Avenger of Rome

XI

Valerius was first to react. ‘Get them out.’ He raced for the hatch and looked up to see that the big linen sail had split and was now hanging in long, streaming tatters that flapped and cracked like a slaver’s whip in the fierce wind. The Golden Cygnet was now at the mercy of the waves, which were already turning her side on to the storm. If that happened it could only be a matter of time before the ship was battered into splinters.

A shout alerted him and he ran up the steps and across the lurching deck to where Cronos and three other sailors wrestled with the great steering oars.

‘Take my place,’ the captain ordered. ‘Our only chance is to get her stern on to the wind again.’

Valerius took the thick wooden shaft under his left arm and heaved with all his might as it kicked against his body. A flash of lightning split the night sky and he saw a huge wave approaching the side and braced himself. It broke over the deck in a foaming white surge just as Tiberius emerged from the hatch with Domitia’s freedwoman. Valerius shouted a warning that was lost on the wind and when he looked again the young tribune was clinging to a wooden stanchion as the wave receded around him. Tulia had vanished as if she had been plucked from the deck by the gods.

Cronos reappeared with two lengths of thick rope and with shaking hands quickly fixed the steering oars in position. Gradually, Valerius felt the motion of the ship steady as the action of wind and water on the paddles brought her bow round so that her stern was to the waves once more. He ran to where Tiberius still floundered.

‘Serpentius?’

Tiberius shook his head with a look of stunned bewilderment. The hatch was a few paces away and Valerius waited until the next wave that battered the stern broke across the deck before he dashed to open it. Serpentius stood unsteadily at the bottom of the ladder with blood masking his face and the women holding him upright.

‘He fell when the wave hit us.’ Domitia’s dress clung to her body beneath the cloak and she was shivering, but her voice was calm. ‘I think he is only stunned.’

The general’s daughter ushered her girls up the ladder and Serpentius groaned as Valerius helped him follow. When they emerged into the wind and rain they saw Domitia and her slaves huddled in the lee of the ship’s stern where most of the crew had taken cover, and joined them there.

Cronos stood by the steering platform peering into the murk ahead.

‘What can we do?’ Valerius shouted.

‘Pray,’ the steersman mouthed.

‘Food and water?’

Cronos laughed. ‘You really believe we’ll survive long enough to be hungry?’

‘Better to be prepared.’

The seaman nodded and put his mouth to Valerius’s ear. ‘Take Julius. He’ll show you where the spare water skins are stored. Fill them all. Don’t worry about the food. If we need it we’ll find it.’

Valerius beckoned to the tall sailor, who reluctantly struggled to his feet. Together they fought their way back to the hatch and into the hold, where the water was now waist deep. Julius muttered to himself as they inched their way through the darkness, but he never missed a step and steered Valerius past trouble until they reached the butts. The first they tried had been contaminated by seawater, but the second was sweet, if musty with age. They filled twenty skins and took them to the deck, where Valerius stored them at Cronos’s feet and placed one of Tiberius’s men to stand guard over them.

Despite the loss of the sail, the wind and the waves continued to drive the ship forward at astonishing speed. More than once he feared the ship would pitch sideways and broach, but the twin steering arms stabilized her course. ‘Now we must endure and survive,’ Cronos said solemnly, and reached up to touch the figure of Poseidon.

The lookout in the bows must have been asleep or blinded by the spray, because the first warning of disaster was the sound of the foot-thick oak mast snapping just as the ship crashed to an abrupt halt and twisted side on to the waves. Valerius was thrown helpless across the deck and smashed into the ship’s rail, where he lay for a moment feeling strangely detached as Cronos, who must have been on the steering platform testing the oars, was catapulted screaming over his head into the darkness. In seconds, the deck became a chaos of panic-stricken, wailing shapes who screamed all the louder when the next wave smashed into the ship’s exposed side. The snapped mast saved them, or perhaps Poseidon approved of Cronos’s sacrifice. It had fallen forward across the bow and was still attached to the ship by a tangle of ropes. Crossed by the spar that had held the sail, the twenty-five feet of oak acted as a sea anchor and when the next wave struck, instead of capsizing the Golden Cygnet, it threw the stricken ship on its axis with the stern closest to a shore which was just visible as a faint fluorescent line of breaking surf four or five ship-lengths away.

