Agent of Rome: The Far Shore

by Brown, Nick

  ‘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.

  XVI

  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.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cassius said sourly as he turned on to his side. ‘I bet he does.’

  Asdribar had been in to tie down all the furniture, so the only place to sit was on the beds. Clara had also been sick and was now asleep in hers, covers drawn up to her neck. Indavara sat next to Annia on her bed.

  He had made sure she was to his right, unable to see his disfigured ear. He hadn’t noticed her looking at it yet but people often did, even though he tried to cover it with his hair. Above them, a lantern swung from a hook on the roof, throwing a shifting pool of golden light across the room.

  Indavara looked down as the light illuminated the bed. Annia’s hand was inches away from his. He could just reach out and touch her. But he hadn’t, and he couldn’t – because he didn’t know what she’d do.

  They’d been talking for at least an hour. Thankfully she hadn’t asked him anything about his past; they’d mostly discussed nature and the creatures of the sea. Annia knew a lot; and had told him more about dolphins and turtles and seabirds and sharks. She had a drawing book back on Rhodes with hundreds of pictures in. Her sister’s drawings were better, so she said. Indavara told her he’d like to see it.

  After that, she’d spoken about her father. How kind he had been, how intelligent, how well respected, how she’d been in bed when she heard the maid scream. Then she’d stopped talking and now she was looking out of the nearest porthole, the plump beads of water rolling down the glass.

  Indavara wondered, should he take her hand? Did she want him to?

  He would have given every coin he owned to wrap her up in his arms and kiss her.

  Still looking away, Annia reached out and put her hand over his. Her fingers were cold yet somehow still sent warmth into his body. Then she glanced at him and pulled her hand away.

  A terrible moment of silence, then: ‘You should go.’

  She had whispered it, to make sure Clara didn’t hear.

  Indavara reached for her but she put her hands on her lap.

  ‘You should go.’

  Indavara felt like he’d been hit. He couldn’t think straight. Did she like him or not? Corbulo always said women needed to be told what to do: a man needed to be strong, take the lead, that was how they liked it.

  Annia pointed at the door.

  Indavara didn’t want to upset her. That was the last thing he wanted. He stood up and walked across the deckhouse, then looked back as he reached the door. Her face was in shadow.

  Later that night, Cassius had a visit from Asdribar. Although the captain’s tunic and boots were sodden, he seemed utterly unaffected by the violent motions of the ship.

  ‘Enough of this lying in your pit, young man. It just won’t do.’

  Cassius waved a hand at him. ‘I am exhausted, Captain. I doubt I could even raise myself from the bed. How are we progressing?’

  ‘Quickly. I reckon we’ve covered a hundred miles – half the distance to the African coast.’

  Asdribar beckoned Cassius upwards. ‘Come now, I insist. I’ve seen this before. You’ll throw up all the wate
r inside you, then you’ll have no strength left at all. Come up on deck and do as I tell you. If you’re not feeling better within an hour, you can return to bed.’ Asdribar offered his hand. ‘Deal?’

  Cassius glanced at Simo.

  ‘Can’t hurt to try, sir.’

  Cassius lifted his hand. The Carthaginian held it, then pulled him up off the bed. Cassius felt like falling straight back down again but Simo took his other arm and steadied him. He was wearing only his vomit-stained sleeping tunic.

  Asdribar gripped him by his shoulders. ‘Now, it’s damned wet up there so bring that oiled cloak I saw you with. Once you’re dressed, I want you on deck immediately. Understood?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cassius replied.

  ‘See you shortly.’

  As Asdribar departed, Simo went looking for a clean tunic. Left to stand alone for a moment, Cassius drew in some long, deep breaths and managed to pull the dirty tunic off himself. He drank some water and, as Simo helped him dress, began to feel marginally better. The Gaul secured the hooded cloak by putting a belt around the outside and once his boots were on, Cassius was ready. Almost.

