‘Brutus! We need to open up the sails.’
Brutus, not a man given to unnecessary thinking, immediately dropped his oar, causing a poor sailor nearby a terrible bump on the head, and ran across to the bronze loop where the rope was tied. Though none of them had been trained on a ship’s rigging, they had all watched the sailors over the three days since leaving Alexandria, for want of anything better to do, and now everyone on board knew how the sails worked. This rope the sailors called a brail, and it was used to haul the sail up to the bar at the top so it could be tied off or to release the sail so that it dropped and filled with wind. Brutus used his big sausage-like fingers to untie the rope and just let it go so that it slid through the loop. The sail unfurled and dropped down the mast with a great thud, where the big man and half a dozen sailors rushed over to pull it tight and tie the ropes to the hull, wrestling with the big wind-filled sheet.
Immediately, they felt the ship lurch and pull away with sudden speed, the enemy corvus clattering over the raised oars as they raced ahead. The pirates hurried to drop their own sail and keep up, but by that time the soldiers at the bow had realised what was happening and had opened up the smaller sail at the front.
The pirates let out a roar of impotent rage as they desperately dropped the corvus, trying to latch on and hold the ships together. The boarding ramp landed and the spikes bit into the army ship’s deck, but the enemy vessel was now going much slower than them and before the spikes could dig too deep the ships were separating, the metal teeth carving a deep gouge across the timbers before the corvus disappeared over open water and they were free and pulling ahead.
Potens shouted for the children to go below again and Marcus frowned, given how they’d been helping, but then realised why. Angry at their failure to get on board and the fact that they were being left behind, the pirates were desperately shooting arrows at the ship. Most fell short into the rolling waves, but one or two thudded into the timber of the deck, and Callie and Marcus dashed over to the hatch, dropped inside and waited.
‘How far are we from Crete now?’ Marcus said, his voice hoarse with the effort.
‘We should be there by dark,’ Callie replied. She’d been keep track of their journey and knew the timings. ‘Of course we’re now going the wrong way, but assuming the storm blows over soon we should still be there today. I can’t wait.’
Marcus nodded, craning to peer out of the hatch. He couldn’t see the pirate ship, but from the relieved expressions of the men at the steering oars, clearly they were now leaving it well behind.
‘I wonder what we’ll find on Crete,’ he mused. Trouble, most likely.
Chapter Three
Callie’s journal:
We are arriving on Crete, at a place called Lebena on the south coast. It looks greener than Alexandria and a lot more mountainous. I already like the look of the place, though I doubt there will be much time for looking around. Centurion Gallo is here to track down the buyer of antiquities who almost snatched up the pharaoh’s treasure in Egypt, and I am determined while we are here to find some information that will give us a clue what happened to Mother and Father. Uncle Scriptor is convinced that they drowned in a storm and, having been through that one this afternoon, it seems very possible. But I don’t think so. Somewhere in my heart I believe they are alive, and Crete is the first step in finding them.
Lebena was a fascinating place for two children reared in the great thriving metropolis of Alexandria. The town lay snuggled by the sea between two high hills that protruded out into the water, a sea wall jutting out from the southwest and forming a peaceful harbour. Houses and buildings filled all the space in between the promontories and up the slope behind towards the high mountains. A stream bed met the sea at the docks and, though it was currently dry and dusty, clearly it was sometimes flowing with fast water, as the locals had built a solid stone bridge across the dry gulley.
The sanctuary of Aesculapius, the great god of healing, stood impressive and proud, sheathed in marble and painted bright colours, on the higher end of the slope, dominating the town, and a huge, long building lay close to the dock, functional and dull. Seven other ships sat at jetties in the harbour, each one a merchant vessel of some type.
Their own ship docked with little interest from the locals, and as soon as the ropes were tied and the ramp run out the men began to disembark. Centurion Gallo formed up his men in their ranks, with himself and uncle Scriptor at the front and Secundus at the back, ready to prod slowcoaches and stragglers with his long staff.
