“Roman Thrium, that is not the question we asked.”
Captain Thrium tried to keep his expression neutral. He and 19 of his command were seated at the glorious palace of Sapa-Inca Pachacuti in the Incan capital city of Cuzco. They had spent most of the day walking the roads and boulevards of the massive capital, visiting the sites and hospitalities the beautiful city had to offer. After ending their tour at the great library and seeing the mass of incredibly accumulated knowledge and antiquities the proud people had gathered, they had followed their host back to his palace for, as he called it, “drink, food, and conversation.”
Unfortunately, shortly after the first course had been laid out, the pleasant meal had turned into a long list of rudely demanding and rapidly fired questions at the Roman visitors. Thrium had done a masterful job at belaying his answers and replying in only the most pale of details, but 3 hours and 7 courses in to the meal and talk, he had reached a deadlock with the Sapa-Inca finally showing some belligerence and disgust.
“Sapa-Inca, my apologies,” Thrium said, keeping the weariness from his voice. “Maybe the better answer is that I do not know how heavy the armor was that our troops wore at the siege of Leptis Magna.” He reached for his glass of fruity flavored wine the Incans were fond of drinking and hosted it in the Incan ruler’s direction. “Sadly, Sapa-Inca, the lateness of the hour and the overwhelming majesty of your fair city have exhausted my men and I, turning me into a stumbling conversationalist at best in comparison to your majesty. As we will be sailing on when the tide is high tomorrow, I would ask to take our leave of you.”
Only the scritch-scritch of the felanoshi scribing away in the corner could be heard in the silence following Thrium’s latest attempt at ending the painful meal. Pachacuti remained still, a scowl still on his proud face, his form rigid and squarely seated on his throne. After waiting a few heartbeats, he said, “Roman Thrium, you did not answer our question. We asked it of you and you did not answer. Your answers to all our questions have been very lacking in substance. When Sapa-Inca asks a question, it is usually answered to our liking. Plus, we informed you that you would be our guest in Cuzco for 6 nights and 7 days. That is what will happen.” He rose from his throne, the rest of the amassed diners, both Roman and Incan, did as well. “This meal is over. Tomorrow, we expect to have better exchanges with the Romans.” He turned from the table and walked out of the great hall.
Once gone, servants scurried out of the kitchens, clearing away the food, plates, and crumbs from the meal; once the Sapa-Inca was finished, everyone was finished. Most of the other visiting Incans clustered about the room, pointedly ignoring the Romans, seeing as they had insulted their leader in some fashion and fallen out of favor because of it. Proximo, the young Centurion, said in a low voice, “Well, I guess that didn’t go well.”
Thrium grimaced. “No, it didn’t.” He glanced about, seeing one of the felanoshi was coming closer to write down whatever the Romans had to say. “Neptune’s Beard!” Thrium swore. “We need to get out of here, pissing off the Incans or not, we’re not staying a week.” Motioning his retinue to follow, he started walking to the exit.
“Roman Thrium, a moment please.” Yrzmah, Pachacuti’s oily advisor and chief of defense, called out, stepping rapidly to the departing Romans. “Await please. The halls and streets of Cuzco are safe for Incans to walk, but Priests of Cauximahal, the Blood God, are always looking for vessels to appease their thirsty master.” He clapped his hands, and a company of 30 Incan warriors stepped into the room. “These men will take you safely to your chambers and insure your protection.” He bowed low, “Pleasant rest, and I hope to enjoy your company again tomorrow.”
Forced under the guard and watchful eyes of the Incan warriors, Thrium allowed him and his men to be escorted through the palace to the east wing and the large room that had been set aside for the Romans to use. Once inside, the guards left. A moment later, the telltale sound of the locking bar sliding across the frame outside sounded, telling Thrium that he was not going to leave out that doorway.
“Well, that’s a fine how do you do,” he said, testing the door and finding it unmoving. “I guess we’ve been outmaneuvered. We’re not leaving now and we’re not leaving that way.”
“Captain, what’re we gonna do?”
Thrium looked around, shaking his head. “I’ll say one thing we’re not going to do, and that’s stay here another minute. Damn! After one day and we’re unofficially prisoners. Can you imagine what’ll happen to us in a week?”
“I’ll bet we wind up on one of their bloody altars, that’s what.” “Here, here.” “Not if Captain Thrium can help it.”
