Chapter 56 - Chapter 49: Visiting Rome

🏛️Chapter 49: Visiting Rome

🌍 March 10th, 91 BCE — Early Spring 🌱

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The mountains of the north fell away into the haze as the Sky Leviathan skimmed the high air. Cloaked in ghost mode, she shimmered like a mirage, half-seen and half-dreamed, a phantom galleon adrift among the clouds. A shepherd below, glancing upward, might have sworn he saw a ship sailing the sky — but he would shake his head, mutter of spirits, and keep it to himself.

Far offshore, the camouflage disengaged. The vessel settled onto the waterline with a silent thrum, her true disguise revealed: tar-dark planks, three towering masts, black canvas sails furled tight. No phantom now, but a warship of timber and canvas — strange, yes, even terrifying in scale — yet something men could sketch, covet, and claim as real.

🏠 The In-Laws & The Market — Provincial Port

The Leviathan eased down from the clouds as the sun bled into the horizon. By the time her hull kissed the tide, dusk had settled, lanterns flickering across a small provincial port. No watchman cried alarm, no magistrate came running. The local official was at supper with his family, wine cup in hand, blissfully unaware of the dark leviathan moored in his harbor.

Claudia leaned on the rail, eyes shining. "Here. My uncle's house. I know the way."

Junjie squeezed her hand. "Quietly," he reminded.

Nano's voice flicked across his thoughts: "Quietly, boy, yes. A phantom galleon drops anchor at dusk, and you hope no one notices. Bold as ever."

At nightfall, cloaked as traders, they slipped ashore — Junjie, Claudia, his parents, and two guards. The narrow streets carried them to a modest villa. Claudia's knock brought silence, then a servant's gasp. Moments later, her uncle staggered into the courtyard, gray at the temples, mouth open as if facing a ghost.

"My child..." His arms trembled as he embraced her. "We buried you in our prayers. How can this be?"

"I was lost," Claudia whispered, voice thick. "But I am found."

They drew her inside. Oil lamps glowed over a hastily spread meal: bread, olives, and a jug of wine. The family crowded close, questions tumbling. Where had she gone? How had she lived? Who was this quiet stranger at her side?

Claudia offered fragments — the caravan, her illness, captivity, the rescue, Junjie's steadfastness. "I am safe. I am happy. That is enough." She left kingdoms and flying ships unspoken.

Junjie's mother, Lianhua, smiled gently. "She has healed among us. She has brought joy to our home."

Chengde, his father, added, "She is scholar, scribe, and daughter to us already. My son chose well."

Her uncle's eyes lingered on Junjie, who sat tall, hands folded, speaking little. He raised a brow. "He doesn't talk much, does he?"

Claudia's lips curved in a mischievous smile. "He's shy."

Nano chirped in Junjie's ear, dry as iron: "Shy, that would be the word. Silent boy with the thundership in the harbor."

Uncle chuckled and reached for the wine. "Does he eat as little as he talks?"

Junjie allowed the faintest smile. "Only when the food is good."

Claudia laughed and nudged her uncle. "Then you'd better cook more, Uncle."

The old man barked a laugh. "Hah! A man who answers when it matters."

Junjie stifled a laugh and squeezed Claudia's hand under the table. Her uncle snorted, half-amused, half-skeptical. "Hmph. If he lets you speak for him, perhaps that is for the best."

The talk carried into the night — warm, playful, bittersweet. When Claudia's kin drifted to bed, she lingered in her mother's old chamber, fingers tracing familiar carvings. "I could not stay," she murmured to Junjie, "but I had to come. Just once." He kissed her brow, and they slipped back into the streets before dawn.

By sunrise, the family moved openly in the market. Before herbs and scrolls could be bought, Chengde led them to a moneychanger's stall beneath a shaded colonnade.

He placed a squat gold ingot on the scales — plain, hammered smooth, unmarked. The moneychanger scraped it, tested it with acid, bit the edge, and finally grunted approval. In return, he poured out a river of silver denarii, stamped with helmets, chariots, and winged gods.

Claudia's lips quirked knowingly. "Rome runs on silver. Without it, even an emperor's wife cannot buy a loaf of bread."

Nano whispered in Junjie's ear: "We could mint our own denarii, strike them with a dragon or thunderbolt. They'd never know. Their own moneyers change designs every year."

Junjie only tightened his jaw and swept the coins into a purse.

The denarii were set aside for herbs, scrolls, wine, and chickens — the small glitter that made markets turn. But the gold remained for greater purchases.

