Simon Scarrow: When the Eagle hunts

The ship's captain staggered along the heaving deck towards him and saluteff as he approached, keeping one hand clasped firmly to the taffrail.

'What is it?' shouted the prefect.

'The bilges!' the captain called out, voice hoarse from the effort of shouting his orders above the shrieking wind for the last few hours. He jabbed his finger at the deck to make his meaning clear. 'We're taking on too much water!" 'Can we bail it out?'

The captain tilted his ear towards the prefect.

Taking a deep breath, the prefect cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, 'Can we bail it out?'

The captain shook his head.

'So what now?'

'We have to run before the storm! It's our only hope of staying afloat. Then find somewhere safe to land!'

The prefect gave an exaggerated nod to show he had understood. Very well then. They would have to find somewhere to beach the ship. Some thirty or forty miles down the coast the cliffs gave way to shingled beaches.

Providing the surf was not too wild, beaching could be attempted. That might cause serious damage to the trireme but better that than the certainty of losing the ship and all the crew and passengers. With that thought, the prefect's mind went to the woman and her young children sheltering below his feet. They had been trusted to his care and he must do everything in his power to save them.

'Give the order, Captain! I'm going below.'

'Aye, sir!' The captain saluted and turned back towards the waist of the trireme, where the sailors huddled by the base of the mast. The prefect watched for a moment as the captain bellowed his orders and pointed to the furled sail on the spar at the top of the mast. No one moved. The captain shouted the order again, then viciously kicked the nearest sailor. The man cowered back, only to be kicked again. He leaped for the rigging and began to make his way aloft. The others followed, clinging to the stays as they struggled up the swaying ratlines and transferred th6mselves to the spar.

Bare frozen feet pushed down onto the toe-line as they inched out above the deck. Only when every man was in position could they undo the ties and release the sail as far as the first reefing point. That much sail would be all that was necessary to give the vessel steerage way as it ran before Simon Searrow the storm. Each burst of lightning briefly silhouetted the mast, spar and men in harsh black against a dazzling white sky. The prefect noticed that lightning made the rain seem to stop in mid-air for an instant. Despite the terror that gripped his heart, he felt a thrill of excitement at this awesome display of Neptune's powers.

At last all the men were in position. Bracing his solid legs on the deck, the captain cupped both hands and tipped his face up towards the mast.

'Unfurl!'

Numbed fingers worked frantically at the leather ties.

Some were less clumsy than others and the sail loosened unevenly from the spar. A sudden shrilling through the rigging heralded the renewal of the storm's wildest efforts and the trireme recoiled from its wrath. One sailor, in a more weakened condition than his comrades, lost his grip and was hurled into the drkness so quickly that none who saw it happen marked where he fell into the sea. But there was no pause in the sailors' efforts. The wind tore at the exposed parts of the sail and nearly succeeded in prising it free of their grip before the sailors managed to tie down the reefing lines. As soon as the.sail was set, the men climbed back along the spar and painstakingly made their way down' to the deck, their haggard faces testimony to the cold and exhaustion they were suffering.

The prefect made his way to the hatch coaming at the stem and carefully lowered himself down into the pitch black interior. The small cabin seemed unnaturally quiet after the shrieking, buffeting wind and rain on deck. The sound of whimpering drew him aft, where the timbers curved together, and a flash of lightning through the hatch revealed the woman wedged into the stem, her arms tightly held round the shoulders of two young children. They shivered, clutching their mother, and the youngest, a boy of five, cried inconsolably, face drenched with spray, tears and snot.

His sister, three years older, just sat, silent but wide-eyed with terror. The trireme's bows suddenly lifted to a huge wave and the prefect pitched towards his passengers. He thrust an arm out against the hull and fell sprawling against the opposite side. He took a moment to recover his breath, and the woman's voice spoke calmly from the darkness.

'We will come through this, won't we?'

Another flash of lightning revealed the panic etched onto the pale faces of the children.

The prefect decided there was no point in mentioning that he had decided to try and beach the trireme. Best save his passengers any further anxiety.

'Of course, my lady. We're running before the storm and as soon as it's passed we'll make our way back up the coast to Rutupiae.'

'I see,' the woman replied flatly, and the prefect realised she had seen through his answer.' Clearly a perceptive woman then, a credit to her noble family and o her husband. She gave her children a reassuring squeeze.

'Did you hear that, my dears? We'll be warm and dry soon enough.'

The prefect recalled their shivering and cursed his thoughtlessness.

Simon Scarrow 'Just a moment, my lady.' His numbed fingers fiddled with the clasp fastening the water-proofed cloak at lis throat.

He swore at his clumsiness, and then the pin came free. He drew it from around his shoulders and held it towards her in the darkness.

'Here, for you and your children, my lady.'

He felt the cloak drawn from him.

'Thank you, Prefect, it's most kind of you. Let's cuddle under this cloak, you two.'

As the prefect drew his knees up and hugged his arms round them, trying to create some centre of warmth to draw comfort from, a hand gently tapped him on the shoulder.

'My lady?'

'It's Valerius Maxentius isn't it?'

'Yes, my lady.'

'Well then, Valerius. Shelter under this cloak with us.

Before the cold kills you."

The casual use of his informal name momentarily shocked the prefect. The he mumbled his thanks and shifted ' over, joining the woman under the cloak. The boy sat huddled between them, shivering violently, and every so often his body was wracked by sobbing.

'Easy there,' the prefect said softly. 'We'll be all right.

You'll see.'

A series of lightning flashes illuminated the cabin, and the prefect and the woman glanced at each other. Her look was questioning, and he shook his head. A fresh deluge of silvery water splashed through the hatch into the cabin. The great timbers of the trireme groaned all around them as the fabric of the vessel was subjected to forces its builders had never dreamed of. The prefect knew that her seams would not stand much more of this violence and eventually the sea would swamp her. And all the slaves chained at the oars, the crewmen and these passengers would drown with him. He cursed softly before he could stop himself. The woman guessed his feelings.

'Valerius, it's not your fault. You could never have foreseen this.'

'I know, my lady. I know.'

'We might yet be saved.'

'Yes, my lady. If you say so.'

Throughout the night the storm swept the trireme down the coast. Halfway up the rigging, the captain braved the biting cold to search for a suitable place to try to beach the trireme.

All the time he was conscious that the ship beneath him was ever more sluggish in its response to the waves. Below decks a number of galley slaves had been unshackled to help with the bailing. They sat in a line and passed buckets from hand to hand, to be emptied over the side. But it was not enough to save the ship; it merely delayed the inevitable moment when a massive wave would burst over the trireme and sink her.