Masters of the Sea Trilogy: Ship of Rome, Captain of Rome, Master of Rome. John Stack

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ his own firm resolutions, inner promises that spoke of retribution and the heavy price to pay.

      Septimus paused in the conversation to look around him. The ship was surrounded on all sides by the sea, an unfamiliar sight as the Aquila normally spent her time in coastal waters. The course of the ship seemed directionless, as if it were merely passing over the waves without a destination in mind. The thought unnerved him.

      ‘What’s our course?’ he asked, knowing that in general they were heading to Rome but wanting to hear specifics that would indicate that Atticus knew exactly how they would get there.

      ‘We’re travelling due north across the Tyrrhenian Sea, along the trading sea-lane to Naples. We will intercept the coast a little south of that city and then head northwest along the coastline to Rome.’

      Septimus noted the easy confidence of the captain.

      ‘I’ve never been on a ship out of sight of land before,’ the centurion added, the featureless sea providing no visible point of reference.

      Atticus turned towards the centurion and smiled.

      ‘My first time was when I was eight,’ he remarked, ‘and I was alone. I was fishing near the shore in my skiff when a storm blew up. It would have taken my sail away but I managed to secure it and weather out the squall until nightfall. By that time I had been carried out to sea.’

      ‘How did you survive?’ Septimus asked, trying to remember what it was to be eight.

      ‘I followed the stars home,’ Atticus replied matter-of-factly.

      The captain smiled inwardly at the easy description of his escape, a contrast to the unmitigated terror he had actually felt at the time.

      ‘Even at eight you could navigate by the stars?’ Septimus asked, doubt in his mind that a young child could achieve such a thing.

      ‘Septimus, one of the first things I remember is my grandfather teaching me about the stars. He said they were the fisherman’s greatest ally against the fickle nature of the sea. The sea is uncertain, but the stars are constant, and a fisherman can trust them with his life. I trusted them that night and I survived.’

      ‘Give me land and a solid road under my feet any day,’ Septimus said, knowing he would never possess the skill that Atticus had at sea, an ease born out of a lifetime of pitting his wits against the sea and winning through every time.

      ‘And give me a fair wind and a good ship,’ Atticus replied.

      Septimus smiled at the rebuttal and turned to walk down to the main deck and the assembled troops of his command. The men were subdued, their flight from the previous day’s battle a bitter shame. Septimus sensed the mood, weighing the impact on his men. Routine was a commander’s greatest ally and, for Septimus’s marines, routine dictated that each day began with combat training. Within thirty minutes they would be sweating heavily under the strain of full combat training, the concentration required clearing their mind of dissension. The men formed ranks and began to warm up. The moves they practised had been performed many times before, but Septimus had taught them that any lesson that might one day save your life was worth learning again and again.

      The sweat was streaming down the marine centurion’s back by the time he disengaged from the training fight with his optio, Quintus. The younger man was also breathing heavily, the sudden burst of speed required to fend off the centurion’s attacks sapping him.

      ‘Good,’ Septimus said, between breaths, ‘very good.’

      All around them the men of the marine century were paired up, each group fighting with the heavy wooden training swords that would build the muscle of all and bruise the limbs of the careless. Septimus had them practising a reverse thrust and the men now incorporated that move into their ever-expanding range of skills.

      ‘Take over, Quintus,’ Septimus said, before bending down to pick up his tunic, the garment discarded an hour before when the sun was two hours above the horizon. As he walked towards the aft-deck, the cooling sea breeze felt fresh over his toned body, his mood light after the morning’s exercise.

      The consul was standing to one side on the aft-deck, two of his guards and the tall Nubian slave in attendance. As Septimus crossed the main deck he felt Scipio’s scrutiny, and the consul turned and spoke a few words to the unmoving Nubian beside him. The slave nodded, his eyes never leaving Septimus. The centurion mounted the aft-deck and walked towards Atticus at the ship’s rudder. The captain was issuing orders to a group of crewmen and, as Septimus approached, the sailors dispersed, fanning out over the ship as each went to the task assigned to him. Atticus looked up at the broad sail, an almost instinctive repetitive look to check and recheck the line of the sail, the angle of the wind, the tension in the running rigging and all the other myriad of minutiae that occurred simultaneously as a ship sped over the water.

      ‘How long has the consul been there?’ Septimus asked.

      ‘About half an hour. He’s been watching your men train. Seems to be discussing the training with his slave.’

      Septimus nodded, knowing a summons was coming before the words were spoken.

      ‘Centurion!’ he heard, and spun around to see the consul beckoning him with a raised hand.

      Septimus crossed the aft-deck and stood to attention before Scipio.

      ‘Your men are impressive, you train them well,’ the consul said coolly. Septimus could sense the undertone of challenge.

      ‘Thank you, Consul.’

      Scipio seemed to study the centurion before him, weighing some unknown factors in his mind.

      ‘I would like you to fight my slave. He is a gladiator from my own school and would relish the challenge.’

      ‘I would welcome the opportunity, Consul,’ Septimus replied, and once more saluted Scipio before leading Khalil to the main deck. He caught the eye of Atticus as he went. Atticus had trained Septimus in one-to-one combat when the centurion had first come aboard the Aquila, but within three months the former legionary’s natural swordsmanship had surpassed Atticus’s median skills. It had been some time since Atticus had seen Septimus bested in a fight. He smiled broadly in anticipation.

      The marines ceased training as they noticed the pair approaching, their purpose obvious as Septimus once more removed his tunic and began to limber up. They quickly formed a semicircle at the fore end so all could see the impending fight, the whispered bets and calls of encouragement steadily growing in intensity as Khalil removed his own tunic to expose his massive frame. Odds were renegotiated as the slave picked up a wooden training sword, his obvious comfort with the weapon a sign that he was familiar with it. All activity on the ship seemed to cease as the two men came toe to toe.

      ‘What’s your name, slave?’ Septimus asked, the last word spat in derision to raise the ire of his opponent.

      ‘Khalil.’

      ‘Well, Khalil, I will teach you a lesson or two today,’ Septimus taunted as he began sidestepping to his right, opening a circle of two arms’ length.

      ‘Not before I shame you in front of your men, Roman,’ Khalil replied, menace in his voice.

      Septimus was shocked by the threat, the audacity of the slave to speak so aggressively СКАЧАТЬ