The Far Shore (18 page)

‘Yes, miss. It may be complicated. And difficult.’ Cassius turned to face her. ‘It’s not too late. One of those rowing boats can take you and your maid back. I can send you word as soon as I know more.’

Cassius half expected another fiery response, but Annia looked down at the deck and replied quietly, ‘I will not sit and wait. It would drive me mad. I must know.’

Cassius could understand that at least.

‘I believe the great gods are with us,’ Annia added.

‘I hope so, miss.’

He looked at her. The cold had drawn all the colour from her already pale face, whitening even her lips, but this allowed her emerald eyes to shine all the brighter. There was a certain beauty to her, he had to admit.

‘Don’t get cold on my account, miss.’

Annia gave an awkward little half-smile. She looked out past the breakwater, at the rocky coast of the island. ‘This time two days ago he was alive.’

Cassius could think of no fitting maxim, no appropriate words of sympathy. Recalling the picture in Memor’s study, he glanced back at the city and imagined that huge wave striking. He shivered.

Just then, the crew began to cheer and shout. They were all looking up at the three gulls that had just landed in the rigging.

‘A good omen,’ said Annia.

‘Is it?’ Cassius replied. ‘There are so many – I lose track.’

‘The great gods
are
with us. I feel it.’ She turned away and walked back along the deck, passing Indavara as he came up through the hatch.

‘Get settled in?’

With a barely perceptible nod, Indavara stopped beside him and looked morosely out at the dark blue sea.

‘Sorry there wasn’t room in the cabin,’ Cassius said as the
Fortuna
neared the harbour entrance. ‘You all right?’ he added, keen to build bridges after Indavara’s outburst at the way station.

‘It really was stupid, what I did, wasn’t it?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Cassius.

‘Kicking that priest. What if I have offended this god? He controls the sea and the wind. He could make a storm. He could sink the ship.’

‘Calm yourself,’ Cassius replied. ‘You saw the ceremony. There’s more gods watching over this ship than any I’ve been on and it’s named after your Fortuna.’

Indavara was still gazing at the sea. ‘I’ve heard there are creatures under the water bigger than any on land. Bigger than an elephant even.’

‘Corbulo!’

Asdribar was gesturing to the left. All the crew had turned that way.

‘Turn to port!’ exclaimed the Carthaginian. ‘Don’t look at the wreck.’

This superstition Cassius had heard of; looking at a sunken ship was supposed to bring ill fortune. He had noted the weed-covered mast sticking out of the water just outside the harbour the previous day.

Korinth dropped the rope he was coiling and stalked towards them, scratching at his scarred face. ‘Turn! Both of you! Or do you want to curse us all?’

‘Which way’s port again?’ asked Indavara.

‘Left,’ said Cassius.

They turned away from the wreck. Slowly.

Korinth shot them a final glare, then returned to the stern.

Cassius and Indavara exchanged a smile.

‘I really don’t know why these sailors can’t just use left and right,’ said Cassius. ‘Makes them feel special, I suppose.’

‘What’s right?’

‘Starboard.’

‘That’s it.’

‘By the way,’ said Cassius, ‘I’ve decided you’re quite correct. It’s ridiculous for me to depend on you all the time. I have a sword and I need to be able to use it properly. A ship is hardly an ideal training ground but perhaps we can at least go over a few basics. It’s been a long time.’

‘We can start tomorrow.’

As the towing dories passed through the harbour entrance and beyond the breakwaters, the sea became rougher. Akritos’s cries were lost on the wind and trivial japes were long forgotten as the oarsmen dug deep with their oars to pull the freighter clear. The towing rope tightened and slackened as the three vessels were thrown around and Korinth came forward to monitor the iron rings now jolting in their mounts.

Only when they were a good fifty yards out did Akritos yell, ‘Ready to cast off?’, cupping his hands around his mouth to make himself heard.

‘Ready!’ answered Asdribar.

