The Far Shore (20 page)

‘But that was just the once,’ Asdribar added. ‘Like I said – the other two times were fine.’

Cassius headed for the hatch. ‘Good night.’

‘Night, Officer,’ replied the captain. ‘Sleep well.’

The only spacious, private area on the
Fortuna Redux
was the main hold. With the hatch cover pulled to one side, it was well lit by the bright morning sunshine and once a few amphorae and barrels had been shifted, there was a square area about fifteen feet wide. Dawn had brought a few extra knots of wind but the sea remained calm and – apart from the occasional judder or pitch – it was relatively easy to stand.

Cassius glanced towards the stern to check there were no prying eyes behind the twig bales and timber. Thankfully, the seasickness still hadn’t struck in earnest. Ascribing this to Opilio’s hot wine, he’d already downed a big mugful with his breakfast. It was now the third hour, and he’d been pleased to discover that Rhodes was indeed now well behind them, with the
Fortuna
powering along at a good five knots.

Arriving in the hold, he’d found Indavara shooting arrows into a barrel lid. The bodyguard had been alternating hands and seemed to enjoy the challenge presented by the movements of the ship.

‘Right,’ he said, putting the bow down, ‘let’s have a look at this thing, then.’

Cassius handed over his sword belt. Indavara drew the blade and put the belt and scabbard on top of a barrel. Casting a disparaging look at the eagle head, he ran his eyes over the rest of the weapon. ‘Not even runnelled.’

‘What are runnels again?’ Cassius enquired.

‘Curved hollows along the flat. Lets air in when the blade slides into flesh. Makes it easier to pull it out.’

‘Ah.’

For a brief moment, Cassius felt as if nausea might strike after all.

Indavara shook his head. ‘Heavy as a trident. And just as unwieldy.’

He threw it to Cassius, who managed to grab the hilt.

Indavara looked at Cassius’s forearms. ‘I’ve seen teenage girls with bigger wrists than you.’

Cassius glared at him but the bodyguard persisted: ‘Tell me they were like that when you finished your training.’

Cassius begrudgingly shook his head. He had lost a lot of bulk – muscle especially – in the last two years. Never a big eater, his only real form of exercise had been swimming.

‘You need building up,’ said Indavara. ‘Start with the blade close to the deck, then raise it up until your arm’s horizontal. Do twenty.’

‘Very well.’

Cassius did as he was told. Upon reaching the twentieth swing, he winced, and instantly wished he hadn’t.

‘Too much for you, Officer?’

‘Enjoying this, aren’t you?’

Indavara shrugged. ‘I always knew legionary training was piss-easy compared to what we fighters did, but it’s still hard to believe
you
got through.’

‘Oh I got through – don’t worry about that. All sixty days.’

Cassius was suddenly assailed by one of his most shameful memories – crying into his pillow at the end of at least the first twenty of those days. He aimed the sword at Indavara. ‘Don’t get too full of yourself, bodyguard – you’d have been heading home on day three.’

‘What happens on day three?’

‘Half-mile swim.’

Cassius’s triumphant grin didn’t last long. The ship pitched suddenly and they both lurched towards the bow.

‘Do you want to do this, or not?’ asked Indavara when the vessel was steady again.

‘Go ahead.’

‘Now swing it side to side. Plant your feet. Don’t twist your body.’

‘I thought you were supposed to keep your feet moving.’

‘We’re strengthening your sword arm, not working on technique.’

When this exercise was done, Indavara ordered diagonal swings – left to right, then right to left.

‘Here’s what you must do,’ he instructed when Cassius had finished. ‘Fifty of all four variations – when you wake up, and before you go to bed.’

‘Before bed? I’ll be covered in sweat.’

‘Not after a week or two.’

‘Very well. Now, how about teaching me something useful? Some of your gladiator tricks.’

‘Forget tricks. We can’t do much on here anyway with the ship moving around. Do you have enough money for a new sword?’

‘Not really.’

‘If you sold that thing?’

‘I’m not selling this! I spent half an afternoon haggling for it.’

