Just then, the storm broke and great droplets of rain hammered down on the dry stones and hissed among the burning timbers. He looked up to the heavens and allowed the cool water to pour over his face. It was a sign. He was still the favourite of the gods.
XIII
When Valerius opened his eyes the storm might never have happened. After a night shivering in the open he luxuriated in the warmth of the first gentle rays of the dawn, but instinct told him he would be cursing the sun by the day’s end. It rose in the east, as always, creating a golden corridor across the darkened sands, but east was not where he expected it to be. It should have been behind him, as he faced the sea; instead, it was directly to his right. As he watched, the sands glowed first a fiery, orange red before mellowing to a deep pink, and he gradually became aware of his surroundings. The dangerous beauty of it assaulted his senses and the terrible reality turned his viscera to liquid ice.
The two small groups of survivors were the only living things on a flat sandy beach that ran as far as the eye could see to east and west. Worse, when he looked inland the landscape consisted of fold after fold of rolling dunes stretching far into the distance. Not a tree or a blade of grass. No hint of water or habitation. Not even a scrap of cover. He tried to recall the details of the maps he had studied of the eastern Mare Nostrum. Unless the contours of the coastline were deceiving him, it seemed clear they had been driven much further south than any of them had anticipated. Not to the shores of Judaea, but to Egypt, and not to the fertile area of Egypt which flanked the Nile delta, but a much more forbidding shore: a sixty-or seventy-mile strip of deserted, barren coastline where even the nomads of the interior were reluctant to venture.
Only when he turned back to the sea did he find any reason to hope. The Golden Cygnet, or at least part of her gilded hull, had somehow survived thanks to her solid construction. It rocked placidly in the waves of a wide, shallow bay, battered, but more or less intact, a hundred paces from the shore. Exhaustion weighed him down, but he knew he had to stir himself. Already he could feel the strength of the sun growing. They needed to act or die.
He called to Serpentius to issue a ration of water — two precious mouthfuls for every man and woman — and while it was handed out he gave his orders. Twelve crewmen survived from a complement of twenty, two of them with broken bones and another who was coughing blood and probably wouldn’t last the day. He tried not to give thanks for the five extra mouths who had perished in the surf as they escaped the shipwreck, but he knew their deaths and those of Aurelius, Capito, Cronos and Julius might mean the difference between death and survival for the rest.
He called the sailors together, but kept Tiberius’s guards aside in a separate group. ‘We need to strip the ship of everything worthwhile.’ His voice sounded hoarse from two days of shouting against the wind. ‘The first priority is water, of which there may be more, even if it is slightly tainted. But we must also have shelter or the sun will roast us alive.’ He pointed to four of the men. ‘You will concentrate on shelter. If it has survived, bring the covered awning that was on the deck for the women. There must be a spare sail; bring that also, and rope.’ The others he tasked to scour the ship for water, food and any timber or tools that might be useful.
‘Why tools? If we’re here long enough to build something we’ll already be dead.’
Valerius tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. Why must they waste precious time? ‘Because with tools we can make fish hooks and spears. You’ve all speared flatfish? The sandy bottom is perfect for them. We can eat the flesh and drink the blood. If we move from here we can use the tools to fashion litters for the injured and to carry the food and water.’
‘Aye, blood,’ moaned another. ‘Flatfish isn’t the only thing in these waters. There’s sharks as well, I’ve seen them, long as a steering oar and with a mouthful of teeth that can tear a man’s arm off, begging your pardon, sir.’
Valerius laughed with the rest and tossed the man his knife. ‘When it comes for you, kill it and we’ll have it for dinner. Now get on with it, before the sun broils our brains.’
When they set off fearfully through the shallow seas — he had never met a sailor who was happy in water — he summoned the two fit cavalrymen. ‘Do it carefully,’ he told the senior of the two men, a Batavian named Civilis, ‘and without making it noticeable, but I want every weapon on that ship brought to me. Every spear and sword.’
Tiberius had stood silent as Valerius gave the orders and now he nodded his approval. ‘We keep the weapons, the food and the water under our control, and build two separate shelters far enough apart to give the lady Domitia privacy.’ He studied Valerius seriously. ‘You realize that some of them saw her in her shift and liked what they saw? I have seen them looking at her. They are hungry, and not just for food.’
‘Why do you think I made certain the weapons will be in our hands, not theirs? They are decent enough by their own lights, but when a man thinks he’s going to die he will resort to desperate measures to get what another man is keeping from him. The second shelter will be split by a curtain to give the general’s daughter a space of her own, but allow one of us to always be with her.’
Tiberius bowed. ‘I will guard her with my life.’
Valerius shook his head. ‘I have another task for you, Tiberius.’ They walked to where Serpentius sat casually by the spot where they’d buried the pile of water skins to keep them out of the sun. The Spaniard was feeding the gelding with a mouthful of oats he had found among the foodstuffs they’d managed to rescue. The horse Tiberius had lost in the wreck had been one of the finest animals Valerius had ever seen and he guessed that the young tribune was more at home in the saddle than any of them. ‘I want you to ride for help.’
Tiberius gave a little whistle. He looked up at the sun and then took in the scorched, barren landscape all around them. He knew he was being asked to commit suicide. ‘Of course, tribune.’ He produced a grave smile as he agreed to ride to almost certain death.
‘Serpentius? How many water skins?’
The Spaniard shrugged. ‘Twenty at the last count, but maybe they’ll find more in the ship.’
Valerius drew a curve in the sand. ‘If I’m right, here is Judaea to the northeast. To the west, Egypt proper where most of the settlements will be clustered along the valley of the Nile. Sixty miles between them. Which puts the wreck somewhere around here.’ He pointed to a patch of sand in the centre of the curve between the two areas he’d circled. ‘So, east or west?’
Tiberius studied the impromptu map, frowning as he concentrated on the scrawls in the sand. ‘East or west?’ he repeated. ‘Thirty miles. Two days in the saddle if I rest at night. Thirty miles at most if we choose correctly, but there is no guarantee that we are in the geographical centre, so anything up to forty or fifty if we don’t.’
Valerius nodded. They both knew that if they chose wrongly they were probably all dead. ‘We’ll split the water and pour as much into the horse as he’ll take. You can carry what’s left of your half with you.’
Tiberius shook his head. ‘That only leaves ten water skins among twenty,’ he pointed out. ‘Two pints to a person. Even if I reach help on the third day it will take us another two to get back here. You’ll never survive on two pints of water a man in this heat.’
Serpentius snorted and the two men looked at him. ‘I know, it’s a terrible plan,’ Valerius said. ‘But if you can think of anything better I’ll be happy to hear it.’ He waited, but it seemed no one could. ‘In this heat, ride through the night when it’s coolest. You’ll save the horse and save on water. I say go west. There’s a rebellion in Judaea and when there’s blood in the gutter people don’t take kindly to strangers. Even if you do reach a settlement there’s a good chance they’ll cut your throat just for being Roman.’
Yes,’ Tiberius said slowly. ‘I agree. West. If I keep the sea always to my right and follow the beach I could make good time.’
Valerius nodded his approval, relieved that the decision had been taken. It was only later that the awful twisting in the guts of not knowing whether it had been the right one would come. But this was no time for doubt. He clapped the young man on the shoulder.
‘Then let’s get it done,’ he said decisively. ‘You can make ten or fifteen miles then hole up in the nearest shade, if you can find any, until nightfall. I want you out of here before the crew returns from stripping the ship. If they find out we only have half the water they think we have I’ll have another mutiny on my hands.’
Serpentius was already digging for the water skins and Tiberius took the horse aside to check his gait and
