‘Spare the boy,’ the man said calmly. ‘You cannot leave him to drown.’
‘No?’ The captain smiled cruelly. ‘Why not? He’s a stowaway. A thief, and violent with it. I should have seen that when I first clapped eyes on him back in Dyrrhacium. Typical wharf rat. Those scum don’t deserve to live.’ He turned back towards Marcus and braced his muscles to hurl the boy out into the waves.
‘Let him live and I’ll buy him,’ the man added.
The captain paused, torn between the desire to avenge himself for the blow Marcus had inflicted on his pride and the chance to make some money. He cleared his throat. ‘How much?’
‘What’s your price?’
‘Huh?’ The captain frowned, not quite sure what to ask for. After a brief pause he edged back and dumped Marcus on the deck between himself and the man in the red tunic.
Marcus gasped with relief to feel the solid deck beneath his back. For the moment he had been spared and he felt a surge of hope as he stared up at the passenger who had offered to buy him. The man was powerfully built with neatly cut dark hair. He wore leather bracers around each of his hairy wrists. He stood with his hands on his hips and waited for the captain’s response.
‘Why do you want to buy the boy, Lucius Porcino? He’s just a little runt.’ The captain gestured towards the men in chains, sitting silently on the deck. ‘You trade in gladiators.’
The man looked down at Marcus and shrugged. ‘He shows spirit. Looks fit enough to last a few years. But I doubt he’ll ever amount to much more than a common kitchen slave. So, name your price. I’ll pay a fair sum.’
The captain’s eyes narrowed. ‘Three hundred denarii.’
‘Three hundred?’ Porcino’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘I could buy a full-grown man for that. It’ll be years before this one can earn his keep. Three hundred indeed!’ He shook his head and jerked his thumb over the side. ‘You’d better throw him in, then. I’m certainly not paying three hundred.’
He turned away and began to make his way back towards the hatch at the stern leading down to the cabins. Marcus stared after him in despair, his heart heavy in his breast, like a rock. The captain bit his lip and called after the man.
‘Two hundred!’
Porcino paused, mid-stride, and turned round slowly. He looked at Marcus again and rubbed his bristly chin thoughtfully. ‘I’ll give you one hundred. And I’m robbing myself at that price.’
The captain decided on one last try. ‘A hundred and fifty, then.’
‘Done.’ Porcino strode back to the captain, spat in his hand and held it out.
The captain took his hand and they shook to seal the deal. Marcus felt a surge of relief – he was almost grateful towards the man who had saved his life. He smiled faintly as Porcino looked down at him, but there was no friendship in his expression. No sense that he had saved Marcus out of some impulse to help another human being. Just the hard stare of a professional businessman.
‘Piso!’ He clicked his fingers.
A wiry man in a brown tunic pushed through the loose ring of sailors who had gathered to watch.
Porcino turned towards him. ‘Take the boy. Chain him up with the rest of them.’
‘Yes, master.’ Piso bowed his head.
The captain, meanwhile, turned to bellow at his men, ordering them to break up the crowd, and for those on watch to get back to their duties. As the men dispersed, he turned to Porcino. ‘I’ll have that money before we reach port, eh?’
Porcino nodded, and with a last cold look at Marcus the captain turned away and made his way aft, limping. Porcino could not help grinning briefly at the man’s discomfort. But his face hardened as he turned back towards Piso. ‘Make sure you chain the boy well. Don’t want him trying to give us the slip once we reach Brundisium.’
‘No, master.’
Porcino glanced at Marcus. ‘And find him something to eat and drink.’
‘Yes, master.’
Porcino puffed out his cheeks. ‘I hope you’re worth the money, boy.’
Marcus swallowed and responded quietly. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you?’ Porcino laughed. ‘I’ve made you into a slave, boy, not a friend. Never forget it.’
Piso leaned down and plucked Marcus off the deck. As he was led towards the silent figures of the chained slaves, Marcus realized he had cheated death only to end up a slave yet again.
12
The Fair Wind reached Brundisium at first light two days later. As the sun slanted across the deck, the captain gave the order to reduce sail and the ship ghosted between the vessels lying at anchor. The steersman carefully set a course towards an empty berth alongside the quay as several sailors stood by with mooring ropes, ready to sling the tarred loops to men waiting on the quay.
Marcus struggled to his feet and leaned on the side-rail as he looked around. Brundisium was much bigger than the port they had left back in Graecia. A huge citadel, built on a rock that jutted into the harbour, was linked to the mainland by a narrow causeway. Shipping crowded the water on either side of the citadel and a squadron of sleek warships rode at anchor near the harbour entrance. Ashore, the warehouses, temples, civic buildings and crowded tenement blocks sprawled inland, oppressed by a haze of sooty smoke that hung over the port.
The urban stench of sewage, sweat and decaying food that had assaulted Marcus’s nose at Dyrrhacium was even more potent here. Looking down into the calm water of the harbour, Marcus saw that it was covered with rubbish and dead fish, and the bloated corpse of a dog bobbed near the surface close to the ship. His nose wrinkled in disgust and he wondered how anyone could bear living in the towns and ports that he had seen since leaving the farm. He felt a pang as he recalled the clean, pine-scented air of the mountains of home.
Marcus turned his mind away from such memories and instead he considered his new companions. As well as Marcus, there were six men chained together. They were young and fit and all of them bought by Porcino in slave markets across Graecia. Three of the men were from Thrace and they kept to themselves, adopting a haughty attitude towards the other slaves. Two of the others were from Athens and the last man was from Sparta.
At first they had ignored him when Piso had fastened the shackles round his ankles and then run the end of the chain through the ring bolt on Marcus’s right ankle. But once Piso had finished his work and sauntered off to have his morning meal of bread dipped in fish sauce, the nearest man, an Athenian with a flattened nose, nudged Marcus.
‘You showed that sailor up nicely. The captain too.’ He smiled at Marcus. ‘I’m Pelleneus, from Athens.’ He nodded towards the man next to him, a heavily bearded giant. ‘This is Phyrus. He’s from Athens as well.’
‘Rhodes,’ the giant mumbled. ‘Told you, I was from Rhodes. Until I was sold to that damned Athenian woman.’ He cast his eyes down and continued mumbling, but Marcus could not catch any of the words.
Pelleneus winked. ‘Don’t mind him. He has his happy moments. Which is more than I can say for some.’ He leaned closer to Marcus and continued quietly, ‘The Spartan doesn’t speak a word, though Piso reckons his name is Patroclus. As for the Thracians…’ He shrugged. ‘They keep to themselves. Won’t even talk to me or Phyrus. What about you, boy? What’s your name?’
‘Marcus Cornelius Primus.’
‘A Roman name?’
Marcus nodded. ‘My father was a centurion.’
‘I see.’ Pelleneus nodded archly. ‘So what is the son of a Roman centurion doing skulking in the bottom of a cargo ship?’
Marcus wondered how much he should say. He was not sure what would happen if it was discovered that Decimus had claimed him as his property. Until he knew better it would be best to be tight-lipped about some details of his past, he decided. ‘My father was killed – murdered – by a moneylender. My mother was kidnapped. I escaped. Now I’m looking for my father’s old commander to see if he can help my mother and me get justice.’