The Far Shore (29 page)

As the
Fortuna
crested another mighty wave, Simo lost his footing and slid forward, knocking Indavara’s legs away. The two of them landed in a heap close to the mast behind Squint, who didn’t even notice. Indavara helped Simo up and they squatted there, hands flat against the deck. He looked around and realised that most of the crew were close by, several of them handling the mainsail and looking anxiously up at the yard.

Indavara’s tunic was already soaked through. The entire deck was covered in water and the icy spray seemed to be striking them from all sides. He glanced at Simo. The Gaul’s hair was plastered across his face and he looked very much as though he wanted to be back in the cabin.

Korinth arrived and ordered the men to gather around him, with only those holding the lines staying in position. The burly deck-chief crouched with his back to the mast, hands cupped around his mouth.

Indavara turned his good ear towards him.

‘We’re bringing the yard halfway down. I’ll take the halyard with five men.’ He pointed at three of the larger crewmen plus Indavara and Simo. ‘The rest of you help with the lines and watch for any snags.’

Squint moved aside while Korinth and his three helpers hunched in front of the mast.

Indavara knew that the halyard was the three-inch-thick rope used to raise and lower the yard; it was the strongest line on the ship.

Desenna was one of those helping Korinth. The curly-haired sailor turned round, coils of the rope in his hands. ‘Out the way!’

Indavara and Simo obeyed, watching as Desenna tied the end of the rope around the biggest cleat on the ship. ‘Take hold. We’ll tell you when the weight’s coming on. See the grips on the deck?’

Indavara had wondered about the little squares of wood nailed into the deck behind the mast.

‘They’re for your feet,’ continued Desenna. ‘Tubby, you’re on the tail.’

Simo took up his position next to the cleat, with Indavara ahead of him, both to the left of the rope. Indavara closed his fingers around the sodden hemp and found the grips with his feet. He shook water off his hair and face.

‘Weight on!’ yelled Desenna.

Indavara squeezed his fingers tight and leant back. Despite the grips and the efforts of the other four men, he could feel the immense load held by the rope.

‘Slowly now! Hand over hand!’

Blocks squealed as they let the rope out inch by inch, lowering the yard and sail. Squint was bawling at the men on the other lines, trying to keep the whole arrangement as straight as possible for Korinth’s crew.

Another shift of the deck under them; Indavara felt his body swinging dangerously to the left. Not daring to adjust his feet, he was relieved when the ship pitched back the other way.

‘Snagged!’ someone shouted.

‘Weight on!’ added Korinth.

Indavara squeezed the rope tight once more.

Squint appeared from the left, nipped deftly past Korinth, then looked up at the right side of the yard. He took charge of young Tarkel’s line and moved it about.

‘Well?’ asked Korinth.

‘One of the lifts is caught,’ answered the veteran.

As Indavara sat there – legs and backside in freezing water, chills running up and down his spine – he reminded himself not to slacken his grip.

‘Squint! Korinth!’

Asdribar peered forward, trying to work out what was going on. Cassius – down on one knee just ahead of him – looked too, but all he could make out were the dim outlines of the men huddled close to the mast. Asdribar unleashed more bitter curses in Punic as the
Fortuna
slammed down into another trough.

As far as Cassius could tell, all he could really do was keep the ship in something approaching a straight line as it was tossed about on the swell. Enough cloud had now cleared to allow a little moonlight onto the water and Cassius almost wished it hadn’t; all around them white horses bubbled at the crest of surging, rolling waves.

The
Fortuna Redux
, all ninety-five feet of her, suddenly seemed like a rowing dinghy. Cassius had hoped never to experience the rage of the gods that held sway over the sea, but now found himself witnessing the brutal power of the elements first-hand. There seemed a very real possibility that some divine power wanted the ship crippled or sunk.

‘What are you doing?’ cried Asdribar suddenly. Cassius looked over his shoulder and saw that the deckhouse door was open. Annia stood there, a dim light behind her. She shouted something to Asdribar but Cassius heard only his enraged reply: ‘Get back inside and shut that bloody door!’

The captain turned back towards the mast. ‘By the gods,’ he said. ‘Someone’s going up.’

Indavara had seen some impressive acts of courage in his time, but nothing that compared to the selfless tenacity of young Tarkel. Moments earlier, his skinny frame had appeared out of the gloom. Crouching down between Korinth and Squint, he’d instantly pointed upward. The two men debated the matter for a moment but swiftly seemed to realise there was no alternative. Squint produced a short length of rope from somewhere and tied it around Tarkel’s belt. The lad cast off his cloak, scraped his hair from his face, then set off up the mast to clear the snag. Despite the pummelling the ship was taking, he remained calm and sure-footed and kept up a remarkable pace. Before long, Indavara lost sight of him.

