The Far Shore (23 page)

One of the oarsmen called out commands and the tender got under way. Grinning, Litus took one of the clay pots from the barrel and examined it. He waved to them. ‘Farewell! Fair wind!’

Asdribar watched for a moment, then turned away. Cassius was astonished to see he was smiling.

Half an hour later, he found out why.

With the mainsail lowered and the foresail raised, the
Fortuna
was soon back up to speed. The
Armata
had departed as soon as the tenders returned and was now powering away to the east. The vessels were already more than a mile apart.

‘Shall we, Captain?’ asked Squint, when he was satisfied the yard and sails were set properly.

‘Go ahead,’ answered Asdribar, now back in his chair, examining the remarkably accurate sketch Tarkel had completed.

Squint and another sailor took two very long boathooks from a rack. Standing about six feet apart, they leant over the port side-rail and reached down. Korinth came over and stood between them.

‘Don’t you lose any,’ Asdribar instructed.

‘Got it?’ Squint asked the other sailor.

‘Got it.’

‘Up we go.’

By now, Indavara, Simo, Annia and Clara had all come over to see what was going on. Korinth reached over the rail and took hold of something. The others dropped their boathooks and helped him. Moments later a dripping net was dragged over the side and lowered to the deck. Inside it were six small barrels and a few rocks.

‘They look all right, Captain,’ said Squint, breathing hard.

‘Good. What about the others?’

Squint and the other man picked up their boathooks and crossed to the other side of the deck with Korinth.

Cassius was grinning. ‘Crafty, Captain. Very crafty.’

Asdribar shrugged. ‘An old trick. A couple of the marines were talking about checking the hull once they were done down below so I made sure they found the pots. What we in the trade call a “dummy discover”. Luckily, that was enough for them.’

‘Better to lose half your profits than all, I suppose.’

‘Actually I doubt I’ve lost more than a few sesterces.’

‘I don’t follow, Captain,’ said Annia.

‘The vases are replicas, miss. Cheap Greek knock-offs. Packed on top of each other in those barrels like that, I doubt any of them will still be in one piece by the time they get back to Alexandria.’

Cassius smiled again as he thought of Litus’s face when realisation dawned. ‘What’s in the barrels?’

‘Rhodian cinnamon wine. Can’t buy anything like it on Crete. I would have liked to have got forty barrels but there wasn’t much time.’

‘What’s your profit on that?’

‘Promise you won’t tell anyone?’

‘I promise.’

‘Without export dues – and if we can find the right buyer in Cnossus – we’ll double our money.’

‘Nice,’ said Cassius.

‘When do you think we might be there?’ Annia asked.

Asdribar squatted down and patted one of the barrels affectionately. ‘If the wind stays as it is, perhaps this time tomorrow. In fact, in light of our continuing good luck with the weather and our recent narrow escape, I suggest we open one of these later. If the young lady will allow us to use the deckhouse for an hour or two, we can enjoy a post-dinner drink. Shall we say the second hour of night?’

The god’s broad, muscled body was naked save for a loincloth. His long, flowing hair ran down over his shoulders to the star emblazoned on his chest. He stood with his trident thrust forward, proud and defiant.

The god fell backwards, and landed in beans and meat gravy.

‘Balls. Sorry, Neptune.’

Cassius – who had accidentally knocked the little table as he sat down on the bed – righted the two-inch figurine and cleaned it off with his napkin. Also on the table was a plate complete with a small portion of every constituent of his dinner: barley broth, green beans, a chunk of pork, and some sweet berries. Cassius bowed his head and reminded himself to slow his speech; his mother always told him off for saying his prayers too quickly.

‘This I give to you, Great Neptune, Lord of the Waves, God of the Deep. I thank you – and my stomach thanks you – for the favour you have shown us so far. In exchange for my offering, I ask for fair weather for the remainder of our journey. Thank you, Great Neptune, Lord of the Waves, God of the Deep.’

Simo – returning to the cabin with freshly washed plates – examined the hourglass. ‘I believe that’s the second hour, sir. Which buckle for your belt?’

‘Oh you choose, Simo. It’s hardly a dinner party.’

Cassius already had on his best scarlet tunic. He waited for Simo to select a buckle (a silver piece with a leaping fish) and attach it to a belt, then stood up. As Simo put the belt around his waist, Cassius noticed the Gaul had taken out one of his little books.

‘Planning some reading?’

Simo buckled the belt. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘What’s in there?’

‘Teachings, sir. Lessons. I have committed almost half of it to memory.’

‘Really? Very impressive.’

‘When I have memorised the whole book I can advance to the next level, sir. I will be able to receive instruction directly.’

‘I see. Simo, I meant to say – you should perhaps keep your beliefs to yourself while we’re on board ship with this lot.’

‘It might be that some of the men wish to hear of Christ’s teachings, sir. They may wish to change the path of their lives, seek out the mysteries of the—’

Cassius held up a hand. ‘Now, Simo, I’ve been over this with you before. I know you and your fellows think it’s acceptable to tell others what they should believe, but I’m afraid most people don’t see it like that. Keep it to yourself.’

There was a knock on the door and Opilio stuck his head in. ‘Coming up for that drink then, sir?’

‘It would appear so.’

‘Enjoy yourself, Master Cassius,’ said Simo.

‘You sure you don’t want to come along?’

‘No. Thank you, sir.’

Cassius followed Opilio along the passageway.

‘Not often we get a chance to sup with two young ladies in the captain’s cabin,’ said the hold-chief with a ribald grin. Cassius reckoned he was even uglier than Abascantius, which was quite a feat. It had often occurred to him that there were few worse fates than to be born utterly unattractive, and he’d even postulated that it might be better to be a handsome slave than an ugly freeman.