Indavara shook his head despairingly. ‘You said you’d been in a battle once – at this fort. How did you get on? Be honest.’

Cassius looked down at the deck. ‘I couldn’t think. I was so slow. My mind just … emptied.’

Indavara walked over to the row of barrels on the right side of the hold. ‘We may as well sit down.’

‘What? Why?’

‘To talk.’

‘You’re supposed to be showing me how to fight.’

‘Before that we must talk.’

With a sigh, Cassius picked up his sword belt and sheathed the blade. ‘This is a first.
You
insisting that
I
talk.’

He sat down on a barrel next to Indavara. One of the crewmen passed by and looked down at them. Beyond him, the sky was a reassuring shade of blue.

‘Did you do any hand to hand in training?’ asked Indavara.

‘A bit.’

‘You wrestled when you were younger?’

‘I gave it up as soon as I could.’ Cassius made a face. ‘All that oil and sweat. The only man I’m prepared to embrace is my father – and I don’t particularly enjoy that.’

Indavara rolled his eyes. ‘Hand to hand is difficult. And something tells me you won’t be a natural. If you’re caught without a weapon, always try and improvise. I never use my fists if I can avoid it.’ He held out his fingers. ‘Remember how precious these are. If you can’t grip and hold you’re in trouble. Boots are useful.’ He tapped his boot on the deck. ‘I nailed a bit of hardwood on to the front of these. Very nasty on the shin or knee.’

‘Ingenious.’

‘You should probably just concentrate on dagger and sword for now. But you’ll have to start looking after them.’

‘Simo
does
look after them. They’re immaculate.’

‘Simo doesn’t look after them, he makes them look nice. Show me your dagger.’

Cassius drew it from the sheath on his belt. The standard-issue legionary’s blade was ten inches long, three wide and topped by a triangular tip.

‘They’re almost like little swords, these army things,’ said Indavara as he took it. ‘Good weapon in the right hands.’ He aimed the knife at Cassius’s sword. ‘More useful than that bloody thing.’

Indavara drew his own dagger, which was both shorter and narrower. He held each weapon by the handle, then dropped them blade first on to the deck. Indavara’s stuck fast. Cassius’s dagger bounced off and clattered to one side.

‘Not sharp enough. I’ll show you how to get it right.’ He picked up the dagger and examined it. ‘Hardly been touched.’

Cassius shrugged. ‘I told you before – I don’t like blades. I don’t like holding them, using them. I don’t even like wearing them.’

Indavara stood and turned to face him. ‘So what? You’ll just give up your life? If a man comes at you, you’ll just let him gut you?’

‘No, but—’

‘There
has
to be a little fight in you. You clobbered that bastard Scaurus on the river that day.’

‘That’s true. I did hate that man.’

‘Forget hate,’ said Indavara. ‘What about some thief that jumps out of the shadows? There won’t be time to hate him – he’ll already have stuck some cold metal into you. Did you ever cut anyone?’

‘Once,’ said Cassius. ‘At the fort. A Palmyran.’

‘I’ve seen men – not many, but a few – who would rather get cut themselves than do it to someone else. If you’re like that, I won’t be able to help you.’

‘I’m not. Definitely not.’

‘Just tell yourself: it’s him or me. You value your life – you’ll fight.’

‘Him or me.’

Indavara nodded. ‘Him or me.’

After an hour more of instruction, Cassius spent the rest of the morning working through Memor’s documents with Simo. So by the time he finished his lunch, he was more than ready for some fresh air. Emerging from the hatch, he found everybody else on deck, the crew busy to a man, the other four passengers taking advantage of the continuing good weather. Though the sky was more grey than blue, there was hardly a trace of cloud. The wind was still from the west and strong enough to keep the
Fortuna
ploughing towards Crete.

Apart from Squint (steering), Asdribar (standing with Annia and Clara) and those manning the sails, the rest of the crew were sitting in a circle between the hatch and the mast. Under the supervision of Korinth and Opilio, the men were repairing a sail: cutting out damaged sections, then stitching replacements into the thick linen. Like the other sails, it had been dyed a watery blue.

