horse’s warmth and trust. He steeled himself for the killing stroke, but something made him hesitate. Quickly, he ran to the hatch and somehow manoeuvred the hinged ramp into place. The gelding shook violently as he was cut free and Valerius spoke gently into his ear before covering his head with a blanket that hung by the side of the stall. The big horse seemed to understand what was required of him and allowed himself to be led up to the deck.
A drop-down panel gave access to the gangplank when the ship was in harbour and Valerius unhooked the bolts that held it in place. There was still an eight foot plunge to the sea, but the gelding would have to take his chances. He slapped the horse on the rump and whipped the blanket from his head as the animal leapt over the side and vanished into the darkness.
By now, the last of the crew were disappearing over the stern and his legs said he should join them. Instead, he forced himself to fight the fear that threatened to overwhelm him as the ship rose and fell in the surf, her keel crashing against the bottom with each hammer blow of a wave. He searched from bow to stern, shouting into the hatches as he ensured that no one was trapped or injured. As he struggled towards the stern the last frayed rope securing the shattered mast to the Golden Cygnet finally parted. No longer anchored, the whole ship spun side on to the waves and canted over until the deck was almost vertical. Valerius made a frantic grab for a stanchion as he flew over the side rail into the angry sea, where the surf picked him up and spun him like a falling leaf in an autumn storm. There was no up or down, just a rolling vortex of brown water that forced its way into his nose and mouth. His face broke the surface and he sucked in a breath that was as much sea as it was air, but in the same instant he was under again, dragged along the bottom where shells and gravel tore at the bare skin of his arms and legs. He tried to control his momentum, but the power of the surf had him in its grip and gradually he began to weaken. Just when he thought he was finished a hand grabbed the neck of his tunic and hauled him clear of the water. He found himself blinking into Serpentius’s glaring face.
‘Only a fool would sacrifice himself to save a horse,’ the Spaniard snarled. ‘Since when did you become a fool?’
‘Domitia?’ Valerius choked out the name with a mouthful of sea water.
‘Safe, but she twisted her ankle when she dropped from the rope. She won’t be walking anywhere in a hurry.’
They struggled along the beach to where the former occupants of the Golden Cygnet gathered in two distinct huddles whipped by the wind-driven sand. Closest to the shore the dejected crew shivered where they’d crawled from the pounding surf. Further back Tiberius and two of his surviving cavalrymen provided what shelter they could for the lady Domitia and her two slaves. The third German trooper lay nearby, still alive, but halfway to another world, empty eyes staring into the rain and a purple dent four inches across in his forehead. Somehow, Tiberius had retained his cloak and the general’s daughter had wrapped it around herself and the girls.
Valerius spoke reassuringly to the crewmen and ordered them to gather the food and water and place it conspicuously between the two groups. He knew better than to risk angering the sailors by seeming to monopolize the supplies so soon after the wreck. Better to wait to reimpose military discipline until their situation became clearer in the morning.
Serpentius offered him a drink from one of the skins, but he refused. ‘It can’t be long until first light. We’ll issue a ration then. But I want you to stay close and make sure no one else touches it.’ He left the Spaniard and walked across the soft sand to where Domitia sat. One of the slave girls was tying a bandage round her ankle.
‘I hope it’s not too painful, my lady?’
She looked up. By some miracle the girls had managed to make her hair and clothing presentable. ‘It barely hurts at all, tribune, although it is a little swollen.’ He smiled at the lie. ‘I must thank you for what you did,’ she continued. ‘If we had stayed on the ship we would all have drowned. I was wrong to delay you.’
‘Sometimes it is more prudent to retreat than to stand your ground, but the decision is never easy, especially for a soldier — or a soldier’s daughter.’
She nodded at the compliment, and in the pause that followed they could hear the sound of timbers shattering as the breakers continued to hammer the ship. ‘How long are we likely to be here?’ It was a foolish question, a little girl’s question, and he experienced a moment of irritation. Already, he felt crushed by the weight of expectation. Unless they were very fortunate he would soon have to take decisions that would mean the difference between life and death for every stranded survivor; decisions founded on the most basic of knowledge. He didn’t know how well equipped he was to do that, but whatever happened in the coming hours or days it was vital to keep their spirits up.
‘Perhaps a few days.’ He kept his voice confident. ‘We will know better in the morning. We may have landed on the Judaean coast, but we have no real idea. We were driven far south and I think even poor Aurelius would have struggled to place us. If we are there, it is a fertile area and we should be within walking distance of some sort of settlement. In the meantime, please rest. It could be a long day tomorrow.’
‘And if we are not?’
‘Then we must endure and survive until help comes, my lady. Sailors have many useful skills and we are fortunate to have resourceful men with us. I do not fear for our future.’
It was surprising how easily the lie came. He knew there were things he had to do, but first he called Tiberius across. ‘You were right to kill the lookout. Thank you.’
‘I was only doing my duty, tribune.’
‘No, Tiberius, it was more than your duty and I want you to know I appreciate it. If I can ever return the service…’
‘Of course, sir. Perhaps you might commend me to General Corbulo,’ Tiberius said seriously. ‘This posting is a great opportunity for me and I would not want to waste it by being sent to some obscure outpost in the mountains.’
Valerius fought the urge to laugh. Here they were stranded only the gods knew where with barely enough food and water to last a week and Tiberius was concerned about his career. ‘I think the general will find a better use for a man with your qualities. Julius, fool that he was, called you a fighting cock and he was right. You could be a great soldier some day. I have served with great soldiers and I recognize their qualities in you.’
The young man was clearly embarrassed and Valerius regretted being so forthright. He sounded like a foolish old veteran polishing his armour by the fire for his retirement parade. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Tiberius suddenly grinned shyly and reached for his belt.
‘I found this lying on the deck.’ He handed Valerius a legionary gladius, the one Suetonius Paulinus had presented to him in the aftermath of the British rebellion. ‘I did not think you would want to lose it.’
Valerius had thought he would never see the sword again and he’d resigned himself to its loss, but now he had it in his hand he felt its power running through him. Still. He held the blade out hilt first to the younger man. ‘It was given to me for what the general believed was an act of great bravery. Perhaps you deserve it more.’
Tiberius looked down at the sword, but his hand didn’t move towards the blade. ‘Even if I were to win the Gold Crown of Valour it would not equal the honour you have already done me. You ask me if you can do me a service?’ He hesitated and shook his head. ‘You will think me less of a soldier.’
‘No, Tiberius. Ask what you will.’
Tiberius took a deep breath. ‘I have never known a man I respect more than Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, and I can think of nothing finer than to call him my friend.’
Valerius laughed out loud, and felt the stares from the sailors down by the shoreline. Who could laugh at a time like this? But if anything could raise his morale in these dire circumstances it was this competent, agreeable young man, a tribute to his class, believing that his friendship meant something. He held out his right hand and Tiberius took the walnut fist in his.
‘Of course, it will make no difference to our military relationship…’ Tiberius stuttered. He was interrupted by a familiar snicker and a substantial form plodded out of the wind and the darkness to nuzzle Valerius’s hand.
Valerius grinned at the younger man. ‘We needed a gift from the gods and they have delivered one.’ He patted the gelding’s shoulder. ‘Come, Tiberius, we have plans to make.’
XII
Theatre of Pompey, Rome
