Agent of Rome: The Far Shore

by Brown, Nick

  ‘We’re bringing the yard halfway down. I’ll take the halyard with five men.’ He pointed at three of the larger crewmen plus Indavara and Simo. ‘The rest of you help with the lines and watch for any snags.’

  Squint moved aside while Korinth and his three helpers hunched in front of the mast.

  Indavara knew that the halyard was the three-inch-thick rope used to raise and lower the yard; it was the strongest line on the ship.

  Desenna was one of those helping Korinth. The curly-haired sailor turned round, coils of the rope in his hands. ‘Out the way!’

  Indavara and Simo obeyed, watching as Desenna tied the end of the rope around the biggest cleat on the ship. ‘Take hold. We’ll tell you when the weight’s coming on. See the grips on the deck?’

  Indavara had wondered about the little squares of wood nailed into the deck behind the mast.

  ‘They’re for your feet,’ continued Desenna. ‘Tubby, you’re on the tail.’

  Simo took up his position next to the cleat, with Indavara ahead of him, both to the left of the rope. Indavara closed his fingers around the sodden hemp and found the grips with his feet. He shook water off his hair and face.

  ‘Weight on!’ yelled Desenna.

  Indavara squeezed his fingers tight and leant back. Despite the grips and the efforts of the other four men, he could feel the immense load held by the rope.

  ‘Slowly now! Hand over hand!’

  Blocks squealed as they let the rope out inch by inch, lowering the yard and sail. Squint was bawling at the men on the other lines, trying to keep the whole arrangement as straight as possible for Korinth’s crew.

  Another shift of the deck under them; Indavara felt his body swinging dangerously to the left. Not daring to adjust his feet, he was relieved when the ship pitched back the other way.

  ‘Snagged!’ someone shouted.

  ‘Weight on!’ added Korinth.

  Indavara squeezed the rope tight once more.

  Squint appeared from the left, nipped deftly past Korinth, then looked up at the right side of the yard. He took charge of young Tarkel’s line and moved it about.

  ‘Well?’ asked Korinth.

  ‘One of the lifts is caught,’ answered the veteran.

  As Indavara sat there – legs and backside in freezing water, chills running up and down his spine – he reminded himself not to slacken his grip.

  ‘Squint! Korinth!’

  Asdribar peered forward, trying to work out what was going on. Cassius – down on one knee just ahead of him – looked too, but all he could make out were the dim outlines of the men huddled close to the mast. Asdribar unleashed more bitter curses in Punic as the Fortuna slammed down into another trough.

  As far as Cassius could tell, all he could really do was keep the ship in something approaching a straight line as it was tossed about on the swell. Enough cloud had now cleared to allow a little moonlight onto the water and Cassius almost wished it hadn’t; all around them white horses bubbled at the crest of surging, rolling waves.

  The Fortuna Redux, all ninety-five feet of her, suddenly seemed like a rowing dinghy. Cassius had hoped never to experience the rage of the gods that held sway over the sea, but now found himself witnessing the brutal power of the elements first-hand. There seemed a very real possibility that some divine power wanted the ship crippled or sunk.

  ‘What are you doing?’ cried Asdribar suddenly. Cassius looked over his shoulder and saw that the deckhouse door was open. Annia stood there, a dim light behind her. She shouted something to Asdribar but Cassius heard only his enraged reply: ‘Get back inside and shut that bloody door!’

  The captain turned back towards the mast. ‘By the gods,’ he said. ‘Someone’s going up.’

  Indavara had seen some impressive acts of courage in his time, but nothing that compared to the selfless tenacity of young Tarkel. Moments earlier, his skinny frame had appeared out of the gloom. Crouching down between Korinth and Squint, he’d instantly pointed upward. The two men debated the matter for a moment but swiftly seemed to realise there was no alternative. Squint produced a short length of rope from somewhere and tied it around Tarkel’s belt. The lad cast off his cloak, scraped his hair from his face, then set off up the mast to clear the snag. Despite the pummelling the ship was taking, he remained calm and sure-footed and kept up a remarkable pace. Before long, Indavara lost sight of him.

