The ship pitched from side to side as each tidal surge rolled underneath toward the shore. Marcus Livius Sulla Atrebas stood at the rail, his elbows propped up supporting his weight and his hands clasped together. He took deep breaths and watched the coastline; something his father had taught him to do to avoid the seasickness that took hold of most everyone he knew at one point or another. The man to his left stood with his head dipped over the rail expelling the contents of his stomach. The site of his fingers gripped tightly around the rail made Sulla laugh inside. It was positively interesting how white ones knuckles could turn when too much pressure was applied. The man lifted his head and looked at Sulla in apology. Sulla just cocked up the side of his mouth, shaking his head from side to side and turned away as the man lent back over the rail and heaved again. “Go and fetch your master a bit of bread and some water.” He told the slave. The slave promptly whispered in his Masters’ ear then ran off to do as he was told. Sulla shifted his stance and held on to the rail with one hand. “Next voyage, keep your head up and your eyes open.”

The man looked at him; drool slid down over his chin and his face was as red as a radish, “There won’t be a next time, thank you very much!”

Sulla laughed and walked across the deck to the other side of the ship. Again he leaned against the railing his large hands curled over the smooth wood. He thought about where he had come from and where he was going. Home and home, he mused; Massilia, his home, and Rome equally his home, but mostly his heart. He never would have left if staying in Rome hadn’t become such an unstable proposition. But with news of the Emperor leaving for Capri and the senate a bit more secure, he decided it was time to return. He looked over the side and noticed three white dolphins riding the bow wave, “A good omen”, He thought. Perhaps everything would be alright. Still he was unsure. A man that had property and modest wealth was always a likely target when proscription was just a whisper away. He didn’t want to be Tiberius’ new cause. But then it wasn’t really Tiberius he had to watch, it was Sejanus. Sulla knew where the real power was right now and all he had to do was stay inside of its shadow.

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as if he had just sorted out a plan of action. Then turned around and leaned against the rail. Across the deck, at the stern of the ship, Dardanus, his freedman, was talking to a semi veiled woman who was trying to sooth her mistress. Sulla smiled his half cocked smile and caught Dardanus’ eye. Dardanus shrugged his shoulders then whispered something to the servant before he shuffled unsteadily across the deck to talk with Sulla.

“Master, the Mistress, she is in an awful way. It is quite sad I tell you.”

Sulla crossed his arms over his chest, “Yes I can see that.” Sulla had looked past Dardanus to witness the noble woman convulse and spasm as she tried to vomit, but all she could muster was dry heaves. “What would you like me to do about it?”

“If you could go talk to her, perhaps give her some of your spice it would sooth her?”

Sulla looked at him sideways, “I swear Dardanus, if it were up to you we would support every stray, mongrel, or hard luck case we came across.” He pushed off the rail and made his way toward the two women, Dardanus fell instep behind him, not quite as steady on his feet. But as soon as Sulla came within three feet of the women, a tall hulking Celt stepped in front of him.

Sulla lifted an eyebrow, the man towered over him. “Are you sure you want to challenge me?” He asked the man calmly.

“It’s alright Arvandus” The Noblewoman’s servant laid a gentle hand on his bulging forearm, “Let him come, perhaps he can help the Domina.” She looked down respectfully to the ground as Sulla approached. “Please Dominus, anything you can offer, even if it is a gentle word, I am sure it will help.”

“NO IT WON’T!” The woman yelled as she heaved again over the railing. “Leave me alone, I just want to die.”

Sulla covered his mouth. He was grinning so hard it hurt. “Now, now, I am sure it is not as bad as all that.” He reached into a pouch that hung from his belt then leaned in closer and rested his hand tenderly on the middle of her back. He produced something from the pouch and held it up, “Here, lean up.” He slowly pulled her upright and then looked into her face. Her dark eyes were red and swollen and the coal makeup had smeared down the sides of her cheeks. She looked pathetic but he could tell that underneath her misery she probably cleaned up nicely. “I want you to take this and put it in your mouth and suck on it.” She shook her head no. His eyes went stern and he held it up to her lips, “I shall not take no for an answer, open your mouth, or do you want me to ask old…Arvandus here to help me pry it open?” he smiled.

She thought about it but was too miserable to fight him, “Will it make me better? Do I have your word? Because I just can’t take anymore of this! I…” He slipped it into her mouth in-between words.

“Nice isn’t it?” He smiled. “It’s candied ginger; it will settle your stomach, hopefully sooner than later.” Sulla turned and handed a few more slivers to the servant. “Have her chew on these if she needs more, and keep her on deck, the fresh air will help.”

“Thank you Dominus.” She bowed respectfully, never making eye contact.

But just as Sulla turned to leave the woman reached out and grabbed the bottom of his tunic as she fell to her knees and puked all over his sandaled feet. “YOU PROMISED! YOU BASTARD!” She retched, as she heaved again, covering his shins with bile.