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 Marcus’ earlier suspicions. Mutely, he pointed to where the rope was made fast and Marcus nodded, returning to his inspection of the waves.
Then he dived, turning slightly in the air to hit the grey water with a hard smacking sound.
Marcus held his breath as he plunged under the surface, jerking as the rope stopped his descent. He could still feel movement as the ship started to tow him. He fought to reach the surface and gasped in relief as he broke through the waves near the rudders.
He could see their dark flanks cutting the waves and tried to find a handhold on the slippery surface above the waterline. It was impossible and he found he had to swim strongly just to stay near them. As soon as he slowed his hands and legs, he drifted out until the rope was taut again.
The cold was cramping his muscles and Marcus realised he had only a short time before he was useless in the water. Gripping his dagger tightly in his right fist, he gulped breath and dived below, using his hands to guide him down the slippery green underside of the nearest rudder.
At the base, his lungs were bursting. He was able to hold himself for a few seconds while his fingers scrabbled around in the slime, but he could feel nothing that felt like the sort of shell Crixus had told him to expect. Cursing, he kicked his legs back to the surface. As he couldn’t hold the rudders to rest, he felt his strength slipping away.
He pulled in another breath and disappeared down into the darkness once more.
Crixus felt the presence of the old gladiator before he saw him reach his side and look down at the quivering rope in the water between the rudders. When he met the man’s eyes, Crixus could see grey anger and took a step back in reaction.
‘What are you doing?’ Renius asked quietly.
‘He’s checking the rudders and cutting off barnacles,’ Crixus replied.
Renius’ lip twisted with distaste. Even with one arm, he radiated violence, standing utterly still. Crixus noticed the gladius strapped to his belt and wiped his hands on his ragged cloth leggings. Together, they watched Marcus surface and go under three more times. His arms flapped aimlessly in the water below and both men could hear his exhausted coughing.
‘Bring him up now. Before he drowns himself,’ Renius said.
Crixus nodded quickly and began to haul in the rope, hand over hand. Renius didn’t offer to help him, but standing with his hand resting on the gladius hilt seemed enough encouragement.
Crixus was sweating heavily by the time Marcus reached the deck level. He hung almost limp in the rope, his limbs too tired to control.
As if he was loading a bale of cloth, Crixus pulled him over the edge and rolled him face up on the deck, eyes closed and panting. Crixus smiled as he saw the dagger was still in one hand and reached for it. There was a quick sound behind him and he froze as Renius brought his sword into the line of sight.
‘What are you doing now?’
‘Taking the dagger! He … he had to bring a shell back …’ the man stammered.
‘Check his other hand,’ Renius said.
Marcus could barely hear him through the water sounds in his ears and the pain in his chest and limbs, but he opened his left fist and in it, surrounded by scratches and cuts, was a round shell with its live occupant glistening wetly inside.
Crixus’ jaw dropped and Renius waved him away with his sword.
‘Get that second mate to gather the men … Parus, his name was. This has gone far enough.’
Crixus looked at the sword and the man’s expression and didn’t
