The Far Shore (24 page)

‘The amount you go on about it, I feel like I’ve been there,’ replied Opilio.

‘Tell me,’ said Cassius, leaning forward to address Asdribar. ‘Commander Litus. Surely not all the navy men you come across are like that?’

‘A shakedown,’ replied Asdribar matter-of-factly. ‘Just as I told you.’

‘He was one of the worst,’ added Opilio. ‘Officers weren’t that bad in my day.’

Squint made a noise that suggested he didn’t agree.

‘Exactly which part of the army are you from, Officer?’ asked Asdribar. ‘I’d not heard of this Imperial …’

‘Security Service. As you know, Miss Annia’s father was a very senior officer. The Service is – technically speaking – part of the army but in practice we often act independently. Basically we deal with specific threats to the Empire and the Emperor.’

Asdribar looked impressed. ‘Interesting work?’

‘Oh, certainly,’ said Cassius. ‘Eh, Indavara?’

Indavara looked mildly terrified at having to join the conversation.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Interesting.’

‘So Muscles here is your bodyguard?’ asked Opilio.

‘Indeed he is,’ said Cassius, adjusting his tunic sleeve, which had somehow folded over on itself. ‘And a damned good one at that.’

Indavara seemed rather embarrassed by the compliment but acknowledged it with a nod.

‘I can believe it,’ continued Opilio. ‘Knocked our mouthy young deck-chief on his backside, so I hear.’

‘That’s water under the bridge now,’ affirmed Asdribar.

‘Quite right,’ said Cassius. ‘How many years were you with the navy, Opilio?’

‘Twenty-two, would you believe?’

Annia spoke up: ‘And you, Officer Corbulo, how long have you served?’

To Cassius, her implication seemed clear. Nonetheless, he did his best to answer politely.

‘Nearly three years, miss. Why?’

‘I just wondered.’

Cassius sipped his wine through pursed lips.

‘One can experience a remarkable amount in three years,’ he added. ‘It has often occurred to me that, from within the walls of a home, a woman cannot possibly understand the travails of a man’s life: the travel, the hardship, the burdens of duty.’

‘I understood my father’s travails,’ Annia replied. ‘He spoke to me of them often.’

The ensuing silence was broken by Asdribar.

‘Twenty-two years,’ he said, looking at Opilio. ‘Why’d you leave again? Did someone actually
taste
your food?’

Squint chuckled.

‘Ha ha,’ said Opilio.

Asdribar stood up, slapped him on the shoulder, then began topping up the glasses.

‘Take it slowly,’ he told the passengers. ‘Potent stuff if you’re not used to it.’

When he got to Clara, Annia held up a hand. ‘She’s had enough.’

‘Just a little, miss?’ said Asdribar.

‘A tiny bit, then. She’s usually allowed nothing at all.’

Clara bowed to her mistress. Asdribar gave her more than a tiny bit.

Annia shuffled slightly to her right. She looked at Indavara for a moment, then spoke. ‘I saw you with a page of writing earlier today. Are you studying something?’

Indavara looked about as fearful as Cassius had ever seen him but he eventually summoned a reply. ‘Yes, miss. A few sums.’

‘Ah, I see – and how are you getting on?’

‘Look at Marcus go,’ said Asdribar. The tortoise was now munching his way through the carrot tops with some enthusiasm. ‘At least
he
likes your food, Opilio.’

Squint then embarked on a long anecdote about a voyage where the ship’s cook had poisoned most of the crew, and from there the three sailors took it in turns to try and impress young Clara with their nautical tales. Cassius joined in now and again but kept one ear on the other two. To his surprise, Indavara managed to keep the conversation going.

