Simon Scarrow - Gladiator

Marcus eased himself up, over the edge of the hatch and on to the deck. Then, staying low, he slid across the weathered and worn planks until he reached the foot of the mast. His fingers groped over the edge of the nearest basket and came across some hard, round objects. Apples. He smiled to himself and helped himself to four, tucking them inside his tunic. Even though he was pleased with his find, Marcus knew that apples alone would not satisfy his hunger.

A sudden snore made him jump and he glanced round in terror. Only a few feet away, curled up on the deck, was one of the crew. The man muttered something and began to breathe heavily. Marcus was about to turn his attention back to the baskets when he saw a half-eaten loaf of bread and some sausage on the deck beside the man. He licked his lips at the thought of making a meal of the crewman’s unfinished food. With a quick look round to satisfy himself that no one was paying him any attention, Marcus edged towards the snoring sailor. He paused a short distance away and stealthily reached out a hand to pick up the bread and then the sausage. With a slight smile of relief that the man was still asleep, Marcus turned back towards the cargo hatch. He was keen to return to his hiding place, and feast, before the light got any stronger and gave him away. He had almost reached the hatch when the steersman’s deep voice boomed out across the deck.

‘Change the watch! Change the watch! Morning watch, unreef the mainsail.’

The crew began to stir, and the man whose food Marcus had helped himself to snorted and then began to sit up wearily, his hand groping towards where the food had been. He opened his eyes and looked straight at Marcus. He blinked and frowned, then he saw the sausage and bread in Marcus’s hand and his eyes widened in surprise.

‘Thief!’ he cried out, scrambling across the deck towards Marcus.

Marcus lashed out with his boot, the nailed leather striking the sailor in the face. The man cried in pain and clasped his hands to his nose as the blood began to run. The sound alerted others nearby, who turned to look.

‘Who’s that boy?’ someone called out.

‘Well, he’s no passenger!’ another voice responded, and some of the men on deck laughed. ‘Seems we have ourselves a stowaway, lads.’

Marcus backed away from the man he had kicked, then rose to a crouch. He bit a chunk off the sausage and chewed furiously. Watching the men on the deck carefully, he backed against the opposite side of the ship. More of the crew edged forward curiously, while at the rear of the vessel the captain emerged from the hatch leading to the handful of small cabins at the stern. He was followed by a large man in a red tunic who climbed up beside the steersman for a better view.

‘What is all this nonsense?’ the captain bellowed. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘Stowaway, captain,’ one of the sailors replied, pointing towards Marcus. ‘Must have been in the hold and got hungry. That’s why he’s gone and nicked Spiro’s food.’

The man Marcus had kicked wiped the blood from his face and rose to his feet with a growl.

‘Right then, boy,’ he hissed. ‘You are going to pay for that. Thought you could take Spiro’s ration and get away with it, eh?’

He reached to his side and drew out a dagger from his wide leather belt. Marcus quickly weighed him up. The sailor was not quite as old as his father had been, with unkempt dark hair hanging loosely around his face. His lips parted in a cruel sneer, revealing a handful of crooked teeth. As he raised his knife he swayed slightly and Marcus guessed that he must have had rather more to drink last night than was wise. He took another bite at the sausage as he watched the sailor closely.

The man’s sneer turned into a snarl of rage. ‘Thief!’

He ran at Marcus, his knife gleaming dully in the pale dawn light. At the last moment Marcus ducked to the left and the sailor stumbled into the rail along the ship’s side. Some of the other men laughed, and Spiro glared round the deck before he fixed his eyes on Marcus again.

‘Think you’re clever, boy? Well, I’m going to cut you good for that.’

From the tone of the man’s voice Marcus knew that he was in grave danger. The man might even kill him if he had the chance. For a moment it felt as if an icy hand had clamped around the back of his neck. Marcus was more afraid than he had ever been in his life. He let the bread and the sausage drop from his fingers and crouched low, ready to spring aside. Already he was thinking about his next moves, his wits quickened by the knowledge that he was engaged in a fight to survive.

‘Go on, Spiro!’ a sailor called out. ‘Show the boy what a man you are.’

There was more laughter, but Marcus saw that the comment had caused the sailor to become even more enraged. He sprang towards Marcus, slashing out with his blade as he did so. Marcus leapt to the side, hearing a faint hiss close to his ear as the blade cut through the cool dawn air. He ran to the middle of the deck and turned back to face Spiro as the sailor strode towards him, hunched forward.

‘Keep running, boy. I’ll corner you. Sooner or later.’

Marcus glanced to the side and saw the dark lines of the mast’s shrouds sweeping down towards a series of heavy wooden pins. He glanced back just in time to see Spiro make another attack, leaning forward and thrusting the point of his blade out. Marcus dodged aside, then was forced to back away again as Spiro slashed at his face. The small crowd of onlookers melted away on either side as the sailor pursued his prey towards the stern.

‘Here, young ’un!’ a voice cried out, and there was a clatter on the deck close by Marcus as a knife landed on the planking. ‘Take it!’

Marcus snatched the knife up and scrambled away from yet another attack. This time some of the sailors cheered him on, admiring the agile way he was avoiding Spiro’s attacks. But Marcus knew that time was on the sailor’s side. He would find a way to corner Marcus and then it would be over. The sailor would cut him down where he stood and dump his body over the side into the sea.

Marcus ducked round the man and sprinted back towards the side of the vessel where the shrouds curved down, and there he turned to face the man again. Spiro paced steadily towards him, breathing heavily from the strain of his exertions. He shook his head mockingly, flicking aside a thick strand of hair that had fallen over one eye.

‘You’ve got a knife, but do you know how to use it?’

Marcus swallowed nervously. ‘Why don’t you come closer and find out?’

Spiro feinted with his blade. Marcus thrust out the knife with both hands to parry the attack and stepped back against the ship’s side. Shifting the knife to his left hand, he let his right hand drop, felt behind him for one of the pins and lifted it out of its hole.

The sailor stood before him, an arm’s length away. He held his arms wide, as if to catch Marcus whichever way he tried to run.

‘Time to pay old Spiro the price for stealing,’ the sailor sneered.

Marcus swallowed nervously. The time had come to strike, yet he knew he must divert the sailor’s attention at the critical moment. He lowered his left hand.

‘Please, don’t hurt me,’ he pleaded softly. ‘I give in.’

He tossed the knife on to the deck to one side, just behind the sailor. The man instinctively glanced round and down, his hair flopping across his face like a curtain. Marcus snatched out the pin, jumped forward and smashed its heavy wooden bulk against the side of Spiro’s head. The sailor dropped to his knees with a groan, head rolling back as his mouth sagged open. His blade fell from his hands and he fixed Marcus with a dazed expression before he collapsed unconscious at his feet.