The Galley

  The Galley

  By Paul Howard

  Copyright 2012 by Paul D. Howard

  World Rights Reserved

  No portion of this publication may reproduced by any means, print, electronic or otherwise without the prior written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons or situations, other than known historical figures is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1: The Unthinkable

  Chapter 2: The Experiment

  Chapter 3: Stuck Again

  Chapter 4: The Fisherman

  Chapter 5: The Wrong House

  Chapter 6: Condemned

  Chapter 7: The Road of the Dead

  Chapter 8: The Antonia

  Chapter 9: The Winner

  Chapter 10: Victory

  Chapter 11: S.P.Q.R.

  Chapter 12: Falling

  Chapter 13: The Visitor

  Chapter 14: The Lady

  Chapter 15: Rolling the Dice

  Chapter 16: Destiny’s Fool

  Chapter 17: The Burden

  Chapter 18: The Rat

  Chapter 19: The Cause

  Chapter 20: Nero’s Dream

  Chapter 21: A Navy of One

  Chapter 22: The Choice

  Chapter 23: The Guests

  Chapter 24: Back to Sea

  Chapter 25: Open Sea

  Chapter 26: The Edge of the World

  Chapter 27: Neptune’s Vengeance

  Chapter 28: Venus

  Chapter 29: The Sign

  Chapter 30: The Hand of God

  Chapter 31: Leaving the World

  Chapter 32: Journey’s End

  Chapter 33: The Stranger

  PREFACE

  Over the past forty years or so I have been introduced to new acquaintances as a writer many times. Inevitably the question would always follow: “What do you write?” and the answer was usually: “Science Fiction or Horror.”

  How strange then, after dozens of films and teleplays, that my first novel should be a historic one. And a strange novel at that…

  The Galley isn’t science fiction in any real sense of the term. It is merely a story of semi-plausible circumstances that didn’t actually happen. That describes most novels, really.

  The undertaking of this book is like an epic unto itself, taking almost ten years to complete and publish. Not because of the writing so much as the ten years of tumult that served as the backdrop for its creation. I actually had the story in hand before writing anything, which is always the case on my projects. But the process involved so many interruptions and start-overs that it is an accomplishment to have a finished book at all.

  Researching a novel on Ancient Rome or any other period in history is one of the most enjoyable things a writer can do. In the case of Rome the literature is rich even though it is relatively sparse. Sad, because Rome generated so much literature and only a fraction of it survives.

  Our story is set in 64 A.D., the year of the great fire. It was a time of tension, both political and international, for Rome and its Empire. The best historians covering the fire were Suetonius and Tacitus. Both of them were highly credible and gave detailed accounts of their world. Suetonius stated flatly that Nero was responsible for it. Tacitus, who actually witnessed the fire as a boy, was not as certain but tended to suspect Nero as well. Modern historians tend to doubt this, but one thing is certain: Nero did blame the Christians for it to deflect suspicion from himself and their treatment by him was truly merciless.

  The challenge of researching the daily life and activities aboard Roman galleys proved to be difficult. Rome saw itself as a land power. There were some very important naval battles in Roman History, Actium for one. But the real military power rested in the legions. Anyone in the navy who sought to better himself would have to look to the legions. That’s just the way it was. It’s probably understandable that the literature on this subject is so sparse.

  Add to that the fact that there would be no reason in the ancient mind to cover such a topic as condemned galley slaves. Condemned men were condemned, and that was the same as dead. Because of this there is a pretty big hole in history on the topic.

  Like most historical vacuums this gives rise to overactive imagination and legends. It took over three thousand years for historians to discover that the Great Pyramid of Giza was built by 15-40,000 skilled contractors instead of 200,000 slaves as suggested by the ancient Greeks. Even now it is assumed that the Egyptians of the period had no knowledge of pulleys, though none of the modern theories offered by experts even come close to accounting for the sheer volume of five ton blocks used and the workflow required to complete the structure efficiently without them.

  Clearly, the Egyptians knew something we don’t! I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if we discover tomb paintings depicting a simple, elegant system of elevators used to raise and position the blocks, and even less surprised if we find that these massive stones were floated to the site on water channels only a few inches deep! When you’re clever enough to design something held together by gravity that stands for fifty centuries you probably wouldn’t do it the hard way.

  The same is probably true for ancient galley slaves. Our perceptions are filtered by the treatment of galley slaves in the 16th to 18th centuries. But the reality of the two periods is very different. A war galley with artillery relied on its sails in battle. The slaves at the oars were not essential to the ship. But the ancient warships with ballistic weapons had to move closer to the enemy and relied heavily on slave power to maneuver in battle. The oarsmen were the engine. The perceived cruelty they received has probably been greatly exaggerated in modern history.

  While the life of the slaves would have been harsh, the need for healthy people below decks on an ancient vessel was just as important as it is today. No good commander would have chosen to go into battle with sickly or weak hands at the oars. At such close quarters certain necessities for health probably were observed for the good of the ship. Punishing the slaves was probably far less important than getting the ship home in one piece.

