“You’re most welcome to do so. And Senator, how has the journey been so far?”
“This has been a most miserable trip so far.” The senator’s gaze scanned the armed marines, the liburnian’s artillery tower peeking over the Asia’s gunwhale, the archers on deck and the two other liburnians laying to, covering the boarding party. He paused, then his face turned red as he bellowed: “Arrest this man. He is a pirate, in league with pirates!” Aulus twisted away from Hasdrubal, who reached for him with the dagger, only to have it fly from his hand with a blow from Titus Cornelius’ broadsword.
Some of the crew moved to put up a token defense, but two went down with arrows in their chests before it even got started, and the remainder dropped their swords and daggers, raising their hands before the Roman marines.
In the master’s cabin, underneath a loose floorboard, Philipus helped the boarding party find the books, records, letters and bank transactions that would convict Hasdrubal.
Hasdrubal protested that they were forgeries, but Titus was satisfied with their quality.
Five hundred miles south, Ibrahim looked northward, wondering if his plan had worked. Sending Philipus north a month ago had been a good insurance bet, but he would never know if it worked. Hasdrubal had done almost exactly as Ibrahim had expected, turning northward immediately for Parthia, three or four day’s sail north, with two immensely valuable ships and tens of millions of sesterces in the hold. And that had been Ibrahim’s clue to continue east toward India, improvising as he went. Hasdrubal no doubt intended to seize the Europa as well, if Ibrahim were to land at the pre-arranged rendezvous on the Far Side coast to transfer the booty to waiting transport and security.
But now he had bigger concerns. The sleek-barreled ocean swell, the thick humidity, and the electricity in the air signaled a big June storm. A very big one. To the south a band of tropical rain squalls exploded into the upper atmosphere, billowing white on top and ominous purple, like a bruise, underneath. The ship rolled drunkenly, as a crosswise swell propelled by enormous winds a few hundred miles south took the Europa broadside, causing her to stagger.
CHAPTER 20: A STORM AT SEA
The sailor came down to the hold, not with dinner, but with a key. He unlocked each man in turn while two sailors stood guard, holding back a bit in case the Romans tried to make a break. The three men rubbed their wrists and ankles, trying to get the circulation back into the pinched flesh.
“To what do we owe this honor, sailor?” asked Antonius, in Greek.
“Topside. Captain wants you,” the sailor replied with a strong accent.
The three followed, Galosga and Gaius aiding the none-too-steady Antonius up the ladder through the hatch onto the deck. They blinked in the dim light of a stormy evening near sunset, clouds glowering gray and gloomy. A steady wind keened over the deck, humming in the rigging, spitting stinging spray from the crests of waves. Gaius noted that only the artemon and the mainsail remained deployed, half-furled by brailes. All the other sails were bound fast to the yard. The sailor separated Galosga from the Romans, and led them into the master’s cabin, what had formerly been their quarters. He then left, slamming the latch shut firmly to keep the weather and water out. The stateroom was dark, the windows shuttered, glass removed and stowed. An oil lamp swung lazily from the overhead with the ship’s motion, casting a fitful glow throughout the darkened room.
Ibrahim was seated at the desk. “Antonius Aristides. How pleasant to see you again! Come in, sit down, both of you,” he said in Greek, motioning to the empty chairs.
“No, thanks, I’ll stand. Been sitting all day,” Antonius responded in Latin. He spat, working the thick gobbet of spit into the polished floor with his toe.
“Suit yourself, Roman dog.” Ibrahim refused to change languages, and continued in Greek. “We have a bad storm coming, and I will not leave you to drown, chained in the hold of a foundering ship. However, make no mistake.” His arm snaked out of his robe and a small knife flashed through the air over the desk to land with a quivering thunk, transfixing Antonius’ spit inches from his big toe. “I have no qualms about killing you, and I may do so yet. But no man deserves to die in chains, alone, not even a Roman.
“We will need every man to work the ship, if we are to live,” Ibrahim continued. “You two will work with my sailors, hauling lines and doing what you are told. If you try to make more of this than it is, I will throw you overboard. Understood?”