‘Valerius?’

Serpentius’s shout was just audible above the screams and the smash of the waves. He picked out the Spaniard in the crush of people in the centre of the deck. ‘Here,’ he called. A shadowy figure detached itself from the dark mass, dragging a second, smaller figure with him.

‘Take your hands off me. I will not go without my girls.’ Domitia struggled against Serpentius’s wiry strength, but he pulled her effortlessly to Valerius’s side.

‘The slaves are with Tiberius,’ the Spaniard said, bracing himself against the rail as another big wave crashed sickeningly into the bow. ‘We need to get off the ship before the sea smashes it to pieces. If that mast goes, we could only have seconds.’

Valerius ran to the side and as a flash of lightning lit the far horizon his heart quailed at the rush of brown water churning past the hull. The ship’s bottom appeared to be sitting on sand, which gave him hope, but the power of the waves would knock anyone who tried to escape that way off their feet and suck them under. The stern showed more potential. Here the wave line was broken by the ship’s mass and there was a chance that at least some might escape.

With his knife, Valerius cut the ropes holding the steering oars and Serpentius retied them so that they dropped over the rail into the area of relative shelter in the lee of the stern.

‘Can you swim, lady?’ Valerius demanded.

Domitia shot him a startled look. ‘I was taught as a child.’

‘Then get ready.’ She hesitated only for a moment. It was clear that if she took to the water in her long stola of fine wool she would drown in seconds. She dropped her cloak and began working at the ties of the dress. The outer garment fell to the deck to reveal a short tunic of filmy material which, in the rain, clung to her body like a second skin. Her slight frame shook with the cold and Valerius picked up the cloak to cover her, taking her in his arms at the same time to provide her with the warmth of his own body. He felt her start and thought she would break away, but she only moved a little closer. For a moment he was torn between a burning need to keep her safe and the greater responsibility he had to the surviving crew of the Golden Cygnet.

‘We don’t have much time.’ Serpentius’s voice cut through his thoughts.

‘You go first. I’ll lower the lady Domitia down to you. See, there, that line of white? The beach will be just beyond. Make your way there and I’ll join you when I can.’

Serpentius disappeared over the stern. When the Spaniard shouted, Valerius led Domitia to the rope. ‘You’ll be safe with Serpentius. There is no better man in a crisis.’

‘My girls?’

‘We will get them off next.’

She gave a little nod of thanks and picked up the fallen dress before scrambling over the side. It was such a female thing to do that it made him smile, but his heart sank as her head disappeared below the waves. He only breathed again when she surfaced and Serpentius appeared at her side to support her through the heavy surf.

Tiberius arrived at the stern with the two slave girls already stripped like their mistress. A collective growl went up from the seamen crowding behind.

‘No slave is leaving this ship before me.’ Julius, the tall lookout who had saved Valerius on the galley with his timely axe stroke, forced his way to the front of the crowd. ‘You can go, tribune, and your little fighting cock here, but I’ll be next down that rope.’

‘You’ll stay until these women are off the ship.’ Valerius stood between the sailor and the slave girls. He knew any sign of weakness would trigger a mutiny. ‘If we maintain discipline and do our duty we’ll all come out of this alive.’

‘Like fuck I will.’ Julius produced a long knife from his tunic and dashed forward. Valerius reached for his sword, only to discover it had slipped from its scabbard when the ship struck. He looked for something he could use as a weapon, but Julius was almost upon him. A glittering dart flashed across the deck and Julius stopped as if he had walked into a marble pillar. With a terrible choking noise he collapsed to his knees and keeled over on his side. Without a word, Tiberius stepped forward and lifted the dying man’s head to retrieve the knife that was buried to the hilt in his throat.

