‘Mark them, and tell me or Korinth if their position changes.’
Cassius raised his arm and used it to measure the approximate location of the stars relative to the edge of the deckhouse.
‘That’s it,’ said Asdribar. ‘Good thinking. Remember to call out if we drift off course. And we probably will. Korinth’s a decent helmsman but he’s no Squint.’
With that, Asdribar made his way forward.
By placing his feet well apart and leaning back, Cassius found he could brace himself against the rope. Facing away from the bow, he was spared the spray and able to fill his lungs with the cold, clean air. And despite the plunging and pitching of the ship, he made sure he kept his eyes fixed on the three stars.
Focused entirely on the task Asdribar had given him, Cassius eventually realised he had completely lost track of time. He couldn’t have cared less. He was up, he was out of that accursed cabin and he was feeling better.
XVII
When the storm came, it came quickly. Just after the sixth hour of night, when Simo had struggled on deck to deliver him a welcome mug of hot wine, Cassius saw the first signs that the weather was worsening.
First, the wind began to shift. Though it remained roughly from the north, the sudden gusts and changes in direction left Asdribar and the crew struggling to compensate. Even with every man on deck, altering the position of the yard was a complicated, laborious job. They had just completed a third big adjustment when the wind veered again and blew even harder.
Asdribar had two of the ship’s longest, thickest ropes run out from the stern in an elongated U. This ‘sea anchor’ would apparently help the ship maintain its course. As the men tied off the ropes, Cassius noticed that the tender had disappeared. He asked Squint about it; apparently the little boat had broken free hours earlier.
Though the Fortuna was making excellent speed as she coursed up and down the swell, it soon became evident that both crew and vessel were under tremendous pressure. Asdribar’s sojourns forward became increasingly regular; one man blundered back to the hatch with blood pouring from a wounded hand; and the noise of the howling wind became so great that Cassius caught only fragments of shouted conversations. Worse still were the crashing thuds and thumps that seemed to presage the holing of the Fortuna’s hull or the collapse of the entire rig.
‘You all right there, lad?’ yelled Squint, who was steering once more.
‘Will she hold together?’
‘This old girl? Of course.’
‘Old? How old is she?’
‘A lot older than you. But don’t worry. Ships are the opposite of women — they get better with age!’
Cassius tried to rein in his most pessimistic imaginings but what frightened him more than anything was the change in Asdribar. Usually so serene, the Carthaginian now prowled the deck spitting curses, his face dark with worry. After stopping for a brief discussion with Squint, he beckoned Cassius forward. Cassius’s fingers were so cold and the knot so tight that it took him a while to untie the rope. Once free, he used the deck-line to get himself over to the captain.
‘We’ve too much sail up,’ said Asdribar. ‘Got to lower the yard. Get your men from below and send them up to the mast. Then you come back here!’
If this rather impolite demand hadn’t done enough to alert Cassius to the gravity of the situation, Asdribar’s next action did. Before he could reach down for the deck-line, the captain smacked him on the shoulder and yelled ‘Hurry!’
Cassius’s shout of protest was lost in the wind. As the stern of the ship rose, he was sent flying towards the hatch. Realising he was in danger of falling straight down it, he dropped on to his side and slid across the water-soaked deck. The thick cloak protected him well and he came to a stop with a yard to spare. Stumbling down the steps, he tried not to touch the bloody streaks left on the handrail by the injured crewman. Arriving at the bottom, he found the upper hold submerged beneath several inches of seawater.
He glanced along the empty passageway and called out to Indavara and Simo. They and the injured sailor came out of the cabin, the crewman with a bandage wrapped round his hand. He hurried past Cassius and up the steps.
‘You two are needed on deck. They have to lower the mainsail.’
‘Should we put some more clothes on, sir?’ asked Simo.
‘Forget that, you won’t be up there long. Come on!’
Cassius waited until they were behind him, then led the way on all fours. Once back on deck, he saw that Asdribar had taken up the tillers.
Showing remarkable agility for one so aged, Squint came forward and dropped down by the hatch. His thick beard now hung from his chin in waterlogged clumps. ‘Keep low and use the lines. Follow me.’
Indavara and Simo clambered past Cassius and towards the mast.
Still trying to find a solid stance for steering, Asdribar kicked his leg free of a rope, one of many now snaking across the deck.
‘Corbulo!’ he roared. ‘Clear these lines out of my way!’
Somewhat perturbed that he seemed to have been relegated to the role of second ship’s boy, Cassius nonetheless did as he was told. With the Fortuna so seriously undermanned, there was no choice but to help Asdribar and his crew get through the storm. He pulled up his hood and crawled across the deck.
As the Fortuna crested another mighty wave, Simo lost his footing and slid forward, knocking Indavara’s legs away. The two of them landed in a heap close to the mast behind Squint, who didn’t even notice. Indavara helped Simo up and they squatted there, hands flat against the deck. He looked around and realised that most of the crew were close by, several of them handling the mainsail and looking anxiously up at the yard.
Indavara’s tunic was already soaked through. The entire deck was covered in water and the icy spray seemed to be striking them from all sides. He glanced at Simo. The Gaul’s hair was plastered across his face and he looked very much as though he wanted to be back in the cabin.
Korinth arrived and ordered the men to gather around him, with only those holding the lines staying in position. The burly deck-chief crouched with his back to the mast, hands cupped around his mouth.
Indavara turned his good ear towards him.
‘We’re bringing the yard halfway down. I’ll take the halyard with five men.’ He pointed at three of the larger crewmen plus Indavara and Simo. ‘The rest of you help with the lines and watch for any snags.’
Squint moved aside while Korinth and his three helpers hunched in front of the mast.
Indavara knew that the halyard was the three-inch-thick rope used to raise and lower the yard; it was the strongest line on the ship.
Desenna was one of those helping Korinth. The curly-haired sailor turned round, coils of the rope in his hands. ‘Out the way!’
Indavara and Simo obeyed, watching as Desenna tied the end of the rope around the biggest cleat on the ship. ‘Take hold. We’ll tell you when the weight’s coming on. See the grips on the deck?’
Indavara had wondered about the little squares of wood nailed into the deck behind the mast.
‘They’re for your feet,’ continued Desenna. ‘Tubby, you’re on the tail.’
Simo took up his position next to the cleat, with Indavara ahead of him, both to the left of the rope. Indavara closed his fingers around the sodden hemp and found the grips with his feet. He shook water off his hair and face.
‘Weight on!’ yelled Desenna.
Indavara squeezed his fingers tight and leant back. Despite the grips and the efforts of the other four men, he could feel the immense load held by the rope.
‘Slowly now! Hand over hand!’
Blocks squealed as they let the rope out inch by inch, lowering the yard and sail. Squint was bawling at the men on the other lines, trying to keep the whole arrangement as straight as possible for Korinth’s crew.