The captain held his hands up, signaling the men to be quiet. Pressing his ear against the door, he heard the muffled sounds of the guards still outside, most likely listening to his men and their conversation. Since they hadn’t burst in, it was most likely that they hadn’t clearly heard the recent exchange but Thrium couldn’t count on his luck holding.
Looking about, he smiled. “Proximo, help me with this, would you?” He walked to one side of a heavy carved cube; decorated with the fanciful carvings the Incans were fond of using. It stood almost 5 feet in height and had to weigh some 800 to 1,000 kilograms. Pointing his chin at the door, he nodded at the great art and smiled. The Legionnaire grinned back. The soldiers all crowded about the block, found some sort of grip and slid/lifted the heavy stone until it was blocking the door.
While the ten soldiers worked on blocking the door, Thrium pointed to some of his crewmen. “Redium, Hantha, Gregorus, I want you three on that window now. Get it out of its frame and get it opened. The rest of you, Get every piece of furniture that weighs anything and prop it up in front of the door. I want it done fast and I want it done quietly.”
“Ay, Ay, Captain.”
For the next few minutes, the Romans worked feverishly, carrying out Thrium’s orders. Every bed frame, footlocker, chair and stand was piled around the entrance, blocking any chance their hosts would have on gaining easy access to the Romans. Meanwhile, the simple mud and wattle framing of the barred windows was removed easily and the barrier lifted free.
“Good job, boys.” Thrium complimented. “Good job.” Looking over the sill, it was some 12 feet to the ground below. Cuzco was a quiet city, its people happy and content, so unlike most Roman towns, there were no patrolling guards and militia strolling the streets.
With the coast clear, Thrium waved the first man over. “Gregorus, I want you down there now. Don’t hurt yourself, just get down.”
“Ay, Ay.”
Sliding his legs over the low sill, the Roman sailor held onto the frame tightly and dropped his body over the side, dangling with his feet some 4 or 5 feet. Steeling himself, he lurched his body away from the wall and fell to freedom outside. Steadying himself, he grinned up to Thrium and gave the thumbs up.
“Excellent. Proximo, I want you next. Just in case we’re discovered, I want your sword down there.”
“Yes, Captain.”
One by one, the Romans slipped out of the room, until Thrium himself came down last. Once they were all gathered and on the shadowy street, they began their westward trek to the harbor.
They slid past the royal quarters, the noble estates, the temple district and the crafting halls without incident. It wasn’t until they were half way across the merchants’ quarters and could see the harbor in the distance that they heard the cries of alarm and calls from the palace behind them.
“Damn it!” Proximo shoved Thrium in front of him, gripping the captain’s arm tightly. “Time to go. Legionnaires, you know what to do.” Each soldier drew his gladius with one hand and grabbed a sailor with the other. Pushing their charges, the Romans ran for their ship, throwing subtly and caution to the wind.
“What the…” Thrium sputtered. “What the HELL are you doing?!?”
“My job, Captain,” The Centurion said, “I’m doing my job.” He picked up speed, driving the captain before him. “I don’t tell you how to navigate your ship or discipline your crew, don’t step on my toes.”
The calls of the Incans were getting louder and angrier as the alarm spread out from the palace and across the capital city. The Romans burst across a town square, surprising the few citizens that were gathered there this late at night. On seeing the pale skinned Romans running and hearing the cries in the dark, they began pointing and yelling, rousing the locals to the fleeing men.
Proximo reversed his grip on his sword with an expect flip, bracing the wide blade against his forearm. As they finished their run across the square and left the markets for the harbor district, two Incans tried to step in front of the charging Romans. Twisting Thrium’s arm, he spun the captain behind him and drove the pommel of his blade into the temple of one of his blockers. The man crumpled, stunned and unconscious from the blow. As his companion began to fall, the second Incan was dispatched by a blow to the throat, Proximo stiff-arming him with his forearm. Spinning again, he reasserted his grip on the surprised Thrium and continued his dash for the sea.
“My god!” Thrium panted. “I hope you didn’t kill them!”
Proximo scowled. “Of course not, Captain.” The corners of his mouth turned up, “And what did I tell you about doing my job?”
A few other Incans tried to stop or slow down the Romans, but were similarly dispatched; rendered unconscious or incapacitated by the skilled Legionnaires. In a short time, their sandaled and booted feet were pounding not on packed earth and stone, but on the wooden docks of Cuzco’s quay. The deep hull of the Furious Thundercloud prevented the great galley from tying up at the docks, so it was anchored some hundred yards off.