🏛️Rome

The next day, the Leviathan entered the Tiber mouth. Even cloaked as timber and tar, she drew stares. Three masts, a towering sterncastle, bristling with gunports — the harbor swarmed with legionaries and magistrates scrambling to record what they saw.

Claudia's hand tightened on Junjie's. "Do not let them see us tremble. Romans never forgive weakness."

They disembarked in the clamoring market. Lianhua darted toward stalls of herbs and seeds, intoxicated by scents of oils and powders. Claudia found a scribe's shop and bartered hungrily for scrolls and codices. Chengde appraised perfumes, silks, and trade goods with a merchant's eyes.

As Claudia turned from the scribe's stall, a matron in crimson stola and heavy gold rings stopped squarely in her path. "Excuse me," the woman said, voice sharp with authority. "Those fabrics are far too coarse for the Forum. Are you quite sure you belong in this district?" Claudia offered a patient smile. "I am here for knowledge, not fashion." The woman's chin lifted. "I am Karina Romara, wife of Senator Gaius Romarus. I know every face that ought to be seen here." Claudia's smile did not waver. "Then you must know many who do not deserve to be." The Roman drew herself up, indignant, and swept off toward the perfume stalls, muttering about foreigners and insolence. Nano's murmur followed in Junjie's mind: "Predatory display. Recommend avoidance. Local matron-class dominance ritual." Junjie smothered a grin and moved on.

Junjie eyed the slave pens. At the block, Claudia pointed eagerly. "That one is Greek, clever hands. We should take him before another does."

At the block, Claudia pointed eagerly. "That one is Greek — clever hands. We should take him before another does."

Junjie shook his head, voice low. "Freedom should not start in chains."

Chengde shook his head. "We need masons more than ornaments."

Lianhua touched her son's arm. "Here they are chained. In our valley, they will stand free."

Nano's dry whisper followed: "Reject him — rickets in the legs, won't swing a hammer for two years. That one's lungs are scarred. But there, the tall smith — strong bones, quick reflexes. Worth three lesser men."

Chengde laid down a gold bar with flippant ease. To them, gold was as common as stone — ore smelted by their forges, mountains carved by the ore-eater that chewed rock like bread. The auctioneer's eyes gleamed as he tested the bar. "For men such as these," he said, nodding at the chain, "silver is clumsy. Gold is honest." The ingot vanished into his chest. Denarii clinked back across the scales as change.

By late morning, marines were already escorting the first purchases — masons, smiths, a glassworker, and scribes — down to a waiting boat. Their chains would soon be broken aboard the Leviathan.

By noon, the family returned to the ship to stow goods and people. They ate quickly, drank, and then — greedy for the richness of Rome's markets — went back out for a second circuit: more herbs and inks, more tools, and another pass through the pens while the city still gaped at the great black hull.

On deck between forays, Chengde watched the harbor nervously. "Each harbor is a lesson in greed." Lianhua adjusted her cloak. "And in fear. Fear is faster than our fans."

Halfway through that second round, Nano's tone sharpened: "Movement. Galley oars stilled, signals exchanged. They mean to strike."

"Back to the docks," Junjie said softly.

They hurried through the press. The Leviathan was no longer at her berth; she had shifted out into open water, sails angled, watching. Junjie raised the signaling lamp and flashed their code. The galleon ghosted toward a side pier, never quite docking.

They sprinted and leapt the ten-foot gap as the ship slid past, landing lightly on deck. Romans onshore shouted in astonishment. Within moments, the Leviathan wheeled and circled the harbor, Romans scrambling to hem her in with chained barges.

At the harbor mouth, the blockade waited. For a breath, the ship drifted, as though trapped. Then a panel opened at the bow.

A thunderclap split the air. Fire belched, smoke billowed, and a barge disintegrated into shards. Men screamed, hurled into the waves. When the smoke cleared, only wreckage and a gap remained. The Leviathan sailed calmly through, her gunport sealing as though it had never been.

The Leviathan sailed calmly through, her gunport sealing as though it had never been. Behind them, Rome roared in fury.

She did not rise at once. Black sails carried her out to sea, past the reach of galleys and the watch-fires of the coast. Only when the horizon swallowed the land and night pressed close did the order come. Panels slid shut, lanterns dimmed, and the ship shimmered into ghost mode.

Belowdecks, the new purchases huddled in silence. They had wondered who had bought them — merchant, noble, or gladiator broker. None imagined this. Through narrow portholes, they watched the waves fall away, the sea flattening into a glittering plain far below. The hull did not groan or sway; it lifted as though cradled in unseen hands. A boy clutched his chain and whispered in Greek, "Sorcerers." An older man muttered a prayer to Jupiter, while another stared wide-eyed, lips trembling, then whispered: "Not Romans... not men at all."

