Fire in the East Read Online Free Page B

below.
     
    It was the last hour of the day when the full force of the storm hit. The sky became as dark as Hades, blue-black with an unearthly yellow tinge, the wind screamed, the air was full of flying water, and the ship pitched savagely forward, her stern clear of the sea. Ballista saw two of his staff sliding across the deck. One was caught by the arm of a sailor. The other slammed into the rail. Above the howl of the elements, he could hear a man screaming in agony. He saw two main dangers. A wave could break clean over the ship, the pumps would fail, the vessel would become waterlogged, unresponsive to the helm, and then, sooner or later, turn broadside on to the storm and roll over. Or she might pitch pole, a wave lift her stern so high and drive her prow so deep that she would be upended or forced down beneath the waves. At least the latter would be quicker. Ballista wished he could stand, holding on firmly and letting his body try to move with the motion of the ship. But, just as in battle, an example had to be set, and he had to remain in his chair of office. He saw now why they had bolted it so securely to the deck. He looked down and realized that the boy Demetrius was clinging to his legs in the classic pose of a suppliant. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder.
    The captain dragged himself aft. Holding fast to the sternpost, he bawled the ritual words: ‘Alexander lives and reigns.’ As if in rejection, a jagged bolt of lightning flashed into the sea to port and a thunderclap boomed. Timing the fall of the deck, the captain half ran half slid to Ballista. All deference to rank gone, he grabbed the curule throne and Ballista’s arm. ‘Got to keep just enough way to steer. The real danger is if a steering oar breaks. Unless the storm gets worse. We should pray to our gods.’
    Ballista thought of Ran, the grim sea goddess of the north, with her drowning net, and decided that things were bad enough already.
    ‘Are there any islands to the north that we might get in the lee of?’ he shouted.
    ‘If the storm drives us far enough north, and we are not yet with Neptune, there are the islands of Diomedes. But... in the circumstances... it may be best for us not to go there.’
    Demetrius started to yell. His dark eyes were bright with terror, his words barely audible.
    ‘... Stupid stories. A Greek... blown into the deep sea... islands no one has seen, full of satyrs, horses’ tails growing out of their arses, huge pricks.... threw them a slave girl... raped her all over... their only way to escape... swore it was true.’
    ‘Who knows what is true...’ shouted the captain, and disappeared forward.
     
    At dawn, three days after the storm first hit and two days overdue, the imperial trireme the Concordia rounded the headland and pulled into the tiny semicircular harbour of Cassiope on the island of Corcyra. The sea reflected the perfect blue of a Mediterranean sky. The merest hint of the dying night’s offshore breeze blew into their faces.
    ‘Not a good start to your voyage, Dominus,’ said the captain.
    ‘It would have been a great deal worse without your seamanship and that of your crew,’ replied Ballista.
    The captain nodded acknowledgement of the compliment. Barbarian he might be, but this Dux had good manners. He was no coward either. He had not put a foot wrong during the storm. At times he had almost seemed to be enjoying it, grinning like a madman.
    ‘The ship is much knocked about. I am afraid that it will be at least four days before we can put back to sea.’
    ‘It cannot be helped,’ said Ballista. ‘When she is repaired, how long will it take us to get to Syria?’
    ‘Down the west coast of Greece, across the Aegean by way of Delos, across open sea from Rhodes to Cyprus, then open sea again from Cyprus to Syria...’ The captain frowned in thought. ‘... At this time of year...’ His face cleared. ‘If the weather is perfect, nothing breaks on the ship, the men stay healthy, and we