by Glover, Nhys
‘You’ll be sharing our main meals with us during the crossing. I have a decent cook, and our food stock is fresh. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.’ With that the ship’s master gave a curt nod of farewell, and strode off.
They were well out of the harbour now and heading west. They had one more port of call before they made the crossing to Narbo. Thrabraca was just a half day’s sail along the coast. But from everything Vali had learned, it was a treacherous stretch filled with shallow reefs and unexpected sandbars. As the Baal had so recently sailed these parts, the risks were greatly reduced, although sandbars were known to move unexpectedly.
For the first time, Lara seemed content to stay out on deck, enjoying the cool breeze and the scenery. The sandy land they passed was parched, and widely scattered with patches of coarse grass and the occasional palm tree. In the distance were dark mountains from which, he was told, the city’s water supply came. There was talk of building a huge aqueduct, like they had in Rome and other provincial cities, to carry the water from the mountains to the city. It would prove more effective than the underground water caches they now used.
It was hard to imagine Carthago looking like this barren land before Augustus took on the task of rebuilding it. Only the remnants of the mighty wall had remained after the city was sacked. From what they had seen of that wall during their time in the city, it must have formed an impressive stronghold. That the Roman military might had taken it, showed why the spread of the Roman Empire had been so successful. They were a force to be reckoned with.
Vali wondered if his people would one day come under the boot of that Empire. He knew their southern neighbours were fighting to keep control of the lands the Romans called Magna Germania. But there was nothing of worth in his homeland for which the Romans would waste manpower and resources to gain. If there had been, his people wouldn’t have needed to go aviking to survive.
‘Hungry?’ Lara asked.
‘Always.’ He wriggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, just to see her laugh. She did laugh, and swotted his arm.
‘This will be a long journey, husband. You will need to control your appetites.’ The double meaning was clear in her tone, and he laughed too. Why had the gods been so good to him? This woman was so special. And the wonder was; she loved him.
They made their way to their little patch of enclosed deck. They had no close neighbours. Most of the other handful of passengers were situated at the forward side of the deck house between it and the hatches. But that was a busy area for the crew, and passengers were often forced to move if they got in the way. At least were they were, it might be windy, but it was out of the way, and they were safe from the waves that broke over the bow and rained back on the decks.
‘I can’t believe they have a place to cook inside the ship. It must be very dangerous. A fire might start and burn the ship out from under us.’
‘They’re very aware of the dangers, but it’s worth the risk to provide decent meals for the crew. There are several decks filled with goods under us and the hold that is filled high with amphorae. It is an impressive vessel. No need to fear. The Master offered us space below deck if we wanted it, but I said we’d stay on deck unless there was a storm.’
‘Do we have to go down there if there’s a storm?’
‘That or tie ourselves to the rigging. It gets very rough. But not to worry, sweetling, we may not see a storm for the whole time we are at sea. So far our luck has been good.’
Lara nodded at him with a frown, handing him fresh bread to break his fast. She didn’t seem convinced.
The Tanit limped into Carthago’s rectangular merchant harbour just on dark. It had been a difficult journey and a freak storm had damaged their mainsail and torn away the foresail completely. But at least that had only been on the last day of the trip, and so they’d lost only a few hours of travelling time.
Herakles and Ninia waited until Missing-Fingers left the ship before taking their leave. Ninia felt her legs buckle as they accepted solid land under them. Her father was quick to assist her, and she clung to his arm as she waited for her legs to become steady beneath her again.
Now the hard part started. Carthago was far larger than either of them had expected. How were they ever to find Anni in a city this large? Certainly, Vali’s unusual appearance would make him stand out, but sea ports like this were filled with foreigners of all shapes and colours. Would anyone remember a tall, blonde man and his woman who landed here several days ago?
They were one step ahead of Missing-Fingers though. Because of the knowledgeable agent in Palinurus they had known the ship Anni had taken south. When they’d crossed paths with that same ship, the Utica, at Lilybauem, Herakles had made a point of going to meet the ship’s master, to enquire about Anni.