The men descended to the jetty where they drew a little more interest, sailors and traders pausing in their work to watch the army disembark in their town. From what Marcus and Callie had been told, this was probably a reasonably regular sight for them since Lebena was the main port for Gortyn, the capital city of the island. Almost certainly the governor would occasionally have troops landing and leaving from here, even if Crete was generally a trouble-free province.
Dog was the last to arrive, trotting happily down the ramp, where he snuffled around the various posts and piles of things, carefully selected a crate of fruit belonging to a tired-looking merchant and had a wee on it. The merchant came over angrily, flapping his hands at Dog and waving. The mutt shuffled over to the soldiers, where Brutus patted him on the head and glared at the angry merchant, who wandered off, grumbling.
‘What now, sir?’ Scriptor asked the centurion once the unit had formed again on the dock. Sailors were now coming ashore, the ones who had been injured during the storm being helped down by their friends. One of two of the legionaries were nursing minor wounds too.
‘We visit the temple up there. We’ve a few injuries and cases of sea sickness we could do with tending to, and this is Aesculapius’ holy town. I wouldn’t want to anger a god, so we’ll go and pay our respects. Then we come back to the dock and split up – I don’t want to take a whole century of men into the governor’s city. Partially because it might irritate him, and partially because we’re hunting a potential criminal and I don’t want to spook him before we know more about him.’
‘Very good, Centurion.’
With the two children at the front and Dog trotting along to one side, the centurion blew a quick blast on his whistle and the men stomped off across the dock, past the long, drab building and into a steeply-sloping street that wound its way back through houses and shops up towards the great sanctuary on the hillside. The day was still hot and dry even as the sun sank towards the western summit and it didn’t take long for everyone to work up a heavy sweat on the climb. Once or twice in the jumbled, unplanned town they had to pause to ask for directions to the temple, as the streets and alleys became something of a maze, but eventually they crested the first hill. Behind it, more houses led off along twisting narrow streets up another slope and towards the mountain behind, but this was as far as they were going for now.
The sanctuary of Aesculapius was formed in a great U-shape, with the open end facing the sea. The temple itself stood proud and colourful on the left, and colonnaded porticoes surrounded a paved area in front of it with a grand staircase at the back, an ornate fountain and several rooms leading off. Various people seemed to be milling around in the sanctuary or just sitting, enjoying the last of the day’s sunshine.
Two men in white tunics carrying staffs carved with snakes came over to greet the soldiers. They were the guardians who looked after the sanctuary, rather than religious attendants – the priest was inside the temple, they informed Gallo. The centurion nodded, had a quick word with Secundus, and then addressed the men.
‘Those of you with injuries or who have suffered sickness on the journey can come with me into the temple. You’ll need to fish around in your own purses for a gift for the god, as I’m not paying a donation for you all. Those of you who are healthy and well, stay outside. The temple’s not big enough for a hundred of us at once.’
A few of the greener looking faces and those men with hands and heads bound in linen
strips gratefully paced over towards the temple, Potens with his grey skin and stumbling feet the first among them. Secundus, who looked as healthy as ever, beckoned to Marcus and Callie. ‘You two stay here.’
Marcus’ face fell. ‘Here?’ he asked with a plaintive, bored expression, pointing at the paving beneath his feet.
‘Within the sanctuary. Just don’t go out of my sight.’
Marcus nodded miserably, missing both the chance to look inside the temple and to wander off exploring, and mooched away towards the fountain. Three men were sitting by the great basin eating cheese and bread, and he strolled towards them. A moment later, Callie was beside him. Dog started to follow them, but his eyes caught sight of one of the many small lizards scuttling over the warm stonework and he trotted off in search of an impromptu meal instead.
‘I think we’ll be staying the night at Lebena,’ she said. ‘It’ll be too late to march inland over the mountains. We might be staying on the ship again,’ she sighed, saddened at that thought after three previous nights inside the fishy, sweaty bowels of the ship.
