Author’s note: Regular dialogue is spoken in Latin, bolded is in Greek. Also, apologies if the writing is subpar, I hadn't slept in a day when I wrote this.
10 September 609
Alborran
0645
The island of Alborran was surrounded by a ring of shallow banks that forced the ship Iustinianus was traveling on to drop anchor at a good distance from shore. A small boat was lowered overboard, carrying him and an escort of eight sailors and reservists in the crew—he had been reluctant to strip men from the city’s walls, and didn’t want to slow down the ship with extra bodies. The smaller craft quickly skimmed across the shallows to the island, and as the men rowed the magister kept a wary eye on the sky across the island. Ships with collapsible masts were, for all intents and purposes, nonexistent on this side of the Bosporos, but no good could come of being overconfident. Ironic, given that he was personally meeting a foreign magnate of uncertain loyalties with a small escort.
The island was disk-shaped, with mostly flat beaches gradually sloping up until they became a limestone plateau. The rise obscured the hull of the hopefully lone ship, but it did not obscure a small group of people who stood upon it. As the ship drew closer to shore, Iustinianus scrutinized them as best he could at a distance. They were dressed in Mauri blue, none appeared to carrying large weapons, or at least polearms, and most appeared to stand in a loose circle around what he presumed to be Yugurta. From their stances, it was apparent that they didn’t have much experience in foot combat. But then again, neither did the men with him, he thought as he cast an uneasy glance to the rowers. There were maybe a half dozen of them, so if it came to a fight they were probably about even. Assuming of course, that there wasn’t an ambuscade on the far side of the rise.
His hand drifted to the pommel of his spatha, but he forced himself to shut his eyes and take a deep breath. Even if it went south, he’d survived scrapes with worse odds before, like in ’08 with those Iutæ in Hrofæscæstre or whatever the hell the Pythean Germanics called it. If he could survive fighting four-to-one odds and a shieldwall there, he could certainly survive this going violent.
Iustinianus was broken from his thoughts by the lembus stopping with a sudden bump, which made him lose his balance and nearly fall into the wet sand below. He recovered quickly, spinning to face the rowers. He nodded to each in turn.
“This has the potential to go very, very bad,” he said, “So no one does anything without may say-so. Everyone got that?”
They all nodded, with a few muted ‘Yessir’s. Iustinianus then pointed to the four largest men.
“You four are with me. You four,” he pointed to the others “Be ready to push out if we come over that ridge.”
With that, he turned and started to walk up the slope. The sand was much looser than he expected, and he had to keep himself from stumbling twice. He kept his gaze dead ahead, knowing that the second his head cleared the top he would be in full view.
Breath, Iustinianus, breath. Showing nerves will only weaken your position.
He stopped once they reached level ground, giving the men behind him time and space to form up in a rough v-shape before continuing on. Now that he was closer, he could see that all of the Mauri wore head coverings. There was no reason to where them here, away from any rough weather, so it was almost certainly to intimidate them.
“Salvē, Chief Yugurta! I see that the Ghomarra have no shortage of capable fighting men!” he called out, hoping the forced tone of amiability wasn’t apparent. He paused at a safe distance a few feet away from the Mauri and saluted.
One of the men inside the ring of warriors strode forward. Yugurta too was dressed in Mauri blue, but unlike his men his head was in full view. He stood at about a few inches taller than his Roman counterpart, and had thick, dark brown hair and eyebrows, a thin and pointed nose, narrow eyes and a lightly tanned skin, unusually light for a Mauri. He saluted in return, then cracked a thin, toothless smile.
“Salvē to you too, Magister, but I am afraid I am not the chief of the Ghomarra. It is my brother Amenzu who rules, and I am just a lowly servant of his.”
“I…see.” Iustinianus said haltingly, processing the information. “For the sake of effecicacy, you negotiate fully on behalf of your brother?”
Yugurta nodded. “Completely. I also cannot help but notice that you speak in the manner of a man from Konstantinoupoli. I assume you can also speak Greek?”
“Yes,” Iustinianus said, eyes narrowing, “As a native, in fact.”
“Then I think you should understand what I mean when I say that I am ‘Tiberios’ and my brother is ‘Ioustin.’”
Iustinianus nodded curtly. Amenzu had next to no power, but was still paranoid and Yugurta was the true power behind the throne. That would…certainly make negotiations more complex, since Yugurta’s behavior seemed to indicate that the (presumably) elder brother had men in attendance. They’d have to use Latin, then, as Greek would certainly make Amenzu much warier.