The deck pitched upward vertically and rolled to starboard, the ship shuddering as the bow stumbled back down into a big wave. The spray spattered over the quarterdeck above their heads. Ibrahim studied the two men intently, as they studied him. Then Gaius responded, also in Latin, “So be it. We shall talk later!” It was not a question.
Ibrahim produced two coils of rope from under the desk. “You will wear safety lines at all times tonight. That is not just for you, but for all the men as well. These waves can wash you over the side with no warning.” He handed them the ropes, fitted with bronze hooks at the end. Outside, to give emphasis to his words, a wave broke over the starboard rail with a boom and a crash of splintered wood. Shouts of men could be heard in half a dozen languages, swearing as the water rushed about the deck. The ship staggered to port under the blow, buckling the men’s knees as the bow plowed once again into a wave, and the load of water hissed off the deck. It was going to be a long night. “Now out!”
Outside, the darkness had grown much deeper, although it was just sunset. Rain spat fitfully, propelled by the wind into horizontal stinging pellets. The sails were now fully reefed, the bare poles and rigging moaning in the sustained winds.
The seas were mountainous, waves rolling by in slow, unhurried grace like passing elephants, plodding but unstoppable, as the wind ripped white spindrift from their tops. The Europa rode up and down the sides of these huge rollers, pitching and bucking like a tethered horse. And tethered she was, to a host of sea anchors deployed from her bow and stern. Occasionally she would catch a wave from the wrong angle and it would explode in a dark torrent over the gunwale, boiling fiercely, running down the scuppers and back out overside. Everything, the sea, the sky, the ship and the men themselves, was in shades of black and gray.
Gaius and Antonius were assigned to parties tending the sea anchors. These heavy leather baskets, six feet across, were let out overside and towed by heavy ropes to catch the drift and keep the ship’s head around into the sea where she could best take the waves. Six sea anchors were deployed from the bow and two more from the stern. The heavy hawsers holding the deployed anchors, as big as a man’s arm, were in full tension, as taut as if Poseidon’s sea horses were towing the ship through the water. The Romans’ job was to tend these sea anchors and ensure that they did not foul, replacing them as the storm carried them away. Replacements were lashed in place, ready to be thrown overboard.
The luckless cybernetes conning officer struggled with the tiller, trying to aim the head of the ship to take the next wave head on, where the ship’s natural balance would cause it to ride up the wave. Only the largest waves broke green water over the bow. A full broadside wave, on the other hand, could roll the ship, and capsize her if she rolled far enough.
The wind, already strong, howled even louder, the rain and wind-whipped spray became a torrent, stinging the skin and blinding the eyes. It seemed that even the mountainous waves could not compete with this wind, which ripped their tops off to scatter them in white spray. Gaius and Antonius had never seen a storm like this. It had begun with the force of a terrible mountain gale, and gotten worse. Much worse, and still building. Speech had become impossible, and the rapidly gathering darkness limited visibility to just a few dozen feet or less. Staying on one’s feet on the tilting, heaving deck became impossible without a firm grasp on some part of the ship, and the cold and damp began to sap the strength of all the men.
A particularly heavy wave struck the starboard bow of the Europa. The cybernetes had not brought the head about to meet the wave, and the
ship rolled sickeningly to port, almost forty-five degrees, and the bow pitched up, up and still further up, as the men on the quarterdeck hunkered down to take the impending blow. At last, the wave broke over the bow, water roaring down the deck like an avalanche in the gloom, more heard and felt than seen. Antonius huddled down with Gaius in a corner and grabbed the strongest wooden object in sight. He checked his lifeline, which seemed so frail and thin, then also gave Gaius’ a quick tug before the wave reached the quarterdeck.
At first Antonius thought the ship had foundered. The water poured onto him like a waterfall and did not end, but just kept pouring and pouring. He could not breathe, his injured head throbbing redly. At last, unable to hold his breath any longer, and sure that the ship had gone under, he released his hold on the stanchion and stood up, fumbling for his lifeline. As he did, his head broke out of the abating wave and he inhaled hungrily. He looked about in the darkness, and could see the dark shape of the ship’s hull, her masts reeling against the sky, and other men on deck helping each other up. Still afloat! He went back to check the sea anchors, and noted that one had parted with the last surge, the three inch hawser unable to stand the strain of tons of seawater. He pitched the new anchor over the stern, taking care to clear the other lines.
