Northern Etruria Caele, son of Sethre and Arria, is thinking of the distant shore that has just come into view over the dipping glimmering water. He's imagining the sand beneath his feet and a willing woman between his legs. With a fair wind, he'll have both before the day is out.
Four months at sea is far too long for a young man with his needs. He has sailed south down the Adriatic, north-west up the Tyrrhenian as far as Pupluna, and then, to the amazement of his crew, Caele had commanded they sail past their home port of Atmanta and head east across the mouth of the Adriatic, before finally turning for home.
The journey had been an eventful one. They'd fought Ligurian pirates and they'd moored and traded with Egyptians and Greeks. In the process, they'd suffered the loss of four good men. Two in a storm. Two through sickness.
Hinthial – 'the Spirit' – had fared well, though. Despite the name, she was one of the biggest merchant craft in Etruria. Her squat body cuts an ugly shape in the water as she passes smaller and more streamlined craft heading into the harbour, but she was built to carry the maximum load. Usually her cargo consists of various olive oils and wines stored in giant one-piece amphorae, secured to long vertical shelving stacks by ropes running through the handles. Lately, however, she's been carrying other things too. Smaller, more precious cargo provided by his old friend, Pesna. The magistrate's silver comes both in the form of raw precious metal and as finished goods, fashioned into the finest jewellery. Gifts fit for princes and princesses, kings and queens. Cargo valuable enough to get you killed by your own crew, should they suspect the treasures contained within the hold.
The wind dies down and the two giant square sails sag mournfully. It's no problem. Hinthial is now close enough to dry land for Caele to almost taste the mead on his lips. He gives instruction for the oarsmen to be roused in order to bring her to shore.
But scarcely have they struck up a rhythm than he sees something in the water.
Floating. Bobbing. Drifting.
Grain sacks.
Five, six, seven of them.
From their awkward buoyancy, it's clear they are not stuffed with oats or rice or barley.
What then?
Perhaps something far more precious.
Caele shouts for his captain and points to the flotsam. 'Have someone heave it out. Bring it on deck. It may be loot, dropped by fleeing pirates. Sacks that size cannot accidentally end up so far from shore.'
A small boat is jerkily lowered on ropes and several slaves, eager to please, dive from the decking to recover the sacks.
Caele walks to the stern and sits close to a giant stone weight that is roped and inscribed with his name. It was his countrymen that had invented the anchor and during recent journeys he's sold more than twenty of them.
A bank of slaves strain away on large steering oars. They sweat and work even harder when they see the ship's owner within whipping distance of them.
The captain approaches him with a face like thunder. 'The gods have brought you no fortune. The sacks contain nothing.'
Caele shakes his head. 'There is no such as nothing. I have told you this many times before. And should you ever find nothing, then it truly would be worth something. So tell me, what did the men recover?'
'A man. Or rather, should I say, many parts of a man. Chopped like meat for a feast of sea demons. Bagged, sacked and thrown to great Triton for his supper.'
'Triton is a Greek sea god, you fool. You are back in Etruria now. Know your allegiances. It is the great Nethuns who determines our fortune.'
'Then he has determined you should benefit from the surprise delivery of many dismembered limbs.'
Caele gazes at the wet haul. 'Check to see if there is anything precious among the flesh.'
The captain starts to leave.
'Wait! Perhaps the find is an omen. A portent that some form of death is about to visit us. Have men stay with the small boat and search the water. Make sure nothing is missed. If indeed the deities are sending us signs, I don't want the sloppiness of slaves to lead to misinterpretation. Now, get us to shore as quickly as the gods will speed – and make sure you tell no one what we have seen.'