“You speak for your brother in all ways, then?” He asked, speaking each word slowly and intentionally.
Yugurta chuckled hollowly. “No two people can agree in all ways, but we agree in most matters.”
So, the current ruler wasn’t as receptive as Yugurta was. That left him in a poor negotiating position, as Yugurta could just turn the process over to his brother and leave him high and dry.
“I don’t suppose that you have any of that lovely Baetic wine aboard your ship, do you?” Yugurta suddenly asked.
It caught Iustinianus off guard, and it took a few seconds to respond. “Erm, no, I can’t say there is.”
“That’s a shame. It’s the best this side of Phoenicia,” Yugurta said, tilting his head. “If I remember correctly, there aren’t that many shipments anymore because the Goths keep raiding the vineyards.”
Iustinianus nodded silently, trying to figure out what Yugurta meant.
“Thankfully, I have a schedule of all the wine ships sailing from Tingitania to Malaca. It really helps with rationing and disposing off wine.”
It finally clicked in Iustinianus’ head. Dates. Yugurta had specific dates for Delius’ troop movements and positioning across the province, the strategic value of which didn’t need to be stated.
“Unfortunately, the merchants have a tendency to demand multiple payments. Tell me, magister, do you think that they should get what they desire?”
Iustinianus bit back a short response. That was probably the most blatant request for bribe he’d seen, even growing up in the halls of power in Konstantinoupoli, and he certainly didn’t have the available money to pay it. And then an idea struck him.
“I would think that as long as the merchants fully give over what they have promised, then they should be payed fully.” He grinned. “But, given the unscrupulous nature of the trading class, in order to make sure that both sides have a fair bargain the traders should be forced to capitulate at least some of the relevant goods before the additional payment is payed.”
Yugurta nodded, evidently considering the proposal. After a few seconds, he responded in a low tone. “Very well. You should know that the year’s largest Tingitanian wine shipment will put out from Septem by the close of the month, bound for Carteia and then Malaca. The voyage should take six days or so, depending on how…strong the market is at Carteia.”
Iustinianus sucked in a breath. It would be coming much better than he had expected, so soon in fact that the harvest might not be ready before Delius arrived. He’d have to pick up fish and salt production in the next month to at least have something substantive prepared.
“That will, of course, drive up the value of I and my brother’s personal reserves, given that we will have the largest amount of the stuff west of Africae.” Yugurta said, grinning.
Iustinianus forced a smile, trying to keep concernoff of his face. Showing excess concern might make Yugurta think that Delius might be a safer option. “And how many barrels do you have at your disposal?”
“My brother and I,” Yugurta said, nodding to one of the men besid him, “Have eight barrels of a hundred cups’ worth each.”
Eight hundred men was no inconsiderable force. In fact, it would almost certainly be enough to take the degarrisoned ports.
“You are willing to sell these wines? At the price I suggested in the previous correspondence?” Iustinianus said.
“My brother and I are willing to sell them, yes, but I disagree with the value of the purchase you have suggested.”
Iustinianus hid a grimace. He really couldn’t afford much more than he had already offered, but he still had to ask.
“And what do you think is a fair price for you–your brother’s wines?”
Yugurta paused and looked up in an excessive demonstration of pondering the offer. It was almost certain that it was a show on behalf of the men around him. After a few minutes, he responded.
“I think he would be satisfied with your recognition of him as the superior grower in all of Tingitania.”
Iustinianus shook his head. “I can give him the title of highest of the Mauri, but my subordinates would be enraged if I conceded that for the Romans.”
Lordship over the various Mauri tribes in western Mauritania would hopefully be a juicy enough target that he would accept the denial of rule in the ports. Hopefully.
After a few more minutes of over-the-top pensivity, Yugurta responded. “I think that will be more than enough to sate my brother. We will send our wines to the ports after the primary shipment departs Septem.”
Iustinianus nodde and saluted. “Very well. May you and your brother prosper.”
“And you as well.”
After the exchange, silence fell of the groups, both waiting for the other to to leave first. Iustinianus considered just ordering his men to turn and walk away, but that might break some unspeaken Mauri custom and antagonize Yugurta and his men. He was also reluctant to turn his back to them. After nearly five minutes of tense silence, he decided that this was becoming absurd and began to carefully step backwards. His men followed, and soon the Mauri, still standing in place, became obscured by the rise.
