Hyperborea veteran of ro.., p.20
Hyperborea (Veteran of Rome Book 4), page 20
Chapter Twenty-Eight – The Hermes
“Is that the ship?” Cunomoltus exclaimed in a doubtful voice.
“Yes, I think so,” Marcus replied.
The two of them stood on the quayside looking out across the busy river. The tide was in and before them, the broad Thames stretched away, in places half a mile wide, as out on the water, numerous ships bobbed up and down. It was morning, a fresh, warm breeze was blowing, and in the dull, grey skies, there was a hint of rain. Above them in the breeze, sea gulls were circling, emitting their high-pitched screeches, as they searched for their next meal. The Hermes rode at anchor about thirty yards from the waterfront. The small, eighty-ton merchant ship looked battered and old. Her round, wooden hull rose towards the stern, where it ended in a carved swan’s neck, with the two massive steering oars dipping into the water on either side of the poop deck. A small, windowless cabin with a ladder leading up to the helmsman’s position on its roof, occupied the rest of the stern. In the centre of the twenty-yard long boat, was a single mast and towards the bow, another smaller mast angled forwards like a spear. A pennant bearing the proud face of Hermes, messenger of the gods, fluttered in the gentle breeze. The sails however had been stowed and there was no sign of life on board.
“Where are the oars? I can’t see any holes in the hull for the oars?” Cunomoltus muttered unhappily.
“It’s a merchant ship, they don’t have oars,” Marcus replied. “There would be no space for the cargo if they had banks of oars. The only thing that moves the ship is the sail. The good news is that it means we won’t need a large crew.”
“Great,” Cunomoltus replied in an unconvincing voice, as he gazed at the vessel out on the water.
“Look,” Marcus growled, pointing at the prow of the ship, “there on the prow; see the figurehead sticking out at the front. That will be the face of Hermes. These sailors are a superstitious lot, so let me do the talking. I don’t want them hearing about the voices in your bloody head.”
“It doesn’t look like anyone is on board,” Cunomoltus replied sulkily.
Marcus said nothing as he raised his arm and beckoned to one of the small boats that was plying between the moored ships, in the river and the harbour.
“Just don’t speak,” Marcus snapped tensely, as one of the little boats turned and headed towards where they were standing. “You are a much better person when you don’t say anything.”
Marcus and Cunomoltus were silent as the boat-man ferried them across the water to the Hermes and, as they drew closer, Marcus could see a black cat perched on a wooden yardarm, high up the mast. The animal was watching them with confident, curious, yellow eyes. Just below and around the waterline, the solid looking hull of the ship was covered in places with barnacles, algae and slime. Towards the bow section of the hull, a large, faded blue-eye had been painted onto the side, whose purpose Marcus guessed, was to safeguard the ship and fend off evil, supernatural forces.
As the small lighter came alongside the Hermes, Marcus grabbed hold of the rope netting that hung over the side and heaved himself up the high hull and, after a few awkward moments, he finally clambered over the side and onto the deck. The ship’s superstructure was smaller than he had been expecting and the vessel was only five or six yards wide at its widest point. A couple of closed hatches, leading down into the hold, had been set into the deck just in front of the main mast. The square hatches had been battened down and secured by a heavy, iron chain and the deck of the ship was covered with discarded rubbish, mud and bird shit. As Marcus looked around, he heard Cunomoltus behind him, swearing as he clambered up the netting.
“Who are you? What are you doing on my ship?” a deep, voice suddenly boomed from the doorway of the small cabin.
Marcus turned to see a big tanned man of around forty-five with a black beard and a reddish nose standing in the doorway clutching a hammer. The man looked annoyed at the intrusion and one of his eyes was bloodshot.
“My name is Marcus. Are you Alexandros?”
“I am,” the captain replied, sizing Marcus up with a practised eye, “what are you doing on my ship? I did not give you permission to come on board.”
At Marcus’ side, Cunomoltus had finally managed to clamber up the hull, and with a dull groan, he rolled onto the deck.