‘No,’ Marcus said quietly. ‘I heard the centurion talking to Secundus. That big building near the water is a hostel for visitors to the sanctuary. It’s supposed to hold a lot of people, so Gallo is going to commandeer the place for us all.’
‘Good. I’m sick of the smell of fish now. I guess this place has a port records office?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘Maybe. There’s some big, important-looking buildings down near the dock.’
‘Evening children,’ murmured an old man next to the fountain as he dipped his cup into the crystal clear cold water and took a swig.
‘Good evening, sir,’ Marcus replied politely, and nodded his head to the others in the group.
‘You just arrived, lad?’
Yes, sir. With the soldiers. We’re on our way to Gortyn tomorrow.’
The old man nodded. ‘No one stays here much. Always on their way through. Busy, busy, busy.’
Callie coughed. ‘Are you from Lebena? Do you know where the port records office is?’
The old man chuckled. ‘There’s no records office here, lass. Just a fellow looks a bit like a rat who logs everything and sends his documents off to Gortyn each day. All the records will be stored there. Governor likes to keep things all in one place.’
Callie’s face fell. ‘Oh well. Thank you.’
‘Do you have much trouble from pirates here?’ Marcus asked suddenly.
The old man frowned, but one of his friends shook his head. ‘Not in Lebena. Nothing of value for them here. But out there on the sea, well yes. There’s always been a few pirates off the Cretan coast, but I hear there’s been a lot more of them in recent times. I reckon we hear a lot of tales of ships being chased or boarded and their cargo taken.’
‘At least once a week,’ put in the third man.
‘Yes. Every week. But then there’s a lot of important cargo comes to Lebena for the capital, you see. Wealth always attracts the bad ‘uns, doesn’t it?’
The old man cackled. ‘But you’re safe now you’re here, lass. So long as you don’t go towards the north of the island. Lots of untrustworthy folk in the north. Kick you in the backside as quick as look at you, most of them. And I wouldn’t let one near my purse, that’s for sure. But here in the south, they’re good people.’
Marcus nodded. ‘Thank you.’
He turned and strolled back across the square, tugging at Callie’s tunic, urging her to follow him.
‘You realise what that means? It might not have been a storm that got mum and dad’s ship. Might have been pirates.’
Callie’s eyes began to glisten and Marcus bit his lip, irritated with himself. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. She was not easily disturbed so, after all, but the idea of their patents suffering at the hands of the sea-villains was enough to rip the confidence from Marcus too.
‘Or maybe something else happened. We don’t know.’
‘I’m going to find out,’ she answered, ‘even if I have to ask everyone on Crete.’
With something of a faraway look in her eyes, Callie took a seat on a stone bench, looking out over the cove and its tightly-packed buildings. As Marcus sank to the warm marble next to her, she opened her journal once more and began to sketch – not the view in front of her, but their parents’ faces as she remembered them: kindly and serene. A tear crept down her cheek and, noticing, Marcus put his arm around her and squeezed her tight.
‘It will all be alright.’
‘I know,’ Callie said, sniffing. ‘Because I know they’re not dead, and we’re going to find them.’
They sat for a short while watching the sun sinking gradually behind the hillside until Centurion Gallo emerged from the temple with those men who’d been sick or injured. The soldiers gathered into their unit once more and Scriptor gestured for the kids to join them. Everyone looked considerably happier now, having received the blessing of the healing god for their wellbeing, and there was a general good mood as everyone began the slow shuffle down the sloping streets towards the port. Even Potens, who still looked pale and grey, managed a weak smile. Dog pattered along behind with a proud expression, a lizard tail poking out of the corner of his mouth.
Part way down the town’s narrow passages, as the light began to fade to the deep indigo of evening, they paused at a small triangular market place between shops and bought food and drink, then continued on down to the port. Somehow they had become turned around in their journey and instead of emerging on the dock opposite the ship they found themselves next to the bridge at the eastern end of the cove. Gallo clicked his tongue irritably and gestured along the quayside to where the hostel stood at the far end.
