Felix had no idea how to answer this. ‘He – I – she—’ He gazed at Livia helplessly. ‘Maybe?’
‘I’m not his brother,’ Livia clarified. ‘And I’m … I’m sick of pretending to be something I’m not.’
Hannibal glanced over his shoulder. ‘You don’t row like a girl,’ he said.
‘Oh yes I do,’ Livia retorted. ‘I’m a girl, and I’m rowing, so I must be rowing like a girl.’
Hannibal’s face creased in bemusement. ‘That means … girls are good at rowing,’ he said slowly.
‘Exactly,’ said Livia.
And it was just as well, Felix thought, as the sun beat down and they rowed and rowed and kept on rowing. He found the time passed more pleasantly if he forgot he was rowing and let his mind wander. The best distraction, though, was Gisgo, who told stories of the wonders he’d seen: sea monsters that could crush a ship in a single giant tentacle and mermaids bathing on rocks trying to lure sailors to their death. He described foreign ports and bazaars scented with exotic spices, where snake charmers tamed enormous serpents and magicians soared overhead on flying carpets.
Gisgo was relating a tale he’d heard in one such port, of a cave filled with treasure, when he caught sight of the ring glinting on Felix’s thumb.
‘Where’s that from then?’ he asked.
Felix exchanged a glance with Livia, who shook her head slightly in warning.
‘It was our father’s,’ Felix said.
The greybeard shook his head. ‘I still can’t believe the two of you are related.’
‘Felix was adopted,’ Livia broke in.
Gisgo’s gaze was still fixed on the ring. ‘Is that a chicken engraved on it?’
‘Our father was a chicken farmer,’ said Livia.
‘A chicken farmer with a gold ring?’
‘Don’t listen to her. I think she has a touch of sunstroke.’ Felix was feeling a bit affected by the sun himself. Or was he affected by the number of stories he was trying to keep straight in his head? ‘Our father was a general in the Roman army. And that’s a sacred chicken on the ring.’
He was reminded of the mysterious general on the quay the night before. He must remember to tell Livia what he’d seen.
As the sun eased down the sky, throwing a golden cloak over the sea, the captain directed them to anchor in a calm cove. There they had an hour or two of leisure before dark. A couple of sailors fished off the deck, while others played dice games. One man did his laundry while another cut his fingernails. Then the second mate offered to teach Felix and Livia how to tie knots, and Felix forgot all about the scene on the quay.
On the fourth day the sea was the calmest it had been yet, the oars slipping easily through the water. Felix quite enjoyed the seafaring life. Now that he’d left the army he’d need a new career. Perhaps he could become a sailor?
By midday, he was less certain. There was a bright halo around the sun and the air wrapped around him like a damp sack. It was eerily silent, and he couldn’t work out what was different at first. Then he realised that the birds that always seemed to be wheeling and diving around the ship were gone. ‘Gisgo,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘what happened to all the birds?’
‘I reckon they’ll be heading for shore, lad. They’re always the first to know.’
‘The first to know what?’ Livia asked.
‘What’s coming,’ said Gisgo ominously.
Felix felt the shiver of a breeze against his face. Squinting into the glare, he saw high, wispy clouds scudding quickly across the sky. ‘You mean like those clouds?’ he asked, lifting a hand off the oar to point.
‘It’s the ones gathering on the horizon that’ll cause the real trouble,’ said Gisgo, directing Felix’s attention to the tall banks of cloud in the distance. ‘We could be in for a rough time.’
Felix’s heart skipped a beat. ‘How rough?’
‘Ah, it’s nothing to worry about, lad. See that horse’s head on the prow? That’s a tribute to Yamm, the Phoenician god of the sea. And those eyes on either side of the bow will see us through safely.’
Through what? Felix wondered, but he didn’t quite like to ask.
As the afternoon passed, the wind strengthened, whipping up whitecaps on the sea’s once-placid surface, and the captain ordered his men to lower the sail.
The sky grew dark, but unlike the tranquil twilight of the evening before, with stars twinkling above as the sailors had relaxed on deck, this was a menacing darkness. And with a chill, Felix recalled the warning he had overlooked …
‘I’ve got a bad feeling, Livia,’ he said in a low voice.