“I was told that you are looking for work,” Marcus said, gazing at the captain. “They told me that you are the most fearless captain in Londinium. I am interested in hiring you, your crew and your ship for a long journey.”
Alexandros reached up to stroke his beard with a thoughtful look, as he turned to gaze at Cunomoltus, who was still lying on his back on the deck.
“Who told you this?”
“It doesn’t matter. Are you, your crew, and your ship for hire?”
“What’s the cargo and the destination?” Alexandros snapped, as Cunomoltus slowly got up onto his feet.
“No cargo, just us, passengers. The destination is north, it will be a long journey,” Marcus replied smoothly.
“What, no cargo?” Alexandros frowned and took a step towards Marcus, slapping the hammer into his empty hand. “What is this, a joke? You are either very rich or very stupid.”
“I am willing to pay,” Marcus said.
“What, just the two of you, no cargo and a destination in the north. It will cost you three hundred Denarii plus expenses and insurance costs.”
“What is there to insure, I said there was no cargo,” Marcus snapped.
“Yes well,” Alexandros said sizing Marcus up, “I figure a man like you has the money and you seem desperate to go, so why not? If something happens to my ship I want her insured.”
“Fine,” Marcus muttered, “Three hundred it is, half now and half when we reach our destination.”
“Which is?”
Marcus paused and glanced at Cunomoltus, who was studying the captain.
“North,” Marcus said quietly, “Then out west across the ocean until we reach land. We are heading for the druid trading post in the land of the people of the Rocky River. The druids call them the Penawapskewi. The place I want to go to is called Hyperborea.”
The deck of the Hermes fell silent and for a long moment, the only noise was the creaking of ropes, the screeching sea gulls and the gentle slap of the waves against the side of the hull.
“You are not joking are you,” Alexandros exclaimed at last, as he stared at Marcus in surprise. “You are really willing to head out into the ocean. You actually mean what you say.”
“Well, do you have the balls to make the journey or should I be looking for another captain and crew,” Marcus said.
“Hyperborea,” Alexandros muttered to himself, as he allowed himself a little shake of his head. “I have been sailing the sea since I was ten years old, but I don’t know where Hyperborea is. Some say it does not exist. But you seem certain about this. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Are you, or are you not, willing to go there?” Cunomoltus interrupted, in an irritated voice. “I really don’t want to be wasting my precious time.”
“The druid trading post exists,” Marcus said, “The journey is possible. The druids have been making the crossing for many years and if they can do it, then so can we. Think about the fame and fortune you will have when you return.”
“Such a crossing of the outer ocean will take weeks, maybe months,” Alexandros replied, as an excited gleam appeared in his eyes, “It will be dangerous and the gods only know what we will find out there on the endless sea. The western ocean is not meant to be crossed, but if you are willing to pay for it, then I am your captain. Gods, you have no idea how much I have wanted to do something crazy like this before I become too old. There is just one problem. I don’t have a crew.”
Marcus nodded. “How many men do you need to handle this ship?” he said.
Alexandros shrugged, “four or five able bodied men should do it. My wife and daughter will be coming with us, but that still leaves us short of two. It is going to be difficult to get sailors to agree to come with us. Most men that I’ve known are full of courage on land, but piss themselves when they encounter their first storm. And certainly none of them are going to agree to a voyage that means setting out west across the ocean. I can’t set sail without the extra hands.”
“We’ll find them,” Marcus replied, with a confident little nod. “Give me a day or two to raise the money and I will meet you back here on board. In the meantime, you will get us the provisions and supplies that we need and you will clean up this shit on deck and get the ship ready to sail. I want to leave as soon as possible.”
“Alright,” the captain said, extending his right hand towards Marcus. Marcus clasped hold of Alexandros’s hand, gripping it tightly with his own, right hand.
“And one more thing,” he growled, “As long as you are employed by me, there will be no drunkenness on board. That goes for both of you,” he added turning to look at Cunomoltus.