Quickly scanning the canoes and skiffs, Thrium shook free of Proximo’s grip and leapt onto one of the low riding barges. “Get on! Get on!” The Romans followed Thrium’s lead, piling onto the flat boat. Swinging his gladius, Proximo cut the mooring lines free and shoved the barge away from the dock.
“Poles and paddles!” He commanded. Sailor and soldier alike grabbed whatever they could from the floor of their commandeered vessel and propelled themselves as fast as they could to their own galley. The calls behind had grown loud now, with sailors and citizens of Cuzco crowding the docks. From somewhere in the crowd, a spear flew out, splashing into the water just behind the fleeing Romans.
“Faster, men! Faster!” Thrium plunged the box top he was using as a makeshift paddle harder into the Incan bay, watching as the distance to the Thundercloud grew smaller and smaller. Another spear fell into the waters, followed by a pail, an oar, and at least half a dozen large stones.
With a cry, the Incan people gave way as the 1st of Cuzco’s soldiers reached the docks. The trained spearmen launched their weapons, 4 well thrown javelins just clearing the space between them and the barge. One thunked solidly into the wall of the barge, one splashed just on the starboard side. A third was deflected by a well-timed swing from a Legionnaire’s paddle. The fourth slammed into Duanas, one of Thrium’s sailors. The sharpened point tore threw his collarbone and chest, flooding his lungs with blood and killing him quickly. A cheer went up from the docks as the Incans saw one of the Romans drop.
“Kirus!” Thrium called out. “Raise anchor! Prepare to set sail!” From the side of the Thundercloud, the crew and peoples stared out at the scene, the Roman delegates paddling madly on a low riding barge and the hooting and hollering Incan hordes filling the docks and launching canoes to give chase.
Another volley of spears fell out of the night sky, none of them striking the now too distant Romans, and all falling behind them into the sea. The fishing nets were thrown over the sides of the galley, dangling down into the water, offering a quick ladder for Thrium and his men to scamper up. The barge tapped the side of the Thundercloud with a dull thud and the men quickly climbed the net to the eager hands of waiting crewmen.
Lavaticles fell screaming from the net, his leg pierced from a well-thrown javelin, hurled from a closing canoe and a snarling Incan warrior upon it. Kirus leapt overboard, tackling the still howling legionnaire and keeping him from sinking. “Pull!” Thrium cried, grabbing the net and drawing it up. “Pull them up!” Snarling his hands into the net, Kirus gripped tightly, holding the soldier before him, his arms braced under the other man’s.
They were lifted from the water and pulled up the side of the Thundercloud. More spears and javelins fell about them. “Arrows!” Kirus yelled. “Arrows now! Drop them! Shoot!” A ragged volley of arrows was launched from the decks, raining amongst the closing canoes and forcing the attackers upon them to dive overboard or get struck. A second volley, much stronger and tighter, flew out, hitting the next line of approaching skiffs and boats. More Incans dove for cover or fell howling, clutching quivering shafts as they pierced their bodies.
Kirus and Lavaticles were hauled aboard and dropped to the deck. “Runners!” Kirus commanded. “Runners out! Don’ wait for the wind boys, Neptune’s too busy right now!”
The great oars of the Roman galley were placed and set, their scoops resting lightly in the Incan bay. The great drum beat once, signaling the 68 rowers to grip their handles. A moment later, the drummer beat out a steady cadence and the galley rowers rocked forwards. 34 runners, 17 to a side, dug into the water and pushed the great vessel ahead. At the end of their stroke, the ends lifted free, slid back towards the bow, and then reentered the water, paddling again.
Slowly at first, but with increasing speed, the Furious Thundercloud pulled away from the Incan capital and their pursuers. The drums continued beating and the runners pulled the great ship to safer waters. Lavaticles was under the care of the ship’s medic and some of the men were already knitting sailcloth together to bury Duanas in. Only when there was no sign of pursuit and the dark waters did not echo with the cries of Incan warriors, did Thrium visibly relax.
“You ok, Cap’n?” Kirus asked.
Thrium looked about, still amazed that he had escaped the Pachacuti and his men. “Yeah, Kirus. I’m ok.” He stared out at the black waters, saying nothing.
Kirus watched his friend and captain carefully and backed away silently; leaving the man to his thoughts and looked after the Thundercloud and her crew.