‘Will you be retiring soon, Captain?’ asked Cassius.
‘Not the first night. I always stay up the first night. Maybe the second, third and fourth too on this trip.’
‘Why? Because it’s so late in the season?’
‘It’s not late in the season, Officer. It’s after the season. Long after. This is what old salts call the Dark Time — when a storm can come out of nowhere, knock your mast down and leave you drifting in fog for days on end. Weeks even.’
Cassius knew such talk wouldn’t help him sleep but he couldn’t curtail his curiosity. ‘But you’ve been out in November before?’
‘I have. Three times.’
‘Only three? How long have you been sailing?’
‘Not sure exactly. But I think Maximinus Thrax was emperor. How long’s that?’
‘About thirty-five years.’
‘There you go then.’
‘And how were the other trips?’ Cassius asked, preferring not to dwell on the implications of what Asdribar had told him.
‘Two of them were fine — well, eventually. We got home safe at least.’
‘And the other?’
‘Now that was a long time ago. I was a deckhand on the Alka — old grain ship out of Tingi. The army needed us to transport auxiliaries across the straits from Mauretania to Calpe. We started in clear skies, with barely enough to make two or three knots. A mile off the Spanish coast, a squall hit us. Whole sky turned black. Couldn’t keep your eyes open for the rain. We couldn’t get the yard down quick enough. The port arm snapped off and spliced us through the foredeck. The hold filled up like that.’ Asdribar clicked his fingers. ‘And the Alka, she went down quicker than an alley girl with the rent due. I found myself a cork float and jumped off the stern. Got picked up by a fishing boat two hours later. Back on dry land in three.’
‘And the other men?’
‘Eight of the crew made it too. One of them — nasty old Greek — he thought he’d try and take my float off me, but I put him off that idea pretty quick.’
‘The auxiliaries?’
‘Not one. Didn’t have a chance weighed down with all their fighting gear. All went straight to the god of the deep. But I reckon he didn’t want them because pretty soon they started popping up all over. Hundreds of them there was. Pop — one here. Pop — one there. One of them came up right next to me with his big old white face. Nearly went under myself when I saw that.’
Cassius took a long breath, and wished he hadn’t started the conversation.
‘But that was just the once,’ Asdribar added. ‘Like I said — the other two times were fine.’
Cassius headed for the hatch. ‘Good night.’
‘Night, Officer,’ replied the captain. ‘Sleep well.’
XI
The only spacious, private area on the Fortuna Redux was the main hold. With the hatch cover pulled to one side, it was well lit by the bright morning sunshine and once a few amphorae and barrels had been shifted, there was a square area about fifteen feet wide. Dawn had brought a few extra knots of wind but the sea remained calm and — apart from the occasional judder or pitch — it was relatively easy to stand.
Cassius glanced towards the stern to check there were no prying eyes behind the twig bales and timber. Thankfully, the seasickness still hadn’t struck in earnest. Ascribing this to Opilio’s hot wine, he’d already downed a big mugful with his breakfast. It was now the third hour, and he’d been pleased to discover that Rhodes was indeed now well behind them, with the Fortuna powering along at a good five knots.
Arriving in the hold, he’d found Indavara shooting arrows into a barrel lid. The bodyguard had been alternating hands and seemed to enjoy the challenge presented by the movements of the ship.
‘Right,’ he said, putting the bow down, ‘let’s have a look at this thing, then.’
Cassius handed over his sword belt. Indavara drew the blade and put the belt and scabbard on top of a barrel. Casting a disparaging look at the eagle head, he ran his eyes over the rest of the weapon. ‘Not even runnelled.’
‘What are runnels again?’ Cassius enquired.
‘Curved hollows along the flat. Lets air in when the blade slides into flesh. Makes it easier to pull it out.’
‘Ah.’
For a brief moment, Cassius felt as if nausea might strike after all.
Indavara shook his head. ‘Heavy as a trident. And just as unwieldy.’
He threw it to Cassius, who managed to grab the hilt.
Indavara looked at Cassius’s forearms. ‘I’ve seen teenage girls with bigger wrists than you.’
Cassius glared at him but the bodyguard persisted: ‘Tell me they were like that when you finished your training.’
Cassius begrudgingly shook his head. He had lost a lot of bulk — muscle especially — in the last two years. Never a big eater, his only real form of exercise had been swimming.
‘You need building up,’ said Indavara. ‘Start with the blade close to the deck, then raise it up until your arm’s horizontal. Do twenty.’
‘Very well.’
Cassius did as he was told. Upon reaching the twentieth swing, he winced, and instantly wished he hadn’t.
‘Too much for you, Officer?’
‘Enjoying this, aren’t you?’
Indavara shrugged. ‘I always knew legionary training was piss-easy compared to what we fighters did, but it’s still hard to believe you got through.’
‘Oh I got through — don’t worry about that. All sixty days.’
Cassius was suddenly assailed by one of his most shameful memories — crying into his pillow at the end of at least the first twenty of those days. He aimed the sword at Indavara. ‘Don’t get too full of yourself, bodyguard — you’d have been heading home on day three.’
‘What happens on day three?’
‘Half-mile swim.’
Cassius’s triumphant grin didn’t last long. The ship pitched suddenly and they both lurched towards the bow.
‘Do you want to do this, or not?’ asked Indavara when the vessel was steady again.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Now swing it side to side. Plant your feet. Don’t twist your body.’
‘I thought you were supposed to keep your feet moving.’
‘We’re strengthening your sword arm, not working on technique.’
When this exercise was done, Indavara ordered diagonal swings — left to right, then right to left.
‘Here’s what you must do,’ he instructed when Cassius had finished. ‘Fifty of all four variations — when you wake up, and before you go to bed.’
‘Before bed? I’ll be covered in sweat.’
‘Not after a week or two.’
‘Very well. Now, how about teaching me something useful? Some of your gladiator tricks.’
‘Forget tricks. We can’t do much on here anyway with the ship moving around. Do you have enough money for a new sword?’
‘Not really.’
‘If you sold that thing?’
‘I’m not selling this! I spent half an afternoon haggling for it.’
Indavara shook his head despairingly. ‘You said you’d been in a battle once — at this fort. How did you get on? Be honest.’
Cassius looked down at the deck. ‘I couldn’t think. I was so slow. My mind just … emptied.’
Indavara walked over to the row of barrels on the right side of the hold. ‘We may as well sit down.’
‘What? Why?’
‘To talk.’
‘You’re supposed to be showing me how to fight.’
‘Before that we must talk.’
With a sigh, Cassius picked up his sword belt and sheathed the blade. ‘This is a first. You insisting that I talk.’
He sat down on a barrel next to Indavara. One of the crewmen passed by and looked down at them. Beyond him, the sky was a reassuring shade of blue.
‘Did you do any hand to hand in training?’ asked Indavara.
‘A bit.’
‘You wrestled when you were younger?’
‘I gave it up as soon as I could.’ Cassius made a face. ‘All that oil and sweat. The only man I’m prepared to embrace is my father — and I don’t particularly enjoy that.’