“I have got you,” Fergus gasped. “I have got you. Stay still. Don’t struggle.”
The freezing cold was swiftly sapping Fergus’s strength, as he forced Adalwolf’s head above the surface and desperately turned to look around in the darkness. He had not been expecting the complication of the iron chains. But it was too late now. The German was retching up water in a continuous stream and he was close to complete panic. Grimly, Fergus held on forcing Adalwolf’s to keep his head above the swell.
“We are here,” Fergus cried out into the night. “We’re over here. We’re over here.”
In the darkness there was no reply. Then suddenly a lantern flickered into life and Fergus caught the faint outline of a boat.
“We’re here,” he screamed in desperation.
Nothing happened. Then the boat turned in his direction and the lantern started to draw closer. Fergus cried out again. His strength was nearly gone. He was not going to last much longer. Then close by, something crashed into the water and, as he cried out again, he suddenly felt a firm hand grasp hold of his shoulder and start to drag him towards the fishing vessel.
“I have got you Sir,” Arlyn hissed, as he began to drag Fergus and Adalwolf through the water towards the fishing boat. “I have got you, Sir.”
***
Fergus sat slumped up against the side of the small fishing vessel. The night was far-advanced, and the small boat was all alone, surrounded by pitch darkness and the vastness of the sea. It was impossible to see the deck he was sitting on. The sight of the burning Parthian galley had slowly faded, as they had headed away from the coast north-eastwards on the wind. And as the flickering fire had faded away into the darkness the sea swell had grown, as had the strength of the wind. Sitting opposite Fergus, Adalwolf and Barukh were slumped out on the deck, too exhausted to do anything else. Around him in the darkness, Fergus was aware of the rest of the crew. He could sense their tension. No one had spoken much since the successful rescue, for their spirits had been dampened by the changing weather. Steadying himself against the pitching, moving hull Fergus slowly got to his feet and as he did, he felt the force of the wind on his face. Grimly he reached up to touch Galena’s good luck amulet. The little fishing vessel was heading into a storm, a ferocious storm and there was nothing they would be able to do about it.
Chapter Twenty-Five – The Storm
With the arrival of dawn, the storm began to strengthen in fury and violence. As the waves grew in height, the small fishing vessel was tossed up and down, a piece of helpless flotsam on an angry, surging sea. Fergus and his companions clung on. At the stern the Albanian captain looked tense, as he held on to the steering bar. His face and body soaked to the bone as he tried to keep the bow aligned with the waves. Fergus crouched beside the mast, holding on to it as he wiped the freezing water from his face. His body was shivering with cold and he was exhausted. The sail had been furled and stowed away in the cargo hold. There was no sign of land. They were completely alone with nothing but the raging waves, the howling wind and the driving rain. Grey, dreary clouds covered the sky in every direction. Grimly Fergus turned to look at his companions. On the sodden, drenched and careening deck, Adalwolf was lying on his side trying to keep warm. His eyes were closed, and the chains were still fastened to his legs and arms. There had been no time to try to pry them loose. Flavius and Barukh clung to the oarsmen benches on either side of the small boat, their expressions grim and hard, as they waited for the storm to pass. There had been no more space in the small cargo hold where the others had sought refuge.
But the storm was not easing; it was growing worse Fergus thought, as he snatched a glance out across the bleak waves. There was no chance of choosing a course. The storm was going to drive them to where it wanted them to go. There would be no arguing with the weather gods. All they could do was try and keep the boat afloat. As he peered out across the sea, a huge wave came crashing over the bow of the boat and struck Fergus full on, nearly tearing him away from the mast and washing him overboard. Spluttering and gasping in shock Fergus wiped the water from his face with wide eyed horror. And as he stared at the next wave, he suddenly remembered the stories Marcus his father had told him about his epic voyage across the western ocean to Hyperborea. Waves as tall as trees; an endless expanse of water; no sign of land for weeks on end; huge black sea monsters spouting water high into the air and strange red painted natives. If it had been anyone but Marcus telling these stories, he would have dismissed them as fantasies but now, out here in the midst of the angry Hyrcanian ocean, he found them strangely comforting. If his father could survive the challenges of the western ocean; then he, Fergus, could do the same out here. The sea was not going to take them he thought, with a burst of determination.
