The Far Shore (27 page)

A thin arc of spray struck the deckhouse, breaking his reverie. Wiping water from his eyes, he watched Annia picking wet strands of hair off her face. She and Indavara were still looking up. Tarkel clambered on to the yard, wrapped his arms around the mast, and looked south.

‘Watch your lines!’ Asdribar told the crew, half of whom were gazing up at the lookout. So much depended on what the lad could or could not see.

Tarkel turned and yelled something, but Cassius and the others at the stern couldn’t make out a single word. Desenna was much closer. He cupped his hands and relayed the message back to them.

‘A mast! Two points west of south. Eight or nine miles away.’

‘The
Isis
?’ asked Asdribar.

‘He can’t tell for sure. Tall mast though.’

‘It’s probably them,’ said Asdribar. He turned round. ‘Miss?’

Annia nodded solemnly, then opened the deckhouse door and went inside.

‘South it is!’ shouted the captain. ‘Squint – hold her steady. Korinth – ready the hands to shift the yard.’

The deck-chief’s expression of grudging acceptance was mirrored by the rest of the crew.

Indavara looked at Cassius. ‘Africa?’

‘Africa.’

The more the wind blew, the more the ship rolled, and the sicker Cassius felt. Having refused Simo’s offer of lunch, he took a sip of heavily watered wine and looked at the completed list of names in his hand. Thirty-two men with cause to harbour a grudge against Augustus Marius Memor. He knew the odds were against the list proving useful but at least it was finished.

With that done, and nothing but dark ruminations on what lay ahead to occupy him, Cassius thought of Annia. Clearly he had done himself few favours two nights previously, but he’d spoken to her that morning and she’d been friendly and polite. Wondering how far relations might thaw, he finally admitted to himself that he wanted to win her over. Not that there was any chance of a long-term union; his own situation made that impossible and she was far from an ideal choice. But – putting the objectionable aspects of her personality to one side – she was spirited, bright and undeniably attractive.

There were two barriers to any kind of advance. Firstly, the girl was in mourning, which hardly lent itself to a romantic frame of mind. Then again, she would be feeling vulnerable and uncertain of the future; perhaps in need of a confident, guiding hand.

Secondly, there was Indavara. Ridiculous though the prospect of a romance between him and Annia remained, it was clear the girl was rather taken with him, though Cassius suspected she had exaggerated her interest for his benefit. Taking the pragmatic view, it didn’t seem worth driving a wedge between him and Indavara just for a girl. Regardless of how they got on, for as long as Cassius was with the Service, he wanted Indavara with him. When it came to the rough stuff, the man was a beast, pure and simple, and he offered a level of protection that simply couldn’t be acquired elsewhere. It would be a mistake to risk losing him.

Still, Cassius didn’t have anything serious in mind. He would be happy simply to draw the girl to him (after all, that was where the fun lay) and there would be something very satisfying about bending her to his will, perhaps even getting his hands on her. Indavara need never know. And if she couldn’t be tamed, so be it. Hardly the end of the world. Possessed with a sudden desire to see her, Cassius realised he had a perfect pretext for a visit literally in his hands.

Simo returned to the cabin with some towels he’d been drying in the galley. ‘Now we’re finished with the documents, are you going to work on your project, sir?’

‘Not today, Simo.’

Cassius had only done ten pages so far – he was translating a fairly obscure Greek text on military strategy into Latin. When it was finished he hoped to get it published in Rome. One of his uncles had completed three similar works and enjoyed considerable acclaim for his efforts. Such a success might also help with Cassius’s aborted legal career.

‘I think I shall go and see Miss Annia. She might recognise some of these names.’

‘Ah. Good idea, sir.’

Having passed Indavara – who was sitting on his makeshift bed doing something to an arrow – Cassius hurried up to the deckhouse. Annia let him in and, upon seeing the list, immediately sat down at Asdribar’s table to examine it. Cassius stood behind her and looked down at her breasts as they squeezed against the table. The ship pitched suddenly and he fell against the door.

‘Perhaps you should take a seat, Officer,’ Annia said without looking up.

Cassius sat down on the bed. Clara was sitting at the other table, preparing some food. Mainly out of boredom, Cassius stared at her until she finally looked up, then blew her a kiss. The maid blushed and glanced anxiously over at her mistress, but Annia hadn’t noticed. With the tiniest of smiles, Clara returned to her work.

Annia read through the list again and turned to Cassius. ‘I recognise only one name: Albanus Sebastianus.’

‘What do you remember of the case?’ Cassius asked, straightening the hem of his tunic over his knees.

‘I think it was about a year ago. My father needed to write a number of identical letters, so he had Trogus and me make some copies for him. This Sebastianus was an army officer. He was suspected of having ties to an outlawed religious sect. I believe it was in Mauretania Tingitana.’

‘Mauretania Caesarinsis, I think you’ll find.’

Annia considered this for a moment. ‘Yes. You’re right.’

‘Sebastianus was a tribune,’ Cassius continued. ‘Had an affair with a local girl who turned out to be a priestess of this sect. I believe your father wrote personally to those in the province who knew him best. I don’t recall coming across any documentation regarding the outcome.’

‘The case went on for some time. I pressed my father to let me know what happened and he eventually relented. This Sebastianus was dismissed from the army. He would have faced stricter sanctions but he had some associate on the general staff who saw to it that no further harm – physical or financial – came to him.’

