Calgaich the Swordsman (31 page)

Montanas nodded. “It is understood.” He smiled thinly at Calgaich; it was a smile of the facial muscles only. “Well, barbarian, I promised you a sea voyage for your health. Four hundred miles of it, at say, fifty miles per day. Eight to ten days at sea. Of course, you'll have to row to enjoy this cruise, and to
live.
You understand?”

Calgaich nodded.

The centurion's vine staff lashed out like the tongue of a striking asp to strike Calgaich alongside the head. “Say ‘yes, sir,' barbarian, or I'll arrange it so that you can row all the way to Ostia with a cracked skull!”

Calgaich turned his head a little. He looked full into the eyes of Decrius. “Yes, sir," he responded mechanically.

For a moment the centurion held the gaze of Calgaich, looking for subtlety or guile, but it was as if he were looking into a painted face, or a mask, revealing nothing of the barbarian's true feelings.

Lutorius looked back over his shoulder as the centurion and the rowing master strode along the walkway between the rowing benches. “You're learning to act like a legionnaire, barbarian. Always hide your feelings. To show them is to get into trouble. But wait for your chance. When I was a recruit in Cappadocia, serving in the old Fifteenth Apollinaria, there was a junior centurion, a real son-of-a-bitch, in the last maniple of the tenth cohort, and there ain’t no lower rank than that in a legion. Me, being a kid recruit, I was the bottom man in the whole damned legion! My old man, at that time, was in the third cohort, and he had had a few run-ins with this particular junior centurion, about the way he was handling his men. Well, naturally, this junior centurion couldn’t get back at my old man or he’d have gotten his balls kicked in. So, guess who he took it out on?”

Calgaich shrugged. "I haven’t the slightest idea,
calo
.” Lutorius grinned. “Me, of course. There wasn’t any way of getting back at him, outside of being in the heat of battle when a lot of such matters are paid off.”

“How did you finally get him, Bottle Emptier?” Guidd asked.

Lutorius looked surprised. “Did I say it was me?” Guidd smiled. “Go on, O King of Liars.”

“It seems as though we were bivouacked in an area where those damned Cappadocians would creep into our camps at night and slit a few throats just for the hell of it. One night this particular centurion was asleep in his tent, with his back sticking out against the leather. I happened to be on guard that night. I caught and killed a native who sneaked into the camp. It was then a simple matter to thrust the native’s knife into the hump sticking out of the side of the centurion’s tent. After that, I roused the rest of the guard and showed them the native I had killed. They found the centurion dead in the morning.”

“And you got away with it,” Fomoire suggested. Lutorius nodded. “They granted me the native’s knife as a reward and kept me drunk for weeks in honor of my valiant deed. I hocked it in Rome and it kept me drunk until I left the city to return to Britannia. So, you see, barbarian,
wait your chance
.”

Guidd looked sideways at Calgaich. “We have need of you, Calgaich. If we’re to survive to reach Rome and live through the Games, we must have a leader,” Guidd said.

Calgaich shrugged. “To lead where and to what end?" he asked dully.

“Have you already forgotten our plan?” Cunori whispered.

Niall looked at Calgaich and nodded fiercely. Chilo, the Greek tutor, and Lexus, the giant Gaul, were on the benches behind Calgaich and his four rowing mates. Calgaich looked back at them. He caught the same message from their eyes. There was no hopeless resignation in the dark eyes of the Greek and the blue eyes of the Gaul.

“You see what I mean, Calgaich?” Guidd asked out of the side of his mouth.

Calgaich laughed suddenly. “By the gods! What have I done to deserve such a ragtag bunch of followers?” He rolled his eyes upwards. “Lugh of the Shining Spear,” he prayed, “be with me in any attempt I might make to escape, for I will fear those who are standing behind me almost as much as the Romans before me!”

Guidd grinned. “The wolf is not yet dead, Bottle Emptier. He rested a little while, with good cause, but he will rise to do battle against the Red Crests when the time comes.”

The storm struck the
Neptunus
a week after she had left Massalia. The howling wind came from the south across the Tyrrhenian Sea and seemed to funnel its greatest strength between the Isle of Corsica and the coast of Italy to the east.

