through the water, scarcely making a sound. Phosphorescence sparkled in the bow wave. It was an effect that fascinated and confounded Romulus, and which he never tired of watching. Even Tarquinius had no explanation for the phenomenon, making the young soldier wonder if it was made by the gods themselves.
A myriad of stars filled the sky, illuminating the sea so well that the steersmen’s task was made easy. Covered by a rough blanket, Romulus lay on the deck, unable to sleep. He wondered, for the thousandth time, who might have killed Rufus Caelius, the noble outside the Lupanar whose death had precipitated all his travels. After long consideration, Romulus was utterly convinced that it had not been him. He sighed. What chance was there of ever discovering the real culprit? Romulus’ frustration at this could not dampen his spirits though. His situation now was better than it ever had been. After five long years of constant warfare and captivity, he was nearing a country where Rome’s influence would be noticeable. This previously unthinkable situation filled Romulus with exultation. I am a free man, he thought fiercely. A slave no longer. And no one except Gemellus or Memor knows any different. With Mithras’ help, his tattoo would suffice to protect him against men like Novius.
Romulus smiled.
What more proof did he need that the gods looked out for him? He stared up at the Perseus constellation, the symbol of Mithras, as it chased the stars that represented Taurus, the bull, across the sky. ‘Let us both reach home safely, Great One,’ he whispered. ‘Even if there is a civil war going on.’
Tarquinius stirred, and Romulus looked over. Together with Brennus, the haruspex had shaped him into the man he was today. Loyal companions, the pair had become his two father figures — teaching and protecting him, always there to give advice when needed. Ultimately, Brennus had made the greatest sacrifice any man could for another. Now there was just Tarquinius, the enigmatic Etruscan, who knew so much. Too much? For himself, Romulus was glad that the future was often uncertain. Anticipating what would happen was a heavy burden, and wariness swamped him at the idea of divining seriously again. The memory of what he had seen at the crucifix in Margiana haunted Romulus still. Especially since the merchant Varus’ news had backed it up.
Romulus was sure of another thing. He did not want to know when, or how, either he or Tarquinius might die. Suddenly anxious, he found it difficult to let this disturbing idea go. Could it be soon? He scowled. Only the gods knew. In the dangerous world they inhabited, death was a daily possibility. Nothing could change that. To each his own fate, Romulus thought. And no man should interfere with another’s path.
Tarquinius twitched gently, deep in the throes of a dream.
It was an unusual role reversal, Romulus reflected. Normally it was the haruspex who lay awake for hours on end watching him. An adult now, he smiled.
As always, the rising sun woke him. Romulus opened his eyes to find Tarquinius sitting cross-legged on the deck beside him, chewing on some food.
‘The coast is in sight.’
Romulus rubbed the sleep from his eyes and clambered to his feet. Along the horizon, he saw an unmistakable line of land emerging from the night mist. Other members of the crew were also lined up against the rails, pointing. Even at a distance, it was clearly much greener than the opposite shore.
He turned to the haruspex with a smile. ‘It’s not far.’
‘No more than two hours.’ Tarquinius felt cold. What had Olenus seen in the lamb’s liver that day? He had never tried to ascertain the truth of it since. Although he occasionally predicted the deaths of others, Tarquinius was wary of doing the same for himself.
‘I’ll offer to hunt again this evening. We can just melt away into the bush,’ muttered Romulus. ‘They’ll never find us once it gets dark.’
Concealing his unease, Tarquinius gave him a brief smile. ‘Good idea.’
The dhow sailed closer as the sun climbed into the sky, and the Ethiopian coastline became clearer to the eye. There weren’t many trees, but there were far more signs of life than in the Arabian desert. Birds wheeled in great circles above while a herd of unfamiliar-looking antelope drank from a stream a little way inland.
Following the breeze, Ahmed ordered the steersmen to set a course north. The sight of greenery had put the Nubian in good temper. Where there was vegetation, there were animals. And the men who hunted them. Hopefully, they might encounter a vessel full of ivory in these waters.
Romulus’ mind was devising their escape when he heard a shout: ‘Ship ahead!’ He glanced around idly, and his heart leapt into his mouth.
About a quarter of a mile ahead lay a prominent headland. Emerging from behind it was the square sail and distinctive predatory shape of a trireme. He stared again. There was no mistaking the curved stern, the three banks of oars, and the enormous eye painted on the side of the prow to threaten the enemies it approached. Its decks were lined with marines, armed similarly to legionaries. Four deck catapults were already being loaded with massive arrows and stone balls.
Tarquinius also looked amazed. ‘Romans on this sea?’
‘Ship dead ahead!’ came the cry again.
Romulus didn’t know what to think. Previously, the Republic had always confined its naval presence to the Mediterranean. This new departure had to be an attempt to protect the valuable trade that the corsairs had been preying on. He grimaced. There was every chance that the dhow would not be viewed in a friendly manner. Which did not bode well for them.
Ahmed pointed in alarm. ‘What in the name of all the gods is that?’
‘It’s a Roman fighting ship,’ replied Tarquinius. ‘A trireme.’
‘Is it fast?’
‘Very,’ answered Romulus grimly.
The unmistakable sound of a drum carried across the waves. Its rhythm was rapid, triggering memories of the voyage to Asia Minor. They had been seen.
The rowers at the oars responded to the booming command, and the trireme’s speed began to pick up. It surged forward, creating a large bow wave. The top of the bronze ram at its prow became visible, and even those who had never seen one could guess what the huge mass of metal would do to another vessel.
‘Come about,’ yelled Ahmed. ‘Quickly!’
The two steersmen needed little encouragement. Frantically they leaned on the heavy steering oars, slowing the dhow in the water and beginning a wide turning circle.
Romulus clenched his jaw. It was slow, far too slow. He stared at the trireme’s low-slung shape with morbid fascination. Even faster drumbeats filled the air. The Roman vessel was now in red-hot pursuit. By trying to flee, Ahmed had probably sealed their fate. There was little chance of escape.
From the look on the Nubian’s face, he was thinking the same thing.
‘Time to leave,’ Romulus whispered to Tarquinius, who was muttering a prayer. ‘Ready?’
‘Of course.’
Hastily the two friends donned their armour and tightened their belts. Although Romulus’ mail shirt and Tarquinius’ hide breastplate were heavy, the protection they granted would be needed in the days to come. And it was only a few hundred paces to shore. That distance was nothing to worry about. After four years at sea, Romulus had learned to swim well and Tarquinius was a natural.
The haruspex shoved a water bottle into his hands and together they moved to the side of the ship. They had to act fast. The trireme was already moving significantly faster than their dhow, and over such a short distance, it posed a lethal danger. A hundred and twenty disciplined oarsmen rowing in unison could rapidly bring it to the speed of a running man. If the pirate ship did not complete its turn soon, it would be run down and sunk.
‘You miserable bastard, Tarquinius! Look what you have guided us to!’ shouted Ahmed. He spun round to deliver more abuse. ‘Trying to escape now?’ he screeched, drawing his sword. ‘Kill them both!’
Men’s heads turned, and their faces twisted with fury as they saw two of their erstwhile comrades about to jump ship.
‘Come on,’ urged Romulus, swinging himself up on to the wooden side rail.
The Nubian sprinted across the deck, waving his cutlass and screaming with rage. He was aiming straight for the haruspex — who tripped and fell awkwardly to one knee.
‘Jump!’ shouted Tarquinius.
As Romulus turned back to help his friend, he lost his balance and tumbled backwards — into the sea.
