The Encircling Sea

XVII

THE SMALL SHIP rose on the wave, lifting high until it pitched forward into the next great trough, cold water bursting over the deck. Ferox braced himself and pulled his cloak tight, for soon they were rising again. An hour ago a shower of hail had left the deck white, until the spray washed it back to the dark wooden planking. Apart from a couple of tiny cabins at the stern there was hardly any shelter. Some men went to the hold, but most came back up fairly soon. Down there every movement of the ship was magnified, with no warning of the next lurch until it began. Even men with strong stomachs were soon vomiting, and the reek made others do the same. It took either great courage or a mind as empty as their bellies for men to stay there, crammed in between barrels and sacks and hoping the lashing keeping them in place would hold, not knowing whether the ship was about to go down. At least on deck you could see disaster coming, even if you could do nothing about it.

This was the third day at sea. The first had been perfect, a wind more southerly than westerly filling the ship’s sail and driving them along across a smooth, blue-grey sea. Everyone felt the elation, and spirits were high. The Batavians leaned over the rail, laughing and joking, saying that this was no more than the rivers of their homeland. Some, like the one-eyed Longinus, knew how quickly the sea’s mood could change, but it did not dampen their mood. They were doing something, going to fight men who deserved to be killed and save a lady they all loved, who was one of their own. Bran was even more excited, helping the sailors whenever he could, hanging around them the rest of the time and watching what they did, for he had never been on such a large boat. Vindex and the scouts were suspicious, for they did not care much for the sea, but after a while admitted that this was not too bad, less crowded than the trireme and without its lingering smell of stale sweat. Quintus Ovidius beamed at everyone, asking them to call out if they saw a whale or anything else of interest. The philosopher was a surprising addition to their party, added on the insistence of Crispinus. Ferox was still unsure why.

The second day started well, until the wind died away to nothing. Now and then a brief flurry would stir the sail and carry them a short distance before fading away.

‘Glad we are not further north,’ the master said. ‘Not and be this close to the shore.’ On a calm day like this it would be easy for the Novantae or other raiders to row out in their little boats and catch becalmed ships. Fortunately they were still near the Roman province. Ferox thought that he could see Alauna, but was not sure in the hazy sunshine. He wondered whether the message they had sent in one of the transport ships had reached Brocchus. It seemed doubtful, since surely the same weather would have brought that ship to a halt as well. There were two sails on the horizon, but neither was close enough to recognise. In the afternoon they sighted something else, a low grey shape coming from the north. It moved steadily across the water, its mast bare of a sail, but never came close enough for them to see the foam stirred up by the three banks of oars.

‘Odd,’ the master said, watching the distant galley warily. ‘You don’t often see any of the classis up here.’ Ferox could see that the man knew what this meant. For over an hour they watched as the trireme edged past. The deck was silent apart from the low creaks of wood and rope of a vessel at sea. They waited, fearing to see the pirates turn towards them. There was no reason why the Harii should know who they were, no reason at all, neither was there cause for them to attack and plunder their ship rather than any of the other sails in sight. None of that meant that the pirates would not decide to come their way.

‘Would we have any chance at all?’ Ovidius asked, his tone one of curiosity rather than anxiety.

‘None at all, my lord. That is if the wind does not pick up soon. Even then, they can sail as well as row, and probably outnumber us ten to one.’

‘At least they are going in the direction we expect, returning to Hibernia for their comrades. We must hope that by now Cerialis is free, and the tribune heading back to the ships, while the Harii will be carrying off the ransom to meet with their ship.’

‘That is what we must hope.’ They had agreed to tell the pirates that Probus had fled the camp, fearing for his life, and that Ferox had gone in pursuit. The tribune would promise to hand the merchant or his corpse over to the Harii when they met to give up Sulpicia Lepidina and the other captives.

