Slowly Fergus nodded. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking too. But I still need to get a closer look at that galley.” Fergus glanced quickly at his deputy. “I am going to need you to act a part,” he said sharply.
***
The fishing boat bobbed up and down on the swell as it slowly edged alongside the large Parthian galley. It was indeed a big vessel Fergus could see, with an underwater battering ram at the bow and oar holes along its side. But the rowers had retracted their oars and, at the bow a heavy and solid-looking and expensive iron anchor chain vanished into the sea. A castle like deckhouse occupied the aft and centre of the ship, making it look dangerously top heavy. And looming over him was a tall mast, from which fluttered a solitary purple pennant. From the deck of the galley, suspicious faces were peering down at him. Fergus, clad in an old Albanian fisherman’s clothes, stood at the prow and, seeing the men he hastily raised his hand in a friendly greeting.
“Friends,” he called out in Greek. “Friends. May I come aboard? We have a sick man on our boat who needs attention. Do you have vinegar or maybe some Fennel? We shall share some of our catch with you.”
On the deck of the Parthian galley, no one spoke as the sailors stared down at the small fishing boat.
“Please we need help,” Fergus called out in Greek as he turned and pointed at Flavius, who was lying stretched out on the deck covered in a blanket with Skula kneeling beside him. And as if on cue Flavius groaned and rolled his head from side to side, whilst Skula damped his forehead with a damp piece of cloth. At the back of the boat the Albanian captain and his son were looking on in silent disbelief.
“What do you want?” a man suddenly replied in heavily accented Greek, as he pushed his way towards the side of the galley and peered down at Fergus. Catching sight of Flavius lying stretched out on the deck the man’s face darkened.
“He is not coming aboard,” the Parthian cried out in alarm. “Stay away. We do not want your disease on this ship. Go on. Move away.”
“He has no disease,” Fergus called out. “He is just ill and all I want is some vinegar or fennel. We will offer you some of our fish in return. May I come aboard Sir?”
The Parthian seemed to hesitate. Then he turned to a few of the men standing beside him and a quick animated conversation took place in a language Fergus could not understand.
“All right,” the Parthian shouted, as he turned back to Fergus. “But the sick man stays where he is.” The next moment netting made of rope was flung over the side of the galley and splashed down into the water. Carefully Fergus reached out, grabbed hold of the netting, leapt over the side of the boat and began to clamber up towards the deck and, as he did he was conscious of the dozens of eyes watching him. With a grunt he slithered over the edge of the hull and landed on the deck. A posse of armed Parthians were glaring at him. The dark bearded men were wearing Parthian trousers and hip length jackets, fitted with belts and boots on their feet.
“Vinegar or fennel, preferably both,” Fergus said quickly, as he turned to face the Greek speaking man. “Please my lord. We shall be very grateful. My friend is not well.”
“All right fisherman,” the Parthian replied, as he quickly said something to one of the men standing beside him. In response one of the sailors hastened away. “We will give you some of our supplies,” the Parthian replied, turning back to Fergus. “But after that you must go.”
“We are most grateful my lord,” Fergus said with a hasty bow. Then he turned and beckoned for the captain’s son to join him with the sack of freshly caught fish. The youth looked amused as, encouraged by Skula he crossed the deck and started to clamber up the rope netting and, as he passed Flavius, the German groaned loudly. On the deck of the galley most of the Parthians who had greeted Fergus had started to drift back to their tasks, but a few remained. As he waited for the Parthians to bring him what he’d asked for, Fergus quickly turned to look around. A solitary guard was standing outside the stern deckhouse doorway, and close by in the middle of the deck, was a dark square hatchway with a ladder leading down into the hull. Further towards the bow another guard was standing atop the roof of the middle deckhouse and gazing out to sea. And beside the main mast was a stack of barrels.
“The name of your lord, Sir?” Fergus said quickly turning to the Parthian who spoke Greek.
“What do you want to know that for?” the Parthian replied with a frown.
“We are simple folk my lord,” Fergus said respectfully lowering his gaze. “You have helped our sick comrade. In our prayers to the immortals we shall offer thanks to your lord for this act of kindness.”
On the deck the Parthian’s eyes narrowed as he gazed back at Fergus. For a moment he hesitated.
