Indavara rolled his eyes. ‘Hand to hand is difficult. And something tells me you won’t be a natural. If you’re caught without a weapon, always try and improvise. I never use my fists if I can avoid it.’ He held out his fingers. ‘Remember how precious these are. If you can’t grip and hold you’re in trouble. Boots are useful.’ He tapped his boot on the deck. ‘I nailed a bit of hardwood on to the front of these. Very nasty on the shin or knee.’
‘Ingenious.’
‘You should probably just concentrate on dagger and sword for now. But you’ll have to start looking after them.’
‘Simo does look after them. They’re immaculate.’
‘Simo doesn’t look after them, he makes them look nice. Show me your dagger.’
Cassius drew it from the sheath on his belt. The standard-issue legionary’s blade was ten inches long, three wide and topped by a triangular tip.
‘They’re almost like little swords, these army things,’ said Indavara as he took it. ‘Good weapon in the right hands.’ He aimed the knife at Cassius’s sword. ‘More useful than that bloody thing.’
Indavara drew his own dagger, which was both shorter and narrower. He held each weapon by the handle, then dropped them blade first on to the deck. Indavara’s stuck fast. Cassius’s dagger bounced off and clattered to one side.
‘Not sharp enough. I’ll show you how to get it right.’ He picked up the dagger and examined it. ‘Hardly been touched.’
Cassius shrugged. ‘I told you before — I don’t like blades. I don’t like holding them, using them. I don’t even like wearing them.’
Indavara stood and turned to face him. ‘So what? You’ll just give up your life? If a man comes at you, you’ll just let him gut you?’
‘No, but-’
‘There has to be a little fight in you. You clobbered that bastard Scaurus on the river that day.’
‘That’s true. I did hate that man.’
‘Forget hate,’ said Indavara. ‘What about some thief that jumps out of the shadows? There won’t be time to hate him — he’ll already have stuck some cold metal into you. Did you ever cut anyone?’
‘Once,’ said Cassius. ‘At the fort. A Palmyran.’
‘I’ve seen men — not many, but a few — who would rather get cut themselves than do it to someone else. If you’re like that, I won’t be able to help you.’
‘I’m not. Definitely not.’
‘Just tell yourself: it’s him or me. You value your life — you’ll fight.’
‘Him or me.’
Indavara nodded. ‘Him or me.’
After an hour more of instruction, Cassius spent the rest of the morning working through Memor’s documents with Simo. So by the time he finished his lunch, he was more than ready for some fresh air. Emerging from the hatch, he found everybody else on deck, the crew busy to a man, the other four passengers taking advantage of the continuing good weather. Though the sky was more grey than blue, there was hardly a trace of cloud. The wind was still from the west and strong enough to keep the Fortuna ploughing towards Crete.
Apart from Squint (steering), Asdribar (standing with Annia and Clara) and those manning the sails, the rest of the crew were sitting in a circle between the hatch and the mast. Under the supervision of Korinth and Opilio, the men were repairing a saiclass="underline" cutting out damaged sections, then stitching replacements into the thick linen. Like the other sails, it had been dyed a watery blue.
Simo and Indavara were sitting against the side-rail on the starboard side. Simo was reading from a little book. Cassius guessed it would be one of his precious religious tomes, and he made a mental note to tell him to be careful — there was no sense advertising his Christian beliefs to the superstitious, omen-obsessed sailors. Indavara was intently studying a piece of paper. He looked up and saw Cassius, then nudged Simo. Cassius held up a hand, indicating the Gaul should stay where he was.
Asdribar was leaning back against the port side-rail, arms crossed, a picture of relaxation. Annia and Clara were next to him, facing the sea.
‘Afternoon,’ said the captain as Cassius approached.
‘Officer Corbulo,’ said Annia. Clara gave a little bow. She was wearing a plain stola over her tunic. Her mistress’s was a pretty yellow.
‘Good afternoon to you.’
Cassius looked past them, at an island to the south.
‘That’s Krapathos,’ Annia explained.
‘Ah.’
‘The young lady has sailed there herself,’ added Asdribar.
‘Yes, she told me,’ replied Cassius. ‘Rather impressive.’
‘Very, I should say.’
‘Captain!’
The cry came from the bow, where the lad Tarkel was pointing at something in the distance.
‘Excuse me.’
Asdribar hurried away.
Annia looked at the sails. ‘The gods have given us a fair wind.’
‘Indeed,’ replied Cassius, joining her at the side-rail. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’
As the women continued to gaze at the sea, Cassius gazed at them. Though they were both clad in several layers, the wind pressed the material against them, outlining their breasts and hips. Cassius considered himself an expert at ogling women without being noticed and he switched his gaze the moment Annia turned to him.
‘You do seem very young for the Service, Officer Corbulo.’
‘Swift promotion, I suppose,’ Cassius replied. Which was true, in a way.
‘A great honour, is it not? To dedicate your life to protecting the Empire and the Emperor.’
‘It is, miss.’
‘I know what some people think of the Service — some of the people in Rome, on Rhodes too. But I know the worth of the work. My father gave up a lot — time with us, his family. All for Rome.’
Smiling politely, Cassius thought about Memor’s relationship with the maid. Evidently the man had been skilled at letting his family see only what he wanted them to. Cassius hoped they never found out about the affair (or affairs — there were probably more) but he feared it would be far harder to insulate Annia from the realities of her father’s work. It seemed circumspect to prepare her for some unpleasant revelations.
‘The Service’s work is important, of course, but the results can often be very grave, for those found to be working at odds to the Emperor’s interests.’
Annia surprised him with her answer. ‘We reap what we sow, isn’t that what they say?’
Cassius reckoned the expression might prove even more apt when applied to her father’s fate.
Annia looked down at the dark blue water sliding by. ‘I can think of nothing else. Nothing. Trogus stopped me going into the study — stopped me seeing my father. I hated him at the time, but now I’m glad he did it.’
Cassius recalled what he and Indavara had seen in the outhouse. ‘Trogus was quite correct, miss.’
‘Clara here tells me I should keep busy, but I can’t clear my mind. She’s tried needlework, games, poems, songs, books.’
Cassius looked past Annia at the maid, who cast a concerned glance at her mistress, then flicked her long, dark hair away from her neck.
‘What do you read, miss?’ Cassius asked. The more he spoke to Annia, the less annoying she seemed. He found he wanted to get to know her now.
‘Some philosophy.’
‘Really?’
Cassius tried very, very hard to keep any trace of sarcasm out of his voice but wasn’t sure he had succeeded. He wondered if Annia had ever considered why there were no female philosophers, and that this fact might suggest she was overstretching herself.
‘Really,’ she replied sharply.
‘As a native of Rhodes, it’s to be expected, I suppose.’
‘The island has been blessed with some imaginative thinkers.’
‘Antonius of Rhodes, for example? An associate of Porphyry, isn’t he?’
‘He is,’ said Annia. ‘I once heard him speak.’
‘I recall a friend going to hear Porphyry in Rome several years ago,’ said Cassius. ‘A follower of Plotinus, as I understand it.’