  As for the literary style; this book is intended to entertain modern readers, avoiding Latin words and footnotes that would disrupt the flow and distract the reader from the story. I’m not Gibbon and you’re not researching a term paper! It’s meant to be an easy amusing read.

  Because this story is told in the first person by a Roman in the 1st century A.D., I found myself having to learn how to think with the mindset of the period. This is a lot easier for a 21st century American than you might think. The more I learned of Ancient Romans, the more I became aware that Americans and Ancient Romans think a lot more alike than one might imagine. Like us, they had a sense of arrogance and exceptionalism that was almost child-like. They were the military and economic superpower of their day just as we are and they acted like they owned the whole world.

  They were envied, loved, despised, feared and admired just we are and they were just as sure that their society was as indestructible as we are about ours. Such is the nature of empire, I guess. And, like us, they were modern urban people in their sense of place in history. They, too, were surrounded by scientific and technological wonders and their justice system was very similar to ours. (Why do you think American Law uses so much Latin?) They had a celebrity culture and enjoyed a tapestry of religious and social freedoms, all of which were more illusion than fact, just as in present day. Over the past five thousand years nobody has ever been truly free.

  They lived in a world that looked back at eons of human history just as we do. King Tut had been lying in his tomb for over thirteen hundred years and almost four centuries had passed since Alexander had conquered the world. They looked at the
ruins of Nebuchadnezzar’s Palace and wished they could’ve seen what it looked like before it had been destroyed. They looked the great Sphinx at Giza, (Already 3,000 years old!) and wondered what had happened to its nose!

  As far as the technology depicted in this novel, my ideas may not be as crazy as they seem. Centuries earlier, the Greeks were already masters of robotics and used chemical rockets in battle. The Chinese were using calculus and developing alloys. Although gun powder first appeared in China during the 10th century A.D., there are earlier discoveries dating back to the 5th century involving the properties of saltpeter. It is not completely farfetched to suggest that local alchemists could have made discoveries even earlier than that. The Persians were making batteries and using electrolysis. Steam engines, physics, hydraulics, explosives, anti-ship mines, antibiotic medicines and even brain surgery were not unknown to the ancients.

  In fact, for most of the last five hundred years or so, we have been rediscovering knowledge that the ancients already possessed by the time of our story.

  One more thing, because I have been asked about it so many times. “The Apparatus” in our story is not a nuclear device. It is a ballistic thermal-chemical reactive that produces a wave of extreme heat and blast. Not as strange as it sounds! Both the U.S. and Russia have developed a non-fissile bomb with the same destructive force as “Little Boy”, the weapon dropped on Hiroshima back in 1945. You don’t need uranium to destroy an entire city with one bomb.

  One of the funniest side benefits of researching a story like this was to find myself accidentally becoming a minor scholar on Roman history. It happened when I went to a museum where a recently discovered statue of Marcus Aurelius was being put on display by a team of archaeologists. After the crowd dispersed I began pointing out some things about the body, which dated from the year of our story, and began connecting the historic dots. I suggested that two different statues from Roman history could be one and the same. After I presented my theories and observations to them the archaeologists set down their note pads, scratched their heads and asked, “Who are you, anyway?”

  “Nobody, really.” I replied, “Just another hack from L.A.!”

  INTRODUCTION

  Ever since the Punic Wars, Rome had become undisputed Master

  Of the Seas. From the fertile lands of the Nile, to the cold waters of the

  North, there was no place an oar could be dipped that was not in Roman

  Hands. But the sea had a cruel Master. For most of the men who served on

  Roman ships were galley slaves, motivated by the lash and pike. But some

  men are truly their own masters, serving only themselves.

  It was in the tenth year of the Emperor Nero that “The Antonia” put to

  sea. No history records where she went or what she did. No Roman will

  even admit that she ever existed at all! But she was real and I

  know it…I was there.

  1

  THE UNTHINKABLE

  I am not a religious man, which is probably fortunate. I think I would surely go mad if I tried to understand the Gods. Maybe they are insane or, perhaps, their sense of humor got the best of them ages ago. Whatever the case, I am not a very religious man. How curious is fate. To think that I, a man who was born to wealth and ambition, should find myself so far away from my home and family, cut off from the soft life I took for granted in my youth.

  I do not think anything really affected me deeply when I was growing up in Rome. It is just the way people are in a city like that. Consensus and opinion moved through it like a tide through a cave.

  We were all so jaded and complacent, feeling like we had seen and done everything. Feeling so sure of ourselves. I would still be that way if it was not for the sequence of events that shook up everything I knew.

  Every generation faces an event that changes their lives. The Great Fire of Rome turned out to be such an event for me. If I had been injured in the flames or seen my family fortune destroyed I might have been better prepared for what was to follow. Instead, I would complement myself on my resourcefulness, never sensing the turn of events that would come.

  Every city has it is own smell. In Rome that amounts to one thing: The Tiber. By mid-summer you could smell it for a league outside of the City Walls. It out-stank the animal droppings of the stock yards. On this hot July afternoon it was particularly odorous.