Chapter Twenty-Nine – The Crew
Marcus, his face a stoic mask, sat in the lighter as the boatman ferried them across the water to the Hermes. A sheathed gladius hung from his belt and in his lap he was clutching a leather bag and a larger sack lay at his feet. Cunomoltus sat beside him looking moody and jittery. Two spears leaned against his shoulder and the bruises and cuts on his face were healing. It was morning and three days had passed since they had spoken to Alexandros. Falco’s bankers in the Forum had needed time to gather the money and Marcus and Cunomoltus had spent the time waiting in the Mule tavern and keeping off the streets. Marcus had taken the time to write a letter to Kyna, which he had sealed and left in the care of Falco’s bankers, to be given to her, only if he failed to return within a year. The unexpected journey would be hard on the women back on the farm on Vectis, but he had consoled himself with the thought that they had known what they were signing up to, when they had married into a military family.
In the river, the Hermes rode at anchor and Marcus could see a couple of figures standing on her deck. Another lighter lay alongside the ship and a man was standing up and handing amphorae up to another person, who was leaning over the side of the hull. As they came alongside Marcus grasped hold of the netting, and handing the leather pouch to his brother, he grasped hold of the rope and pulled himself up and over the side of the ship. As he regained his footing, Cunomoltus tossed the pouch and the larger sack up onto the deck and started to clamber up the netting, awkwardly clutching the two spears. On the deck towards the bow of the vessel, a young woman of around sixteen was on her knees scrubbing the wooden planks with a brush and, as he looked around, Marcus could see that the Hermes had been cleaned up. A cluster of amphorae, sacks, bales of cloth, stacks of wooden planks and two large sealed barrels stood waiting to be lowered into the hull through one of the opened hatchways.
“Have you got the money?” Alexandros called out, as he came up to Marcus from where he’d been supervising the loading of the supplies.
In response Marcus tossed him the small pouch. Alexandros caught it and swiftly undid the leather thongs and peered inside. Then a broad smile appeared on his lips and he turned to look at someone inside the small cabin at the stern of the ship.
“Cora, we’re rich,” Alexandros boomed happily in his deep voice. “I told you that he would deliver.”
From the doorway to the cabin on the superstructure, a woman of around forty appeared. Her jet-black hair was tied back in a ponytail and her face looked every inch as weather beaten and tough as Alexandros’s. For a moment she said nothing as she studied Marcus and Cunomoltus.
“If they touch Calista,” she said sharply, turning to Alexandros, “I will cut their throats. Make sure that they understand.”
And with that she vanished back into the cabin.
Alexandros turned to look down at the bag of gold coins in his hand. Then he looked up at Marcus and shrugged.
“That’s my wife, Cora,” he said sheepishly, “and that over there is my daughter, Calista. So you heard my wife. This ship is no whorehouse, so I hope for your sake that you have done all your shagging in town. There is going to be none on this ship, none for you at any rate.”
And with that Alexandros threw back his head and boomed with laughter.
“We will be no trouble,” Marcus said glancing at Cunomoltus. “Just take us where we want to go and you will get the other half of the payment once we get there, like we agreed.”
“Like we agreed,” Alexandros nodded.
For a moment the three of them were silent as they watched the boatmen heaving the supplies up onto the deck. On the roof of the deck house, the black, ship’s cat was sprawled out in the sun, licking itself.
“The talk in the harbour,” Alexandros said at last in a careful voice, “is all about Meryn’s execution and the slaughter of the Reds. I was asleep upstairs in the Gay Crab when it happened.” Alexandros raised his thick eyebrows. “I slept right through it, but luckily my wife and daughter stopped those Batavians from murdering me. The Blues are in control now but nothing much has changed. A ship’s captain still has to pay them if he wants anything done.” Alexandros paused and glanced cautiously at Marcus. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with all of that, would you?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Marcus said, “Would it bother you if I did?”
“No, not at all,” Alexandros said hastily, as he tied together the cords of the leather pouch and slipped it into a pocket.
“Is it not bad luck to have women on board a ship?” Cunomoltus murmured unhappily.