Simo and Indavara were sitting against the side-rail on the starboard side. Simo was reading from a little book. Cassius guessed it would be one of his precious religious tomes, and he made a mental note to tell him to be careful – there was no sense advertising his Christian beliefs to the superstitious, omen-obsessed sailors. Indavara was intently studying a piece of paper. He looked up and saw Cassius, then nudged Simo. Cassius held up a hand, indicating the Gaul should stay where he was.

Asdribar was leaning back against the port side-rail, arms crossed, a picture of relaxation. Annia and Clara were next to him, facing the sea.

‘Afternoon,’ said the captain as Cassius approached.

‘Officer Corbulo,’ said Annia. Clara gave a little bow. She was wearing a plain stola over her tunic. Her mistress’s was a pretty yellow.

‘Good afternoon to you.’

Cassius looked past them, at an island to the south.

‘That’s Krapathos,’ Annia explained.

‘Ah.’

‘The young lady has sailed there herself,’ added Asdribar.

‘Yes, she told me,’ replied Cassius. ‘Rather impressive.’

‘Very, I should say.’

‘Captain!’

The cry came from the bow, where the lad Tarkel was pointing at something in the distance.

‘Excuse me.’

Asdribar hurried away.

Annia looked at the sails. ‘The gods have given us a fair wind.’

‘Indeed,’ replied Cassius, joining her at the side-rail. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’

As the women continued to gaze at the sea, Cassius gazed at them. Though they were both clad in several layers, the wind pressed the material against them, outlining their breasts and hips. Cassius considered himself an expert at ogling women without being noticed and he switched his gaze the moment Annia turned to him.

‘You do seem very young for the Service, Officer Corbulo.’

‘Swift promotion, I suppose,’ Cassius replied. Which was true, in a way.

‘A great honour, is it not? To dedicate your life to protecting the Empire and the Emperor.’

‘It is, miss.’

‘I know what some people think of the Service – some of the people in Rome, on Rhodes too. But I know the worth of the work. My father gave up a lot – time with us, his family. All for Rome.’

Smiling politely, Cassius thought about Memor’s relationship with the maid. Evidently the man had been skilled at letting his family see only what he wanted them to. Cassius hoped they never found out about the affair (or
affairs
– there were probably more) but he feared it would be far harder to insulate Annia from the realities of her father’s work. It seemed circumspect to prepare her for some unpleasant revelations.

‘The Service’s work is important, of course, but the results can often be very grave, for those found to be working at odds to the Emperor’s interests.’

Annia surprised him with her answer. ‘We reap what we sow, isn’t that what they say?’

Cassius reckoned the expression might prove even more apt when applied to her father’s fate.

Annia looked down at the dark blue water sliding by. ‘I can think of nothing else. Nothing. Trogus stopped me going into the study – stopped me seeing my father. I hated him at the time, but now I’m glad he did it.’

Cassius recalled what he and Indavara had seen in the outhouse. ‘Trogus was quite correct, miss.’

‘Clara here tells me I should keep busy, but I can’t clear my mind. She’s tried needlework, games, poems, songs, books.’

Cassius looked past Annia at the maid, who cast a concerned glance at her mistress, then flicked her long, dark hair away from her neck.

‘What do you read, miss?’ Cassius asked. The more he spoke to Annia, the less annoying she seemed. He found he wanted to get to know her now.

‘Some philosophy.’

‘Really?’

Cassius tried very, very hard to keep any trace of sarcasm out of his voice but wasn’t sure he had succeeded. He wondered if Annia had ever considered why there were no female philosophers, and that this fact might suggest she was overstretching herself.

‘Really,’ she replied sharply.

‘As a native of Rhodes, it’s to be expected, I suppose.’

‘The island has been blessed with some imaginative thinkers.’

‘Antonius of Rhodes, for example? An associate of Porphyry, isn’t he?’

‘He is,’ said Annia. ‘I once heard him speak.’