Tubruk spoke calmly, showing his knowledge of the empire's movements had not waned in the time he had spent running the estate.
Julius felt uncomfortable and exposed on the docks, yet this was not a decision to be hurried. If Sulla changed his mind, even now there could be armed men on their way to kill them or bring them back to Rome.
Tubruk could not give much advice. True, he had recognised the banners of the legions, but he knew he was fifteen years out of date when it came to the reputations of the officers. He felt frustrated to have to put such a serious decision in the hands of the gods. At least two years of Julius' life would be spent with whichever unit they decided upon and they could end up flipping coins.
‘I like the sound of Egypt, myself,’ Cabera said, looking wistfully across the sea. ‘It is a long time since I shook its dust from my sandals.’ He could feel the future bending around the three of them. Few lives had such simple choices, or maybe all did but most could not see them when they came. Egypt, Greece or the north? Each beckoned in different ways. The lad must make a choice on his own, but at least Aegyptus was hot.
Tubruk studied the galleys rocking at their moorings, looking for one to rule out. Each was guarded by alert legionaries, and men swarmed over the wallowing vessels, repairing, scrubbing or refitting after voyages all over the world.
He shrugged. He assumed that after the fuss had died down and Rome was peaceful he would return to the estate. Someone had to keep the place alive.
‘Marcus and Renius are in Greece. You could meet up with them there, if you wanted,’ Tubruk ventured, turning to watch the road for dust raised by trackers.
‘No. I haven't achieved anything, except to be married and run out of Rome by my enemy,’ Julius muttered.
‘Your uncle's enemy,’ Cabera corrected.
Julius turned slowly to the old man, his gaze unwavering.
‘No. He is my enemy now. I will see him dead, in time.’
‘In time, perhaps,’ Tubruk said. ‘Today, you need to get away and learn to be a soldier and an officer. You are young. This is not the end of you, or your career.’ Tubruk held his gaze for a second, thinking how much like his father Julius was becoming.
Eventually, the younger man nodded briefly before turning away. He examined the ships again.
‘Egypt it is. I always wanted to see the land of the pharaohs.’
‘A fine choice,’ Cabera said. ‘You will love the Nile and the women are scented and beautiful.’ The old man was pleased to see Julius smile for the first time since they had been captured in the night. It was a good omen, he thought.
Tubruk gave a boy a small coin to hold their horses for an hour and the three men walked towards the galley ship that bore an Egyptian legion's flags. As they approached, the busy action of workers became even more apparent.
‘Looks like they're getting ready to ship out,’ Tubruk noted, jerking his thumb at barrels of supplies being loaded by slaves. Salted meat, oil and fish swung over the narrow strip of water into the arms of sweating slaves on board, each one noted and crossed off a slate with typical Roman efficiency. Tubruk whistled to one of the guards, who stepped over to them.
‘We need to speak to the captain. Is he aboard?’ Tubruk asked.
The soldier gave them a quick appraisal and appeared to be satisfied, despite the dust of the road. Tubruk and Julius, at least, looked like soldiers.
‘He is. We'll be casting off on the noon tide. I can't guarantee he'll see you.’
‘Tell him Marius’ nephew is here, fresh from the city. We'll wait here,' Tubruk replied.
The soldier's eyebrows raised a fraction and his gaze slid over to Julius.
‘Right you are, sir. I'll let him know immediately.’
The man took a step to the dockside and walked the narrow plank bridge onto the deck of the galley. He disappeared behind the raised wooden structure that dominated the ship and, Julius guessed, must house the captain's quarters. While they waited, Julius noted the features of the huge vessel, the oar-holes in the side that would be used to move them out of harbour and in battle to give them the speed to ram enemy vessels, the huge square sails that were waiting to be raised for the wind.
The deck was clear of loose objects as befitted a Roman war vessel. Everything that might cause injury in rough seas was lashed down securely. Steps led to the lower levels at various places in the planking and each could be secured with a bolted hatch to prevent heavy waves from crashing down after the crew. It looked a well-run ship, but until he met the captain he wouldn't know how things would be for the next two years of his life. He could smell tar and salt and sweat, the scents of an alien world he did not know. He felt strangely nervous and almost laughed at himself.
Out of the deck shadows came a tall man in the full uniform of a centurion. He looked hard and neat, with grey hair cut short to his head and his breastplate shined to a bright bronze glow in the sun. His expression was watchful as he crossed the planks to the dockside and greeted the three waiting men.
‘Good day, gentlemen. I am Centurion Gaditicus, nominal captain of this vessel for the Third Partica legion. We cast off on the next tide, so I cannot spare you a great deal of time, but the name of Consul Marius carries a lot of weight, even now. State your business and I'll see what I can do.’
Straight to the point, without fuss. Julius felt himself warming to the man. He reached into his tunic and brought out the packet of papers Marius had given him. Gaditicus took them and broke the seal with his thumb. He read quickly, with a frown, nodding occasionally.
‘These were written before Sulla was back in control?’ he asked, his eyes still on the parchment.
Julius felt the desire to lie, but guessed he was being tested by this man.
‘They were. My uncle did not … expect Sulla to be successful.’
Gaditicus' eyes were unwavering as he measured the young man in front of him.
‘I was sorry when I heard he was lost. He was a popular man and good for Rome. These papers were signed by a consul – they are perfectly valid. However, I am within my rights to refuse you a berth until your personal position vis-à-vis Cornelius Sulla is made clear to me. I will take your word if you are a truthful man.’
‘I am, sir,’ Julius replied.
‘Are you wanted for criminal offences?’
‘I am not.’
‘Are you avoiding scandal of any sort?’
‘No.’
Again, the man held his gaze for a few seconds, but Julius did not look away. Gaditicus folded the papers and placed them inside his own clothing.
‘I will allow you to take the oath, on the lowest officer's rank of tesserarius. Advancement will come quickly if you show ability; slowly or not at all if you don't. Understood?’
Julius nodded, keeping his face impassive. The days of high life in Roman society were over. This was the steel in the empire that allowed the city to relax in softness and joy. He would have to prove himself, this time, without the benefit of a powerful uncle.
‘These two, how do they fit in?’ Gaditicus asked, motioning towards Tubruk and Cabera.
‘Tubruk is my estate manager. He will be returning. The old man is Cabera, my … servant. I would like him to accompany me.’
‘He's too old for the oars, but we'll find work for him. No one loafs on any ship I run. Everyone works. Everyone.’
‘Understood, sir. He has some skill as a healer.’
Cabera had taken on a slightly glassy-eyed expression, but agreed after a pause.
‘That will serve. Will you be signing on for two years, or five?’ Gaditicus asked.