The interior of the laboring vessel was a living hell for the toiling oarsmen. They swung the heavy, lead-weighted oars in unison with the resonant clack-clack-clack of the
hortator’s
hammer on the sounding board, which was placed at the after end of the long and narrow walkway that passed between the banks of oarsmen. The clumsy vessel rolled wildly and pitched like a bucking horse, so that at times the oar blades fanned the air before they were plunged deep beneath the waves. Water spurted in through the oar ports and drained down from the deck above through the gratings.

The trireme creaked and groaned in the powerful liquid grip of the seas. The deepening bilge water sloshed back and forth in rhythm with the pitching and rolling of the vessel, and the stench that arose from the bilges filled the nostrils of the laboring galley slaves. Their sobbing cries never ceased,
“Hoooo, yahhh! Hoooo, yahhh! Hoooo, yahhh!”

Every now and then an oar loom would snap and the lashing end of it would smash back under the extended arms of the oarsmen to crush in their chests and ribs. Whenever this happened, the bank of rowers behind the broken oar would have the injured oarsmen hurled back against their oar, thus breaking the discipline of their own stroking. Crewmen rushed to the broken oar and cut loose the injured, the dying and the dead. The broken oar was shoved through the oar port and the injured slaves who could not be placed at another oar were dropped into the bilges where they soon drowned in the stinking water.

A grandfather wave swept the trireme from stem to stem and carried most of the seamen with it, and injured Aulus, the Greek sailing master. The laboring ship swung broadside to the wind and began to wallow,' taking green water over her sides, which soon swept the decks clear of men and fittings.

Tribune Ulpius Claudius came down into the hold of the ship. “She’ll soon sink in these seas,
hortator
!” he shouted against the creaking din of the hold. “Can you take command, Perns?”

Perns shook his shaven head. The steady, inexorable clacking of his hammer went on. “I can’t leave my post, Tribune, or we’ll lose complete control of the ship!”

“You fool! If no one can take charge of the ship, there’ll be no need for your damned oars!”

Twenty years of Roman naval discipline showed on the set face of the Sicilian. He would drown at his sounding board before he would leave it. “I am no seaman, Tribune,” he said. “I am the
hortator
and no more.”

“This might be our chance, Cunori!” Calgaich gasped out.

Cunori looked startled. “We can’t get free of the chains, Calgaich.”

“They’ll cut you loose quickly enough when you volunteer to save their damned ship for them. They need seamen. Let no one get ahead of us in this matter.”

“Tribune!” Cunori shouted above the din.
“
I am a seaman, and once master of my own ship in the channel!”

Ulpius pointed at the Numidian slave. “Cut him loose!” he commanded.

“I’ll need seamen!” Cunori added.

“Take whom you will!” the tribune cried, “only save this ship!”

The full force of the wind caught at the captives when they reached the deck. The
artemon,
or foresail, streamed in shreds. Both triangular topsails were gone, blown out from their bolt ropes. The square mainsail was bellied out, as taut as a sheet of painted tin.

Cunori made his way aft to the steering position, and shoved aside the marine who had taken over when the helmsman had been washed overboard. “Relay my commands to the
hortator,
Chile!” he shouted at the Greek tutor. “Lutorius, get any spare sails up on deck! Can any of you steer this tub? You, Loarn? Good! Take over. Don't let her broach to once we bring her around into the wind! Chilo! Have that baldheaded Sicilian
hortator
bring her head into the wind! Calgaich! Get down that mainsail! Guidd! Go below and check for any major leaks! Niall! Get below with some men and bring up any spare oars you can find. Get moving, damn you, or you'll sink in this stormy chamberpot the Romans call a sea!”

It was touch and go as the experienced Venetus fought with all his skill to gain control of the clumsy trireme. The straining oars slowly brought the vessel around to head into the wind so that she began taking green water over her bow instead of her weather side.

Niall and his helpers hauled half a dozen oars up onto the deck and under Cunori's instructions lashed them together. Cunori swiftly fashioned a sea anchor by using a spare topsail, which he attached to the bundle of oars. The sea anchor was dropped over the plunging bow and immediately streamed out to help hold the vessel's head into the wind.

Guidd came up on deck. “The ram has partly broken loose, Cunori!” he yelled above the howling of the wind and the crash of the boarding seas. “A plank has split on the larboard bow and she's taking green water into the forehold!”

Cunori looked at Calgaich. “Can you stop the leak,
fian?”
he asked.

Calgaich shrugged. “I can try,” he said. He turned. “Lexus! Give me a hand!”