“The Lord Sanatruces, nephew to the king of kings, Osroes of Parthia commands this ship,” the Parthian exclaimed in a proud voice.
Fergus dipped his head and kept his eyes on the deck. Then, as the son of the Albanian skipper scrambled over the side carrying the bag of fish, Fergus turned to him, took the bag and respectfully laid it down at the Parthian’s feet.
“Our sick comrade is of German origin,” Fergus said hastily, as he looked up at the Parthian. “He refuses to worship our gods and for this they have struck him down with illness. These Germans are proud and stubborn in their beliefs. When he talks in his sleep we cannot understand what he is saying. It is troubling.”
“We have a man like that down below,” the Parthian replied, as he spat onto the deck. “A German like your friend. A right arrogant bastard. Never shuts up. Threatens us with eternal fire and damnation.”
Fergus nodded as his eyes swept across the galley deck.
“We are grateful for your help my lord,” Fergus said, as a Parthian sailor returned with a small jug of vinegar. “We shall honour lord Sanatruces tonight in our prayers.”
Then with a final respectful nod, Fergus turned away and was about to clamber back over the side of the galley when the Parthian suddenly said something in a language Fergus did not understand. Startled, Fergus froze. Behind him the Parthian repeated what he’d just said. Shit, a voice screamed inside Fergus’s head. Shit, shit, shit. But before he could act, the Albanian skipper’s son standing beside him suddenly replied speaking rapidly in his native language and gesturing at Fergus. Fergus stood rooted to the deck. Had the Parthians just discovered that he was not who he claimed to be? Had the Albanian youth just betrayed him? But as he slowly turned to face the Parthian, the man gave him a queer look and shrugged. Without a further word the Albanian youth started to clamber down the side of the galley and hastily Fergus did the same. As he clambered back into the fishing vessel clutching the jar of vinegar, Fergus quickly turned to look up at the Parthian ship, but the Parthians had already disappeared. Crouching down beside Flavius, Fergus placed the jar on the deck and then sharply turned to stare at the Albanian youth. What had the young man just said to the Parthians? What had he told them? But across from him the youth just looked amused, and catching Fergus’s glare he responded with a wide smile.
“Well?” Flavius whispered as he lay on the deck with the blanket partially covering his body and Skula kneeling beside him.
“Adalwolf is on-board the ship,” Fergus hissed, as he reached for the jar of vinegar. “And I think I know where they are holding him. We are going to go in tonight under the cover of darkness.”
Chapter Twenty-Four – Rescue or Not?
The darkness was nearly complete. In the night sky there was no sign of the stars or the moon. A warm south-western wind was blowing, bringing with it the smell of wood smoke from the shore. Across the calm sea the only illumination came from the faint glow provided by Derbent, half a mile away, and the ship’s lanterns aboard the Parthian galleys. The rest of the coastline was shrouded in complete darkness. Quietly, Fergus slipped over the side and into the sea and, as he entered the water he gasped at the cold. He was semi-naked wearing just his undergarments and his belt. Tied around his neck was a waterproof pig’s bladder t
hat floated on the water. A few moments later there was another quiet splash, and in the faint light provided by the fishing boat’s solitary lantern, Fergus saw Barukh’s head in the water. The former gladiator too had a waterproof bladder tied around his neck. Gasping for breath, Fergus turned in the direction of the Parthian galley some thirty paces away and began to swim quietly towards it. The current was not strong, and as he drew closer to the big galley, Fergus kept his eyes firmly on the deck of the ship. In the faint glow of the ship’s lanterns, he could make out a sentry slowly patrolling up and down on the roof of the deckhouse.
As he reached the galley that was bobbing up and down on the gentle swell, Fergus grasped hold of the solid iron anchor chain and clung to it, as he struggled to regain his breath. The swim had been exhausting and he was freezing. A few moments later a hand grasped hold of his shoulder and then another hastily reached out to clutch the iron chain, as Barukh appeared. For a moment the two of them clung to the chain, resting, as their bodies rose up and down on the swell. At last, with a grunt Fergus reached up and slowly started to heave himself up the chain towards the deck above, using both his hands and feet. The movement of the ship and the chain made it a slow and hard task but at last, after what seemed an age, he managed to grasp hold of the side of the galley, and with a final effort, roll himself over the side and onto the deck. Panting quietly from the exertion, Fergus lay on his back for a moment as he stared up at the night sky. Around him the night remained quiet and peaceful. Hastily he scrambled to his feet and leaned over the side of the galley. In the darkness he could just about make out Barukh, as he tried to climb up the anchor chain. Stretching out his hand, Fergus caught hold of the former gladiator and silently dragged him over the edge of the galley and onto the deck.