‘I told you not to eat that squid,’ she replied.
‘It’s not that. I saw an omen yesterday. I think we’re headed for serious trouble.’
Usually Livia just rolled her eyes when he mentioned omens, but as the ship tilted and swayed in the swirling sea she looked at him in alarm. ‘What about the horse’s head on the prow and the eyes on the bow?’ she demanded. ‘I thought you said those things would protect us!’
‘I didn’t say it,’ Felix reminded her. ‘That was Gisgo. I don’t know if they’ll be enough to counteract what I saw the other day.’ He drew a deep breath and turned to meet his friend’s apprehensive gaze.
‘What? What was it?’ she said.
‘There was a sailor cutting his fingernails when the sun was shining!’
For a second Livia just stared at him, her brow furrowed. Finally, she said, ‘And?’
Felix gaped at her in disbelief. ‘And he should have known that it’s bad luck to cut your hair or nails aboard a ship except during a storm!’
Even as he spoke, the wind began to howl, tossing the boat even more violently.
‘Are you telling me that because a sailor cut his fingernails our ship is in trouble?’ Livia yelled over the howling.
‘I don’t make the rules,’ Felix shouted. ‘But would it have hurt you to be nice to the sacred chicken?’
Livia gave him a perplexed look. ‘What does the chicken have to do with anything?’
Felix shook his head. It was a good question. Why had the sacred chicken come to mind? ‘I don’t know,’ he confessed. ‘I thought I heard it in Massilia, the night before we set sail. It was asking for cake. And, well, I think we should have tried harder to find cake for it.’
Livia’s eyes widened in outrage. ‘You think that ridiculous chicken cursed us?’
Felix shrugged. ‘Why else would it be haunting me?’
‘I don’t know … because you’re strange?’ Livia muttered. But she seemed frightened.
The sky was so dark now that Felix could no longer tell if it was day or night.
Waves were slamming into the ship, almost tipping it onto its side, and the deck was flooded with swirling water. The oarsmen had all abandoned their rowing. Big Hannibal had wedged himself beneath his bench and Gisgo was clinging like a limpet to his oar.
The sky was lit up momentarily by a flash of lightning, and to Felix’s horror there was a terrible crack as it hit the mast.
‘Livia, watch out!’ Seizing Livia by the elbow, he dragged her from their bench and they ran aft as the mast teetered above them before crashing to the deck with a sound that echoed the boom of thunder now shaking the sky.
A giant wave swept over the starboard side, and Felix lost his grip on Livia’s elbow. Before he could grab it again he was flung into the barrels stacked in the centre of the deck. He scrambled to his feet. Where had Livia gone?
‘Livia!’ he called. ‘Livia!’
‘Over here!’ Pale and trembling, she was huddled between two barrels.
The timbers of the ship were creaking and groaning louder and louder as the vessel was pounded by waves.
‘I think the ship is breaking up!’ Felix shouted in a panic.
He couldn’t swim – and neither, he was sure, could Livia. He looked around desperately for something that would float. A few of the jars of garum had already broken, but the barrels stood
firm. Would a barrel do? he wondered.
It would have to.
He leaned over to Livia. Her short hair was plastered against her face and her eyes were shut against the salt spray. ‘We need to empty a couple of barrels,’ he shouted into her ear.
She opened her eyes just wide enough to squint at him. ‘What?’
‘The barrels – they should float when they’re empty.’
He tried to tug the lid off one. It was jammed tight.
‘We need something to prise it off with,’ Livia gasped.
Felix cast his eyes about the deck for something they could use as a lever. The deck was awash, and it seemed as if everything aboard that wasn’t nailed down was being swept along by the surge of water. Amphorae were rolling along the deck like skittles and he saw a single sandal bob past. A fishing net caught around his ankle and he kicked it away. ‘There has to be something here we can use!’ he said. His attention was caught by a bright blue piece of cloth sailing towards him. Felix recognised it as the sash the captain had been wearing the day he and Livia had boarded the Tarshish. It hit Felix’s shin with surprising force. The sash was wrapped around something. Picking it up, he unwound the blue fabric to find a long stick. The colour of bone, with intricate carvings, it came up almost to his hip.