After a few moments of suspicion, and a studied scrutiny of Ninia, the Master had agreed that he’d carried two people that matched their description. Yes, they had left the ship at Carthago. But no, that wasn’t their ultimate destination. They were heading to Gaulia and thence to Britannia. If they had taken the Master’s advice, and he expected they had, as the Norseman was a quick-witted seaman, he would have taken passage on the Baal.
So while Missing Fingers was looking in the city for two people, they would be looking for anything they could learn about the Baal. By the time the spy found out what had happened to the couple, she and her father would have taken ship in pursuit of the Baal. At the most, Anni could only be a few days ahead of them. If they got fair winds, they might reach Narbo at the same time. Then she’d be able to save her dear mistress from that debauched bed slave.
There was still a lot of activity on the wharves. Fiery torches had been set up at intervals along the long docks so that slaves could see their way to load and unload the docked vessels. It was too dark to be able to read the names on the sides of the ships, but Herakles made a point of asking each ship’s mate along the way if they knew of the Baal.
Just as they reached the city entrance to the docks, Herakles finally met with success. A harassed shipping agent was scanning the manifest for a small vessel just drawn up.
‘Baal? Yes, I know the ship you refer to. But you’re too late. She sailed at first light this morning. Won’t be back for another few weeks.’
‘Sailing for Narbo, so I’m told,’Herakles continued, not allowing the man to shake him off.
‘Yes, yes. Now will you excuse me, I have work to do.’
‘Certainly sir, after one more question. Is there another ship bound for Narbo leaving shortly?’
The man lifted his eyes to the heavens, as if cursing the gods for inflicting this pest on him. ‘Over there, the Teutates. She leaves at dawn, so I’d be in a hurry to secure passage now, if I were you.’
With a brief thank you, Herakles led Ninia along the quay, in the direction the clerk had indicated. After a few more questions, they came upon the Teutates. It was already loaded, its hatches sealed up for the night. The crew had all gone ashore, except for the mate, who was just finalising matters with the crew members on overnight guard duty.
‘We can find a place for you and your daughter. But it won’t be cheap. Hundred and eighty denarii each. You feed yourselves. Our ship’s cook feeds only the crew. It’s a seven day journey in good weather, travelling day and night. Be prepared, it’s no barge trip down the Tiber. We leave at dawn.’
‘We understand, and the cost is acceptable. We will pay when we board at first light.’
‘Fair enough. Get a good night’s sleep. You’ll need it.’
As they hurried away triumphant, Ninia tried not to think about the harrowing journey to come. It had been terrifying when the storm had hit early that day, especially when the foresail came away with a deafening crack. If she had her way, she’d never sail again.
But Anni needed her, so she would brave whatever the gods sent their way, just to be at her mistress’ side again.
Menolus had been busy for the last few hours since the Tanit docked, asking
about a tall Norseman at the inns along the sea wall. It had taken him a lot of wasted hours, but he’d finally come by some startling information. A few nights ago, a blonde giant had murdered three men and severely wounded another two. The survivors told the same story. The man had fought like a djinn, his sword appearing and disappearing at will. He’d struck one man down from a distance of ten feet.
Missing-Fingers didn’t believe the embellishments. Giant djinn, with disappearing swords that could strike from a distance? Very unlikely. Just as the innocence of the dead men was called into question in this scenario. If this Vali still had his wife at his side, he wouldn’t be starting fights for the hell of it. Likely, he was defending himself from a street gang.
Lucky or skilled? It didn’t matter at this stage, although if he ever got close to his mark, it would be good to know what to expect. Menolus was a veteran of the arena. He’d fought long enough and hard enough to gain his manumission. Unlike many of his kind, he didn’t continue to fight once he was free. There were other lucrative ways to make a living using his skills, without the regime of the ludus.
