The Barbarian's Mistress (25 page)

‘He’ll make it hard. Rumour has it he killed or wounded five men while he was here. Big and dangerous. Just the way I like ‘em.’ Menolus rubbed at his face with anticipation.

‘Why do you always have to have it the hard way? We get paid the same if it’s easy, so why not hope for that?’ Braxus covered his eyes with a dark-skinned arm that smelled of sweat and fish. He was beyond caring what he smelled like. His head was killing him, and even the weak light given off by the lamp hurt his eyes.

‘Braxus, my old friend, easy is dull. Anything worth having is never easy. Thought the arena would have taught you that.’

‘The arena taught me that I prefer easy. And the older I get, the more that rings true. But this is what is. Not easy. I can live with that. Any idea how long the journey is to Gaulia?’

‘Another week at least. There’s a ship from Narbo expected tomorrow. It’ll probably leave for the return voyage the following day. Will that give you enough time to recover from this strange malady?’

‘It better. Now shut up, and let me sleep. Damned but it feels as if this bed is rocking. I hate ships. I really hate ships.’

‘For a pirate, that seems an odd sentiment.’ His partner gave a rough laugh. ‘I’ll go eat, and bring you something back. Sleep while you can. This place gets noisy later in the night.’

Chapter Eighteen

14 September 79CE, Tyrrhenian Sea

The
Vulcanus
was just over a day out from the African coast when the winds they called Chili hit them. One minute the sky was blue and the sea smooth, the next a cloud of red dust gathered on the southern horizon, warning of approaching danger.

The mate was the first to notice it. Braxus was having a brief word with him on the poop deck when the short man had looked over his shoulder and blanched.

Braxus knew that look. It was terror. He spun around to see firsthand what his instincts were already screaming at him. The whole southern horizon was tinged with red ochre haze. That haze was rising higher into the bright blue sky with each passing moment.

‘Chili,’ the mate breathed, his voice catching on the last syllable. Then he yelled it. ‘Chili!’

The word gained the crew’s immediate attention. All eyes turned to the south. Faces went lax with stunned horror. But the moment passed quickly. Suddenly, as if a rock had been lobbed into an ants’ nest, the men on deck went into a frenzy of action.

‘Lower the sheets!’ cried the master from the top of the deck cabin. He took over one of the two huge oars that sank into the sea on either side of the stern. They were used to direct their course. In a few minutes those oars would become the most important equipment on the ship, and would need at least one man on each to keep their vessel riding the storm tossed waves.

Sailors scrambled to do the master’s bidding. Braxus knew well enough what a gale force wind could do to their sails. It could tear them to shreds, or worse, hit them so hard the mast cracked or tore away completely. The foresail’s mast had been torn away on the ship Menolus had taken to Carthago in just such a way.

‘Batten down the hatches,’ called the mate, who had left Braxus’ side to take up his duties.

Menolus, who had been reclining on his mattress between the deck cabin and the aft holds, scrambled to his feet. He looked around in stunned astonishment as the crew ran around him like scalded cats.

‘What in Hades …’

‘Storm coming. Bad one,’ Braxus informed him, as he began to gather their few possessions together. They’d need to be stowed below deck. Anything on deck would be gone in a matter of minutes. Including them, if they weren’t careful.

Menolus looked about him in confusion. The sky was cloudless blue, the water calm. Braxus could see he didn’t get it.

‘Chili winds off the desert. It can hit us at 50 leagues an hour and can last a few hours, or up to three days. We’ll probably ride out something under a day, but nothing longer. Get our stuff below deck, and find a corner to crawl into. This is going to be bad.’

Comprehension was slow in dawning. But as the partners stared at each other for several long seconds, Menolus finally got it. He looked away, rubbing his face with the hand missing two fingers.

‘Shit!’ he muttered as he got to work.

Braxus could
n’t hold back a grin, even though his whole body ached and their situation was dire. He’d worked with Menolus for five years, and he’d always found the aging fighter a master of understatement. One colourful swear-word, muttered under the breath, was to him what a yelled litany of abuse would be to another. The man was no sailor. If they survived this, he’d never want to get on another ship again. It was going to be hard. Not the sort of hard his partner savoured, but impossibly hard. Just surviving, if they were lucky, hard.

