‘Not my problem,’ Cassius said quietly, before turning to Asdribar. ‘Why the exchange of gifts?’
‘It’s traditional for a meeting at sea,’ said Asdribar, examining the contents of the package.
‘What’s in there?’
‘Dried camel meat. Carthaginian speciality. You can try some later.’
‘Mmm.’
As they walked back along the deck, the five long oars poking out of each side of the Fortuna’s hull began to move. Opilio was in charge of the rowing team, which was in fact every member of the crew apart from Squint and Asdribar. Even young Tarkel had been drafted — he was to beat the timing drum. As the ship picked up speed, Asdribar cast a concerned glance at the hatch. ‘They’ve not done a lot of oar-work recently. I shall have to go easy on them. I usually just wait for a wind, unless time is of the essence.’
‘A hard taskmaster, young Annia,’ Cassius replied.
Asdribar grinned. ‘I thought Roman girls were supposed to be seen and not heard.’
‘They are.’
To the relief of all aboard, the breeze increased steadily throughout the afternoon and, after only three hours under oars, the sails were back up again, filling well and driving the Fortuna westward.
They lost sight of the Isis just before sunset and Asdribar called in later to tell Cassius there was no sign of a light. Like the other passengers and the crew, he would have to wait until dawn to find out if their prey had disappeared.
XV
At the fifth hour of the following day, with another bout of mist finally clearing, the Fortuna Redux rounded the western cape of Crete. The only sign of life on the bleak, undulating headland were five tall flagpoles. There were flags on only two of them — nothing more than shredded bits of cloth, sapped long ago of any trace of colour.
Every passing hour seemed to add strength to the wind blasting from the north, propelling the Fortuna across the white-topped waves at close to her maximum speed. The only disadvantage was the constant strain on the mast, the yard and the rest of the rig. Most of the crew were needed to keep the mainsail correctly aligned; Korinth and Squint patrolled anxiously across the deck, checking blocks and lines, rings and knots. The little tender was thumping around on the waves and taking on water — it had already been bailed out twice.
A mile to the south-east were two small vessels that Asdribar had already dismissed as local fishing boats. Ahead was only a vast swathe of sea. Cassius recalled a phrase of Squint’s that had stayed with him: A huge, grey swell that rolls on forever.
‘Hurry then!’ shouted Korinth to Tarkel, who was halfway up the mast.
‘Leave the lad be,’ said Asdribar. ‘Poor little sod’s been up and down there like a monkey. Do you want him to fall?’
Cassius licked salt off his lips and tried not to watch Tarkel’s perilous progress upward. The boy had a rope around him but the pitching of the ship made his climb doubly difficult. Indavara and Annia were to Cassius’s left, like him leaning against the deckhouse with one hand on the wooden bar that ran around it. Annia was wrapped up in a cloak and gazing contemplatively at the bow as it dipped and rose with the waves.
Cassius considered what might happen if the lad couldn’t see the Isis. If the Fortuna turned round, the wind would be against them. How long back to Rhodes? Four, five days? Could easily be a week or longer. And what then?
He wondered how it had all come down to this. Was there more he could have done? All things considered, he doubted it. In fact, he was pretty sure the assassin would have got clean away if he hadn’t been there to take charge. Surely the gods had had a hand in that; and it wasn’t the first time he’d found himself unceremoniously thrust to the centre of some important affair. Perhaps it was time for him to take his duties less seriously, allow himself to fail — at least that way he might avoid such assignments in future.
Cassius could almost see his father’s face, as if the old man could hear his thoughts. The furrowed brow, the interrogative glare; that awful combination of disappointment and anger. Not do one’s duty? Heresy in the Corbulo household.
Cassius imagined what would be happening there, half a world away. Late morning. Father would be finishing up his work for the day, sending out a last few messages, listening to reports from his numerous employees, looking forward to an hour or two at the baths. Mother would be overseeing things at the house: doling out instructions to the gardeners, discussing dinner with the cooks. Perhaps one of Cassius’s sisters would bring some of the grandchildren over after school?
A thin arc of spray struck the deckhouse, breaking his reverie. Wiping water from his eyes, he watched Annia picking wet strands of hair off her face. She and Indavara were still looking up. Tarkel clambered on to the yard, wrapped his arms around the mast, and looked south.
‘Watch your lines!’ Asdribar told the crew, half of whom were gazing up at the lookout. So much depended on what the lad could or could not see.
Tarkel turned and yelled something, but Cassius and the others at the stern couldn’t make out a single word. Desenna was much closer. He cupped his hands and relayed the message back to them.
‘A mast! Two points west of south. Eight or nine miles away.’
‘The Isis?’ asked Asdribar.
‘He can’t tell for sure. Tall mast though.’
‘It’s probably them,’ said Asdribar. He turned round. ‘Miss?’
Annia nodded solemnly, then opened the deckhouse door and went inside.
‘South it is!’ shouted the captain. ‘Squint — hold her steady. Korinth — ready the hands to shift the yard.’
The deck-chief’s expression of grudging acceptance was mirrored by the rest of the crew.
Indavara looked at Cassius. ‘Africa?’
‘Africa.’
The more the wind blew, the more the ship rolled, and the sicker Cassius felt. Having refused Simo’s offer of lunch, he took a sip of heavily watered wine and looked at the completed list of names in his hand. Thirty-two men with cause to harbour a grudge against Augustus Marius Memor. He knew the odds were against the list proving useful but at least it was finished.
With that done, and nothing but dark ruminations on what lay ahead to occupy him, Cassius thought of Annia. Clearly he had done himself few favours two nights previously, but he’d spoken to her that morning and she’d been friendly and polite. Wondering how far relations might thaw, he finally admitted to himself that he wanted to win her over. Not that there was any chance of a long-term union; his own situation made that impossible and she was far from an ideal choice. But — putting the objectionable aspects of her personality to one side — she was spirited, bright and undeniably attractive.
There were two barriers to any kind of advance. Firstly, the girl was in mourning, which hardly lent itself to a romantic frame of mind. Then again, she would be feeling vulnerable and uncertain of the future; perhaps in need of a confident, guiding hand.
Secondly, there was Indavara. Ridiculous though the prospect of a romance between him and Annia remained, it was clear the girl was rather taken with him, though Cassius suspected she had exaggerated her interest for his benefit. Taking the pragmatic view, it didn’t seem worth driving a wedge between him and Indavara just for a girl. Regardless of how they got on, for as long as Cassius was with the Service, he wanted Indavara with him. When it came to the rough stuff, the man was a beast, pure and simple, and he offered a level of protection that simply couldn’t be acquired elsewhere. It would be a mistake to risk losing him.
Still, Cassius didn’t have anything serious in mind. He would be happy simply to draw the girl to him (after all, that was where the fun lay) and there would be something very satisfying about bending her to his will, perhaps even getting his hands on her. Indavara need never know. And if she couldn’t be tamed, so be it. Hardly the end of the world. Possessed with a sudden desire to see her, Cassius realised he had a perfect pretext for a visit literally in his hands.