Marcus and Callie peered at the activity as they passed each ship. Most were already unloaded and settled into their berths for the night, but some were undergoing last minute work, unloading a few crates or scrubbing the salt off the timber with a bucket of fresh stream water, folding canvas sails or tidying the deck. Dog trotted along happily until he found the crates of the fruit merchant and managed to squeeze out just a little wee on another one, scurrying off as the merchant came running out of a warehouse door, shouting and waving his arms again.
‘It’s odd,’ Callie said to Marcus as they wandered along the edge of the quay. ‘I thought after mum and dad I would hate getting on a boat. I was really nervous as we boarded in Alexandria, but in fact I really enjoyed the journey.’
‘Even the storm?’ asked Marcus.
‘Actually, even the storm, though maybe not the fishy smell below deck. I think I like sailing.’
‘Yes, but you’re weird,’ stated her brother. ‘Neptune rules the seas. On land we have to respect the gods, but at least we know that the ground will stay under our feet and we can make it to a temple to atone for anything we’ve done. At sea we are completely at Neptune’s mercy. That’s why I think he’s more powerful than Jupiter.’
‘Shut up,’ snapped their uncle, off to the right, leading the troop of men. ‘I don’t want to hear you saying things like that about the father of the gods. You’ll get us all in trouble. And come away from the edge. Neptune might not help you if you slip and fall in.’
The two children moved just a pace away from the water and continued on, their uncle’s attention distracted by a question from the centurion.
‘I like ship names,’ Marcus said, smiling. ‘That one we just passed was the Aquila. The ‘eagle’. Such a good name. Sounds fast and strong.’
‘And this one’s called the Queen of Sheba’, Callie replied, pointing at the one they were about to pass.
‘Girly name,’ Marcus snorted. ‘And it’s not a warship. It looks like a Phoenician merchant. Fat and slow. Like Maximus,’ he grinned, cheekily.
‘It’s painted like a local ship, though,’ Callie said, ignoring the comment about their massive, muscly friend. ‘With marble eyes on the prow like old Greek ships. And although the name…’
Her voice trailed of
f and she stopped suddenly. Marcus walked straight into her and grumbled angrily. ‘What are you doing?’
The army column marched on next to them, Scriptor oblivious to the fact they had stopped as he talked to the centurion. While Marcus muttered, Callie stepped closer to the ship.
‘Stay away from the edge,’ her brother reminded her. ‘Remember what uncle Scriptor said.’
‘Look at the name, Marcus.’
He did so, stepping worryingly close to the water and peering at the painted hull in the dim evening light. ‘It’s a bit badly painted. Like it was done in a hurry,’ he noted. ‘“Queen of Sheba”. Wasn’t she Arabian or somewhere like that? A long way from here, anyway.’
‘Marcus, look closely at the name. Or rather under it.’
Marcus’ eyes slid downwards, over the red paint and towards the marble eyes. Seeing nothing unusual he peered back up at the name and something struck him. The red paint beneath the lettering was fairly recent, obviously done at the same time as the ship’s name, since it was much fresher and brighter than most of the red paint on the prow.
‘I don’t see…’
But he did see. Even as he spoke, he realised what Callie had been looking at and once more he marvelled at how clever and observant his sister was.
‘It’s been renamed.’
Callie nodded.
‘What from,’ he went one. ‘I can’t make out the letters.’
‘Look at it from this angle,’ Callie said, stepping aside. Marcus moved to where she had been standing. The last light of the evening sky caught the hull at this angle and picked out the raised bumps of old paintwork underneath the new.
‘A… R… G… O... Argo?’
Callie nodded.
‘Now that’s a good name,’ Marcus grinned. ‘Like the ship of Jason and his Argonauts when they went after the golden fleece. Better than the Queen of Sheba. They should have left it alone.’
Pirate Legion Page 2