Crouching on the deck Fergus turned to look back at the fishing boat and, as he did the boat’s solitary lantern suddenly went out, making the vessel disappear into the night. Fergus bit his lip. His companions were acting as instructed. Pausing to listen, Fergus glanced up at the castle-like deckhouse. In the light from one of the Parthian lanterns, he could see a figure. The lookout however, seemed oblivious to their presence. Swiftly Fergus pulled his army pugio from his belt, cut the string that tied the bladder around his neck and pressed the waterproof sack into Barukh’s hands.
“Let’s go,” Fergus whispered, as he crept towards the ladder leading up onto the deckhouse roof.
As silently as he could Fergus went up the ladder. Reaching the top, he paused and carefully raised his head to look out across the flat roof. In the faint light a solitary guard was leaning against the balustrade, gazing out to sea. He had his back turned to the ladder. Quickly Fergus shifted his attention towards the middle and stern of the galley beyond. Beside the aft deckhouse he could just about make out another sentry, but apart from the two-night watchmen the deck seemed deserted. Sensing Barukh waiting on him to move, Fergus took a deep, silent breath. Then in one smooth movement he rose and crossed the roof in two of three silent strides. Slamming his left hand across the sentry’s mouth, he sliced open the man’s throat with his knife. The Parthian stuttered and choked in shock, but as a torrent of hot blood gushed down his chest and over Fergus’s arm Fergus kept his hand firmly clamped over the man’s mouth, as he gently forced him to the ground. Crouching on the roof Fergus kept his hand firmly over the dying man’s mouth, as he anxiously turned to stare at the sentry at the back of the ship. But the other night watchman had not moved, and all remained quiet. As the seconds passed Fergus’s breathing started to return to normal. A little noise made him turn and in the glow of lantern he saw Barukh come up onto the roof and crawl towards him holding the two waterproof bladders.
“You know what to do,” Fergus whispered. “Use the lantern. Wait until I return with Adalwolf and you hear my voice. Then you jump into the water on that side of the boat.”
In reply the former gladiator nodded as he gazed in the direction in which Fergus was pointing, his body shivering slightly from the cold.
Without any further hesitation, Fergus let go of the dead man’s mouth and started down the ladder leading into the middle section of the galley. Carefully keeping to the shadows, he flitted across the deck and crouched beside the square hatchway that led down into the hull. Straining to listen, he paused to allow his breathing to normalise. But in the night, he could hear nothing unusual. Risking a quick peek down the ladder, he could see only darkness. Briefly closing his eyes, he reached out to touch Galena’s amulet that hung from around his neck. Then gripping his pugio knife, he boldly slipped his legs down into the hatch and started to climb down into the hull of the galley. As the darkness enclosed him, he suddenly felt his feet reach the wooden deck. Turning to look around, Fergus saw that he was in a long open galley that seemed to stretch the entire length of the ship. On either side were rows of benches for the oarsmen and in between them, crammed into every available inch of space, men seemed to be asleep, stretched out across the benches or curled up in hammocks. Snoring and the occasional cough and fart punctured the darkness.
Where was Adalwolf? Had he miscalculated? Were the Parthians keeping him in one of the deckhouses instead? Then Fergus froze, as he caught sight of a figure slumped on the deck, his torso lashed to the main mast by a rope. The man’s arms and legs were clamped together with iron chains and the figure seemed to be asleep. It was Adalwolf. Fergus’s eyes widened as he stared at him. Yes, it was Adalwolf. There was no mistake. Hadrian’s Germanic adviser looked in a sorry state. His beard looked unkept and he’d lost a lot of weight. But it was him.
