The Southern Trail (Book 4) (7 page)

“Every one of these will have to be emptied, and then the packages placed in the proper cabins,” he shouted at Marco and he pressed around his companions to reach the boy.

“There was no direction on which ones were to go in which cabins,” Marco observed.

“Are you talking back to me?  This is intolerable!  Colonel Varsen, have this lout flogged!” Argen’s voice rose to a shrill level.

“The boy did the best he could,” Prince Ellersby spoke up unexpectedly in Marco’s defense.  “We’ve all been defeated enough; look at the slice on his head.  There’s no reason to flog him this time,” the prince pronounced, as Marco was acutely aware of all eyes turned towards him during the dispute.  “We’ll all go up on deck, and someone can direct him on how to sort the items out into the appropriate cabins.”

The prince turned his back wearily on the situation, and walked away.  The women and most of the men automatically began to follow.

“You,” Colonel Varsen spoke to a lower-ranked officer, “Captain Fyld, stay and direct the boy to get the job done right, and promptly.”  With that order, the colonel also began to walk away.

Count Argen remained glowering at Marco a moment longer.  “You’re lucky the prince is so soft-hearted,” he snapped at Marco in a low voice, then he shoved his hand rudely into Marco’s chest for a measure of abuse that seemed to make the surly man feel better, and he too left the passageway.

Marco and the captain found themselves the only two remaining in the passage.

The officer looked at Marco appraisingly.  “Put that down, and get over here,” he commanded.

Marco automatically obeyed, and the captain set him to work.  The air in the hallway and cabins was warm and unmoving; Marco had already worked up a sweat from his labors.  He took a deep breath as he listened to the officer speak.

“The boxes that have a red number 1 on them are the prince’s,” the captain explained.  “We’ll put them in this cabin,” he thumped the flat of his hand on a cabin door.  “It looks to be the biggest of the ones we’ve got.

“Start moving everything out of this cabin.  I’ll look through the others and find the crates that belong to the prince so that you can get them loaded in his cabin,” the captain told Marco.   “We’ll take care of him first, then you can bring the rest of the things in off the dock, and I’ll figure out the rest of the cabins, which will be a thankless job, believe me,” he spoke to himself though he was addressing Marco.

Marco gave a grunt, and started emptying out the cabin, which could only be described as big in relation to the size of the other tiny spaces.  Once empty, he found that the captain had added enough packages to the hallway to fill the prince’s cabin so full that there was room for one person to edge in sideways and fall into the bunk, and not much else.

Marco started making the trips back and forth to retrieve the rest of the packages as the sun began to set in the west.  Other paroled prisoners of war began to troop onto the ship, but none were required to carry any of the packages.

The captain showed Marco the colored marks that identified the owners of the materiel, and had placed a few of the pieces of freight in every room to identify which pieces would be stored in each cabin.  He helped Marco make a few arrangements, then departed.

“I’ll go tell everyone they’ve got a cabin assigned.  I’d finish up in a hurry if I were you and get away from here before they all come down here and find a need to take their outrage out on you,” he warned Marco, then started on his way down the passage.

The man had been fair, Marco thought, as he tried to hasten.  He forced his tired legs and aching back to cooperate in moving the last pieces into place.  The sound of steps on the stairs reached his ears, a sign that he had only the thinnest of margins as he thrust the final crate atop a pile of others, then retrieved his own belongings, the sword and the battered leather pack.

The ship gave a gentle lurch, as it began its departure from the city’s harbor.  Marco backed out of the room, and flung the door shut, then started walking rapidly towards his left, away from the stairs and the arriving party.  He was dripping with sweat and his muscles ached from the hours of effort that he had exerted.

“This isn’t right!” he heard Count Argen speak loudly.

“You, boy, get back here you incompetent bumbler!  You’ve done it all wrong again,” Argen’s raised voice followed Marco down the hall.

Marco stopped, and let his head roll back on his shoulders in an acknowledgement of defeat.  He turned and walked back, to where the Docleatean leaders stood in a line along the wall of the hallway.

“You’ll have to fix this immediately.  I cannot be expected to be restricted to a cabin this small.  This is all wrong; put things in the right place,” Argen blustered at Marco.

