The Emperor Series Books 1-5. Conn Iggulden

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 argue.

      Renius crouched at Marcus’ side and sheathed his sword. Reaching over, he slapped Marcus’ white face a few times, bringing a little colour back. Marcus coughed wretchedly.

      ‘I thought you’d stop when you nearly fell off the spar. What you think you are proving, I don’t know. Stay here and rest while I deal with the men.’

      Marcus tried to say something, but Renius shook his head.

      ‘Don’t argue. I’ve been dealing with men like these all my life.’

      Without another word, he stood and walked to where the crew had gathered, taking a position where they could all see him. He spoke through teeth held tightly together, but his voice carried to all of them.

      ‘His mistake was expecting to be treated with honour by scum like you. Now I don’t have the inclination to win your trust or your respect. I’ll give you a simple choice from this moment. You do your jobs well. You work hard and stand your watches and keep everything tight until we make port. I have killed more men than I can count and I will gut any man who does not obey me in this. Now be men! If anyone wants to make pretty words to argue with me, let him take up a sword and gather his friends and come against me all at once.’

      His voice rose to a bellow. ‘Don’t walk away from me here and plot in corners like old ladies in the sun! Speak now, fight now, for if you don’t and I find whispers later, I will crack your heads open for you, I swear it!’

      He glared around at them and the men looked at their feet. No one spoke, but Renius said nothing. The silence went on and on, growing painful. No one moved, they stood like statues on the decks. At last, he took a breath and snarled at them.

      ‘Not a single one of you with courage enough to take on an old man with one arm? Then get back to your work and work well, for I’ll be watching each one of you and I won’t give warnings.’

      He walked through them and they parted, standing mutely aside. Crixus looked at Parus and he shrugged slightly, stepping back with the rest. The Lucidae sailed on serenely through the cold sea.

      Renius sagged against the cabin door as it closed behind him. He could feel his armpits were damp with sweat and cursed under his breath. He was not used to bluffing men into obedience, but his balance was terrible and he knew he was still weak. He wanted to sleep, but could not until he had finished his exercises. Sighing, he drew his gladius and went through the strokes he had been taught half a century before, faster and faster until the blade hit the roof of the small space and wedged. Renius swore in anger and the men near his door heard him and looked at each other with wide eyes.

      That night, Marcus was standing at the prow on his own, looking out at the moonlit waves and feeling miserable. His efforts of the day had earned him nothing and having to have Renius clear up his failure felt like a metal weight in his chest.

      He heard low voices behind him and swung to see black figures coming around the raised cabins. He recognised Crixus and Parus, and the man from the high rigging, whose name he did not know. He steadied himself for the blows, knowing he couldn’t take them all, but Crixus held out a leather cup of some dark liquid. He was smiling slightly, not sure Marcus wouldn’t dash it out of his hand.

      ‘Here. I promised you a drink if you picked up a shell and I keep my promises.’

      Marcus took the cup and the three men relaxed visibly, coming over to lean against the side and look out over the black water as it passed below them. All three had similar cups and Crixus filled them from a soft leather bag that gurgled when he shifted its weight under his arm.

      Marcus could smell the bitter liquid as he raised it to his mouth.