The men reversed their oars and propelled their boats back towards the freighter. Once they were close enough, the sailors untied the ropes and threw them back to the dories. Akritos directed the two boats upwind of the
Fortuna
, then had the men ship their oars, allowing them a welcome rest before heading back into the harbour. They still found enough breath to shout, and the wind carried their words to all on deck.

‘May Poseidon smile!’

‘Fair wind! Fair way!’

‘Fortuna’s best!’

Those of Asdribar’s crew who weren’t at work solemnly raised their hands to their fellow seamen.

‘Raise the foresail!’ ordered the captain.

Korinth and another man took hold of a thick rope and hauled the sail up hand over hand. It was tiny compared to the mainsail but all the pair’s strength was required to get it to the top of the foremast.

‘Bear away!’ ordered Asdribar.

The freighter had been wallowing in the disturbed water beyond the harbour, but as the foresail filled, she began to pick up speed, bow aiming at the northern cape of Rhodes.

Cassius put a hand to his stomach. He was beginning to feel the first pangs of nausea.

‘Grey,’ observed Indavara. ‘Grey everywhere.’

‘Well you know why it’s cloudy, of course.’

‘The season?’

‘No, no. Apparently someone’ – he looked at Indavara – ‘decided it would be a good idea to slide around on a statue of the sun god this afternoon. The god is offended, and hides his rays from us.’

Indavara’s face froze.

‘I’m joking,’ Cassius said.

The bodyguard gulped and gazed up at the sky.

‘Seriously,’ Cassius added. ‘I am joking.’

Simo came out of the hatch with a mug in each hand. He did extremely well to reach the mast having spilt only a little of the steaming wine.

‘Thank you,’ said Indavara.

‘From Opilio,’ said Simo. ‘Not sure if it will be good or bad for your stomach, sir.’

‘Might help me sleep at least.’

‘The ship’s name,’ said Indavara after he’d taken his first sip. ‘Fortuna I know. But
Fortuna Redux
. What does it mean?’

‘Good luck that brings you home,’ explained Simo.

Cassius raised his mug. ‘Here’s hoping, eh?’

Indavara lay in the darkness, head propped against one of his bags, watching the crewmen come up and down through the hatch. It was always hard to work out how much time had passed on a ship; might have been two hours since they left the harbour, might have been four.

And so much noise. The hull striking the waves. Flapping sails. Squeaking blocks. Groaning ropes and stays. It did seem a little quieter now though. From what he could gather, the mainsail was up, and he knew ships went better through the water once that was done.

Try as he might, Indavara couldn’t stop thinking about the water. That lethal, formless void. Sometimes, when he found himself in the middle of an expanse of sea, he felt as if he might faint, and he wished some great hand would reach down from the clouds, pick him up and place him back on dry land. Night was even worse. Those scattered wave crests glittering in the moonlight. The sound of the water sliding by. Inescapable thoughts of what was around him, under him.

Indavara pulled the blanket up to his chin. He’d found a nice little space for himself next to the stack of twig bales. It would be noisy and busy by the hatch, but he preferred to be close to it in case anything happened. His bags were neatly arranged behind him and to his left, leaving just enough space for his blanket and hardly enough room to turn over. That was how he liked it; the bed in his cell under the arena at Pietas Julia had been narrow and he found he still barely moved during the night.

The last person he’d seen on the steps was Korinth. Like the others who’d come past, the sailor hadn’t even noticed he was lying there. Indavara wasn’t too worried about him. He’d handled him once, he could handle him again. Even so, he would sleep with his right hand resting on his dagger hilt – but then he usually did that anyway.

With all that had happened since they’d arrived on Rhodes, he was surprised to find it was the young lady Annia who kept forcing her way into his thoughts. That happened with women. You saw one, perhaps only for a few moments, and then you just kept thinking about her. Like Galla, that girl back in Antioch. He’d only seen her twice – and she took money so it was hard to know if she’d really liked him – but he thought about her a lot too.