One hour and three large servings of Rhodian cinnamon wine later, Cassius was about ready to throw his glass at the wall. As if it wasn’t enough that the infernal girl had twice mocked him that day, she was now making a fool of herself with Indavara. They hadn’t stopped talking – mostly about reading and writing by the sounds of it – and Annia had made sure she didn’t cast a single glance in Cassius’s direction. It really was quite unseemly, a young lady from a family of standing like hers chattering away to a lowly bodyguard. She seemed to have forgotten herself entirely.

Cassius poured himself another drink. He spilt rather a lot of it on the floor but no one seemed to notice. The sailors were talking about gambling, chariot races in particular.

‘What about gladiatorial contests?’ he blurted out. ‘Anybody ever bet on those?’

‘Now and again,’ replied Squint.

Cassius could feel Indavara’s eyes on him but he said what he wanted to say anyway. ‘My man here was a gladiator. Won twenty fights to gain his freedom.’

Even as the words left his mouth, Cassius knew he shouldn’t have said them, but he had to do something to break Annia’s apparent interest in Indavara. Surely even she would stop short of throwing herself at a man tarnished by the shame of slavery.

Indavara glared at him from beneath his dark fringe of hair.

‘Is that true?’ Annia asked him.

‘Yes, miss.’

‘How terrible.’

Cassius looked at her in disbelief, then wondered why he hadn’t remembered that her behaviour seldom conformed to expectations.

‘He doesn’t really like to talk about it,’ he said. ‘Though I fancy you might get something out of him, miss.’

Cassius downed the rest of his wine.

‘That might be enough of the Rhodian stuff for you tonight, Officer,’ said Asdribar.

‘Possibly, Captain. Possibly.’

When Cassius put his glass down on the table it sounded very loud. ‘In fact, I think I shall retire.’

He stood up, then waited for the fog to recede from his eyes. ‘That
is
strong stuff.’

He squeezed past Opilio and Squint and reached the door. ‘Good night to you all. Clara, I must say – you really are rather pretty.’

The maid gave a shy smile, then looked at the floor.

‘Marcus Aurelius, I must say – you really are not.’

While the sailors laughed, Cassius reached out and stroked the tortoise’s shell. The round little head turned and looked back at him.

Opilio spoke up: ‘He says neither will you be when you’re a hundred and eleven.’

‘True, true. Good night, Miss Annia, Indavara. I trust you will enjoy the rest of your evening.’

Asdribar stood up and opened the door for him. ‘I shall accompany you to your cabin.’

‘That’s really not necessary.’

‘Come, those steps are lethal.’

Once outside, the chilly wind did a little to clear Cassius’s head. He took a long breath and looked around. Korinth was there, leaning languidly against the port side-rail watching Desenna, who was on the helm. The other men on deck were further forward and singing a melodic shanty in Greek – something about distant ports and exotic treasures. Cassius looked up, and had to put his arms out to steady himself. At the top of the mast was the dim glow of a lantern. Above, the sky was clear. Cassius couldn’t decide if the stars were blue or white.

‘Beautiful night.’

‘It is,’ said Asdribar. ‘Let’s hope for a beautiful day tomorrow.’

He put a hand on Cassius’s arm but Cassius shook it off.

‘Honestly, Captain. I’m fine.’

‘Very well, I shall just see you below then.’

Cassius stepped shakily over the tiller array and walked to the hatch, Asdribar close behind. As they made their way down the steps, Cassius kept a firm grip on the handrail.

‘Was that really necessary?’ asked the Carthaginian.

‘What?’ Cassius asked, though he knew.

‘Bringing up the man’s past like that. You mentioned the burdens of duty earlier. I doubt if my work – or yours – can ever constitute as great a burden as he carries. The shame aside, imagine what he must have endured as a gladiator.’

‘I was simply informing her of the facts, Captain. If the young lady is happy to throw herself at a man such as him that’s her choice.’

They arrived at the bottom of the steps.

‘“A man such as him”,’ quoted Asdribar. ‘Not an hour ago you were singing his praises. I gathered you were friends.’

‘We are, of sorts. But he is a bodyguard. Mine. Not my equal.’