‘I’m no mariner,’ Ovidius said a little later, ‘but it seems to me that they are well past us now.’ The fringe of white hair around his bald head rippled. Above them the sail started to fill, and the master began shouting at his crew to get to work. The whole feel of the deck beneath them changed as the ship surged forward. ‘Ah, now that the danger has passed we have what we needed to save ourselves,’ the old man said. ‘It has always struck me that one of the main proofs that the gods take an interest in mankind is the sense of humour that is so embedded in the affairs of the world. Often cruel, though it may be, it is surely there.’

‘My lord, why are you here?’ Ferox asked him.

Ovidius smiled. ‘My boy, we shall make a philosopher of you yet! But the answer is simple. I’m am here for the adventure.’

The storm came that evening and lasted throughout most of the next day. Ferox had sent Ovidius into the cabin, and wondered whether the old man was still so keen on adventure. One look at the stocky master of the ship was enough to show how worried the man was, and perhaps it was better not to know more about the sea and its moods. Even Bran, who had revelled in the life on board, was pale and terrified as he huddled next to Ferox, Vindex and the Brigantes. They kept together because somehow it made them feel a little less terrified. Ferox thought about Sulpicia Lepidina, imagining her imprisoned in a dirty cell, perhaps alone, struggling to hold on to any hope. At least they were all free, albeit at the moment free to drown or be dashed onto the rocks.

If they survived, Ferox felt that they had a chance of saving her and the others. The captive warrior had told them a lot, his initial reluctance to speak changing after Vindex and Segovax spent some time alone with him. His name was Duco, and once he began to talk the words spilled out in a great flow as they sailed north.

‘He’s broken his oath,’ Vindex explained, ‘the oath sealed with flesh and blood. There’s no going back for him, not now, because he knows what his mates will do to him.’

Duco was one of the original Usipi, and claimed to have been swept up in the mutiny against his will. He told them about the terror of that first night, then the horror of what had followed, culminating in the eating of dead men, binding them all in a ghastly brotherhood of damned souls. He had stayed on the ship when they raided Alauna, and said that the captives were not harmed, only kept in chains so that none could escape. It was cramped down among the ballast of the ship, filthy, dark and stinking, but they were fed. The trireme had then sailed to Hibernia, and he and the party who would receive the ransom had taken the Roman prefect ashore. Then the ship went north to their island with the other prisoners, and would return to collect the others once they had been paid.

‘The prisoners will be kept in the tower,’ Duco assured Ferox. It was the safest place, built out on its own tiny island in a lake and approached by a narrow causeway. ‘It was there when we arrived. Home to a chieftain, and we had a hard fight to cut our way in, but his men were few, not well armed or experienced. They were mostly fishermen and we killed them and took their women.’

‘How many warriors will be in the tower? Especially at night?’

‘Five or six. There is no danger and Cniva is in Hibernia.’ Cniva was their lord, the last of the brothers who had led the mutiny. ‘He does not stay in the tower since his woman died last year. She had the sight, and the power, and he misses her.’ Duco shuddered. It seemed the witch commanded more fear than love from the rest of the band. ‘That is why he wants the boy, for the power will be in his blood.’

‘And you are sure that they will all be in the tower?’

‘Yes.’ Most of the others lived in a sprawling walled settlement by the bay on the far side of the island. A few had huts out on their own. ‘They are there, with some of Cniva’s oldest men to guard them. All are Harii, and he trusts them, but they are no longer fit enough to raid. They will fight, though.’ Duco spoke of the narrow winding corridor that was the sole way into the tower, and of the little rooms and chambers on either side where men would wait in ambush.

‘Dogs?’ Ferox had seen similar towers from a distance and visited a couple. Both had had big guard dogs chained up in the entrance. He could still remember how loud their barks echoed in the gloomy corridor.

Duco shook his head. ‘She hated dogs and had them all killed.’

That was something at least, and as he sat and did his best to weather the storm Ferox worked on a plan, picking away at it, trying to spot any problem, any risk, and find answers. It began to seem possible.