These days he chose his assignments, and worked only when he needed to. The rest of the time he enjoyed the favours of a couple of prostitutes in Rome, and ate and drank well. It was a good life. And after the storm he’d withstood earlier in the day, he was just glad he still had that life. Neptune’s fury came a little too close this time. But now he had his feet firmly planted on the ground again, and he was in pursuit of his quarry. He could almost smell them.
And, although this gem of information didn’t get him any closer to his prey, it did tell him that this Vali was here somewhere. All he had to do was find him. How hard could that be with gold enough to lubricate greedy memories?
By the time his partner arrived with instructions from their patron, he’d have a clear idea of their quarry’s location. Together, they’d take the man down, if that was their employer’s wish. Not in some haphazard fashion, like the street gang attempted. But strategically; doing what they did best.
11 September 79 CE, Carthago AFRICA
Braxus limped along the dock, shoulders hunched, head down. He was sick, very sick. Headaches, joint pain, and bouts of chills and fever had been with him not long after he’d set sail from Ostia. It was not from the sea, as that had been placid for the length of the five day journey from Rome. No, this was something else. A fever caught from slaves, bad water or bad food? The latter could be right, as they hadn’t seen land for the full trip, and therefore hadn’t had fresh food for that whole time. But no one else had fallen sick, so he still wasn’t sure.
The interminable trudge along the docks to the entrance to the harbour was finally complete. He didn’t know how he kept moving; his weight seemed too great for his legs to hold up. But he had no time to indulge himself with rest. He had to find the message his partner would have left him, so he knew what his next course of action would need to be.
They’d always chosen an inn that used an anchor as is symbol, to leave their messages. There was always at least one in every port. Here, the landlord would be trusted with a code message. It cost them both to grease the publican’s hand at one end and at the other, but it was the surest way they’d found, over the years, to keep track of each other on the job.
This town had two anchor symbolled inns. The first used the Roman anchor, the second the African. He chose the Roman one first. Here, he located the landlord and asked for any messages for Vesta. It was their joke to use the goddess of the Vestal virgins as their code word. It had seemed fitting, as those priestesses were known for their sexual proclivities, rather than their virginity. A bit like him and Menolus: degenerate servants of a non-existent god.
The middle-aged landlord in a greasy tunic looked him up and down and then nodded, holding out one gnarled hand.
Braxus dropped a few sesterces into his palm. After a disgruntled glance at the coins the man lifted one eyebrow. Sighing heavily, Scarface dropped another two coins into his hand. Satisfied, the man closed his fist over the large, brass coins and pocketed them.
‘Yer friend’s upstairs. Has a room at the front. First door in from the outer door. I spect ‘e’s there. Dinner ain’t served yet. He ne’er misses a meal, that one. If you want to share with ‘im it’ll cost you another sesterce for the night.’
‘He’s already paying for the whole room. I’m not paying extra, you crooked bastard.’ His snarl was enough to bring the landlord up short. Braxus might be sick, but he wasn’t weak enough to fall foul of this potbellied fool.
The man must have seen his death in Scarface’s eyes, because he backed down hastily. With an angry nod, Braxus turned and left the ground floor establishment. Then he made his tortured way up the outer stairs to the accommodation on the upper floor.
‘Menolus,’ he said aloud as he pushed the door open. It was enough of a warning to save him a dagger in the chest. But his partner had his weapon drawn, nonetheless, as Braxus staggered into the room on even more unsteady legs.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Menolus said without interest.
‘Sick. Bad food or something. Just need to rest. How goes it?’ He pitched onto the cot on the opposite wall to the one his partner was sitting on. It was hard and scratchy, and smelled of sweat and urine. But it was stable. He thanked the gods for the fact that it was stable. In his younger years, life at sea had invigorated him. Now it drained him.
His body began to shake with chills again, and he drew his cloak more tightly around him.
‘Took me the last couple of days to find the trail, then to find out they took ship to Gaulia the day I arrived. What a fucking waste of time. What’s the patron say?’