  I had gone to the house of an old friend, Gaius Sabinas. Just overlooking the Palatine and said to have once belonged to Crassus. It was a grand, enormous house of exceptional appointment. Marble columns supported two vaulted colonnades which were covered in fresco. Beautiful statues from Greece and Byzantium framed the central object: a crystal clear pool large enough for a party of dozens to bathe in.

  This was to be one of his informal gatherings with a few choice friends: the finest wines from the south, poets and musicians…and the best people in Rome. Gaius really knew how to throw a party. For one who was seeking to better himself it was an occasion not to be missed.

  My father had made a fortune in his business, but his station as a freedman made it impossible for him to advance in society. He was compensated by the fact that he had succeeded in becoming one of the richest tradesmen in Italy. His ships and factories produced seafood for the whole Empire, and he had powerful friends in the highest places in Rome in spite of his station. In addition to his wealth, he was one of the most likable and savvy minded people of the trading world. He had sent me to the finest Greek schools where I was exposed to the best people of military and political rank. Although I would not have made such choices for myself, his aspirations for me were very high. Perhaps even one day for me to attain political office.

  I could not let him down. I had a duty to succeed. Such a party as this offered a chance to rub elbows with the right people. Dressed in an embroidered gown of the finest white linen, I had come to put on the appropriate show of sophistication and wealth. I had only just settled down to relax and enjoy the poetry, (The recitation was Cicero, who always amused me), when we first noticed the smell of smoke. At first I thought it was the gardener burning leaves nearby. Gaius called for his master slave to inquire about it when the sound of riot and screams suddenly arose from below us. Over the wall I could see a giant column of smoke rising into the sky. And the smell of fire grew noticeably stronger. An instant later the house slaves ran in crying that the City was on fire.

  We moved to the balcony to see what was happening, and could hardly grasp the terrible spectacle going on below. The entire Circus was burning! Before our eyes, the flames consumed the little tinder shops that lined the road next to it in seconds. Like a great arm of orange death, the hungry beast swallowed everything around it. Stores, warehouses, and people just burst into flame and vanished! It acted just like a terrible wind moving across the land. In what seemed only a few minutes more the fire threatened to leap up Palatine Hill. Although we were a good distance away the wind could change at any moment, and we decided it was too dangerous to remain where we were.

  The slaves quickly brought out the house treasures and loaded them into a cart. Just as Gaius was removing his family’s Patron Gods from the house a gust of hot wind blew a rain of ashes upon us, and spotted the frescos near the outside walls. Fearing the fire could touch off everything around us, most began to flee. As we made our way down the hill I could see the fire spreading with life of its own. A horrible wall of fire roared into the sky above the Cattle Market. The roar of the flaming storm, mixed with the cries of animals dying in fear and agony, made a ghastly siren that could easily have come from the depths of Hades. The blaze leapt over the roads and soon the Yards were gone. The flames seemed to create a storm of their own, and giant columns of flame arose like spinning tornadoes. They headed straight for the City Center. Although it was only five o’clock in the afternoon, the sun was no more. The great cloud of black smoke filled the sky, and ash started falling everywhere like snow. Within another hour the only light was
from the fire itself, which washed all the color from Rome except for a garish orange light. It was horrible.

  As we moved down the hill I became separated from my friends. Fleeing crowds of people converged upon us from every direction like frightened ants. The roads had become impassable, jammed with a multitude of carts, people, and general disorder. The narrow streets of the City were not designed for a mass evacuation and thousands were trapped in the countless courtyards and street crossings. People instinctively sought open spaces and, once they were in, they could not get out. Others fled into the marshes to get away from the fire and blinding smoke. Bodies were found there for many weeks after the fire. I do not think anyone will ever know how many thousands died that night.

  I grew up in Rome. Only eight years had passed since I had donned my manly clothes. All the back roads and alleys used by children were still known to me, which is the only reason I survived that night. I made it up to the rooftops and easily found my way. I am no hero but I soon found myself directing traffic from above; routing people away from dead ends and traps. I moved about the city doing this for several hours.

  Now, I had been too busy to notice it before, but it eventually dawned on me that nobody, and I mean nobody, seemed to be doing anything to put the fire out! No brigades were seen, no fire crews at all. A rumor was spreading that most of the city brigades were defending the palace from the flames, but I cannot confirm it. Only a handful of City Guards tried to help the people escape, and they seemed to be doing this entirely on their own initiative. Some even said they actually saw Praetorians moving about the City in packs with torches. Others said they saw them flinging paraffin to spread the fire!

  A fierce bitterness grew within me at these sights for I knew what they meant: Nero. The monster was at it again. For years that loathsome, vile little animal moved about our City at night with packs of hooligans, attacking citizens and assaulting them for his amusement. No one was spared this indignity, not even Senators. I had a brush with him myself one night as I was coming home from a play with some friends. We had been drinking heavily and were, to be honest, quite drunk. We had just passed through the Third Wall when we were set upon by six ruffians. I was still a student then and my comrades, who were both champion athletes, put up more of a fight than they had bargained for. As one of my friends, the younger Galba, was about to pounce on the last one, he lowered his hood to reveal himself: it was Nero!