and know how to do it right. But on shore, if it looks like they’re losing, they’ll think maybe they can run and hide. They may not fight as desperately.”
“What real advantages do they have?”
He thought for a moment. “First off, numbers. You have four Liburnians. They have six to ten most times. And, ship-for-ship, their numbers are still superior because every man aboard’s a fighting man. Rowers and sailors are all armed, and all fight when boarding time comes. Your
corvus
and Roman boarding tactics may tip the balance, but maybe not.”
“Because their leader is a Roman and knows what to expect.” He nodded. “Spurius. He’d’ve made a good skipper in the old days when we were a floating nation.”
“Tell me about him.”
“I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not all that much. I wasn’t close to him, not even in the same ship. I saw him on shore from time to time and sat in on the councils. Pirates aren’t organized like a navy, you know.” He spread his nostrils and took a deep breath of the sea air. “It’s a band of equals and everyone has a say. The leaders are just the toughest fighters, the best sailors, or the ones who are smartest about finding prey and getting safely away with the loot.”
“Which of those was Spurius?” I asked, fascinated by this look into a life so foreign from anything I was used to.
“Well, he’s no great seaman, as you might expect, being a Roman. But as a fighter he’s qualified to go up against the best of them, toe-to-toe, and come out with his enemy’s blood on his sword and none of his own on the ground.”
“That’s praise, coming from your mouth.”
He smiled with satisfaction. “I was taught young, and I was taught right. Anyway, some say Spurius was a Roman deserter who threw in with Spartacus and got away before the end came. I don’t know about that.”
“How old would you judge him?”
“About forty would be my guess.”
I thought about it. “The Slave War began in the consulship of Clodi-anus and Gellius twenty-one years ago and ended two years later. It’s conceivable, if he deserted as a young recruit. Anyway, go on. Tell me what he looks like.”
“Tall for a Roman, about your height, but wider built. Strong as an ox and quick as a cat. He wears a full beard and lets his hair grow long. Maybe he doesn’t want to look like a Roman, with your clean-shaven faces and short hair.”
“I don’t suppose you’d know how to distinguish our regional accents? It might help to know if he’s from Rome itself or some other part of Latium.”
He shook his blocky head. “Never heard him speak Latin anyway, just Greek and some Aramaic.”
“Aramaic? Did you go ashore in Syria or Judea?”
“We went there to sell loot once. I think that’s where I heard him speak it. Greek will get you by almost anywhere, but Aramaic is handy to know in the eastern parts.”
“Did he speak it well?”
“Better than me. Sounded as fluent as he is in Greek, and he speaks Greek like an Athenian. Why?”
I gazed off across the calm water. My weather luck was holding. “I’m just trying to build a picture of the man. I don’t want to be fighting a total stranger when we’ve drawn swords on one another. Many commanders just assume things about their enemies and leave it at that. They tend to die with looks of great astonishment on their faces.”
“That’s shrewd.”
“What is he like as a planner?”
“The best. He knows the trade routes, he keeps up on whose fleet is where, he knows the value of everything, and when, say, a load of fine glassware will fetch a better price in Berytus than in Jaffa. He’s been called a small-minded merchant for it, but never to his face.”
“Does he have regular contacts—shore-based merchants, for instance, who take his loot off his hands?”
“Certainly. But he always deals with them in private. It’s one way he hangs on to his leadership.”
“How did he get to be leader?”
“He
“What real advantages do they have?”
He thought for a moment. “First off, numbers. You have four Liburnians. They have six to ten most times. And, ship-for-ship, their numbers are still superior because every man aboard’s a fighting man. Rowers and sailors are all armed, and all fight when boarding time comes. Your
corvus
and Roman boarding tactics may tip the balance, but maybe not.”
“Because their leader is a Roman and knows what to expect.” He nodded. “Spurius. He’d’ve made a good skipper in the old days when we were a floating nation.”
“Tell me about him.”
“I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not all that much. I wasn’t close to him, not even in the same ship. I saw him on shore from time to time and sat in on the councils. Pirates aren’t organized like a navy, you know.” He spread his nostrils and took a deep breath of the sea air. “It’s a band of equals and everyone has a say. The leaders are just the toughest fighters, the best sailors, or the ones who are smartest about finding prey and getting safely away with the loot.”
“Which of those was Spurius?” I asked, fascinated by this look into a life so foreign from anything I was used to.
“Well, he’s no great seaman, as you might expect, being a Roman. But as a fighter he’s qualified to go up against the best of them, toe-to-toe, and come out with his enemy’s blood on his sword and none of his own on the ground.”
“That’s praise, coming from your mouth.”
He smiled with satisfaction. “I was taught young, and I was taught right. Anyway, some say Spurius was a Roman deserter who threw in with Spartacus and got away before the end came. I don’t know about that.”
“How old would you judge him?”
“About forty would be my guess.”
I thought about it. “The Slave War began in the consulship of Clodi-anus and Gellius twenty-one years ago and ended two years later. It’s conceivable, if he deserted as a young recruit. Anyway, go on. Tell me what he looks like.”
“Tall for a Roman, about your height, but wider built. Strong as an ox and quick as a cat. He wears a full beard and lets his hair grow long. Maybe he doesn’t want to look like a Roman, with your clean-shaven faces and short hair.”
“I don’t suppose you’d know how to distinguish our regional accents? It might help to know if he’s from Rome itself or some other part of Latium.”
He shook his blocky head. “Never heard him speak Latin anyway, just Greek and some Aramaic.”
“Aramaic? Did you go ashore in Syria or Judea?”
“We went there to sell loot once. I think that’s where I heard him speak it. Greek will get you by almost anywhere, but Aramaic is handy to know in the eastern parts.”
“Did he speak it well?”
“Better than me. Sounded as fluent as he is in Greek, and he speaks Greek like an Athenian. Why?”
I gazed off across the calm water. My weather luck was holding. “I’m just trying to build a picture of the man. I don’t want to be fighting a total stranger when we’ve drawn swords on one another. Many commanders just assume things about their enemies and leave it at that. They tend to die with looks of great astonishment on their faces.”
“That’s shrewd.”
“What is he like as a planner?”
“The best. He knows the trade routes, he keeps up on whose fleet is where, he knows the value of everything, and when, say, a load of fine glassware will fetch a better price in Berytus than in Jaffa. He’s been called a small-minded merchant for it, but never to his face.”
“Does he have regular contacts—shore-based merchants, for instance, who take his loot off his hands?”
“Certainly. But he always deals with them in private. It’s one way he hangs on to his leadership.”
“How did he get to be leader?”
“He
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