Boldly Fergus left the ladder and started to creep down the middle of the galley past the sleeping sailors and oarsmen, towards Adalwolf. As he reached the mast, Fergus calmly knelt beside Adalwolf, and using his knife quickly cut through the rope binding him to the main mast. Adalwolf stirred and Fergus hastily clamped his hand over the old German’s mouth and brought his own mouth close to Adalwolf’s ear.
“It’s me Fergus,” he whispered. “Hadrian has sent me to rescue you. You must be quiet. We are going to be leaving now. Can you walk?”
Adalwolf’s eyes blinked open and he turned to gaze at Fergus in shock and alarm.
“It’s me Fergus,” Fergus hissed, as quietly as possible. “I am here to rescue you. Now can you walk with those chains?”
For a moment Adalwolf was unable to reply, as he stared at Fergus in disbelief. Then as his shock seemed to subside and he recognised Fergus, he nodded.
“I can walk a little,” Adalwolf whispered. “But these chains make a huge noise. Everyone is going to hear me.”
“We are going to get up now. Walk towards the ladder and then up we go,” Fergus whispered. “Just do exactly as I say and you will be fine. Now let’s go. We are going to get out of here.”
And without giving Adalwolf a further chance to say anything, Fergus heaved the adviser onto his feet and started to half drag him across the deck towards the ladder and the hatchway leading upwards. The iron chains clanked and thudded on the deck, making a horribly loud metallic noise, as Fergus and Adalwolf waddled down the middle of the galley. Fergus’s cheeks coloured with the effort and the noise, but unperturbed he boldly continued past the ranks of the sleeping crew. But their progress was slow and as he sensed the men being awakened around them Adalwolf suddenly leapt onto Fergus’s back, clinging to him in desperation. Nearly stumbling with the additional weight, Fergus groaned as he forced himself down the galley with Adalwolf holding on in piggyback style. They had just reached the ladder when a challenging shout rang out and, from the gloom a man appeared coming towards them.
“Climb,” Fergus hissed as he half flung Adalwolf onto the ladder. Then as the man closed with him, Fergus lunged and stabbed him in the neck. With a shriek the sailor staggered backwards, hit the hull and collapsed to the deck. And as he did pandemonium broke out and the dark galley was suddenly filled with shouts and cries of alarm.
“Move, move,” Fergus screamed, as he started up th
e ladder pushing Adalwolf before him. With a cry, the German adviser rolled out onto the deck and into the fresh air. He was followed moments later by Fergus.
“Now Barukh. Now. Do it now!” Fergus roared, as he staggered to his feet. On the roof of the deckhouse there was no immediate reply. Then in the gloom something moved. The lantern was torn from its place and flung onto the floor. As the lamp smashed onto the deck, the roof of the deckhouse suddenly burst into flames that spread like a flash flood racing across the timbers - fuelled by the oil from the two waterproof bladders.
Fergus did not pause to watch. Stumbling towards Adalwolf, he roughly hauled the old groaning man onto his feet. Down below in the galley all hell had broken out. A sudden shout made Fergus turn. A bearded Parthian with a handsome face and clad in a richly decorated jacket but nothing else, was standing in the doorway of the stern deckhouse, no more than six or seven paces away. The man was staring at Fergus in shock and outrage.
For a moment Fergus stood rooted to the deck, as his eyes locked on the Parthian. Then with a furious cry Fergus flung his pugio knife at the man. Without waiting to see the outcome he grasped hold of Adalwolf, lifted him boldly off his feet and with a huge adrenaline fuelled roar, charged towards the edge of the ship and flung Adalwolf and himself overboard and into the sea. They landed in a great splash, and as he went under, Fergus caught a mouthful of the slightly salty water. Surfacing with a splutter he gasped for breath and caught sight of the Parthian galley. One of the deckhouses was on fire and the flames were rapidly spreading. Barukh had done a good job. On-board, the galley men were frantically rushing to and fro and their shouts and screams rent the night. A terrified yelp for help nearby was suddenly cut short, as Adalwolf seemed to take in a mouthful of water and vanish beneath the surface. The German was not going to last long in the water, with those iron chains. Desperately Fergus scrabbled around in the blackness. His hand brushed Adalwolf’s head and frantically Fergus caught hold of him and dragged him back to the surface.
Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 23