‘You recall nothing else?’

‘No.’

‘Please, miss, indulge me. Check the list one last time.’

As Annia did so, Cassius gazed at Clara again but she stubbornly refused to look at him.

‘No. Just that one,’ Annia said when she’d finished. ‘Do you think what I told you might be of any use, Officer?’

Cassius was about to ask her to use his first name but then realised he rather liked hearing her say ‘Officer’.

‘Possibly.’

‘You recalled the details of that one case from amongst that huge stack of papers?’

‘I have an orator’s memory, miss. It does come in rather useful at times.’

‘I imagine it does.’

The ship was really beginning to roll now. A mug on the table slid towards Annia. She caught it but other objects fell to the floor. Clara set about picking them up while Annia looked around for anything else that might come free.

Cassius was feeling worse by the moment but he didn’t want to pass up this opportunity. As the ship settled again, he considered asking the girl about her travels but then remembered she’d been with her father. He also doubted she would want to discuss the rest of her family, and mention of her interests had previously led to an argument. What was left?

‘I do wish I’d had more time to see Rhodes,’ he said. ‘If I ever get the chance to return what would you suggest I visit, miss, apart from the Helios?’

Annia’s face brightened. ‘Well there are the temples, of course. We’ve some wonderful galleries too. The most incredible work on show is a painting – you know of the
Satyr
of Protogenes
?’

‘Only the name.’

Actually Cassius knew a good deal about it but he wanted Annia to speak.

‘The skill of the artist is unparalleled, the realism of the creatures depicted almost beyond belief. They say he painted out a partridge in one corner because birds would attack the image, believing it to be real.’

The
Fortuna
slipped down the side of a wave, heeling dramatically before righting herself. Annia didn’t seem at all concerned but Clara sat down again, bracing herself on the chair. The hollow feeling in Cassius’ stomach was growing, as was the bitter taste in his throat.

‘Remarkable,’ he replied.

‘Are you all right, Officer? You look rather pale.’

‘I’m fine, miss. I was about to ask you—’

Cassius knew with a sudden certainty that he was going to throw up. He got to his feet, staggered to the door and wrenched it open. With a garbled ‘Excuse me,’ he stepped outside. As the door shut behind him, he blundered towards the side-rail.

He didn’t make it. Squint was on the helm and watched implacably as Cassius vomited onto the deck. As his guts burned, Cassius doubled over, then fell to his knees. Two more heaves and everything was out. Despite the wind and the spray he could smell the contents of his stomach. He retched a final time.

Tarkel was nearby. He found a bucket, dunked it over the side, then threw the water across the deck, sloshing the vomit towards a drain-hole.

‘Shall I fetch your servant for you, sir?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Cassius, hauling himself to his feet. ‘No, I’m fine.’

Arms out wide to keep his balance, he made for the hatch. Reaching the first step, he gripped the handrail. Above the noise of the wind in his ears he heard something else and glanced to his right.

Korinth was standing there, laughing at him.

Sunlight sparks off a blade before it slices through cloth, flesh and bone. An arm falls to the ground. The blade swings again, hacking off the other limb. Blood gushes from the wounds and seeps into the sand. The body spasms and shakes.
The soldier is still alive.

A red glow illuminates a swollen, mutilated corpse. The sword tip prods at the skin. Black-shelled insects tumble out.
They have burrowed inside.

Darkness. A faceless warrior leaps at his foe, club swinging. The weapon strikes the head, tearing a gaping rent in the neck. As his enemy falls, the warrior stands over him.
He laughs.

‘Sir!’

Cassius awoke to see Simo leaning over him.

‘I thought it best to wake you, sir. You were crying out.’

Cassius pawed at his eyes and propped himself up against a pillow. He was glad to be free of the dreams. Until he remembered how sick he was.

Simo knelt by the bed and put a hand to his forehead. ‘You’re almost feverish.’

The Gaul took a wet cloth and placed it on his master’s brow. The
Fortuna
was being thrown around on the swell, every impact shaking the timbers of the hull. Cassius looked up at the ominous black beyond the porthole.

‘By the gods, this is torture,’ he groaned. ‘What time is it?’

‘Four hours after sunset, sir.’

Cassius’s condition had deteriorated along with the weather. He had spent the afternoon and evening slipping in and out of a restless sleep. Having thrown up twice more, he couldn’t even think of ingesting anything solid.

‘What’s it like out there?’

Simo pointed at the low roof. Water was dripping into the cabin in more places than Cassius could count. ‘The rain hasn’t stopped, sir. And the wind’s got up too.’

‘The
Isis
?’

‘We lost sight of her again at dusk. Captain Asdribar has decided to keep us heading directly south. He also told me to pass on his advice, sir. He said you’d be better up on deck – where you can get some air.’

‘He doesn’t know how I feel. Only someone afflicted as badly as I am can comprehend this kind of suffering.’

‘I don’t think anyone would know much more about seasickness than him, sir.’

‘I’ve no strength in me, Simo.’

Cassius did however find sufficient energy to strike the bed with his fist. ‘Damn this weak gut of mine. I must be the laughing stock of the entire ship.’

‘Not at all, sir. Even a couple of the sailors have had some trouble.’

‘Indavara?’

‘He seems to be faring rather well, sir.’

‘Is that right? Where is he now?’

‘Up in the deckhouse. He said he wants to keep an eye on the young women.’