“We’re going to be all right,” Fergus shouted as he turned to his companions, trying to sound confident and reassuring. “We’re going to be all right.”
No one replied. The shriek of the wind, the lashing rain and the battering and surging roar of the waves made any communication almost impossible. Fergus gasped as another wave came crashing over the bow, drenching him from head to foot in icy cold water. Grimly Fergus held onto the mast.
It was around noon, with the storm still raging, when another huge wave came crashing over the bow, flooding the deck and with a crack, the boat’s mast snapped in two and crashed down onto the deck, narrowly missing Adalwolf. Fergus cried out in shock but Adalwolf was too tired to move. And before Fergus could grasp hold of the broken mast, another wave caught it and washed it clean overboard where it was quickly lost in the boiling, surging waves. Clutching the stump of the mast, Fergus turned to stare at the Albanian captain standing at the stern. Amongst the white spray and howling wind, the man made for a heroic figure as he held onto the steering bar. The loss of the mast had not changed the skipper’s expression. All his attention was focussed on keeping the ship’s bow pointed at the waves and preventing them from being capsized.
“Fergus. Fergus,” a voice was screaming above the noise of the storm. Alarmed, Fergus twisted around and saw Skula poking his head out of the cargo hold. The Alan tribesman looked worried.
“We have a leak,” Skula yelled. “The boat is taking on water.”
“Fix it,” Fergus shouted, as he was drenched by a wave. “Use whatever you have but plug that damned leak. Just do it.”
There was no chance of him leaving his position beside the mast to go and investigate. The movement of the boat and the ferocity of the waves made that too dangerous. Quickly Skula’s head vanished back into the cargo hold. Grimly Fergus turned to stare out across the sea. How much more of this pounding could they take? How long before the small fishing boat fell apart?
“This is some rescue mission,” Adalwolf roared, with a sudden surge of energy as he lay on the deck gazing at Fergus, his drenched body shaking with cold.
“Shut up old man,” Fergus shouted, as he twisted his head to look at Adalwolf. “If you hadn’t gotten yourself kidnapped we wouldn’t be here.”
***
It was growing dark when at last the ferocity of the storm started to slacken. Wearily, his body shivering and drenched, Fergus opened his eyes and raised his head to look out across the bleak, grey waves. There was no sign of land and without a mast and a sail they were helpless, forced to drift and go where nature was taking them. His fingers were so numb he could barely feel them. Night was closing in fast, but the sea was calmer, and it had stopped raining. As the whine of the wind started to die away, at the stern of the boat, the captain handed the steering bar to his son and slumped down onto the drenched deck. The man looked utterly exhausted. Turning to check on Adalwolf, Flavius and Barukh, Fergus could see them also lying slumped on the deck, their eyes closed as if asleep. No one seemed to have the strength or energy to do anything. With a groan he stirred and dragged himself along the planking to the middle of the fishing boat and the small enclosed cargo hold. Peering inside he could see a huddle of faces, Skula, Numerius,
Saadi, Arlyn and the brothers. Most seemed to be asleep, too exhausted to do anything else, but they had managed to plug the leak for the dirty, sloshing water at the bottom of the hold didn’t look too deep. Catching sight of him, one of the Italian brothers winked in encouragement but said nothing.
Turning away Fergus crawled towards the stern, where the Albanian captain sat on the deck, staring vacantly into space. His son, clutching the steering bar, was peering into the gloom ahead. Edging up against the side of the hull, Fergus raised his fingers to his mouth and blew hot air onto them. Then reaching out, he tugged at the youth’s leg and looked up at him.
“You,” Fergus said, gesturing at the youth. “What did you tell that Parthian aboard that galley? What did you say to him when we were about to leave?”
The youth looked down at Fergus without understanding and Fergus sighed and looked away. Of-course it was no use. The boy and his father had no knowledge of Greek or Latin.
“Skula,” the youth suddenly replied. “Skula. Skula.”