Valerius went to stand at the young soldier’s side. ‘Your shipmate received the justice he deserved,’ he shouted. ‘And anyone who thinks otherwise should say so now. There will be no more mutinies. Prove that you are Romans, not pirates, and nothing more will be said. If we survive this, we may be here for days, so we’ll need all the food and water we can gather.’ The grumbling had been replaced by a sullen silence and Valerius hesitated as another big wave pushed the ship further aground. ‘Tiberius, get the girls off now.’ He placed himself between the crew and the stern, but no one moved to stop the young officer. ‘I will be the last man off the ship, but now I want you to collect up the water skins and anything else you can carry.’

There was a moment’s hesitation before they moved off to gather water skins from where they’d scattered when the ship ran aground. Valerius heard a frightened whinny from the hold below and realized he’d forgotten the horses. He lifted the hatch and dropped into the surging waist-deep waters of the hold. Two of the beasts were down, their eyes opaque in the gloom and their already bloated bodies floating among the swirling filth of the stall, but a pair of frightened white discs told him the gelding still survived. He drew his dagger and stepped closer to the big chestnut to place the point just behind his ear. There was an odd moment of calm when he could feel the horse’s warmth and trust. He steeled himself for the killing stroke, but something made him hesitate. Quickly, he ran to the hatch and somehow manoeuvred the hinged ramp into place. The gelding shook violently as he was cut free and Valerius spoke gently into his ear before covering his head with a blanket that hung by the side of the stall. The big horse seemed to understand what was required of him and allowed himself to be led up to the deck.

A drop-down panel gave access to the gangplank when the ship was in harbour and Valerius unhooked the bolts that held it in place. There was still an eight foot plunge to the sea, but the gelding would have to take his chances. He slapped the horse on the rump and whipped the blanket from his head as the animal leapt over the side and vanished into the darkness.

By now, the last of the crew were disappearing over the stern and his legs said he should join them. Instead, he forced himself to fight the fear that threatened to overwhelm him as the ship rose and fell in the surf, her keel crashing against the bottom with each hammer blow of a wave. He searched from bow to stern, shouting into the hatches as he ensured that no one was trapped or injured. As he struggled towards the stern the last frayed rope securing the shattered mast to the Golden Cygnet finally parted. No longer anchored, the whole ship spun side on to the waves and canted over until the deck was almost vertical. Valerius made a frantic grab for a stanchion as he flew over the side rail into the angry sea, where the surf picked him up and spun him like a falling leaf in an autumn storm. There was no up or down, just a rolling vortex of brown water that forced its way into his nose and mouth. His face broke the surface and he sucked in a breath that was as much sea as it was air, but in the same instant he was under again, dragged along the bottom where shells and gravel tore at the bare skin of his arms and legs. He tried to control his momentum, but the power of the surf had him in its grip and gradually he began to weaken. Just when he thought he was finished a hand grabbed the neck of his tunic and hauled him clear of the water. He found himself blinking into Serpentius’s glaring face.

‘Only a fool would sacrifice himself to save a horse,’ the Spaniard snarled. ‘Since when did you become a fool?’

‘Domitia?’ Valerius choked out the name with a mouthful of sea water.

‘Safe, but she twisted her ankle when she dropped from the rope. She won’t be walking anywhere in a hurry.’

They struggled along the beach to where the former occupants of the Golden Cygnet gathered in two distinct huddles whipped by the wind-driven sand. Closest to the shore the dejected crew shivered where they’d crawled from the pounding surf. Further back Tiberius and two of his surviving cavalrymen provided what shelter they could for the lady Domitia and her two slaves. The third German trooper lay nearby, still alive, but halfway to another world, empty eyes staring into the rain and a purple dent four inches across in his forehead. Somehow, Tiberius had retained his cloak and the general’s daughter had wrapped it around herself and the girls.

Valerius spoke reassuringly to the crewmen and ordered them to gather the food and water and place it conspicuously between the two groups. He knew better than to risk angering the sailors by seeming to monopolize the supplies so soon after the wreck. Better to wait to reimpose military discipline until their situation became clearer in the morning.

Serpentius offered him a drink from one of the skins, but he refused. ‘It can’t be long until first light. We’ll issue a ration then. But I want you to stay close and make sure no one else touches it.’ He left the Spaniard and walked across the soft sand to where Domitia sat. One of the slave girls was tying a bandage round her ankle.