  The tension in the rope seemed to slacken. Word came back from Desenna. ‘We’ve tied it off, but keep your grip tight.’

  ‘He there yet?’ cried Squint, gazing up at the yard.

  ‘Can’t see,’ replied Korinth.

  ‘My line’s moving,’ someone shouted.

  ‘I think he’s there!’ yelled another.

  The Fortuna rode up the side of another huge wave that then seemed to disappear, dropping the hull down at the steepest of angles. Indavara braced his feet as the bow struck the water. He saw one man fly across the deck and heard a jarring impact from above.

  ‘Korinth, the halyard.’

  The deck-chief scrambled forward.

  ‘It’s fraying!’

  ‘Get another line on,’ yelled Squint. ‘Tarkel! Down!’

  ‘It’s coming down!’

  ‘Tarkel!’

  Korinth turned away from the mast, grabbed the crewman behind him and shoved him towards the stern. ‘Back! All of you back!’

  Just as Indavara glimpsed one man being buried under an avalanche of sailcloth, someone ran into him.

  He was knocked backwards on to the deck. Head half submerged in water, he heard a colossal crash and felt the timbers of the ship shudder beneath him.

  Cassius saw the whole thing. The sky was even clearer now, clear enough for him and Asdribar to behold in horror the moment the yard plunged forty feet and struck the deck. The huge timber now lay on the crumpled sail, extending far beyond both side-rails. Thankfully, most of the men seemed to have got out of the way in time and some were already moving. Cassius could also see the lantern mounted at the bow and, crucially, the light at the top of the rig. The mast was still standing.

  The wind eased for a moment. He turned from his kneeling position, one hand still on the deck-line, and looked up at Asdribar. The Carthaginian seemed to have only a loose grip on the tillers. He was staring ahead, mouth hanging open.

  Then he looked down at Cassius. ‘Corbulo, take the helm.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘I don’t know—’

  Asdribar let go of the tillers, grabbed Cassius and pulled him to his feet. ‘Shall I call the girl?’

  ‘All right,’ Cassius yelled back at him. ‘What do I do?’

  Asdribar undid the line running from his belt to the deckhouse, then dragged Cassius into position and retied it on his belt. ‘This’ll help you. Just do what you can to keep her from turning. You must keep the wind to the stern.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because otherwise we’ll capsize!’

  Cassius was struck on the leg by one of the tillers, which were shearing about all over the place. Asdribar grabbed them and wrestled them into submission. As Cassius took over, he was stunned by the force coming through the shafts of wood, as if he could feel every churning movement of the sea beneath the ship.

  ‘Just hold her steady.’

  Asdribar turned away, bowed his head into the wind and set off towards the mast.

  Indavara was one of the first up. He helped Simo to his feet, then saw the scene of utter chaos around them. In amongst the mass of bodies, bits of wood and endless yards of rope, one man was lying on his side, hands clawing at his leg. Another hauled himself out from under the sail and turned back to help a compatriot who was pinned. Korinth and Squint were looking over the side at the water.

  ‘Where is he?’ someone shouted.

  Then Indavara remembered. The boy.

  He reached the side-rail and saw that it had probably saved the ship. The yard had ploughed its way through sev
eral inches of solid wood and was now wedged. Most of the sailcloth had piled up on the deck with only a small section hanging in the water.

  ‘There! There he is!’

  The end of the yard was at least five yards away. Trailing from it by the rope attached to his belt was Tarkel. The wind and the swell were still pushing the ship along and the lad was struggling to stay above the water. He raised a hand for a moment but then his white, contorted face was lost beneath the waves.

  ‘Grapple hook!’ shouted Korinth. Desenna ran past the others towards the stern.

  ‘Maybe I can get out to him,’ volunteered another of the crew. Indavara looked at the soaking, circular timber and reckoned there wasn’t a chance he would make it more than a yard or two.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ cried Korinth, dragging the man back by his tunic. ‘We’re not losing you too.’

  Like the others, Indavara’s eyes were fixed on Tarkel as his flailing hands broke the surface. He seemed to be reaching forward, trying to grab the rope.