Fergus frowned. Was the youth asking for Skula?
“Skula,” he yelled turning to the cargo hold. “Come on out here. I think the Albanian boy wants to have a word with you.”
For a moment nothing happened. Then a head poked out of the shelter and reluctantly Skula emerged and staggered towards him. And as he did, the Albanian youth said something to him that made the Alan tribesman frown.
“What is he saying?” Fergus blurted out as he gazed at Skula.
At the steering bar the youth spoke again, directing his words towards Skula who suddenly looked surprised.
“He is trying to speak in the language of the Alans, my people,” Skula said quickly, as he gazed at the youth. “But he’s not very good. He is speaking in single words.” And as the youth repeated himself for a third time, Skula translated in a hesitant voice. “On ship. Parthian. Ask. You. Where from. I say. You gift. From Gods. To my village. You Romans. I know. You. No India. You. Fight. Parthians. Good. Me. No like. Parthians.”
Fergus grunted in surprise and looking up at the youth, he nodded his gratitude. In reply the boy grinned back at him.
***
It was dawn and there was still no sign of land. The sea was calm, and the stricken fishing vessel aimlessly bobbed up and down on the swell. In the skies the grey clouds still blocked out the sun. Fergus sat on his haunches, using a knife and a piece of wood, to patiently pick away at the iron clamps that held Adalwolf in chains. Hadrian’s friend was sitting up, with his back leaning against the hull and gazing vacantly out across the sea. Around them, the crew huddled on the deck, resting and sleeping. Everyone looked exhausted. The weather may have improved but they were now swiftly running out of fresh drinking water and Fergus had enforced strict rationing of the remaining supplies. But what was left was not going to last for more than a couple of days.
“Thank you,” Adalwolf said quietly, as he looked at Fergus.
“We are not out of here just yet,” Fergus grunted, as he tinkered with the iron leg clamps. “And I didn’t do this for you.”
“I know,” Adalwolf said with a sigh. “But thank you anyway. It can’t have been easy finding and rescuing me. I bet Hadrian was not prepared to pay for my release. I know his policy. No negotiation with terrorists. He is right.”
“We figured something else out,” Fergus said wearily, as he leaned back and gazed at the leg irons as his latest attempt to break them failed.
Adalwolf nodded. “Sanatruces is up to no good,” he said. “I know why he came to Derbent. He is trying to enlist the Alans and other tribes into an anti-Roman alliance. He is trying to get them to attack our positions in Cappadocia and along the Danube. And there is more. I learned that the Parthians are encouraging and funding rebellion across the whole of the Roman east. Especially the Jews. The Parthians are plying them with gold and urging them to rise and avenge the destruction of their temple. Hadrian must be told about this at once. If I do not make it, then you must. Hadrian must be made aware of the trouble that is coming.”
“Hadrian knows,” Fergus said sharply, as he reached out and started working on the iron leg clamps again. “I came across Parthian agents out in the Syrian desert. They were transporting gold to dissident groups. I reported it myself to Hadrian and Attianus. They are aware of what the Parthians are doing.”
“Well that’s good news then,” Adalwolf said in a relieved voice.
“You know you are going to owe us all a huge feast when we get back to Antioch,” Fergus said tinkering away with a little smile. “The boys have been telling me what they are looking forward to eating when they get back. It’s an expensive list.”
“Don’t you worry,” Adalwolf replied with a smile of his own. “It will be bigger and better than any of you can imagine.”
For a while Fergus was silent as he worked on the clamps. Then at last he looked up at Adalwolf.
“My father, Marcus,” Fergus said in a tight voice. “As you know, his name appears on Hadrian’s death list. Attianus meant it when he said that when Hadrian becomes emperor he is going to have all on that list executed. I must get my father off that list. He’s my father - who has just got himself caught up in something that he doesn’t really understand. When we get back to Antioch, Hadrian has promised to take him off the list. That’s the reason why I agreed to come out here and rescue you.”
“We all have our reasons and motifs,” Adalwolf replied in a quiet voice. “If our roles had been reversed, I am not sure I would have come to get you either.” And as he finished speaking, a little smile started to grow on Adalwolf’s lips. Fergus too grinned and then, turning his attention back to the clamps, he forced his knife in deeper, wriggled around and, with a metallic click, the clamp snapped open.