But this Annia. She really was pretty. You could tell because she’d been through a terrible shock and she wasn’t trying to look good, but she still did. She was probably almost as tall as him but he didn’t mind that. She was so graceful, so feminine.

Indavara didn’t think he could go and talk to her. That would be difficult. She had lost her father. He didn’t know what to say to women at the best of times and this certainly wasn’t that. Perhaps if they saw each other on deck
she
might talk to
him
.

He had managed a good wash before they left the way station and now reminded himself to keep putting on that scent Simo had given him. He’d hated the smell at first but now he quite liked it. Simo was always on at him about that sort of thing. Must get clean when you have the chance, must use soap, must wash your clothes.

But he was a good man, Simo, and a patient teacher. Indavara didn’t understand why he himself could do some things without even thinking about it, yet found words and numbers so difficult. He had to do his sums hundreds of times just to remember them and even then it wasn’t that satisfying. Not like writing. Writing was incredible. He could make his name look the same almost every time now. To think people wrote whole books!

Corbulo said he was planning to write several. Indavara was sure he could do it. He was annoying at times – most of the time actually – but he was clever. There was no doubt about that.

And he did seem to know a bit about women. He’d been a bastard that night in Karanda though, telling Indavara he had the manners of a – what was it? – Thracian muck-chucker; that he’d never get any girls if he couldn’t learn how to behave. The woman had laughed along with him until Indavara had walked away.

That was when he hated Corbulo the most. When he made him feel a fool. Because it was as if he’d forgotten what Indavara had done for him – not once, but twice.

Saved him. Saved his life. Corbulo had done the same for him of course, that day at the river, but Indavara had thought a thing like that might bring two men together; make them friends. But it hardly ever felt like that. Perhaps when Corbulo had bought him the silver-plated figurine of the goddess Fortuna. Perhaps then. Indavara still had the gift, though he made a point of keeping it hidden when Corbulo was around. He preferred the old, small marble figurine he was holding in his hand.

His fingers had worn the stone smooth and he knew every edge, every contour. He imagined that the woman who’d thrown it to him at the end of his tenth fight had looked like Annia.

Indavara gripped the figurine tight and tried to focus on his prayer. Prayers weren’t easy. He’d memorised a few bits he’d heard other people say but he couldn’t ask Simo about it because he didn’t want to seem stupid. He could at least usually find a way to say what he wanted to now.

‘Fair Fortuna,’ he whispered, ‘Goddess Most High …’

The galley of the
Fortuna Redux
was noisy, smelly and smoky. The noise was a combination of shouted conversation, rattling pots and pans, and a bubbling iron cauldron. The smell was an exotic mix of spices, barley and charcoal smoke. Cassius was surprised to see the cauldron was mounted on a metal grill in the middle of a hearth that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a farmhouse. All around it were tiles covering the timber walls to reduce the risk of fire. Cut into the ceiling was a smoke hole that opened up behind the deckhouse.

‘Check that barley!’ Opilio yelled over his shoulder. He was standing over a wooden counter, chopping vegetables with a cleaver.

Desenna – the Jew – was kneeling by the hearth, rearranging the coals beneath the grill with a poker. ‘Just checked it!’

‘Check again.’

Shaking his head, Desenna stood up and dipped a long-handled spoon into the cauldron.

‘They’re missing the pail!’ snapped Opilio. ‘Wake up, Tarkel.’

The third member of the galley crew was a skinny lad of thirteen or fourteen. He was squatting by the counter, trying to catch the vegetable offcuts coming his way.

Simo, who was standing in front of a huge water barrel, suddenly noticed his master. ‘Sorry, sir, won’t be a moment.’

Opilio turned round. ‘Ah, sir’s getting impatient for his wine.’

Cassius stepped inside the doorway. ‘Seems to help with my stomach.’

Opilio took a mug from Simo and went over to the hearth, then picked up a small pan of wine next to the cauldron. ‘You’ll be all right for the moment, sir. We’ve a calm sea. That’s why we’ve got to cook up as much as we can now. The captain likes a proper hot meal.’