Waving the stick, he called to Livia, ‘We can use this.’
Livia held first one barrel then another as still as she could while the ship heaved and plunged, and Felix used the stick to wrench off their lids. Together they tipped the barrels, sending pungent fish sauce sloshing across the deck.
‘Now what?’ Livia gasped.
There was a creak, followed by screams. The ship was breaking in half!
‘Get in!’ Felix yelled.
Livia swung her legs over the lip of the barrel. Turning to look at Felix, she opened her mouth as if to speak then shook her head and ducked out of sight.
Still clutching the stick, Felix climbed into his own barrel and crouched at the bottom, his head buried in his arms. The deck pitched sharply and suddenly he was rolling, rolling, and for a few brief moments he seemed to be suspended in space before, with a sudden jerk, the barrel hit the sea.
Almost at once he was submerged by a wave, salt water filling his nose and mouth. Coughing and retching, dizzy from bobbing and swirling, he huddled miserably in the barrel, shuddering as it knocked against large pieces of the ship.
His ears were filled with muffled shouts, the roaring wind, and then his barrel collided with something, hard. Thrown forwards by the impact, his head cracked against the side, and everything went black.
Chapter 11
Felix woke with a start. For a few minutes he lay still, almost afraid to open his eyes and see where he was. It occurred to him that he might be lying on the ground beside General Porcius’s bed in a tent in Belgica; then he thought perhaps he was in the Underworld.
But the breeze brushing his face was dry and crisp, which seemed unlike either the Underworld or Belgica. He opened his eyes to find he was lying on a small crescent of beach backed by a high cliff. The sun was just peeking above the horizon, washing the pale sand with the watery light of dawn.
I’m alive, he thought, feeling a surge of elation. In the next moment he thought of Livia. If he had survived, surely she had too?
He was half in and half out of his barrel. He crawled free and stood up but immediately fell to his knees, his legs too weak and wobbly to hold him. He lay on the sand for several seconds, gathering his strength, then took a deep breath and tried again.
Upright, leaning on the carved stick for support, he peered up and down the beach. Dotted along the shore were timbers from the deck of the Tarshish, a scrap of sail, shards of pottery. There was no sign of another barrel, though. No sign of Livia. No sign of another living soul other than the seagulls circling overhead.
Standing on the deserted beach, he felt overwhelmed by loss and loneliness. He sat on a piece of timber and put his head in his hands.
A seagull squawked. It sounded like it was saying, ‘Felix! Felix!’
The seagulls were circling closer now. Irritated, he looked up, raising the stick to shoo them away. As he did, he saw something moving further up the beach.
A figure was running unsteadily along the soft sand.
Livia!
Felix sprang to his feet. ‘You’re alive!’ He was so flooded with joy and relief he felt giddy.
‘It was a close call,’ she said. ‘My barrel broke up on the rocks.’ She pointed to the far end of the beach, then gestured to her bloody knees, the cuts on her hands and the scratches on her face.
‘I saw the ship going down,’ she reported, her voice sombre. ‘And the crew with it, I suppose.’
They both stared at the sea in silence. It seemed almost playful this morning, the clear water lapping the shore with a gentle plash. There was no hint of the fearsome power unleashed against the Tarshish.
Felix glanced at Livia’s face. Her expression, usually so guarded, appeared strangely defenceless. He wondered if she was thinking not just of the ship’s crew but of those other people she had lost, like her parents – and perhaps her brother, too.
At last Livia said, ‘Let’s go.’
‘Go where?’ Felix asked, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun.
She gave a weary sigh. ‘Rome.’
‘Wherever that is,’ Felix said wryly.
They walked along the beach towards the rocks where Livia had come ashore. As she pointed out the pieces of her barrel, he realised it was a miracle she had survived.