***
It was morning on the following day when a squawking bird suddenly came swooping out of the sky and alighted on the prow of the little vessel. Slowly Fergus opened his eyes and gazed at the creature. He and the rest of the listless passengers lay about on the deck as the craft bobbed up and down on the water. Most of his companions seemed to be asleep, too weakened and exhausted to do much else. But as he tiredly gazed at the bird, Fergus suddenly became aware of a new noise. One that they had not heard before. The crash and roar of waves breaking onto a shoreline. Startled he crawled across to the side of the boat and raised his head over the edge. And there, a hundred or so paces away, he caught sight of a flat, sandy but also rocky coastline. Fergus gasped, and his eyes widened. Hastily he turned to his companions, but no one else seemed to be aware of the land or had heard the boom of the surf. Turning back to stare at the shore, he could see that they were drifting towards the land. His face grew pale. The waves and current were taking the fishing boat straight onto a group of sharp, jagged rocks.
“Land!” Fergus roared with all his strength and his voice boomed out across the water like a centurion training a company of new recruits.
His roar had the desired effect. Staggering onto his feet, Flavius cried out in relief and from the stern a great shout of joy erupted, as the others stirred and started to move. But Fergus’s delight was slipping away fast, as he saw the rocks drawing closer and closer. If the boat struck them it would tear the craft apart.
“Hold on,” he yelled. “We are being driven onto the rocks. Everyone hold on.”
There was nothing anyone could do. With wonderous, terrified eyes, Fergus stared at the rocks as the fishing boat headed straight onto them. Then with a heart rending and terrifying tearing, splintering groan, the boat was thrown onto the rocks and all hell broke loose. The shock of the collision sent Fergus tumbling overboard and into the shallow water. His startled yell was cut short, as he took in a mouthful of water and his arm grazed a rock, scraping away much skin. Then his feet hit the sandy bottom and he burst from the water gasping for breath. Around him, the yells and shrieks of his companions rose above the roar of the surf. The fishing boat however was finished. The force of the waves and the immovabili
ty of the rocks had wrecked the boat and already she was sinking at the stern and breaking apart. Gasping and spluttering, Fergus swam away from the rocks and caught hold of Adalwolf’s arm. The German looked at the end of his tether. But the sea was not deep and, as Fergus found his feet, he dragged Adalwolf onto the beach. Dropping Adalwolf onto the sand, he turned and headed back into the water but as he waded into the surf he could see that his companions had made it. They had all made it. Some like Arlyn and Flavius looked relieved but Skula was struggling, as he staggered out of the surf with Saadi clinging to his back. The girl was panicking and screaming, her nails digging into Skula’s skin.
Wearily Fergus retreated to where Adalwolf was sitting in the sand. The German, relieved of his iron chains, was panting from exertion and he was soaked to the bone. As his companions slowly gathered around him on the beach, Fergus turned as he heard a sudden howl of anguish. The Albanian captain was on his knees, his hands grasping his head, as he stared at the sunken, smashed remains of his fishing boat that was being methodically broken up by the elements. At his side, his son too was gazing at the melancholic scene with horror. Then catching sight of Fergus watching him, the captain’s face darkened with sudden rage and before anyone could stop him, he leapt to his feet and stormed towards Fergus. The first furious punch caught Fergus on the shoulder and the second on his chin. Staggering backwards with a cry of pain, Fergus tumbled onto his back. But as the Albanian skipper launched himself again, Flavius and Skula intervened and pushed the man backwards. A furious, hate-filled stream of words followed in a language Fergus could not understand. Raising his hand and pointing his finger at Fergus, the Albanian captain said something to him and spat onto the sand.
“I think he is a little bit pissed off about the loss of his boat,” Adalwolf said slowly, as he gazed at the Albanian who Flavius and Skula were forcing away. “I think he blames you for his loss. Can’t argue with that. That fishing boat was probably how he made his living. And now it’s gone.”
Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 24
