‘But I have to get to Rome!’ Marcus protested. ‘I don’t eat much and I can work hard.’
‘Maybe, but not on my ship.’ The captain shook his head. ‘I’ve no use for you, lad. Not until you get some sailing experience. Now get off my ship, before I give you a good hiding.’
Marcus nodded as he backed away cautiously and then turned to hurry down the gangway on to the quay. It was past noon and the paving stones were blisteringly hot. He hurried across towards the shade of one of the warehouses. A faint smell of spices struggled to compete with the odour of fish, sweat and sewage. Despite the heat, the quay teemed with life as sailors, porters, merchants, hawkers and fishermen mingled on the broad thoroughfare beside the water. Marcus watched them for a moment, then looked out over the mass of masts and rigging that towered over the heads of the crowd. There was no shortage of ships. The only problem was finding a way to get a free passage to Italia. If that proved impossible, then, Marcus decided, he must stow away.
He had spent most of the morning going from ship to ship to find the ones that were headed across the Adriatic Sea, and then asking if he could travel with them, paying his fare by working on the ship. But no one had any use for a ten-year-old boy. While some had refused him harshly, others had been suspicious and one captain had asked him straight out if he was a runaway slave. Marcus had denied it, made his excuses and left the ship at once. He decided he must be more careful. Decimus would be posting rewards for the return of an escaped slave and the farmers would be equally keen to find the thief who had caused their storeroom to go up in flames.
He had half a loaf of bread and some of the cheese left, and he took them out of his tunic and began to chew without much enthusiasm. When the food was gone he would have nothing left and unless he could find some way to earn some money, or join the crew of a ship, he would be forced to steal once again. Marcus felt guilty as he considered the prospect. Not for the first time, he cursed Decimus for being the cause of all his suffering. Once he had finished eating, Marcus filled his waterskin at the public fountain and then settled in the doorway of a boarded-up shop to let his food go down and rest for a while.
The afternoon heat became oppressive and the quay began to get less busy as people drifted off to rest for an hour or two. The teams of porters retreated into the shade inside the warehouses, where some of them settled to playing dice, while others ate or slept. On board the ships the crews also rested, sprawled out on the deck wherever they could find shade. Soon all was quiet and only a handful of people still went about their business along the length of the quay. Marcus realized that this might be the best chance he had to get aboard a ship, while the crews were dozing. He brushed the crumbs from his tunic and rose to his feet. Opposite him the deck of the Fair Wind looked deserted and Marcus strolled casually along the quay, looking over the ship out of the corner of his eye. He had discovered that it was bound for Brundisium, a busy port directly opposite the coast of Graecia. An ideal choice for Marcus.
As he slowly passed by, he could see that most of the crew were lying under an awning spread out over the aft deck, where the shaft of the steersman’s tiller hung over the side. There was only one man in the bows of the ship. A wineskin was clasped to his chest and he was snoring loudly. The cargo hatch lay open, right next to the gangway. With a quick look round to make sure that none of the crew were watching him, Marcus walked back to the gangway and crossed it confidently, as if he was one of the crew returning aboard – in case anyone on the quay was paying attention to him. When he reached the break in the ship’s rail, Marcus eased himself down and then crept on to the deck. He paused, looking both ways. The drunk was still asleep, his snoring so loud that Marcus swore he could feel vibrations through the wooden planking beneath his feet. Looking the other way, he saw that no one had stirred under the awning.
‘So far, so good,’ he muttered to himself.
The raised wooden coaming of the cargo hatch was less than six feet away. He cautiously approached it on hands and knees, wincing at the heat of the deck. When he reached the hatch, he warily looked over the edge and down into the hold. The ship’s cargo seemed to consist mainly of the bales of material, which had been carefully piled towards the rear of the hold. The front had been packed with planks of a dark wood, almost black. There was little available space and Marcus realized that the Fair Wind would finish its loading soon and then set sail. Perfect, he thought.
Easing himself over the worn edge of the coaming, Marcus dropped on to a large bale of woollen cloth with a soft thud. He paused a moment to listen for any sign that he had been detected and then climbed over the bales towards the rear of the hold. He picked a spot near the top, midway across the beam of the ship. There he eased one of the bales out and, straining against the weight, he pulled it on to the rest of the pile under the hatch. Climbing up into the gap he had created, Marcus pulled out another bale and placed it carefully below the gap. Then, sliding in, he tugged a third bale forward and then thrust it round to conceal the space he had created on top of the bales of material. There was a small slot to one side, just big enough for him to squeeze through. From the far side he could see out into the hold and once the cargo-hatch grating was in place he would get some light and air on the voyage across the sea.
It was hot in the hold, and as he lay there and waited for the loading to continue Marcus felt sweat prick out all over his body. Very soon he felt thirsty, but he fought the temptation to take a drink from his waterskin. He must make the water last. If it ran out, or he began to starve and his situation became too uncomfortable for him, then he decided that he would just have to give himself up to the crew and hope that they did not return him to Graecia or, worse still, hand him back to Decimus once they discovered his identity.
After the best part of an hour, as far as he could guess the passage of time, Marcus heard the thud of feet on the deck above as the crew rose to continue their duties.
‘Back to work!’ the captain bellowed. ‘And you there! You porters, get the last of the cargo aboard. The ship has to sail before dusk. Move yourselves!’
A short time later Marcus watched, through the narrow gap he had left himself, as two of the crewmen climbed down into the hold and began to pack the last bales of material into position. Overhead, he heard the steady thud of feet on the deck. A few wooden cases and several crates of large amphorae were lowered into the hold, completing the loading, and then the men climbed on to the deck. There was a deep rumble as the grating was heaved over the cargo hatch. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief that he had not been discovered, and stretched out in the small hiding space he had made for himself. At least with the fine material surrounding him, he would have a comfortable surface to rest on. The main problems were going to be the discomfort of the heat in the hold and the thirst that was already building up in his throat.
Once the Fair Wind was loaded, the captain bellowed orders for his crew to prepare to sail. The gangway was hauled aboard, the sail lowered and then the oars were thrust over the side to push the ship away from the quay. With a regular creak and splash, the long oars propelled the ship out into the harbour, through the waiting shipping, and then out into the open sea. Marcus felt the sudden shift in the ship’s motion as it encountered the light swell in the unprotected waters outside the harbour. At once his stomach lurched and he felt a horrible dizziness sweep through his body. He clapped a hand to his mouth and tried not to be sick. The last thing he wanted was to spend the voyage surrounded by his own vomit.
Outside his hiding place he could hear the muffled shouts as the captain ordered his crew to brace up the sail and settle the ship on her course across the expanse of sea that separated Graecia from Italia. As the Fair Wind began to ride the swell, in long, swooping motions, Marcus curled into a ball and groaned. His stomach felt very unsettled and he had to use every bit of his self-control to stop himself throwing up. At length he could resist the urge no longer. He eased the bale of wool aside, leaned out into the hold and was sick. The nausea came again and again and soon Marcus had nothing left inside him. Yet still he retched, his stomach clenching painfully, until the urge passed and left him sweating. Marcus knew that the vomit was bound to be seen when the ship put into port, but he hoped that it would be put down to one of the crew who had not been able to make it to the side of the vessel in time.