Ibrahim had come on deck to relieve the cybernetes. He didn’t like the way in which the ship had taken the last wave, and although Antonius could not see the facial expressions well nor understand the words, the gestures left no doubt what Ibrahim was saying to the young officer. Ibrahim gesticulated angrily in the direction the wave had come over the bow, and the way the wave had nearly swamped the ship. He may be a murderous bastard, thought Antonius, but I’m damned glad he is taking the tiller tonight. The cybernetes left the deck, and Ibrahim expertly guided the big ship’s bow through the next several waves, breaking water over the main deck with a dull boom but no risk of swamping the entire vessel.
To port, another sea anchor hawser parted with a loud pop that could be heard above the storm’s roar, the sailors ducking as the line whizzed over their heads in recoil. The portside group gathered up one of the spares and tossed it overboard, and as the new line snaked out overside, Antonius watched in horror as Ibrahim seemed to be seized bodily by some unseen god and snatched away from the tiller, flying through the air to follow the sea anchor overside! Damned idiots! They didn’t check to see if the hawser was clear! It had fouled Ibrahim’s lifeline, snapping it from its attachment, and the pirate was dragged bodily overboard to come to rest suspended, clinging to the hawser twenty feet overside. Only Ibrahim’s strong arms kept him out of the sea which heaved like a slowly breathing monster below him. However, Antonius could see that the Arab would not remain there long. Either his strength would give out, or another monstrous wave would tear him from the line and fling him into the sea. He would be lost in the darkness if he didn’t drown at once or be smashed against the hull.
In the meanwhile, rudderless, the ship began to careen against the waves. The portside crew gathered about the hawser, reaching futilely across the distance toward Ibrahim, while below him the sea foamed whitely below the stern of the ship. Antonius grabbed one of the young sailors and thrust him onto the tiller, indicating that he was to steer. Don’t know if he knows what he’s doing or not, but he’s probably going to do better than me. Hope someone comes up here soon and notices we’re in big trouble! Antonius located Gaius in the darkness, and helped him size up the situation. Antonius freed up his own lifeline, doubled it over, and handed the loop to Gaius. The two did not need to say much. Antonius made a jerking motion three times and Gaius nodded. Antonius then clambered out onto the taut hawser headfirst, inching downward hand over hand to where Ibrahim clung helplessly in the darkness. Seen from the deck, the hawser had seemed much more taut than when it sagged under Antonius’ full weight.
They were two feet apart, face to face, when Ibrahim recognized him. He said something that Antonius could not hear for the wind. It had damn well better be “Thankin’ yer very much, yer Roman lordship, sir!’ Arab bastard! He felt in the dark for Ibrahim’s lifeline, finding it of course parted, so Antonius had to bend a knot into the line. This is gettin’ complicated, what with not enough hands ter work this knot in the dark! The ship stumbled and swayed, in the tell-tale lurch that preceded one of those monster waves, and Antonius’ stomach sank with the downward pitch of the stern. Oh, Poseidon! I bet yer thinkin’ this is real funny like, real funny! Antonius inched down to grab Ibrahim firmly, for that man was not secured to any sort of lifeline, and only the hands of the seamen on the quarterdeck secured the loop of his own. The two waited while the ship pitched up by the bow, settling the stern rapidly into the water. The distance separating them from the boiling water below narrowed to just a few feet, then bare inches, when the water came cascading down upon them from above. After an eternity of being unable to breathe, eyes squeezed shut against the salt water, the waterfall ceased and the stern reared upward like an unbroken horse, yanking the two men upward and away from the water violently. The two men clung to the line, waiting for the heaving motions of the ship and the sea to die away. Antonius could hear Ibrahim sputtering in the dark while he completed securing his lifeline to the bitter end of the pirate’s. Now, if the men on deck had maintained their hold on his line, it doubled back and secured Ibrahim as well. He gave his line three sharp tugs as signal, and felt the line go taut. They’re pulling us in. Just work it back, slowly, slowly. He inched back up the hawser, his hands and knees maintaining their grip, and Ibrahim followed. Antonius was dressed in a light tunic, so the waterlogged fabric did not bear him down. But Ibrahim was dressed in a traditional Arab gown. That must really add some weight when it’s wet.