‘What we expected. Kill the Norseman and bring back the girl, unharmed. Think the lady thought we might avail ourselves of the sweet young thing if not warned off her. But after servicing that slave all this time, I can’t see what a little more of the ‘rough’ would hurt. Depends on how hard the bastard makes the fight, whether I claim the prize or not.’
‘He’ll make it hard. Rumour has it he killed or wounded five men while he was here. Big and dangerous. Just the way I like ‘em.’ Menolus rubbed at his face with anticipation.
‘Why do you always have to have it the hard way? We get paid the same if it’s easy, so why not hope for that?’ Braxus covered his eyes with a dark-skinned arm that smelled of sweat and fish. He was beyond caring what he smelled like. His head was killing him, and even the weak light given off by the lamp hurt his eyes.
‘Braxus, my old friend, easy is dull. Anything worth having is never easy. Thought the arena would have taught you that.’
‘The arena taught me that I prefer easy. And the older I get, the more that rings true. But this is what is. Not easy. I can live with that. Any idea how long the journey is to Gaulia?’
‘Another week at least. There’s a ship from Narbo expected tomorrow. It’ll probably leave for the return voyage the following day. Will that give you enough time to recover from this strange malady?’
‘It better. Now shut up, and let me sleep. Damned but it feels as if this bed is rocking. I hate ships. I really hate ships.’
‘For a pirate, that seems an odd sentiment.’ His partner gave a rough laugh. ‘I’ll go eat, and bring you something back. Sleep while you can. This place gets noisy later in the night.’
Chapter Eighteen
14 September 79CE, Tyrrhenian Sea
The Vulcanus was just over a day out from the African coast when the winds they called Chili hit them. One minute the sky was blue and the sea smooth, the next a cloud of red dust gathered on the southern horizon, warning of approaching danger.
The mate was the first to notice it. Braxus was having a brief word with him on the poop deck when the short man had looked over his shoulder and blanched.
Braxus knew that look. It was terror. He spun around to see firsthand what his instincts were already screaming at him. The whole southern horizon was tinged with red ochre
haze. That haze was rising higher into the bright blue sky with each passing moment.
‘Chili,’ the mate breathed, his voice catching on the last syllable. Then he yelled it. ‘Chili!’
The word gained the crew’s immediate attention. All eyes turned to the south. Faces went lax with stunned horror. But the moment passed quickly. Suddenly, as if a rock had been lobbed into an ants’ nest, the men on deck went into a frenzy of action.
‘Lower the sheets!’ cried the master from the top of the deck cabin. He took over one of the two huge oars that sank into the sea on either side of the stern. They were used to direct their course. In a few minutes those oars would become the most important equipment on the ship, and would need at least one man on each to keep their vessel riding the storm tossed waves.
Sailors scrambled to do the master’s bidding. Braxus knew well enough what a gale force wind could do to their sails. It could tear them to shreds, or worse, hit them so hard the mast cracked or tore away completely. The foresail’s mast had been torn away on the ship Menolus had taken to Carthago in just such a way.
‘Batten down the hatches,’ called the mate, who had left Braxus’ side to take up his duties.
Menolus, who had been reclining on his mattress between the deck cabin and the aft holds, scrambled to his feet. He looked around in stunned astonishment as the crew ran around him like scalded cats.
‘What in Hades …’
‘Storm coming. Bad one,’ Braxus informed him, as he began to gather their few possessions together. They’d need to be stowed below deck. Anything on deck would be gone in a matter of minutes. Including them, if they weren’t careful.
Menolus looked about him in confusion. The sky was cloudless blue, the water calm. Braxus could see he didn’t get it.
‘Chili winds off the desert. It can hit us at 50 leagues an hour and can last a few hours, or up to three days. We’ll probably ride out something under a day, but nothing longer. Get our stuff below deck, and find a corner to crawl into. This is going to be bad.’