At the bottom of the steps they met Indavara, who was still moving some of the scattered twig bales away from his bed. Cassius noticed a pail of water there too.

‘You coming along, Muscles?’ asked Opilio.

‘Yes.’

Indavara ran a hand through his hair, patting it down over his mutilated ear.

Cassius sniffed the air. ‘Are you wearing scent?’

‘What of it?’

‘Nothing,’ Cassius replied with a smile.

‘I too am wearing a perfume,’ Opilio announced. ‘Essence of the kitchens. Very powerful.’

‘Indeed it is,’ replied Cassius.

‘Come along then,’ said the hold-chief, starting up the squeaking steps. ‘I don’t suppose you two have met Marcus Aurelius yet, have you?’

Cassius and Indavara exchanged bemused glances, then followed him.

The mystery of Marcus Aurelius was quickly solved.

‘Ah yes,’ said Asdribar when Opilio mentioned him, ‘the oldest member of my crew.’

Cassius glanced at Squint when he heard this. The aged sailor was sitting to his right, next to Opilio, on one side of the table that had been moved into the middle of the deckhouse. Opposite the three men were Annia and Clara, each sitting on one of the beds. Annia’s hair had been plaited and tied so as to resemble a little crown. Asdribar was at the end of the table, closest to the door. Cassius had made sure he avoided being next to Annia, leaving Indavara the seat at the other end. The bodyguard looked rather awkward, perched on a low stool, trying very hard not to gaze at the young lady to his left. Asdribar reached into a locker and pulled out a wooden box.

‘I suppose I should have told you ladies – considering you’ve been sharing cabin space with him.’

As he put the box down on the table, Opilio and Clara moved their glasses out of the way. Everyone had already received a generous measure of the cinnamon wine. Asdribar looked around at his audience and took his time undoing the hook securing the little door on one side of the box.

‘Move the light,’ he told Squint, who pushed an oil lamp aside. ‘He likes the dark, you see.’

Indavara and Clara hunched forward, fixated on the box. Annia – like Cassius – was trying to resist the Carthaginian’s attempts at showmanship.

Asdribar opened the door. ‘And here he is.’

‘Here’s what?’ asked Indavara.

‘We can’t see anything,’ said Annia.

Asdribar knocked the top of the box. Cassius found himself leaning across the table.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack from outside. All the non-sailors jumped and Cassius barely avoided spilling wine down his tunic.

‘Just the yard shifting, sir!’ came the shout from Korinth.

‘I see it, I see it,’ announced Clara.

A clawed, scaly leg appeared out of the shadows.

Opilio placed a handful of carrot tops on the table. ‘I brought these for him.’

Indavara’s jaw dropped as the little creature emerged from the box and took slow, tottering steps across the table. ‘What
is
that?’

‘Never seen one?’ asked Cassius.

Indavara shook his head.

‘It’s a tortoise,’ said Annia, as if it were impossible someone might not know such a thing.

‘Remarkable animals,’ Cassius observed. He remembered pestering his parents to buy him one as a boy, but they’d been unable to find any in Ravenna. ‘They live to a good age, don’t they?’

‘Indeed they do, Officer,’ replied Asdribar.

Cassius examined the enigmatic grins on the faces of the captain and his crewmen. ‘What?’

‘Guess how old he is,’ said Opilio after a swig of wine.

‘I’ll give you a clue,’ added Asdribar. ‘He’s older than Squint. Just.’

The old sailor took this in good humour, holding his glass up to the captain.

Cassius shrugged and decided to aim high. ‘Sixty-five.’

Asdribar shook his head. ‘Keep going.’

‘Seventy,’ said Annia.

‘No.’

‘Eighty,’ offered Cassius.

‘You’ve a way to go yet,’ murmured Squint, rubbing his good eye with his fingers.

‘One hundred!’ yelled Clara, prompting laughter from Cassius and the sailors. Annia gave the maid a sharp look and pointed at her wine, indicating she’d already drunk enough.

‘Marcus Aurelius,’ Cassius said thoughtfully. ‘He can’t be.’

‘He is,’ said the captain. ‘Named after the man made emperor in the year of his birth.’

‘Which makes him one hundred and eleven.’

‘Exactly right.’

Asdribar took the box off the table and sat down. Marcus Aurelius was now nibbling at the green fronds of the carrot tops.

‘One hundred and eleven?’ said Indavara. ‘It’s impossible.’

‘It’s not,’ said Annia. ‘One of the longest-lived creatures there are.’

‘By Jupiter,’ said Cassius, who’d been busy with a few calculations. ‘There have been forty-four different emperors since then.’

‘Yes, he’s seen a lot of upheaval,’ said Asdribar. ‘Doesn’t seem to bother him much though.’ He turned to Clara. ‘I tried to offer him a wage once but he wouldn’t take a single coin.’

Clara giggled.

‘How did you come by him?’ Cassius asked.

‘He came with the ship,’ replied Asdribar. ‘And he’s been with us everywhere: up the great Egyptian river, through the gates of Byzantium, even out past the Pillars of Hercules.’

‘You’ve seen the Great Ocean?’ asked Cassius.

‘Me and Squint both. What was it? Twelve, thirteen years ago now? Up to Portus Cale on the west coast of Spain.’

‘What about Gaul and Britain?’ Cassius asked.

‘We didn’t get that far.’

Squint cleared his throat and spoke up: ‘A man sails too far past the Pillars, he sails beyond the reach of the gods, where worship and favour mean nothing. There is naught but the sea there; a huge, grey swell that rolls on for ever.’

Indavara took a long swig of wine.

‘Still,’ said Squint, with a little glance at Opilio. ‘Can’t really call yourself a sailor unless you’ve seen the Great Ocean with your own eyes.’