  ‘Everyone on the yard!’ ordered Squint. By now the trapped sailors had dragged themselves clear and Simo was attending to the injured man. Squint, Korinth, Indavara and the others clutched whatever they could get their hands on and tried to pull the yard in.

  It shifted a few inches through the hole in the side-rail but then stopped. In amongst the tangle of rope and sailcloth, something was stuck fast.

  ‘He’s gone under again,’ someone yelled.

  Desenna returned with Asdribar. The captain was holding a length of thin line attached to a triple-headed iron hook. He already had the rope coiled and didn’t hesitate in choosing Korinth for the throw. ‘Stand clear!’

  Despite their captain’s words, the crewmen stayed as close as they could to the side-rail. Several had dropped to their knees and raised their hands to the heavens in prayer.

  Cassius blinked to try to clear the stinging water from his eyes. He wasn’t even sure if his efforts were making any difference, though a glance back at the stars confirmed the ship was at least maintaining her course.

  But now the wind seemed to have caught the right side of the Fortuna and the stern was sliding left. Setting his feet, Cassius hauled both tillers to the right and watched the lantern at the other end of the ship.

  Slowly, the bow came round.

  Indavara saw instantly that the effort would fail. Korinth loosed the hook with an arcing throw, trying to land it on Tarkel’s line. Despite the weight of the iron head, by the time it neared its target, the fierce wind had blown the rope off course. The hook landed closer to the yard than the boy.

  ‘No!’ came Squint’s despairing shout.

  Indavara was already on the move. Having sat against the side-rails for much of the trip, he knew exactly where to find what he needed. As he shouldered his way past Opilio and plucked the nearest boathook from its mount, the men cried out:

  ‘Tarkel!’

  ‘Stay up, boy!’

  ‘Hold on! We’re coming for you!’

  Indavara ran back and held the boathook up in front of Asdribar and Korinth. ‘Get a line on this.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Asdribar. Korinth reached for the nearest piece of long rope and wrenched it free.

  Squint turned from the side-rail. ‘I can’t see him!’

  With blinding speed, Korinth tied the rope to the iron ring at the butt end of the boathook. Indavara still had his hand on the wooden shaft. ‘Let me?’

  ‘Go,’ said the deck-chief. He grabbed the other end of the rope, ran to the side-rail and squatted down. Indavara raised the boathook over his shoulder. Though a lot more unwieldy, he reckoned it weighed about the same as a throwing javelin.

  ‘Now!’ roared Squint.

  Indavara looked out at the dark sea. He saw where the trailing line disappeared under the water. There was no sign of the boy. He fixed his eyes on the rope, took a single step and let fly.

  The boathook arrowed across the waves and plunged into the water a foot beyond the line. Korinth was already backing up, pulling the rope with him.

  ‘Think you got it,’ yelled Desenna.

  As Korinth kept pulling, the trailing rope bent. A hand emerged from the waves, then a head.

  Indavara took hold of the line too and the others cleared a path as he and Korinth retreated along the side-rail, pulling the rope – and the lad – towards the ship.

  The ever-enterprising Desenna had located an even longer boathook, which he now dropped over the side and hooked around Tarkel’s belt. He was able to keep his head above the water as the others manoeuvred him over to the yard.

  Asdribar ordered two men to grab his legs, then he lay on the timber and reached down. At the third attempt he grabbed Tarkel under one arm and pulled him from the water.

  Indavara, Simo and the sailors gathered round as Asdribar deposited the lad face down on the deck. They could see the ugly red welts on his hands where he’d wrestled with the rope to keep his head up. As Korinth detached the line, Asdribar pulled Tarkel up by his belt and repeatedly slapped him hard on the back. Tarkel’s body spasmed, then water began to pour from his mouth. His head turned to the side and his eyes opened.

  A cheer went up from the men and Indavara felt several hands strike his own back.

  As if to remind them of their situation, the Fortuna pitched sharply, sending two men sliding into the mass of sailcloth.

  With one hand still on the boy, Asdribar addressed his crew. ‘Korinth, take Desenna and rig the foresail. The rest of you clear this mess. Check the hull for any damage and get the yard inboard.’

