Simon Scarrow - Gladiator

For the first time, Marcus felt his spirits rising as he stared down at the ships. Some of them were bound to be sailing to Italia and he would find a way to get aboard one of them. He would work his passage or, if necessary, he would stow away and jump over the side as soon as the ship dropped anchor off the coast of Italia. Then he must get to Rome and find General Pompeius. Marcus knew that a long road lay ahead of him and he must travel it alone and overcome the dangers he encountered on the way by himself. If only his father were still alive and here now. He would know what to do and he would be strong enough to see it through. For a brief moment he doubted whether he could do it, and then he remembered his mother and his heart filled with renewed determination to rescue her.

Marcus ate half a loaf of bread, and some of his cheese, then set off down the hill towards the port.

‘You want to join my crew?’ The captain of the Fair Wind smiled as he looked down at Marcus. They were standing on the deck of his ship in the harbour of Dyrrhacium and around them the crew glanced at the small figure with amused expressions. He swallowed nervously before he replied to the captain.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I see. So, what experience do you have?’ asked the captain as he rested his hands on his hips.

‘Experience?’

‘Of sailing ships. Like this one.’ The captain gestured round the deck.

At the moment cargo was being loaded into the ship. A steady stream of porters came up the gangway, laden with bales of richly patterned material. The crew of the ship took the bales from them and lowered them to some sailors in the hold, who carefully stowed them away. Above them towered the mast, with a furled sail hanging at a slight angle. Ropes stretched down in all directions from the mast and sail.

Marcus drew a breath and tried to sound confident as he bluffed, ‘I’ve been on a ship before, sir. I’m sure it will all come back to me.’

The captain scratched his jaw and then stepped to the mast, plucked one of the ropes out and cocked his head at Marcus. ‘Well, then, my young sailor, what’s this one called?’

Marcus looked at the rope, then traced its path up the mast until he lost sight of it among the other ropes and pulleys. He felt his heart sink as he turned his gaze back towards the captain. ‘I can’t remember, sir.’

‘Rubbish! You’re no sailor. That’s clear enough. You don’t know one end of a ship from the other.’

‘But I have to get to Rome!’ Marcus protested. ‘I don’t eat much and I can work hard.’

‘Maybe, but not on my ship.’ The captain shook his head. ‘I’ve no use for you, lad. Not until you get some sailing experience. Now get off my ship, before I give you a good hiding.’

Marcus nodded as he backed away cautiously and then turned to hurry down the gangway on to the quay. It was past noon and the paving stones were blisteringly hot. He hurried across towards the shade of one of the warehouses. A faint smell of spices struggled to compete with the odour of fish, sweat and sewage. Despite the heat, the quay teemed with life as sailors, porters, merchants, hawkers and fishermen mingled on the broad thoroughfare beside the water. Marcus watched them for a moment, then looked out over the mass of masts and rigging that towered over the heads of the crowd. There was no shortage of ships. The only problem was finding a way to get a free passage to Italia. If that proved impossible, then, Marcus decided, he must stow away.

He had spent most of the morning going from ship to ship to find the ones that were headed across the Adriatic Sea, and then asking if he could travel with them, paying his fare by working on the ship. But no one had any use for a ten-year-old boy. While some had refused him harshly, others had been suspicious and one captain had asked him straight out if he was a runaway slave. Marcus had denied it, made his excuses and left the ship at once. He decided he must be more careful. Decimus would be posting rewards for the return of an escaped slave and the farmers would be equally keen to find the thief who had caused their storeroom to go up in flames.

He had half a loaf of bread and some of the cheese left, and he took them out of his tunic and began to chew without much enthusiasm. When the food was gone he would have nothing left and unless he could find some way to earn some money, or join the crew of a ship, he would be forced to steal once again. Marcus felt guilty as he considered the prospect. Not for the first time, he cursed Decimus for being the cause of all his suffering. Once he had finished eating, Marcus filled his waterskin at the public fountain and then settled in the doorway of a boarded-up shop to let his food go down and rest for a while.

The afternoon heat became oppressive and the quay began to get less busy as people drifted off to rest for an hour or two. The teams of porters retreated into the shade inside the warehouses, where some of them settled to playing dice, while others ate or slept. On board the ships the crews also rested, sprawled out on the deck wherever they could find shade. Soon all was quiet and only a handful of people still went about their business along the length of the quay. Marcus realized that this might be the best chance he had to get aboard a ship, while the crews were dozing. He brushed the crumbs from his tunic and rose to his feet. Opposite him the deck of the Fair Wind looked deserted and Marcus strolled casually along the quay, looking over the ship out of the corner of his eye. He had discovered that it was bound for Brundisium, a busy port directly opposite the coast of Graecia. An ideal choice for Marcus.

As he slowly passed by, he could see that most of the crew were lying under an awning spread out over the aft deck, where the shaft of the steersman’s tiller hung over the side. There was only one man in the bows of the ship. A wineskin was clasped to his chest and he was snoring loudly. The cargo hatch lay open, right next to the gangway. With a quick look round to make sure that none of the crew were watching him, Marcus walked back to the gangway and crossed it confidently, as if he was one of the crew returning aboard – in case anyone on the quay was paying attention to him. When he reached the break in the ship’s rail, Marcus eased himself down and then crept on to the deck. He paused, looking both ways. The drunk was still asleep, his snoring so loud that Marcus swore he could feel vibrations through the wooden planking beneath his feet. Looking the other way, he saw that no one had stirred under the awning.

‘So far, so good,’ he muttered to himself.

The raised wooden coaming of the cargo hatch was less than six feet away. He cautiously approached it on hands and knees, wincing at the heat of the deck. When he reached the hatch, he warily looked over the edge and down into the hold. The ship’s cargo seemed to consist mainly of the bales of material, which had been carefully piled towards the rear of the hold. The front had been packed with planks of a dark wood, almost black. There was little available space and Marcus realized that the Fair Wind would finish its loading soon and then set sail. Perfect, he thought.

Easing himself over the worn edge of the coaming, Marcus dropped on to a large bale of woollen cloth with a soft thud. He paused a moment to listen for any sign that he had been detected and then climbed over the bales towards the rear of the hold. He picked a spot near the top, midway across the beam of the ship. There he eased one of the bales out and, straining against the weight, he pulled it on to the rest of the pile under the hatch. Climbing up into the gap he had created, Marcus pulled out another bale and placed it carefully below the gap. Then, sliding in, he tugged a third bale forward and then thrust it round to conceal the space he had created on top of the bales of material. There was a small slot to one side, just big enough for him to squeeze through. From the far side he could see out into the hold and once the cargo-hatch grating was in place he would get some light and air on the voyage across the sea.