attention before a greying man named Cassianus, who wore the insignia of a marine general. On his desk was a stylus, some parchment and wax tablets, a flask each of wine and water. He offered me neither, eyeing me sternly. Finally he spoke.

            ‘What the fuck happened to your head?’ he asked gruffly.

            ‘Got shot in the face, sir, by an arrow.’

Cassianus grunted at this.

‘Tough break, son. Now tell me what you know about New Carthage and its defences.’

I told him of the peninsula, the fortifications, and the lagoon.

            ‘Interesting, and perhaps very valuable information. On the other hand, my problem, son, is that I have no way of verifying who you are and whether what you say is true. Your commander’—he gestured here to Aulus—‘has spoken favorably of you, and I know you have not been too much of an asshole on board the Dolphin.’

            He leaned forward while I stayed at attention.

‘But for all we know, you could be lying through your teeth about New Carthage and planning to lead an assault force, a force which would probably include my marines, into a trap. And that cannot be allowed to take place.’ 

Abruptly, Cassianus changed the subject. ‘A lot has happened since you were captured and defected.’ I bristled at the language, but he went on. ‘And then were plucked from the sea. You probably don’t know much of it, aside from the news concerning Capua.’

I shook my head. ‘No sir, I don’t.’

            ‘Well, here’s a summary. I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to common soldiers, but since you claim to have such important information, you should appreciate what else has been happening so that you can understand my reluctance to jump on the next ship out of here with a hundred men and fly to the top of the New Carthage citadel.’

He poured himself a glass of wine, offering one to Aulus, who declined politely. Cassianus drained his cup in one swallow, and set it carefully down on his desk.

‘After the deaths of Gnaeus and Publius Cornelius in battle, gods rest their souls, the war in Spain all but collapsed. Disaster faced us, which is one of the reasons you see such a build up here at Massilia. Aulus has already told you about the actions of Marcius and Claudius Nero, who tried to get things under control but couldn’t stop things from going to shit again. Spain is still in desperate straits. The Senate opened up the Spanish command, and a young fellow named Publius Cornelius Scipio was elected.’

            ‘Sir?’ I asked.

            ‘Yes, the son of his late father. A dandy whose only notable act so far was at the Trebbia, where he saved his father’s life. Whether Scipio can do better than his father is debatable, but there will be a major offensive in Spain very soon.

‘Now, I can’t take a single chance that we accept what you say without checking every single nook and cranny. I will ensure that your information about New Carthage makes it to Scipio’s staff, but what he does with it—and you—is very much up to him.’ He poured some more wine.

With a chill I realised that Cassianus was just passing me off to someone else. The further I got from my own kind, the greater the chance that someone high-up would tire with dealing with a commoner and just leave me to rot in a Roman prison somewhere. I tried one last roll of the dice, praying that this time, the gods would take my side.

            ‘Sir, please. I need to be there, in Spain, when the time comes. You see—’

Aulus stepped forward to cut me off, but Cassianus waved him back.

            ‘Alright, I will grant you this one indulgence.’ A staff officer entered, whispering something in the general’s ear, before leaving smartly. Cassianus looked irritated.

‘Make it quick.’

            ‘Sir, I was there when Gnaeus Cornelius was martyred. I lost brothers in Spain, and I bled on its soil. Sir, I need to be there when the war is won. You must believe me, sir, that my intentions in New Carthage were honourable, even if my means—going with Hasdrubal’s message, treating with him as an ally and friend—were not.’

            Cassianus steepled his fingers, his elbows on his desk.

            ‘That is a sentiment I can understand. We have all lost brothers in this war, and vengeance is never far from any of our minds.’ He thought for a moment.            ‘Where did you say you were from, Marcus?’ he asked.

            ‘Arretium, sir.’

            Cassianus leaned back and called out of a door that led into an outer office, where I had seen a marine officer at his desk working on a wax tablet.

‘Captain Gallus! Do any of your men here hail from Arretium?’

            Gallus promptly arrived in the door of the office, and saluted.

            ‘Sir, there are a couple. Do you wish me to fetch them?’

            ‘Yes, Gallus, do so, as quick as you please.’

            Gallus saluted once again and hurried off.

            ‘If we are to rehabilitate you, Marcus—if we are to include you in our collective revenge against the barbarians—then we must start with your identity. I want to believe the good statements of character that I have been given by Aulus.’

            A few moments later, Gallus returned with two marines, who came to attention. Their armour shone, polished to a dazzling sheen. Their faces were bronzed by the sun, and they were lean and muscled.

            ‘Men, you are from Arretium, correct?’

            ‘Yes sir!’ they barked in reply.

            ‘Do either of you recognise this man?’

            The second man replied instantly, joy in his voice. ‘Yes sir, I do. This is Marcus Tiberius Varus, from Arretium. I have known him since we were boys. We grew up together and joined up in the same year as the battle at Cannae, where his father was martyred.’

Despite my efforts, and the sacred solemnity of the disaster he had just mentioned, I was grinning. Crispus was having some difficulty keeping a straight face, too, but his eyes sparkled. He risked a look in my direction.

            ‘What else can you tell me, marine?’

            The smile on Crispus’ face vanished.

            ‘Uh… sir, we both served in Spain. I last saw Marcus when our commanders divided our forces, and we tried to take New Carthage. I was with Publius Cornelius, attached with the rest of the marines to the Fighting Fifth, Marcus here was with the Glorious Second. I feared him dead, sir.’

            ‘So you vouch for this man?’

            ‘Yes sir, absolutely.’

            Cassianus grunted, trying to decide if he was being told a pack of lies. And then he made a quick decision.

‘Marcus, it’s your lucky day. One of my marines has vouched for you.’

He thought once again for a brief moment, and then slapped the palm of his hand hard onto the table, making me jump.

‘Shit, why not’, he said. ‘You’re drafted. Captain Gallus here will get you sorted. Your information about New Carthage will need to be vetted, and that will be done by Scipio’s staff, but for now I am satisfied that your identity, at least, appears genuine. If the rest of your information checks out, and my marines don’t gut you, then you will be released from that other matter.’

            Cassianus continued, ‘I will make a note of that matter, which will be locked here in this desk. If, if, it turns out that you are telling the truth there as well, then I will destroy that letter. In the meantime, don’t make me regret this course of action. Are we clear?’

            ‘Yes sir!’ I replied, barely able to keep the smile out my voice. Crispus’ face now bore a smile of barely concealed glee.

            ‘Welcome to the fleet, son. Now get the fuck out of my office, all of you.’

I saluted, turned sharply, and followed captain Gallus out of the door.