The Emperor Series Books 1-4. Conn Iggulden

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      Marcus gaped as the figure shot past him. In the same moment as he saw the hand gripping the spar and the face grinning up at him, he lost balance and swayed in panic, suddenly knowing he would be smashed onto the deck. More faces below swam into his vision. They all seemed to be looking up, pale blurs and pointing fingers.

      Marcus waved his arms frantically and arched back and forth in whip-like spasms as he fought to save himself. Then he steadied and concentrated on the spar, ignoring the drop below and trying to find the rhythm of muscle he had so enjoyed only moments before.

      ‘You nearly went there,’ the sailor said, still casually hanging from the spar by one arm, seemingly oblivious to the drop. It had been a clever trick and had nearly worked. Chuckling and shaking his head, the man started to reach out to a rope when Marcus trod on the fingers that were wrapped around the crosspiece.

      ‘Hey!’ the man shouted, but Marcus ignored him, putting all his weight on his heel as he shifted with the movement of the Lucidae. Suddenly, he was enjoying it again and took a deep, cleansing breath. The fingers squirmed beneath him and there was an edge of panic in the sailor's voice as he found he couldn't quite reach the nearest rope, even bringing his legs up. With his hand free, he would have swung and released without any difficulty, but, held fast, he could only dangle and shout curses.

      Without warning, Marcus moved his foot to take the last step to the end of the spar and was cheered by the scrambling sounds below him as the sailor, caught by surprise, slid and gripped furiously to save himself. Marcus looked down and saw the angry stare as the sailor began to climb back up to the crosspiece. There was murder in his expression and Marcus moved quickly to sit down in the centre of the spar, gripping the mast-top firmly between his thighs. Still feeling unsafe, he wrapped his left leg around the mast below to hold himself steady. He took out Marius' dagger and began to whittle his initials into the wood at the very top.

      The sailor almost sprang onto the crosspiece and stood at the end, glaring. Marcus ignored him, but he could practically hear the train of thought as the man realised he had no weapons and that his superior balance was cancelled by the firm grip Marcus had on the mast. To get close enough to shove Marcus off, he would have to risk getting the dagger in his throat. The seconds ticked by.

      ‘All right, then. You keep the knife. Time to get down.’

      ‘You first,’ Marcus said, without looking up.

      He listened to the dwindling sounds of the sailor's descent and finished carving his initials into the hard wood. In all, he was disappointed. If he carried on making enemies at this rate, there really would be a knife in the dark one night.

      Diplomacy was, he decided, a lot harder than it looked.

      Renius was not around to congratulate him on his safe return from the high rigging, so Marcus continued his round of the ship on his own. After the initial excitement at the thought of winning the dagger, the stares he received were either uninterested or openly malevolent. Marcus clasped his hands behind his back to stop the involuntary shaking that had hit them as his feet touched the safe wood of the deck. He nodded to every glance as if it was a word of greeting and, to his surprise, one or two nodded back, perhaps only from habit, but it reassured him a little.

      One sailor, his long hair tied back with a strip of blue cloth, was clearly trying to meet Marcus' eye. He seemed friendly enough, so Marcus stopped.

      ‘What do you do here?’ he asked, a little warily.

      ‘Come to the stern … First Mate,’ said the man and strode off, gesturing him to follow. Marcus walked with him to stand by the two steering oars.

      ‘My name's Crixus. I do a lot of things when they needs doing, but my special job is to free the rudders when they get fouled. It could be weed, but it's usually fishing nets.’

      ‘How do you free them?’

      Marcus could guess at the answer, but he asked anyway, trying to sound light and cheerfully interested. He had never been a strong swimmer, but this man's chest expanded to ridiculous proportions when he took a breath.

      ‘You should find it easy after your little walk on the mast. I just dive off the side, swim down to the rudders and use my knife to cut off whatever is fouling them.’

      ‘That sounds like a dangerous job,’ Marcus replied, pleased at the easy grin he received in return.

      ‘It is, if there are sharks down there. They follow Lucidae, see, in case we throw any scraps off.’

      Marcus rubbed his chin, trying to remember what a shark was.

      ‘Big are they, these sharks?’

      Crixus nodded with energy. ‘Gods, yes. Some of them could swallow a man whole! One washed up near my village once and it had half a man inside. Bit him in two, it must have done.’

      Marcus looked at him and thought he had another one trying to scare him off.

      ‘What do you do when you meet these sharks down there then?’ he said.

      Crixus laughed. ‘You punch them on the nose. It puts them off having you for a meal.’

      ‘Right,’ Marcus said dubiously, looking into the dark, cold waters. He wondered if he should put this one off until the following day. The climb down from the mast-top had loosened most of his muscles, but every movement still made him wince and the weather wasn't warm enough to make swimming attractive.

      He looked at Crixus and could see the man expected him to refuse. Inwardly, he sighed. Nothing was working out the way he'd intended.

      ‘There isn't anything fouling the rudders today, is there?’ he said and Crixus' smile widened as he thought Marcus was trying to find excuses not to try it.

      ‘Not in clear sea, no. Just scrape a barnacle off the bottom of one – it's a shell, a little animal that attaches to ships. Bring one back and I'll buy you a drink. Come back empty-handed and that pretty little blade belongs to me, all right?’

      Marcus agreed reluctantly and began to remove his tunic and sandals, leaving him standing in just the undercloth that protected his modesty. Under Crixus' amused eye, he began to stretch his legs, using the wooden rail as a brace. He took his time, knowing from Crixus' enthusiasm that the man thought he'd never manage it.

      Finally, he was loose and ready. Taking his knife, he stepped up onto the flat wooden section around the stern, readying himself for the dive. It was a good twenty feet, even in such a low-slung vessel as the Lucidae, which fairly wallowed in the water. He tensed, trying to remember the few dives he had managed on a trip to a lake with Gaius' parents when he was eight or nine. Hands together.

      ‘You'd better put this on,’ Crixus interrupted his thoughts. The man was holding the tar-sealed end of a slim rope. ‘It goes around your waist to stop you being left behind by Lucidae. She doesn't look fast, but you couldn't catch her by swimming.’

      ‘Thanks,’ Marcus said suspiciously, wondering if Crixus had meant to let him dive without it, changing his mind at the last moment. He tied the rope securely and looked at the cold water below, scythed into plough lines by the rudders. A thought struck him.

      ‘Where's the other end?’

      Crixus had the grace to look embarrassed and confirmed СКАЧАТЬ