Even though he was still weak from whatever had laid him low, he moved quickly to make himself useful, grabbing onto a brail with another sailor so as to ease the mainsail down. It had been a long time since he worked a sail. His arms would ache more than they already did, and his back would feel as if it was broken
, by the end of the storm. But if he was lucky, he might just survive to see the end of the approaching storm.

Another endless, mind-numbing day. It was their fourth at sea on this leg of the journey and Ninia was heartily sick of the sight of mile upon mile of flat, blue sea. She’d taken to sitting out on deck, watching the clouds, imagining them as creatures, the way she and Anni had done as children. That blobby fat one was a centaur, because there was a hole at the top that looked like an eye. That long bumpy one was a sea serpent. She prayed it was the only one she’d ever see.

Her bored eyes turned to the south, out beyond the stern, where the sky was clearer. What was that reddish line on the horizon? It looked like a fire. But how could a fire run the length of a watery horizon?

‘Papa, what is that?’ she asked, sitting up and pointing to the south.

A passing crewman, who had been flashing her flirtation smiles during the course of their voyage, turned to look in the direction she pointed.

‘Priapus save us!’ The young sailor’s cheeky grin suddenly turned to a jaw dropping gape as he stared at the red line along the horizon.

‘Chili!’ His scream was almost as high as a girl’s. Ninia wondered what possessed him. She couldn’t see anything that could inspire such obvious terror.

While she and Herakles stood dumbfounded, the crew around them went into action. They scrambled over each other, following the yelled orders of the master. The sails were coming down, even though the light wind was carrying them forward at a comfortable rate.

What was going on? They turned to the other passengers that were wandering the decks. They had to jump out of the way, as the crew flew past them. Their expressions were just as stunned and confused as Ninia and Herakles
’.

‘Get your possessions, and go below decks. A storm is approaching and it’ll be bad. Find the smallest corner you can, and wedge yourself in tight,’ the flirtatious crewman yelled at her as he grabbed her by the arm. Then he let her go, running off to carry out the orders being yelled at him from every direction.

‘Let’s do as we’re told, Ninia. They don’t need us up here getting in the way.’ Herakles began to gather their food and mattresses. The canvas they used to keep the sun off them would have to wait.

Ninia bent to help her father, heart in her mouth. The thought of another storm like they’d survived on the journey south had filled her dreams every night. Now it seemed as if the nightmare was coming true. D
ear gods, keep us safe!

The
Baal
was only two days out from Narbo when the dust storm hit. The whole hull shuddered from the impact of the first gust of wind. Vali heard the crack as the foresail mast was torn away and flew off, held to the ship by the tendrils of flapping, straining rope.

‘Cut the tack!’ screamed the mate, as he raced toward the prow, arms waving. Vali, who had been forward when the warning had gone up only seconds before the wind hit, tore his dagger from its sheath and began sawing at the ropes that kept the broken mast attached to them. It could cause more damage, if it was allowed to collide with the hull.

His mind was divided. His first priority was keeping Lara safe. But in that moment, he couldn’t see her. And if the hull was damaged by the foresail’s debris, the ship would sink and she would be lost, along with the rest of them. With frenzied fingers he worked on the stiff rope in his hands, as others rushed to aid him.

Looking around, he saw that the top sail had come down successfully. But the mainsail was still up. The sheet was bursting at the seams from the weight of the gale against it. They were flying forward fast, because of it. Vali had never seen water pass so quickly it blurred. But their speed would be cut to nothing, if they didn’t get the sail down before the sheets split or the mast broke like tinder.

But he could see the crew knew this as well as he did. They were straining to bring the mainsail down with the full force of the wind in it. Madness, it was madness. How could they lower it, while the wind bombarded it so? They needed to angle the vessel away from the direct brunt of the gale. That was the only way. But that would put the hull at an angle to take the full force of the windstorm. It would push them into the waves, possibly toppling them over.

It wasn’t his call. He wasn’t the master. All he could do was cut away the foresail, and hope others did their part. They were a good crew. He’d watched them closely over the duration of their journey. If anyone could weather this storm, they could.