The tension in the rope seemed to slacken. Word came back from Desenna. ‘We’ve tied it off, but keep your grip tight.’

‘He there yet?’ cried Squint, gazing up at the yard.

‘Can’t see,’ replied Korinth.

‘My line’s moving,’ someone shouted.

‘I think he’s there!’ yelled another.

The
Fortuna
rode up the side of another huge wave that then seemed to disappear, dropping the hull down at the steepest of angles. Indavara braced his feet as the bow struck the water. He saw one man fly across the deck and heard a jarring impact from above.

‘Korinth, the halyard.’

The deck-chief scrambled forward.

‘It’s fraying!’

‘Get another line on,’ yelled Squint. ‘Tarkel! Down!’

‘It’s coming down!’

‘Tarkel!’

Korinth turned away from the mast, grabbed the crewman behind him and shoved him towards the stern. ‘Back! All of you back!’

Just as Indavara glimpsed one man being buried under an avalanche of sailcloth, someone ran into him.

He was knocked backwards on to the deck. Head half submerged in water, he heard a colossal crash and felt the timbers of the ship shudder beneath him.

Cassius saw the whole thing. The sky was even clearer now, clear enough for him and Asdribar to behold in horror the moment the yard plunged forty feet and struck the deck. The huge timber now lay on the crumpled sail, extending far beyond both side-rails. Thankfully, most of the men seemed to have got out of the way in time and some were already moving. Cassius could also see the lantern mounted at the bow and, crucially, the light at the top of the rig. The mast was still standing.

The wind eased for a moment. He turned from his kneeling position, one hand still on the deck-line, and looked up at Asdribar. The Carthaginian seemed to have only a loose grip on the tillers. He was staring ahead, mouth hanging open.

Then he looked down at Cassius. ‘Corbulo, take the helm.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘I don’t know—’

Asdribar let go of the tillers, grabbed Cassius and pulled him to his feet. ‘Shall I call the girl?’

‘All right,’ Cassius yelled back at him. ‘What do I do?’

Asdribar undid the line running from his belt to the deckhouse, then dragged Cassius into position and retied it on his belt. ‘This’ll help you. Just do what you can to keep her from turning. You must keep the wind to the stern.’

‘Why?’

‘Because otherwise we’ll capsize!’

Cassius was struck on the leg by one of the tillers, which were shearing about all over the place. Asdribar grabbed them and wrestled them into submission. As Cassius took over, he was stunned by the force coming through the shafts of wood, as if he could feel every churning movement of the sea beneath the ship.

‘Just hold her steady.’

Asdribar turned away, bowed his head into the wind and set off towards the mast.

Indavara was one of the first up. He helped Simo to his feet, then saw the scene of utter chaos around them. In amongst the mass of bodies, bits of wood and endless yards of rope, one man was lying on his side, hands clawing at his leg. Another hauled himself out from under the sail and turned back to help a compatriot who was pinned. Korinth and Squint were looking over the side at the water.

‘Where is he?’ someone shouted.

Then Indavara remembered. The boy.

He reached the side-rail and saw that it had probably saved the ship. The yard had ploughed its way through several inches of solid wood and was now wedged. Most of the sailcloth had piled up on the deck with only a small section hanging in the water.

‘There! There he is!’

The end of the yard was at least five yards away. Trailing from it by the rope attached to his belt was Tarkel. The wind and the swell were still pushing the ship along and the lad was struggling to stay above the water. He raised a hand for a moment but then his white, contorted face was lost beneath the waves.

‘Grapple hook!’ shouted Korinth. Desenna ran past the others towards the stern.

‘Maybe I can get out to him,’ volunteered another of the crew. Indavara looked at the soaking, circular timber and reckoned there wasn’t a chance he would make it more than a yard or two.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ cried Korinth, dragging the man back by his tunic. ‘We’re not losing you too.’

Like the others, Indavara’s eyes were fixed on Tarkel as his flailing hands broke the surface. He seemed to be reaching forward, trying to grab the rope.

‘Everyone on the yard!’ ordered Squint. By now the trapped sailors had dragged themselves clear and Simo was attending to the injured man. Squint, Korinth, Indavara and the others clutched whatever they could get their hands on and tried to pull the yard in.

It shifted a few inches through the hole in the side-rail but then stopped. In amongst the tangle of rope and sailcloth, something was stuck fast.