The new captives did not scream or riot. Chains clinked softly in the dark as they sat in silence, eyes wide with the memory of the sea falling away. They were given food, water, and space to lie down, and none were beaten or cursed. Yet no comfort eased the terror of sorcery made real. Better to wait, to obey, to endure. Whatever masters these were, they were not Romans — and that was enough to keep the men still.

The Sky Leviathan slid into the clouds, a phantom galleon, leaving Rome's fury far beneath the stars.

⚓The Coastal Raids

They did not sail home. Nano urged them onward. "Rome communicates by rider. Slow. Clumsy. Strike again before warnings arrive, and you multiply your gains." So they did.

Second Port

A smaller town with a bustling slave market, but little in the way of luxuries. Junjie focused on the pens, purchasing smiths, masons, and scribes — skilled hands who would strengthen their valley's foundation. Chengde added barrels of salted fish and coarse wool, practical trade staples. The town commander glowered from the quay, but intimidated by the massive galleon and its disciplined marines, he let the strangers depart without interference. By the time he summoned the courage to draft a report, the Leviathan was already beyond reach.

Third Port

Here, the markets spilled with perfumes and dyed cloth, luxuries Rome funneled from the East. Lianhua bartered for rare oils and medicinal resins, while Claudia secured papyrus bundles and inks from a Greek merchant. From the slave block, they selected carpenters, a jeweler, and a leatherworker — artisans who could craft tools and ornaments as well as boots and harness. The port's prefect lingered on the docks, half-tempted to order the warship seized, but hesitated. By midday, the galleon's black sails were a speck against the horizon, leaving him cursing his own indecision.

Fourth Port

The last stop was poorer, a windswept harbor more accustomed to fishing boats than galleons. Still, opportunity glimmered. Chengde secured amphorae of wine and olive oil, Lianhua gathered exotic seeds from wandering traders, and Junjie purchased a small knot of stonemasons and a glassblower — men whose craft would be priceless at home. The local governor dispatched riders in haste the moment the sails vanished, but they galloped toward Rome too late. The Leviathan was already leagues ahead, fading into the open sea.

The Growing Legend

With each port, the pattern grew sharper: arrive at dawn, trade hard, buy slaves and artisans, and vanish before a legion could muster. Sailors muttered that no galley could match such speed. Some swore the ship had no oars yet outpaced triremes; others whispered it spat thunder and fire from hidden holes in its hull. To some, it was barbarian sorcery. To others, a secret Alexandrian experiment. None could agree, but all feared it.

In back alleys and taverns, a new curse took hold:

"May the Black Galleon take you."

📜The Roman Naval Council

In Ostia, admirals, artisans, and shipwrights gathered in a smoke-filled chamber. Scrolls of sketches lay across the table, half-built models stacked in corners, abandoned.

Admiral Gaius Varro slammed his fist. "We scoured every sea. It has vanished. No other port reports such a vessel. One ship — and it mocks us."

Lucullus, the shipwright, shoved forward a warped timber. "We tried three copies. They leaked, snapped, or capsized. The balance is wrong, the proportions unknown. We saw only its sails, its stern. Without the vessel itself, we cannot match it."

Another admiral sneered. "Then it was a trick. A barbarian's exaggeration. Our triremes are enough."

Lucullus spat. "Trick? Did you not see the barge? One thunderclap and it was kindling. That was no trick of oars."

The room fell silent. No one had an answer.

At last, Varro said, "Enough. We cannot copy what we do not understand. If it shows itself again, we seize it. Until then, let it be a phantom. Rome has greater wars to fight."

They rose with reluctant murmurs. As the lamps guttered, a young officer leaned toward a comrade and whispered, "If one ship can do this..." The older man finished softly, "Pray there is only one."

🌒 Reflection & Strategy

On the open sea at last, sails billowing, the family gathered at the rail. Chengde exhaled slowly. "That was arrogant. Too bold. We walked into Rome's teeth, and it could have gone badly."

Lianhua nodded. "Yet what we saw — the markets overflow with skill and strength, wasted in chains. It would be folly to abandon such a source."

Chengde's jaw tightened. "We will change our ways. The Leviathan has drawn too much envy. Next time she waits at sea."

Nano whispered slyly in Junjie's ear: "The Gull of the Mountain. Small wings for small harbors. In and out like a shadow. Rome will never know."

Junjie gazed back at the fading coast, silent. But he knew in his heart: they would return.