The huge Gaul followed Calgaich to the bows. They stood knee-deep in the water while Lexus held onto Calgaich as he leaned over the larboard side. The bronze ram's head had turned a little to the starboard side after the fastenings had loosened, and in so doing had sprung a larboard plank. Lexus drew Calgaich back. Calgaich looked into his streaming face. “It's bad, Gaul,” he said. “If we don't cover it, we'll go down like a stone within the hour.”

The men worked quickly under Calgaich’s directions. They used a spare sail and fastened ropes to the four corners. Lexus held onto Calgaich as he let himself down on the precarious footing of the ram. The trireme seemed to be plunging deeper, what with the extra weight of the water rising within her hull. Every third wave swept over Calgaich's head as he worked, and had it not been for the strength of Lexus, Calgaich would have been swept away from the ship and lost in the spray and spume astern.

Calgaich looped the ropes on the bottom of the spare sail under the ram as the trireme rose sluggishly to meet the cresting seas. The lower ropes were drawn back on the starboard side and under the hull while the upper ropes were drawn back on the larboard side so that the sail crept slowly over the gap between the planks.

Calgaich grinned up into the bearded face of the Gaul. “It might work," he shouted. The next wave struck him on the back. He lost his footing on the ram. The surging of the vessel threw Lexus to one side. He lost his grip on Calgaich. Calgaich plunged under the surface of the water. He rose to the surface, gasping for air. He was swept aft next to the side of the trireme and the ranks of steadily dipping oars. He caught at the last oar and slid down toward the blade. The oar just ahead of it swung back and hit him on the back of the head. He seemed to be looking into a dim haze as his senses reeled. His grip weakened.

Cairenn had been watching in terror from the small window of her cabin. She could remain still no longer. Quickly she came out and stripped her clothing off as Lexus screamed at her to return to safety. She ignored him and snatched up a line that was fastened to a cleat. Cairenn dived cleanly over the side into a great wave, then surfaced and began swimming strongly toward Calgaich. The seamen watched in wonder as she passed a line about his chest and fastened it. She gestured wildly for someone to pull him in just as he lost his grip on the oar. The last thing he remembered was looking into a great pair of emerald-hued eyes just before he drifted astern.

Quickly the men worked to pull him over the rail and then sent the line out into the roaring sea for Cairenn to wind about her waist. Gasping, she was pulled over the side to where Calgaich lay. As soon as she caught her breath, she moved to his side, but Lexus pushed her away. “Go back to your cabin, woman. He has no more need of you.” She gave Calgaich one last glance before pulling her clothes around her and leaving him to the mercy of the guards. It was enough for now that he was alive.

“He'll live,” the quiet voice said from out of a dense fog.

Calgaich opened his eyes to look into those of Fomoire. He was lying on the deck of the trireme. “I didn't know they had sea nymphs watching out for me in these enemy waters,” he murmured. He grinned.

Fomoire stood up and held onto a stay to steady himself. “It was the Ordovician woman,
fian.
Your
cumal
.”

Calgaich nodded. He closed his eyes again. He felt ashamed that he had not thought about Cairenn for a long time.

The
Neptunus
was riding easier under the skilled hands of Cunori. The wind seemed to have lost some of its power. Calgaich sat up. Tribune Ulpius Claudius stood beside Cunori. A file of tough-looking Roman marines were watching the captives who had saved the ship under the orders of Cunori. Centurion Montanas stood with folded arms, looking down at Calgaich.

“You saved my ship, Venetus. For that I owe you much,” Aulus said to Cunori.

“My freedom, and that of my mates?” Cunori smiled.

The Greek shook his head. “Yours, possibly, at least in the future, but not theirs.”

“You'll need them to handle the ship until she reaches Ostia, master.”

The Greek nodded. “That's fair enough. I am sorry that I can't help them any more than that. At least they'll be off the oars.”

“With one exception,” Ulpius put in.

They dragged Calgaich to his feet and hustled him below. The oarsmen on his bench did not stop rowing while the chains were again made fast to the bench and the oar. Calgaich placed his hands on the oar. He listened for a few seconds to the clacking of the
hortator’s
hammer. Then he began to pull in rhythm with the others.
“Hoooo, yahhh! Hoooo, yahhh! Hoooo, yahhh!”
The sobbing breath was wrenched from his throat as he swung the heavy oar.