  ‘Simo, I know my hair’s in a terrible state but you can at least run a comb through it.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Upon reaching the steps, Cassius had to wait for Opilio to come down. The hold-chief was carrying a tray loaded with mugs and somehow keeping them all upright. The big man flicked his neck back to drop his hood. Water dripped from his flattened nose.

  ‘Someone’s upset the gods,’ he said with a grim smile. ‘Good weather couldn’t last for ever, I suppose.’

  ‘Feels to me like this storm’s lasted for ever,’ replied Cassius, pulling his own hood over his head.

  ‘This is no storm, sir. This here is a gale. You’ll know the difference if it becomes a storm.’

  Taking a tight grip on both handrails, Cassius made his way carefully up the slippery steps. He was startled by the depth of the darkness that greeted him up top. The only visible light was the lantern hanging from the sternpost. Between the tillers was the hulking figure of Korinth.

  Asdribar emerged out of the gloom behind him. Like the other sailors, he was now attired in his own cloak and a wide-brimmed leather hat to shield him from the rain. He took Cassius’s arm and helped him up onto the deck.

  Cassius narrowed his eyes as salty spray lashed his face.

  ‘Follow me! Use the rope to help you if you need it!’

  Asdribar pointed to a newly installed line that ran from a ring by the hatch to the deckhouse. Cassius kept low as he followed, one hand on the rope as water sloshed over his boots. When he reached the deckhouse, Asdribar helped him up and guided him to the handrail. Two other men were there but because of their hats and the darkness, Cassius couldn’t work out who they were.

  ‘I’ll tie you on!’

  Several lengths of rope had been affixed to the handrail and Asdribar ran one of them through the back of Cassius’s belt. As he tied it off, Cassius looked forward. The lantern on the bow was lurching up and down alarmingly.

  Asdribar spoke directly into his ear. ‘That’ll keep you steady. Now listen, I’ve just appointed you ship’s navigator. I was doing it but I need to go and check the sails. Move along to the corner there.’

  Asdribar followed Cassius to the right-hand corner of the deckhouse, then moved past him and pointed at the sky above the stern. ‘There’s a lot of cloud so we’ve a limited choice but up there is what we call Poseidon’s Trident. See the three bright stars in a row?’

  Cassius couldn’t; until he followed the exact direction of Asdribar’s outstretched arm. ‘Yes. I see.’

  ‘Mark them, and tell me or Korinth if their position changes.’

  Cassius raised his arm and used it to measure the approximate location of the stars relative to the edge of the deckhouse.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Asdribar. ‘Good thinking. Remember to call out if we drift off course. And we probably will. Korinth’s a decent helmsman but he’s no Squint.’

  With that, Asdribar made his way forward.

  By placing his feet well apart and leaning back, Cassius found he could brace himself against the rope. Facing away from the bow, he was spared the spray and able to fill his lungs with the cold, clean air. And despite the plunging and pitching of the ship, he made sure he kept his eyes fixed on the three stars.

  Focused entirely on the task Asdribar had given him, Cassius eventually realised he had completely lost track of time. He couldn’t have cared less. He was up, he was out of that accursed cabin and he was feeling better.

  XVII

  When the storm came, it came quickly. Just after the sixth hour of night, when Simo had struggled on deck to deliver him a welcome mug of hot wine, Cassius saw the first signs that the weather was worsening.

  First, the wind began to shift. Though it remained roughly from the north, the sudden gusts and changes in direction left Asdribar and the crew struggling to compensate. Even with every man on deck, altering the position of the yard was a complicated, laborious job. They had just completed a third big adjustment when the wind veered again and blew even harder.

  Asdribar had two of the ship’s longest, thickest ropes run out from the stern in an elongated U. This ‘sea anchor’ would apparently help the ship maintain its course. As the men tied off the ropes, Cassius noticed that the tender had disappeared. He asked Squint about it; apparently the little boat had broken free hours earlier.