‘I hope it’s not too painful, my lady?’

She looked up. By some miracle the girls had managed to make her hair and clothing presentable. ‘It barely hurts at all, tribune, although it is a little swollen.’ He smiled at the lie. ‘I must thank you for what you did,’ she continued. ‘If we had stayed on the ship we would all have drowned. I was wrong to delay you.’

‘Sometimes it is more prudent to retreat than to stand your ground, but the decision is never easy, especially for a soldier — or a soldier’s daughter.’

She nodded at the compliment, and in the pause that followed they could hear the sound of timbers shattering as the breakers continued to hammer the ship. ‘How long are we likely to be here?’ It was a foolish question, a little girl’s question, and he experienced a moment of irritation. Already, he felt crushed by the weight of expectation. Unless they were very fortunate he would soon have to take decisions that would mean the difference between life and death for every stranded survivor; decisions founded on the most basic of knowledge. He didn’t know how well equipped he was to do that, but whatever happened in the coming hours or days it was vital to keep their spirits up.

‘Perhaps a few days.’ He kept his voice confident. ‘We will know better in the morning. We may have landed on the Judaean coast, but we have no real idea. We were driven far south and I think even poor Aurelius would have struggled to place us. If we are there, it is a fertile area and we should be within walking distance of some sort of settlement. In the meantime, please rest. It could be a long day tomorrow.’

‘And if we are not?’

‘Then we must endure and survive until help comes, my lady. Sailors have many useful skills and we are fortunate to have resourceful men with us. I do not fear for our future.’

It was surprising how easily the lie came. He knew there were things he had to do, but first he called Tiberius across. ‘You were right to kill the lookout. Thank you.’

‘I was only doing my duty, tribune.’

‘No, Tiberius, it was more than your duty and I want you to know I appreciate it. If I can ever return the service…’

‘Of course, sir. Perhaps you might commend me to General Corbulo,’ Tiberius said seriously. ‘This posting is a great opportunity for me and I would not want to waste it by being sent to some obscure outpost in the mountains.’

Valerius fought the urge to laugh. Here they were stranded only the gods knew where with barely enough food and water to last a week and Tiberius was concerned about his career. ‘I think the general will find a better use for a man with your qualities. Julius, fool that he was, called you a fighting cock and he was right. You could be a great soldier some day. I have served with great soldiers and I recognize their qualities in you.’

The young man was clearly embarrassed and Valerius regretted being so forthright. He sounded like a foolish old veteran polishing his armour by the fire for his retirement parade. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Tiberius suddenly grinned shyly and reached for his belt.

‘I found this lying on the deck.’ He handed Valerius a legionary gladius, the one Suetonius Paulinus had presented to him in the aftermath of the British rebellion. ‘I did not think you would want to lose it.’

Valerius had thought he would never see the sword again and he’d resigned himself to its loss, but now he had it in his hand he felt its power running through him. Still. He held the blade out hilt first to the younger man. ‘It was given to me for what the general believed was an act of great bravery. Perhaps you deserve it more.’

Tiberius looked down at the sword, but his hand didn’t move towards the blade. ‘Even if I were to win the Gold Crown of Valour it would not equal the honour you have already done me. You ask me if you can do me a service?’ He hesitated and shook his head. ‘You will think me less of a soldier.’

‘No, Tiberius. Ask what you will.’

Tiberius took a deep breath. ‘I have never known a man I respect more than Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, and I can think of nothing finer than to call him my friend.’

Valerius laughed out loud, and felt the stares from the sailors down by the shoreline. Who could laugh at a time like this? But if anything could raise his morale in these dire circumstances it was this competent, agreeable young man, a tribute to his class, believing that his friendship meant something. He held out his right hand and Tiberius took the walnut fist in his.

‘Of course, it will make no difference to our military relationship…’ Tiberius stuttered. He was interrupted by a familiar snicker and a substantial form plodded out of the wind and the darkness to nuzzle Valerius’s hand.

Valerius grinned at the younger man. ‘We needed a gift from the gods and they have delivered one.’ He patted the gelding’s shoulder. ‘Come, Tiberius, we have plans to make.’