  He looked down at Tarkel. The lad’s tongue was hanging out and he was staring up at the sky. Asdribar turned to Indavara and Simo. ‘Get him below and into a bed.’

  Cassius heard the cheer, but it barely registered. Ignoring the sailors scurrying around by the mast, he kept his gaze locked on the bow lantern. Emitting a steady stream of curses, he struggled on. Every time he thought he was making progress, one or both of the tillers would pull in an apparently random direction. He was terrified that the boat would turn side-on to the wind and capsize. Commanding a century of legionaries suddenly seemed like a comparatively easy job.

  ‘Where is he?’ Cassius yelled, only to be answered by the welcome sight of Asdribar striding towards him.

  The Carthaginian untied the safety line and shouted ‘Well done!’ as he took over the tillers. ‘Now help them with the boy,’ he added.

  Cassius met Simo and Indavara at the hatch. He went down first and took Tarkel’s feet, then the three of them carried him below.

  ‘To your bed, sir?’ asked Simo.

  ‘Of course,’ Cassius replied, leading the way. He propped open the cabin door as Simo and Indavara took Tarkel inside and deposited him gently on the bed. Simo grabbed a towel and some blankets.

  Once back at the steps, Cassius and Indavara had to wait for Squint and a limping sailor to come down. Cassius pointed along the passageway. ‘Simo will have a look at you when he has a moment.’

  Squint left the injured man and hurried into the hold, sloshing through the water to where the timber and tools were kept. He suddenly stopped and turned. ‘What are you two doing just standing around? Lend a hand!’

  XVIII

  By dawn the storm had blown itself out. Cassius and Indavara remained on deck throughout the night, and were as grateful as the crew for every decrease in the strength of the wind and the size of the waves. It was the first clear morning for several days and the sight of the new sun lifted the spirits of everyone aboard.

  With Squint back on the helm, Asdribar came up to the foredeck to take charge. His first order was to replace the current foresail with a bigger sail stored below. While Korinth and Desenna dealt with this, Asdribar told the others to take a break. One man knelt to offer a quiet prayer, but most – Cassius and Indavara included – just sat or lay down while Asdribar surveyed his ship.

  Aside from a couple of small holes, the deck was remarkably undamaged. All the
rope, tackle and sailcloth had been gathered up and stowed. But even a cursory glance at the yard showed the most serious problem: a huge crack running half the length of the timber.

  ‘I assume that’s beyond repair,’ said Cassius.

  ‘Far beyond,’ said Asdribar. ‘We have a spare but it’s two-thirds the size. We’ll have to brail the mainsail – make it smaller – but we should be able to maintain a decent speed.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘As long as the wind stays to the north we should strike land tomorrow.’

  Cassius heard sandals slapping on the deck and saw Annia and Clara walking towards them, the young lady lugging a pail, her maid carrying a tray of food. He observed the reaction of the men. Despite their exhaustion, most of the sailors were smiling. The sight of the two young women, with their fair faces and long hair shining in the sun, was the greatest fillip imaginable. The prospect of something to eat and drink probably didn’t hurt either.

  Annia looked at the damaged yard, then at the men. The weary faces and bruised, battered bodies told the story of the night better than any description.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘Thank you all.’

  Floating in the pail full of water were wooden mugs, which the men filled up and drank from. Piled high on Clara’s tray were slices of bread smeared with olive oil and chunks of crumbly white cheese.

  ‘Don’t be too nice to them, miss,’ remarked Asdribar. ‘I don’t want them going soft on me.’

  ‘They deserve it, Captain,’ Annia replied.

  ‘I won’t argue with you there.’

  The Carthaginian sat down on the yard and grabbed a piece of bread. He found a grin for Clara. ‘All right, girl?’

  ‘Poseidon’s anger has passed, sir. We might reach the land now, mightn’t we?’

  ‘I’ll see to it. Don’t you worry.’

  When Annia had delivered water to every man, she returned to Asdribar. ‘You were right about the Fortuna, Captain. She got us through.’

  ‘Her and the crew, miss, yes.’

  Asdribar tipped his mug at Cassius and Indavara, who were sitting next to each other. ‘And not forgetting our auxiliaries of course.’