storm or not the ship’s master will be first over the side.’
It took time for the words to sink in, but Valerius was satisfied to see the man go pale beneath his sun- scorched skin.
‘We will not sail with the wind at our backs,’ he went on. ‘We will turn east, for Judaea, where there is more likelihood of making landfall close to some community who can supply us. In the meantime, I want all food and water to be placed under guard — Tiberius will organize it — and we will ration its use.’
Cronos bristled at the order, but he had no choice but to accept. Valerius saw the hatred in his eyes and knew that before long it would be reflected by the whole crew. Sailors were superstitious by nature, and if Cronos told them the storm had been caused by Poseidon’s anger and the presence of the women he would be believed. Pouring a libation wouldn’t be enough, unless the winds died down.
Instead, they worsened.
Two hours later Valerius stood beside the steering platform whipped by spray and soaked to the skin. The steersmen battled to keep the Golden Cygnet on an easterly heading, but time and again her hull rang as it was battered by a big wave from the flank and she took a lurch southward. The winds had redoubled in force to a full gale and Cronos ordered the curtained awning on deck to be dismantled before it was torn away. Now he studied the cloth sail with anxious eyes as it rippled and cracked because of the angle of the wind across its surface.
‘If we don’t run before the storm we will lose it, tribune.’
Valerius reluctantly nodded his agreement. Clearly, Aurelius had never envisaged a tempest of this magnitude. The largest of the waves carried a terrifying power. Each time one struck, the whole ship lay over so that anything not secured cascaded across the deck. If they carried on with their eastern course there was a danger they might capsize. An unceasing bellow like an orphaned bull calf’s filled the air, so that even a shouted conversation became difficult, and every so often a rainstorm swept out of the darkness with the sound of arrows striking a cohort’s shields. Time meant nothing in this whirling vortex of wind and water. At one point Valerius’s senses told him he should sleep and he huddled in his sodden cloak jammed between the steering platform and the ship’s side, but fear, discomfort and the constant motion denied him the oblivion he sought.
Daylight brought little respite. If anything, the winds strengthened, shifting at the same time so that Cronos believed they were now being driven east. All through the long day Valerius watched the seaman and his exhausted crew fight to keep the Golden Cygnet afloat, cursing at his own impotence. Around nightfall the motion of the ship subtly changed, and he could feel her wallowing beneath him as if she was trailing an anchor. A shadowy figure crawled out of the darkness and Tiberius shouted something into his ear. He had to repeat himself three times before Valerius worked out that he was wanted below. Together they staggered across the pitching deck just as the next rain shower arrived, driven horizontally so that every giant drop stung like a slingshot against exposed flesh. Tiberius hauled open the hatch and Valerius felt a surge of relief as they slipped below and away from the incessant howl of the wind.
His respite was short lived.
When he reached the base of the ladder he was up to his knees in water that surged and foamed with the motion of the ship, the disturbance intensifying the bitter stench of decay, bodily ordure and fresh vomit. The torment of the wind was replaced by the incessant creaking of the ship’s planks and a tortured rending as some piece of cargo worked itself to pieces. As their eyes adjusted to the gloom an almighty crash shook the whole ship, instantly followed by the terrified scream of a panicking horse and a series of smaller thunderclaps.
‘Your slave Serpentius is with the horses. They are kicking their stalls to pieces, but that’s not the worst of it.’ The ship reeled beneath their feet and something huge and pale sailed past Valerius and crashed into the side with enough force to make him wonder that the hull hadn’t been stove in. ‘Some of the timber cargo has worked its way free,’ Tiberius explained in a voice that was an eye of calm amidst the echoing clamour of the hold. ‘The crew are securing what they can, but there’s still enough loose to shake the ship to pieces unless the storm dies down.’
He led the way to where the sailors had erected a temporary cabin for Domitia and her women. Valerius realized he’d been so busy and so exhausted during the past few hours that he’d forgotten the other passengers. Only now did he understand the agonies they had suffered as they lay here in the pitching bowels of the ship, battered physically and mentally in a groaning, waterlogged chamber that must have felt more tomb than sanctuary.
‘I’m not sure how much more of this they can take,’ the young tribune said. ‘They’re being very brave, but…’
Somehow they’d managed to light a small oil lamp and Domitia held it aloft to identify the intruders. All the patrician arrogance had vanished. She was just a pale, frightened face — more child than woman — in the flickering yellow glow of the flame, her expensive cloak stained by the vomit that dribbled from the corner of her lip. Yet the dark eyes still contained a reservoir of pride and defiance, as if Domitia Longina Corbulo had vowed to go to her death undefeated by the elements. She sat on a couch, just clear of the stinking bilge waters, the cloak encircling the slave girls who huddled at her side. Tulia lay with her head in her mistress’s lap, eyes closed and her face a deathly shade of green.
‘My lady, I apologize for your discomfort, but I…’
Domitia raised her head and his heart lurched as he saw how close to collapse she was. It took her a second to recognize him and her voice was barely audible above the noise of the storm. She managed a bloodless smile. ‘I’m sure you are doing everything you can, tribune. We understand that our fate lies with the gods now.’
He shook his head. ‘The ship was built to withstand these conditions. It will be unpleasant for a time, but we will survive.’ Even as he said the words the gods were laughing at him.
She frowned. ‘I believe the water is rising faster than before.’
‘The lady is right,’ Tiberius cried. For a moment Valerius was almost overwhelmed by the troubles which threatened to overwhelm him. The women’s situation among the darkness and the filth was unspeakable, but on deck they would be exposed to the driving rain and the knife-edge of the gale. He considered trying to create some sort of shelter, but knew it would be torn to pieces within moments. But what choice did he have now? In the seconds he had taken to consider it, the water had risen another inch. Serpentius appeared in the doorway with a question in his eyes. The horses? It would be a release, but something stopped him from agreeing.
He shook his head. ‘We’ve no time. Tiberius, get your men to carry Tulia and the girls on deck. Serpentius, help me with the lady Domitia.’
He reached out a hand, but an almighty crack from the deck above froze everyone in position.
XI
Valerius was first to react. ‘Get them out.’ He raced for the hatch and looked up to see that the big linen sail had split and was now hanging in long, streaming tatters that flapped and cracked like a slaver’s whip in the fierce wind. The Golden Cygnet was now at the mercy of the waves, which were already turning her side on to the storm. If that happened it could only be a matter of time before the ship was battered into splinters.
A shout alerted him and he ran up the steps and across the lurching deck to where Cronos and three other sailors wrestled with the great steering oars.
‘Take my place,’ the captain ordered. ‘Our only chance is to get her stern on to the wind again.’
Valerius took the thick wooden shaft under his left arm and heaved with all his might as it kicked against his body. A flash of lightning split the night sky and he saw a huge wave approaching the side and braced himself. It broke over the deck in a foaming white surge just as Tiberius emerged from the hatch with Domitia’s freedwoman. Valerius shouted a warning that was lost on the wind and when he looked again the young tribune was clinging to a wooden stanchion as the wave receded around him. Tulia had vanished as if she had been plucked from the deck by the gods.
Cronos reappeared with two lengths of thick rope and with shaking hands quickly fixed the steering oars in position. Gradually, Valerius felt the motion of the ship steady as the action of wind and water on the paddles brought her bow round so that her stern was to the waves once more. He ran to where Tiberius still floundered.
‘Serpentius?’