  Though the Fortuna was making excellent speed as she coursed up and down the swell, it soon became evident that both crew and vessel were under tremendous pressure. Asdribar’s sojourns forward became increasingly regular; one man blundered back to the hatch with blood pouring from a wounded hand; and the noise of the howling wind became so great that Cassius caught only fragments of shouted conversations. Worse still were the crashing thuds and thumps that seemed to presage the holing of the Fortuna’s hull or the collapse of the entire rig.

  ‘You all right there, lad?’ yelled Squint, who was steering once more.

  ‘Will she hold together?’

  ‘This old girl? Of course.’

  ‘Old? How old is she?’

  ‘A lot older than you. But don’t worry. Ships are the opposite of women – they get better with age!’

  Cassius tried to rein in his most pessimistic imaginings but what frightened him more than anything was the change in Asdribar. Usually so serene, the Carthaginian now prowled the deck spitting curses, his face dark with worry. After stopping for a brief discussion with Squint, he beckoned Cassius forward. Cassius’s fingers were so cold and the knot so tight that it took him a while to untie the rope. Once free, he used the deck-line to get himself over to the captain.

  ‘We’ve too much sail up,’ said Asdribar. ‘Got to lower the yard. Get your men from below and send them up to the mast. Then you come back here!’

  If this rather impolite demand hadn’t done enough to alert Cassius to the gravity of the situation, Asdribar’s next action did. Before he could reach down for the deck-line, the captain smacked him on the shoulder and yelled ‘Hurry!’

  Cassius’s shout of protest was lost in the wind. As the stern of the ship rose, he was sent flying towards the hatch. Realising he was in danger of falling straight down it, he dropped on to his side and slid across the water-soaked deck. The thick cloak protected him well and he came to a stop with a yard to spare. Stumbling down the steps, he tried not to touch the bloody streaks left on the handrail by the injured crewman. Arriving at the bottom, he found the upper hold submerged beneath several inches of seawater.

  He glanced along the empty passageway and called out to Indavara and Simo. They and the injured sailor came out of the cabin, the crewman with a bandage wrapped round his hand. He hurried past Cassius and up the steps.

  ‘You two are needed on deck. They have to lower the mainsail.’

  ‘Should we put some more clothes on, sir?’ asked Simo.

  ‘Fo
rget that, you won’t be up there long. Come on!’

  Cassius waited until they were behind him, then led the way on all fours. Once back on deck, he saw that Asdribar had taken up the tillers.

  Showing remarkable agility for one so aged, Squint came forward and dropped down by the hatch. His thick beard now hung from his chin in waterlogged clumps. ‘Keep low and use the lines. Follow me.’

  Indavara and Simo clambered past Cassius and towards the mast.

  Still trying to find a solid stance for steering, Asdribar kicked his leg free of a rope, one of many now snaking across the deck.

  ‘Corbulo!’ he roared. ‘Clear these lines out of my way!’

  Somewhat perturbed that he seemed to have been relegated to the role of second ship’s boy, Cassius nonetheless did as he was told. With the Fortuna so seriously undermanned, there was no choice but to help Asdribar and his crew get through the storm. He pulled up his hood and crawled across the deck.

  As the Fortuna crested another mighty wave, Simo lost his footing and slid forward, knocking Indavara’s legs away. The two of them landed in a heap close to the mast behind Squint, who didn’t even notice. Indavara helped Simo up and they squatted there, hands flat against the deck. He looked around and realised that most of the crew were close by, several of them handling the mainsail and looking anxiously up at the yard.

  Indavara’s tunic was already soaked through. The entire deck was covered in water and the icy spray seemed to be striking them from all sides. He glanced at Simo. The Gaul’s hair was plastered across his face and he looked very much as though he wanted to be back in the cabin.

  Korinth arrived and ordered the men to gather around him, with only those holding the lines staying in position. The burly deck-chief crouched with his back to the mast, hands cupped around his mouth.

  Indavara turned his good ear towards him.