‘I see.’

Cassius kept his hand on the rail.

Asdribar lowered his voice. ‘Korinth was a slave, and I’ve known many other freedmen over the years. It weighs heavy on them.’ Asdribar shook his head. ‘He’s told me some tales. I don’t know that I would have survived it.’

Cassius considered this, though the wine made consideration something of a challenge. ‘It’s not that I’m without sympathy for what he must have been through. But he has never told Simo or me a single thing about his life before the arena, or even how he became a gladiator. Nothing. He might have been a thief, a murderer – anything.’

‘Or he may simply have been a prisoner of war, or sold into it.’

‘But we don’t
know
,’ Cassius insisted. ‘It’s hard to deal with such a man, call him a friend when – speaking truly – you know nothing of him.’

‘Nothing? I thought you’d been together some while.’

‘Only a few months actually, though a great deal has occurred in that time.’

‘Many men don’t speak of their past. What of his actions since you’ve known him? What do they tell you?’

Despite the drink, only a moment of thought took Cassius to his answer. ‘He is a man of extraordinary bravery and skill. And on several occasions I have had more than good cause to be very grateful to him.’

‘I shall say only this then, young sir. Given all that you’ve told me, I think you owe him an apology. Good night.’

Asdribar set off back up the steps.

Head buzzing, Cassius let out a long breath as he made for the cabin. Regrets were usually for the morning. Tonight they had come early.

Cassius missed the dolphins. While he lay in bed, battling a hangover and delaying the prospect of apologising to Indavara, three of the creatures appeared between the
Fortuna
and the Cretan shore. As Indavara joined Simo, Annia and Clara by the port side-rail, the crewmen – most of whom were still working on the damaged sail – stood up and performed a strange, formal bow towards the dolphins before sitting down again.

Asdribar got up out of his chair. ‘May I, miss?’ he asked, pointing at the deckhouse.

‘Of course, Captain,’ said Annia. She then turned to Indavara and Simo. ‘Have you never seen them before?’

‘No, miss,’ replied Simo.

Indavara shook his head.

Asdribar returned holding a wicker box, which he put down on the deck out of the wind. Inside were dried flowers, some still with a little colour. ‘We’ll wait until they come close.’

‘I’ve never heard of this custom,’ said Annia.

‘Essential for us sailors, miss.’

Asdribar put his elbows on the side-rail and watched as the dolphins sped towards the ship, fins cutting through the water. ‘Messengers from the god of the deep. We give the flowers to show our thanks. Even when you’re far, far out, when there’s nothing but sea and not even a bird in the sky, they still come. He sends them to remind us we’re not alone – to give us a little smile and cheer us up.’

‘A smile?’ said Indavara.

‘It’s true,’ said Annia.

‘Just watch them carefully, lad,’ added Asdribar. ‘You’ll see it.’

The dolphins seemed to know they were being watched and came alongside the
Fortuna
, keeping pace for a while, then cutting away at an angle or speeding on to the bow.

‘They’re showing off!’ cried Clara.

Asdribar gestured at the box. ‘Miss, would you like to do the honours?’

‘Of course,’ Annia said. ‘Thank you.’

‘Clara?’

The maid eagerly knelt down by her mistress, who already had a handful of the flowers.

‘Please don’t take too much,’ said the captain. ‘That’s got to last me until spring.’

As the flowers fluttered down on to the water, one of the dolphins came up a yard from the ship’s hull. He turned over, showed the watchers his pale belly, then stuck his snub nose out of the water before disappearing into the depths again.

‘He did smile, I saw it!’ cried Indavara.

‘What did I tell you?’ said Asdribar.

The dolphins stayed until the third hour. Occasionally one of the four passengers would say something, but mostly they just watched them. Indavara began to think that perhaps sea voyages weren’t so bad after all and, when he wasn’t looking at the dolphins, he was glancing at Annia and wishing the journey would go on and on.