Alexandros turned to look at him with a little contemptuous smile.
“Cora is the daughter of a sailor,” he replied, “and she has been with me on every voyage that I have made. She knows the sea better than anyone and she is not afraid like you are. And as for my daughter, she was born at sea on this very ship. Don’t worry about my women, they are hardened sea dogs and they know how to cook too.”
“So how come you have no work?” Cunomoltus replied with a voice that bristled with wounded pride. “You have a ship and yet you laze about here in the river. You have been a captain for how many years? They told us that you are drunk most of the time.”
“Be quiet, brother,” Marcus snapped as he angrily rounded on Cunomoltus but Alexandros held up his hand and shook his head.
“No let him speak, he has a fair point,” the Captain replied, eyeing Cunomoltus with a sudden gleam. “If you really want to know, I have a dream, but no one believes me or wants to support me when I explain it to them. They call me crazy, a fool, they dismiss me as a dreamer, but what do they know? No one has the balls anymore. No one is curious anymore. People no longer have any grand vision.” Alexandros raised his hand and pointed a finger at Cunomoltus. “You won’t believe how frustrating it is to be surrounded by such ignorance, fear and disbelief. So yes, I like to have a drink now and then. If I didn’t, I would go insane.”
“A dream?” Cunomoltus sneered, looking doubtful.
Alexandros took a deep breath and, with a frustrated look, he glanced around at the supplies piling up on the deck.
“Listen,” he said lowering his voice conspiratorially as he moved closer to Marcus and Cunomoltus, “This is the best business proposal you are ever going to hear about. In Rome, capital of the world, you won’t believe how many rich ladies there are, and what do all these women want?”
Alexandros fell silent as he switched his eager gaze from Cunomoltus to Marcus, but when they didn’t answer he sighed. “What all these women desire is silk from the land of the Chin far to the east,” he snapped. “The silk worm from which they get the cloth, is only found there and it’s expensive, very expensive. Now since the Persians have closed off the overland silk road, the price of silk has risen and risen and the good ladies of Rome are becoming increasingly desperate to get their hands on the stuff.”
Alexandros paused and gave Marcus an excited nod.
“So my dream is to open a new trade route,” he exclaimed triumphantly, “Not by going east, but by sailing west across the ocean. If I can find a way of reaching the land of the Chin by sailing west across the ocean, I will become the wealthiest and most famous sea captain the world has ever known. That would be a true legacy to leave to my daughter, don’t you agree?”
“You are crazy, utterly mad,” Cunomoltus said swiftly as he shook his head in despair.
Alexandros shrugged and turned to look at Marcus.
“But you don’t think I am,” he said with a sudden grin, “I can see it in your eyes. You are willing to go. You are not afraid of crossing the ocean and for that I thank you. At last there is someone who doesn’t think me crazy.”
Marcus had been studying Alexandros, with a thoughtful expression.
“This ship is going in search of the druid trading post in Hyperborea,” Marcus said quietly, “That’s where I want to go. We are not going on some random journey to find a new sea route to the land of the Chin.”
“Of course,” Alexandros said, lowering his gaze, “You are the man with the gold. I am just pleased to have met a man who is not afraid of the endless sea.”
Marcus nodded.
“What about a crew?” he said, “Last time we spoke you said that you needed an extra pair of hands to crew the ship?”
“Actually I found them,” Alexandros replied, “They are down below in the hull, sleeping. They are keen, very keen. A father and son. They are not true sailors,” Alexandros shrugged, “more like passengers, who will work for their passage across the ocean. But they were the only ones to show any interest and they seem fit enough. No one else wanted to go, even at double rates. So it seems that I am going to be the only proper sailor on board. Woe to the ship if anything were to happen to me, eh?” Alexandros grinned as moments later his deep, booming laughter shook the boat.
“What do you mean; they are passengers?” Marcus frowned as he ignored the Captain’s laughter. “You are not paying them? Are you saying that they actually want to go to Hyperborea? How can this be so? What business do they have there?”
