Jars of Clay (11 page)
Lucius turned onto his side, his hip bone digging painfully into the wooden cot that was his bed. The ship was lilting heavily and he shot his arm out against the wall to brace himself. The ship rocked violently again, throwing Lucius back from the wall and onto the floor.
Suddenly the Captain’s raspy voice rose from within the darkness. “All hands on deck!"
The storm had blown in from the north without warning.
The crew worked proficiently with the ropes, lowering the mast. Lucius felt like he had ten thumbs, uncertain what to do and fighting a rising sense of panic. Frigid water sheeted over the rails drenching them all. Adrenaline kept Lucius from dropping to the deck in a frozen, crippled heap.
The angry storm was insanely loud, and Lucius could barely hear the captain’s instructions, though his curses pierced through the roar. The bow and stern jerked back and forth like a child’s rocking horse, and Lucius’s once stable stomach heaved again. Salty spray stung his eyes as he bailed the water that threatened to sink the craft. His arms and legs burned as he hefted heavy buckets. The slippery deck made keeping his balance impossible.
Thrown precariously close to the rails, Lucius thought the gods would do what the captain had not thrown him overboard. Bile and a sour taste of the evening’s dinner burned his throat. He had never felt so miserable and death seemed a welcome relief. Maybe he should just offer himself up to the gods in sacrifice. Captain Decimus would save his cargo, and he would be at peace in the underworld.
But the gods refused. As quickly as the storm rose up, it passed. The wind calmed and the rocking slowed. With trembling legs Lucius joined the others, scooping water and mopping the deck, and repairing ropes and sails.
In the morning he spotted land, and relief overwhelmed him. Soon this nightmarish trip would end and his new life would begin. Once he had helped to unload the cargo at the harbor in Ostia, he gathered his pay and caught the next carriage to Rome.