Late in the afternoon the wind slackened. The ship’s master asked everyone to throw something of value to them over the side as thanks to Neptune, for they were much closer to the shore than he would have liked. Slowly and painfully they began to beat back out to sea. The ship could not sail very close into the wind, so they crawled forward at a snail’s pace, travelling what seemed like miles to gain a hundred paces. The next day was only a little better, but it did not get worse and they crept westwards for that day and the next. After that it became easier, the wind shifted and became steady. If not as glorious as the start of their voyage, it took them at a good speed where they wanted to go. Soon they were passing islands, and parts of the Caledonian coast that looked like islands. The master named them, although Bran often had a different name, and much of the time Ferox knew little or nothing about any of them.

‘That’s it,’ the master said gruffly late on the following day. ‘Not that I ever wanted to see the cursed place again. Beyond it is the isle of the hag warrior.’ He made a sign to avert the evil eye. ‘They are not welcoming either.’ Ferox could see high cliffs all around the visible part of the little island. It looked a harsher, bleaker place than the gently rolling fields of the pirates’ stronghold.

Duco told them more. He pointed, and through squinting eyes Ferox thought that he could see a tiny spike that must be the tower. The harbour and main settlement were on the north-western side. ‘It is the best place for ships to anchor, and the arms of the bay give shelter from the wind.’

Ferox asked about the warrior woman on the other island.

‘We do not trouble them. At least we did not. Years ago, ten of our men boasted that they would go and have her head. They were drunk,’ he added in explanation. ‘None of them came back, but a week later we found their heads lying in a circle on one of our beaches. The witch told Cniva to stay away, but now that she is dead he has said that the old hag has power and that we should take it. That is why he wanted the queen.’

‘Brigita?’ Ferox was surprised. ‘You said that Brennus promised you fifty young women and girls every year for the next five years to snatch her and stop her husband becoming high king.’

‘That is true, but he also wanted her because she is a daughter of the warrior queen. She wears the mark of that kin.’ Ferox wondered whether that was the neat scar between her breasts. ‘He will threaten her to make the warrior queen do what he wants.’

‘How many live on her island?’ Ferox wondered whether they might find an ally, although it was hard to think of any way to reach her.

‘We do not know. Perhaps fifty, perhaps fewer. Boats come and leave fish and food on the beach, but no one stays unless they go there to learn.’

‘Go and get something to eat,’ Ferox said, and then raised his voice. ‘Eat as much as you can. It’s going to be a long day.’ He leaned on the side of the ship, staring at the islands, wondering whether he needed to change his plan.

‘This looks like the end of the world,’ Ovidius said, coming up beside them. He was very pale and seemed even thinner. The same was true of most of those on board.

‘The end of this journey.’ Ferox pointed to the south of the island. There were grey shapes skimming above the waves.

‘Dolphins. Wonderful creatures, to be sure, but I have seen plenty of them before,’ the poet said, and then his gaze went further and he spotted the dark hump beyond them. It spouted, then dived and a moment later a great black tail rose above the sea. Ferox watched the sheer excitement in the old man’s face. ‘That is truly a delight for the eyes.’

It came closer for a while, the shiny black back of the whale surfacing just twenty paces from them, and they heard the great exhalation of breath. When it sank again, there was an oily film on the water where it had been. For a while they watched, waiting for it to reappear, and just when they were about to give up were rewarded when the whale surfaced again, much further away. The sky was turning grey, with low clouds and mist coming towards them.

‘This is it, then,’ Ovidius said quietly.

‘You should stay on the ship, my lord. It will be rough.’

Ovidius chuckled. ‘What a strange way with words you military fellows have. I imagine Odysseus, back after twenty years, corpses of suitors piled in mounds around him, and when Penelope asks how it was, he just says, “Rough. Really, really tough.”’

‘Well, it was. Apart from all the nymphs and goddesses.’

Ovidius looked up at him. ‘Let us go and save a goddess of our own.’

‘You are sure?’

‘I am. Quite sure.’

‘Very well, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me, there is much to prepare.’

‘Of course, I never said it was sensible,’ the old man said softly after the centurion had gone aft, calling for Longinus and his men.