Chapter 10

‘You are to keep close behind me now!’ barked Mencius, over his shoulder, as he spurred Brutus to a sharp trot.

With his spine stiffened to an arrogant posture, he rode past the camel-train, looking neither to the right nor left. Arriving at the docks, with Voldi trailing him, Mencius flung himself off his horse and shouted a laconic order to Pincus. Then he marched with stiff-legged hauteur to the wharf where the flagship of the fleet awaited him, Voldi trudging along behind, feeling much like a convict on his way to prison. Sailors and stevedores obsequiously saluted, but Mencius gave them no attention.

Reaching the ship’s waist, the haughty Mencius marched aboard, passing between a double line of sailors and petty officers without seeing them, and stood stiffly before the greying Commander, whose pose was as icily formal. Voldi was not introduced. Bowing, the Commander wheeled about and walked briskly aft, with Mencius striding beside him, and Voldi—at a disadvantage and a bit offended—tagging behind them.

When they had entered the Commander’s spacious cabin and the door had been closed, the mood of the Romans instantly changed. They whacked each other on the shoulder playfully.

‘Fulvius, my lad,’ shouted Mencius. ‘It’s a treat to see you again!’

‘High time you turned up, you lazy tramp!’ rumbled the Commander. ‘I’ve been rotting in this pest-hole for a week!’

‘Serves you right! You have been spoiled with luxury!’ Mencius peeled off his tunic and tossed it on to Fulvius’ bunk. ‘Now I want you to greet an Arabian friend of mine…Voldi, meet my good Fulvius.’

The Commander, with candid lack of interest, pursed his lips and nodded.

‘Perhaps I should have added, Fulvius,’ continued Mencius, ‘that Voldi saved my life, at the risk of his own, in a bloody battle with highwaymen.’

At that Fulvius’ eyes brightened—and he smiled amiably.

‘Welcome to my ship, Voldi!’ he said.

In gay spirits, Mencius became oratorical in his further introduction of his friends.

‘Here’s where two of the finest and bravest have found each other!’ he exclaimed. ‘Here’s where the high mountains and the deep sea clasp hands! Here’s where a gallant Arabian who knows all about horses and daggers meets a Roman who knows all about ships and storms! Here’s where—’

‘If you’re going to compose an ode, Mencius,’ broke in Fulvius, ‘let’s have some wine to wash it down. Odes are hard enough to bear, in any case.’ He opened the door a little way and growled with all the irascibility of an old dog, presumably addressing a slave. They sat down, and presently the wine arrived.