Where was Lara? Would she remember what he’d said about going below? If she lost her footing on the plunging, bucking deck, she might be washed overboard. The thought made him dry wretch against the ropes. Fighting down panic, he continued with his task. It was a small one, but essential to their safety.

The dagger slipped and cut deep into the edge of his other hand. Cursing
, he ignored the blood and continued sawing. At last, the rope was sundered, flying off into the gale. The sailor next to him had severed his rope too. Eyes stinging from sand and seaspray, Vali looked over to starboard where two other sailors were cutting away at the ropes on their side. One was severed, and the other seemed close. That left two on either side of the ship to go.

Without pausing, Vali reached for the next rope and began to saw at it. The seawater was stinging his wound and the flow of blood was making his grip slippery. One huge wave broke over the bow and he collapsed under the weight of it. He clung on with a desperation he hadn’t felt since his first days on a longship, when he was no more than a boy.

Where was Lara? Was she safe?

He scrambled to get his
feet under him again as the sailor at his side did the same thing. Then he tried to find the place he’d started to cut. But it would require more strength than he now had to get back to that spot. All he could do was start again on a new section of the taut and twisting rope.

Vali felt the wind shift from directly against his back to slightly to one side. The ship was coming around, just as he’d anticipated. The sails that had sent them flying forward at such a pace, only seconds before, began to deflate just enough to take the pressure off the seams and the mast. But, instead of trying to bring the sail down, the master seemed intent on keeping it up. With the angle just as it was, they had just enough of the wind filling the sails to drive it forward without overstressing it. They were still flying, but not at breakneck speed anymore.

The ship’s master was going to ride it out. It was an audacious choice. But if he managed it, the
Baal
would reach its destination faster than they’d ever planned.

The rope he worked on was finally severed. The last rope on his side followed shortly after his. The great burden of mast and flapping sheet was released from their side. Now it was up to those on the starboard
side to finish the job.

Time to find Lara
and make sure she was safe. He slipped and slid along the bucking deck, gripping on to anything within reach, hand over hand. After what felt like an hour, he reached the deck house on the poop deck, looking through wet sand that blurred his vision for any sign of his wife. There were other passengers cowering in corners, but none were his Lara.

He made it to the door to the deck house which was open and banging in the wind. It was splintering and needed to be secured before it broke away completely. Forcing his way in
side, he used his shoulder and his braced legs to pull the door closed behind him. Inside, it was pitch black and swelteringly hot and stuffy. He almost gagged from the mix of foul odours.

‘Lara, you down here?’ he yelled as loud as he could, trying to get over the din outside. He listened. Damn his gasping breath. Over it he could hear nothing.

He yelled her name again, his voice breaking. He coughed up sand and seawater onto the dark deck beneath him. Then he held his breath, trying to listen.

What was that? A woman’s voice. Yes… further down the ladder into the bowels of the ship. He moved gingerly over to the ladder and began to clamber down, his body thrown against the sides of the hatch with each toss of the ship. Bruised and beaten, he finally reached the next deck down.

He called her name again. This time he heard her clearly. Tears replaced the salt in his eyes. She was alive! Not washed overboard, but safe down here. Well, safe for the moment.

Scrambling along the dark, lower deck that was not high enough for him to stand upright, he kept calling her. There was no way he could see his way to her, but he could feel his way and use his hearing.

‘Vali!’ she cried, no more than a few feet away now. His hand felt the rough-hewn wall disappear to his right. Leaning in that direction he let his fingers search out what lay beyond.

‘Vali, here!’ The wobbly voice came from almost beneath him. His fingers touched cloth and then warm skin. He grabbed on tight and hauled himself down to her side.

‘Oh, thank the gods you’re safe. I’ve been terrified you were washed overboard.’ Her voice was hoarse from yelling, but it was steady. Any hysteria was gone now that she felt he was safe.

‘I thought the same of you. I would have come earlier, but the foresail broke away and was still attached by ropes. I was helping cut it away. You took my advice?’ He spoke into her ear, her dry body pressed against his wet one. His hand was stinging badly, but he didn’t want to let her go long enough to deal with it.