They clambered over rocks and around a point, and found themselves staring at a beach much like the one they had left behind. Felix was hit by a sense of futility. There could be miles of deserted beaches like this. Hundreds of miles! They might not see another person for—
‘Hello there!’
Huh? Felix spun around but he didn’t see anyone except Livia, who was looking as bewildered as he felt.
‘Up here!’
As he turned to scan the cliff, he saw that perched on top was a villa. And peering over the edge of a terrace was a man.
‘There’s a path,’ the man called, gesturing to their right.
On weak limbs they trudged through the sand to the base of the cliff. Carved into the rock was a set of steep stone steps and they climbed these to the terrace.
They were breathless when they reached the top, and for a few minutes were unable to speak, let alone answer the man’s eager questions: ‘Where did you two spring from? Who are you? Are you Roman? Have you come to see me?’
Slight, with thinning fair hair, pale eyes and a spotless white tunic, he seemed delighted by their presence. His hands were clasped in front of him and his eyes shone as he regarded them.
‘Are we near Rome?’ Livia asked.
‘Near … hmm … well, no. I wouldn’t say near, exactly.’ Then, perhaps noting their crestfallen expressions, he continued, ‘I mean, we’re not far, not as the crow flies. But figuratively speaking … I mean to say metaphorically … well, that’s the whole trouble, isn’t it? I use words too carelessly, you see.’
Felix gaped at him, trying without success to decode what on earth the man was talking about.
‘So, we are near Rome?’ Felix ventured.
‘Ah yes, well, so near and yet so far, as they say. I’m afraid there’s no way off this island – not for me, at least. I’ve been banished, don’t you know.’
‘Banished to an island? Why?’ said Livia. Felix felt her astonishment; their host seemed harmless enough. ‘Are you a traitor? A criminal?’ She shrank away.
‘No, no, nothing like that,’ the fair-haired man assured her. ‘I’m a poet.’ He held out his arms and said grandly, ‘I am Titus Manius Magius.’
A silence followed, as if the poet was waiting for a reaction.
Felix said, ‘Um, hello. I’m Felix and this is my friend Livia.’
‘You may know me as Titus,’ suggested the po
et. ‘I wrote some very famous epics. You’ve probably heard of them.’ He glanced at his visitors hopefully.
Felix shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
The poet sighed and sank onto a stone couch covered in cushions. ‘Oh well. I suppose I’m forgotten in Rome by now.’
‘Why were you banished?’ Livia asked again.
‘I’m afraid I wrote a rather rude poem about, er, Caesar.’
Livia’s eyes widened. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘I thought he would find it amusing … but he didn’t. I’m afraid Julius doesn’t have much of a sense of humour.’ Titus looked around as if to be sure he wouldn’t be overheard, then recited:
‘There once was a general called Caesar
Who suffered a form of amnesia
He said he won all
But he forgot Gaul
What a silly old geezer.’
‘Caesar conquered Gaul,’ Felix protested.
Titus Magius gave a small smile. ‘Not all at once,’ he said.
‘You mean Gergovia?’ From his time in the army Felix knew to never, ever mention what took place in Gergovia. Vercingetorix, a Gallic chieftain, had led a force made up of local tribes in battle against the Romans. Caesar had been forced to order a retreat.
‘Anyway, what does Gergovia matter?’ Felix continued. ‘Caesar won at Alesia and that’s what counts. Vercingetorix surrendered and now Gaul belongs to Rome.’
The poet inclined his head. ‘As you say. But I was only teasing; I didn’t think he’d take it so personally.’
‘You called him a silly old geezer and didn’t think he’d take it personally?’ said Livia.
‘With the benefit of hindsight I can see it was a mistake. Look where I’ve ended up. Oh, the cruelty!’
He gestured to the spacious villa behind them, to the terrace overlooking the sea. The air was fragrant with mimosa. It was the loveliest place Felix had ever seen.
‘You should have written a poem that rhymes Caesar with Alesia instead,’ Felix suggested.
‘Caesar … Alesia,’ Titus repeated. ‘Why, you’re right. They do rhyme! Let me see …’ Drawing himself up, he declaimed:
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