Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

In a chaos of emotion Nicander’s feet released themselves and he followed, his hand shaking so much he nearly dropped the knife.

The sharp bow came together at the prow and the compulsors had set up their ‘home’ there in the cool. The rest of the crew were under cover further in, taking advantage of the fatter turn of hull to sleep across-ways.

A sudden snort made Marius drop to his knee but it was only an unknown snorer.

He inched on to where the foredeck fell away to the open prow, looked back once at Nicander then eased forward the last few inches. He lifted his head up to peer over and down but quickly turned and gestured savagely that they should return to their sleeping place.

‘Those fucking bastards! We haven’t a chance – they’ve rumbled us!’

It took some time for the torrent of swearing and cursing to subside. Either suspecting them or from instinct born of their trade, the compulsors had given up their prime position in the bows and were now sleeping with the rest of the crew.

In the morning a drifting palm-tree was sighted.

‘Ah. Tomorrow, maybe the next – we dock at Taprobane,’ the Arab captain told them.

‘Think of something!’ Marius whispered savagely. ‘Full on, we haven’t a prayer against ’em with their weapons and soldier mates.’

‘I… I can’t.’

‘Then…’

A coldness settled in the pit of his stomach. The fates had thwarted their every move, destroyed each cunning plan.

They had run out of ideas.

As the day progressed, the seas lost their energetic tumbling, and a long, slow swell came, a deep and languorous motion spreading ever on to the distant haze of the horizon.

The vessel slowed and the captain frowned in vexation. Two hours later vapour began rising from the sea and the distant haze grew more marked. The band of white swelled, reached out and the coolness of a tropic mist wreathed around them.

It thickened. Nicander watched as the ship’s bow faded and their world contracted to barely a dozen feet about them, the passage of ship through the water now not much more than a muted chuckle.

It only delayed the inevitable, of course. The fog would burn off, the winds return and in hours they would meet their fate.

Nicander’s spine stiffened. He couldn’t do it! Not meekly resign to what was coming.

He began pacing the deck but when he reached the stern he stopped abruptly.

Surely it was not so simple!

‘Sir, where exactly will Taprobane be?’ he asked the captain innocently.

Surprised, the man hesitated and sniffed for the wind, a tiny zephyr coming in over the bow.

‘There!’ he pointed.

Nicander strolled over to where Marius stood glumly. ‘Ready to leave? We have to move fast!’

Marius stared at him as if he was mad.

‘Come with me – don’t look around.’

He led the way aft. ‘Marius, we’ve got just one chance to get away now before we land at Taprobane.’

He nodded almost imperceptibly to past the stern.

Marius followed the direction then went rigid and hissed, ‘No! I’m not! I can’t do it, you know I can’t!’

Nicander gave a cynical smile. ‘You might not like it, but there’s times when you have to, Marius.’

‘But… but…’ he looked again in dismay at the two ship’s boats which bobbed and snubbed at the end of the painter.

One had oars in, probably to act as the lifeboat, the other was bare.

‘You can pull an oar, you told me.’

‘Yes, but…’ spluttered Marius.

‘Sea’s flat calm – we’d make Taprobane in a few hours. I know where it is. Then we lay low until the compulsors have quit the place.’

‘They’d see us get our gear!’

‘That’s why we can’t get it. We act now, this minute.’

‘Leave our gear? Including the letter?’

Nicander looked at him with a twisted smile.

‘Of course it’s no bloody use, is it?’ Marius said weakly.

‘I want you to watch down the deck. Tell me the instant no one is looking. I’ll pull the boat in and cut the rope ready. You jump in and take the oars, I’ll push it off.’

‘Yes, Nico, I’ll do it.’

‘Stout fellow,’ Nicander said, recognising the courage behind it.

He turned to gaze out into the white mist astern as though in contemplation.

For long minutes he held his pose, then blurted nervously, ‘Hurry up!’

‘It’s the captain,’ Marius came back. ‘He’s talking to someone.’

‘This fog won’t stay for ever – we’ve got to get away before it lifts or they’ll be after us!’

There was no answer – then a single word. ‘Now!’

Nicander bent to the bollard where the lines were secured and pulled for his life. He strained and heaved but the boats were a dead weight.

‘Help me!’ he gasped.

Marius hesitated then, shouldering him out of the way, braced against the bollard and hauled mightily. There was movement, then more until it was hand over hand and they came up fast.

Nicander swivelled to glance forward. No one was looking their way.

Marius fended the boats off with his foot.

‘Get in!’ Nicander croaked.

Marius lowered himself in, clambering to the further one, with the oars.

Nicander snatched a look back – the captain was staring aft in astonishment. ‘Quick! Get going!’ he yelped, tumbling in the boat.

There was a commanding shout, then the sound of running feet.

Nicander fumbled for his knife and began a frantic sawing at the rough, hairy rope but it was strong and thick.

Marius had the oars in their pins ready to pull. ‘Cut the fucking thing now!’

Finally the rope parted and fell away.

‘Go!’ shrieked Nicander.

With several quick digs on one oar Marius pivoted the boat about and then with deep, powerful strokes he had the little craft surging away.

As they disappeared into the embrace of the blank, cool whiteness of the fog, angry hails came across the water.

Nicander remembered the captain’s direction: fine to the left of the bow. In the last seconds before the long shape was swallowed up, he had oriented. ‘Cut around, Marius. Head that way.’

There were no sounds, only the rippling of water as they sped on into nothingness.

Nicander sank back. ‘Do you know, I think we’ve made it?’

Marius continued to pull viciously.

‘You can ease off now,’ Nicander said. ‘That is, we don’t know how far you’re going to have to row.’

‘No!’ Marius gasped between pants. ‘If they see us when the fog goes, they’ll sail after us. Those fucking compulsors will force ’em to.’

He lasted a full hour before he lifted the oars. ‘I’m beat. Your turn.’

The last time Nicander had been at the oars had been on the lake along from Leptis Magna, entertaining a lady before he had left for Rome. She had an infuriating giggle, he remembered. He took the oars and settled to the task, leaning far forward and back to get the longest stroke as his brother had taught him. It was tiring but, pacing himself, he endured.

‘When will we know we’ve reached Taprobane?’ Marius grunted, trying to peer into the unbroken white wall.

‘Look down into the water. When you see the bottom shallowing, give a shout.’

Marius stared into the translucent green depths.

After some time they allowed themselves a break. Lying as best they could across the unforgiving wood of the thwarts they sank into blessed rest.

Nicander groaned that they must continue, and he took the hateful oars to start the painful business again.

At least the fog remained. Thick and concealing, it was enabling their escape.

Their world had now shrunk to just them, their boat and a watery void.

‘I think it’s coming on for evening,’ Nicander said nervously, noting the subtle change in the light.