“Which cabin is the right one for you?” Marco asked quietly.

“I don’t care; you find a place and put my things there,” Argen screeched.

Marco gave a half smile, as he thought of the places he’d like to put the bullying nobleman’s belongings – over the side of the ship, or up among the sails that hung from the top masts.  He quickly wiped the smile away.

“Shall I move the prince out of his cabin for you sir?” Marco asked as he heard the footsteps of someone approaching from behind him.

And with that Argen swung his fist angrily, catching Marco unprepared as he received the nobleman’s hard punch in the stomach.

Marco fell against the wall as he doubled over in pain.

“What is going on here?” Marco faintly heard the voice of the captain who had directed him to place the crates in the cabins.

“This cretin is being insolent towards his betters, and he received a small reminder about the need for good manners,” Argen said pompously.

“So what’s the problem?” the captain repeated.

“Captain,” Colonel Varsen stepped into the fray.  “The count merely expressed his disappointment in the smallness of his cabin, and the boy was surly.”

“The count has the third largest cabin, sir,” the captain quickly said.  “Only the prince and you have larger cabins.  Shall we rearrange things sir?” the junior officer asked quickly.

Marco raised his head up as he caught his breath and the pain receded.  He looked at Argen with murderous eyes; he wanted to face the nobleman somewhere where no one would interrupt them while Marco took out his own frustration on Argen, though he knew no such event was going to happen except in his imagination.

“Sir, there are no larger cabins to offer the count,” Captain Fyld repeated the facts.  “This boy didn’t do anything wrong; he’s just spent the past several hours moving all the belongings that all the rest of us are taking home.”

There was the sound of steps on the stairs, and the prince and one of the women arrived, dimly visible in the filtered light of the hallway.

“We’ve left Athens,” the prince dully noted.

“But we’ll be back sir,” Colonel Varsen stoutly said.

“Perhaps someone will colonel, but I doubt I’ll be the one,” the prince answered with melancholy.

“’Twasn’t your fault the sorcerers fell all to pieces on us sir,” Argen spoke up in the prince’s defense.  “Who knew they had forces strong enough to fight against ours; we should have had stronger.”

“Other than Itterati, there weren’t any stronger than Iamblichus, not since Iago fell,” Varsen answered.

“And we didn’t think that so many cities would put their forces together against us,” the prince said.

“And we’re so far from home father,” added the girl who had come down the stairs with the prince.   Marco noticed her for the first time, the thick, wavy hair that fell to her shoulders.  She didn’t look beautiful in a classic way, but she looked sincere and earnest and friendly.  Marco felt a split second of something twisting and clicking into place somewhere in his head, or his body, or his soul; he wasn’t sure what it was, but the sound of the girl’s voice had triggered something.

“The princess has a point,” Varsen said.  “Our lines of supply were dreadful.”

“Shall we dismiss the boy, and let everyone enter their rooms?” Captain Fyld spoke up for the first time since the prince had arrived.  “The officers of the ship have invited us to have dinner with them tonight, so the ladies may wish to freshen up.”

“Thank you captain,” the prince said.  “Send the boy away,” the prince agreed.

“What’s your name, son?” the captain asked Marco.

He answered with his name after a moment’s pause.  “My name’s Marco, sir,”

Thank you Marco for your work today.  You’re dismissed,” Fyld told him.

“No wonder we lost, with the lack of discipline we have in the ranks,” Marco heard Argen say loudly as Marco walked away.

He needed to keep going, he knew.  He needed to ignore the taunts of a nobleman, but he couldn’t help himself.  Even though his injured head held no clear memories of his role in the war, he knew that the soldiers of the army had done more, and suffered much, much, more than a dandy like Argen had.

Despite himself, he stopped and turned, and glared at Argen.

“That’ll be all, Marco.  You’re dismissed,” Fyld said with emphasis in his voice. 

Marco took a deep breath, bit back a retort to Argen, and nodded his head.  “Yes sir,” he said, and then turned and went down the passageway, to where a steep ladder provided access to the open sky above.  Marco quickly climbed up.  The sky was red from the sunset, clouds were moving in from the west, reflecting the sunlight that shone through a rift in the clouds, and the skyline of the city and the hills behind it were already a distance away, as the crew of the large ship worked to adjust sails and rudders, while stroking oars and adding speed to their departure.