At last, he felt someone grab his ankles and pull him in. As he went in, he grabbed Ibrahim by the shoulders and hoisted him in as well. The two landed in a pile on the deck, breathing heavy, their arms and legs quivering from the strain, rope burns on their arms and legs on fire from the salt. Oohh! I forgot about me headache, thought Antonius, as his head throbbed heavily. Ibrahim grabbed him by his aching head, unaware, and shouted into his ear, “Gratias tibi! Thanks to you!” In Latin.
Now why did I go an’ do that? But he knew the answer. He wasn’t going to let a man die alone in a storm-tossed sea, any more than Ibrahim would let him drown chained to a hold of a dying ship. “Davar! Thou art welcome,” said Antonius, shouting back, hoping the gale would hide his butchered Aramaic. The two laughed, slapped each other, and struggled to their feet.
Demetrios had taken the helm, while Gaius and Antonius continued to work with the stern sea anchors. The crew fought the storm all night, deploying additional sea anchors off the bow to keep the head around. After midnight, ghostly green fire began to dance around the tops of the masts and the rigging, occasionally making men look like apparitions as it wavered and dripped from their open mouths. Some took this as an evil omen, but Antonius took it as a positive sign that Poseidon was with them. Finally, dawn announced its arrival by a barely perceptible change from blackness to grayness. Shapes on the deck and lines in the rigging, previously indiscernible, could now be seen. The wind’s steady howl abated for a few moments, and the constant drenching rain and spindrift let up. Both returned with their former fury a moment later, but the breaks became longer and more frequently thereafter. By midmorning, the hurricane winds had died off to gale force, and while the ship still tossed and pitched heavily with the huge gray storm waves, the waves no longer broke over the bow. Heaven and sea were shades of white, gray and black, the lower scud whirling by overhead like gray smoke against the darker leaden gray color of the higher clouds. Visibility was up to a mile or two, though there was little that the eye could see except the restless expanse of dune-sized waves spattered with stormcaps rolling across the dark sea.
The ship’s officers inspected the ship, and finding no major leaks in the hull, secured the more exhausted of the deckhands to rest wherever they could find a dry spot. The re
maining crew continued at their deck stations, tending sea anchors, posting lookouts and tending the injured around them.
Demetrios requested Gaius Lucullus assist in inspecting the ship and mustering the crew. Demetrios needed his engineering skills, and Gaius crawled in and out of the many dark nooks and crannies of the ship with the captain, looking for damage, leaks... or bodies.
CHAPTER 21: STORM’S AFTERMATH
“Come on, you men! Hold him! He’s flopping around all over the place!” Antonius bellowed in Greek at the sailors holding the young man’s shoulders. The man’s face was white with pain, perspiration pearling on his quivering upper lip. The men shifted their grip and Antonius went to work, seizing the man by the leg and pulling hard until he felt the bones begin to grind again. The man screamed, a long continuous scream, but Antonius ignored it.
Suddenly he felt an almost imperceptible catch as the bones engaged inside the leg, damaged end mating with damaged end. Antonius worked the leg back and forth gently to see if it was holding. It was good, and he gave an exhausted sigh. The man stopped screaming, but continued to sob. Antonius gave him a friendly slap on the chest, “That’s a good lad, you’ll be running after the women again sooner than you know.” The man managed a weak smile and a barely perceptible nod, and said something Antonius couldn’t understand.
“All right, splint him up like the others, then give him enough wine to put him down solid. Who’s next?” Antonius stepped back from the young sailor and stood, stretching and pressing his hands against his throbbing temples. His own wound was untended. He had worked without sleep through the night, first the fighting the storm, then tending the wounded.
“That’s it. Everyone else is bruised or knocked about, no more serious injuries,” said the quartermaster next to him, superintending the makeshift sickbay in the master’s cabin. “Thank you. A lot of these boys would have lost arms and legs today.” Antonius had forgotten the man’s name and was too tired to care.
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