A member of the crew brushed against Marco as he ran by.  “Get up front with the others and stay out of the way,” he shouted at Marco as he passed.

There was a cluster of men in black uniforms crowded together, staying out of the way of the crew.  Marco worked his way up and crossed over the invisible line that held the men back, two or three score of them tightly packed in a small space.  The roll of the ship and the restless movement of the men gradually mixed Marco into the group, where he found himself temporarily stuck in the middle, without access to a railing to lean against or the horizon to watch, though he overheard others talking about the two other ships that could be seen traveling with them, carrying the other captured soldiers who were also being returned to Docleatae.  Overhead, the crew of the ship seemed to finish their duties amidst the masts and the ropes and the sails, for the sailors were descending, and the sails seemed set and full of the winds that blew across the sea.

He remained there for several minutes, until the announcement of dinner energized the prisoners.  Marco let the others surge around him to get into the front of the line, as he passively drifted to the rear.  He was going to have a meal, and find a place to bunk down for the night.  Tomorrow he would be likely to do nothing but stand idly on the deck, and expect to do nothing for every day that they sailed, until they landed.

What would he do then, he wondered as the line slowly progressed.  Would the army keep him, or turn him loose, or would they army simply dissolve, the unwanted, unloved losers that the king would rather not see again?  He had no fathomable reason to, but as Marco thought about it, he felt a compulsion to stay in the army, and to return to Foulata, the king’s capital, to perhaps start over from there.

He reached his turn to receive his food, a tin bowl full of warm stew, and he sat to eat and think.  He was weary and sore from his work, and he knew he was going to sleep well.

“There’s our lucky friend,” he heard a voice in front of him as he took his seat on a span of rolled-up canvas sail.  He looked up and saw Wilh and Bram, his acquaintances from the prisoner camp, standing over him.  “So what happened to you after they took you away?”

“I had to move the cargo for the nobles on the ship,” Marco replied.  He was glad to see someone he knew, men whose company would help to shave away a part of the loneliness he felt, the feeling of drifting aimlessly that was growing within him.  “My back’s pretty stiff now,” he added.

The two men sat down on either side of him.  “Did you keep anything?  Did any jewels fall out of a bag?” Bram asked with a wink.

“I never thought of that,” Marco replied truthfully.  “All I did was carry crates, then I had to rearrange them after Count what’s-his-name threw a fit.”

“Argen,” Wilh said promptly.

“That’s it,” Marco agreed.  “How did you know?”

“He’s got a reputation.  He’s a nasty man who’s engaged to the prince’s daughter, Ellersbine.  Argen is a favorite of the king, which tells you something about him,” Wilh explained.  Marco felt his ears burn at the mention of the girl’s name.

“Sshh,” Bram said after the last comment, looking around.

“Oh, you’re right,” Wilh agreed.

“He’s engaged to the princess?  Does that mean he’ll be king someday?” Marco asked.

“Not likely – it’ll take about a dozen others in the line to succession to die; the king’s very old, and he’s had quite a few children, and they’ve had children too.  The prince is only a grandchild of the king, and losing Athens won’t give him any advantage.  The king may even plan to take revenge on Ellersby for losing,” Wilh explained.

“But as long as Argen is engaged to Ellersbine, she won’t be in danger,” Bram chimed in.

“There was an officer, Captain Fyld, who was fair, better than Argen or Colonel Varsen,” Marco told the other two.

“I’ve never heard of him,” Bram answered.

“If he’s fair-minded, he won’t last long with that crew,” Wilh commented.

Marco stayed close to Wilh and Bram that evening, as they all slept on the deck, and again the next day, as the ship slowly sailed through a nearly windless sea.

“We need volunteers to man the oars,” Colonel Varsen said when he came to address the assembled men on the deck in the mid-morning.  “Count Argen wants the ship to move faster, so we’re going to keep the oars going at all times.

“You men,” he pointed at those on the side of the deck where Marco stood with Bram and Wilh, “will go down in the hold and report for duty immediately.”