As dusk fell, he took a sip of water, rinsed his mouth and spat it out, before taking a fresh mouthful to drink. Then, after making sure he had covered the entrance to his hiding place, Marcus curled up again and tried to take his mind off his sickness by planning his next moves. Once the ship reached Brundisium, he would need to find his way off the vessel without being spotted. Then he would have to make his way to Rome and find the house of General Pompeius.
For a moment he was seized by the horrible fear that he had set himself an impossible task. After all, he was only a small boy, entirely on his own. He had been born and raised on his father’s farm, and had never travelled any further than twenty miles from his home until recently. He still had a long way to go before he reached Rome, and even then he would need to find some way to speak to General Pompeius. If the general was as great and powerful as his father had said, then it would not be easy. As these doubts and fears worked their way into his mind, the image of his mother suddenly burned into his thoughts. Marcus clenched his fists, angrily shook off his worries and told himself that he was being a coward. His father would have been ashamed of him. He edged himself into the corner of his hiding place and closed his eyes, then tried to fight off the anxieties over his future and the nausea that rose along with the motion of the ship.
He spent the night and the whole of the next day in his hiding place, only emerging to empty his bladder into the bilges, while taking care not to be seen through the grating that covered the hold. By the following night Marcus had begun to get over the worst of his seasickness, but his waterskin was empty and his stomach grumbled with hunger. He lay on the wool bale for some hours in the darkness, unable to sleep, and then in the early hours he heard the captain’s voice as he stood by the mast, just in front of the cargo hatch.
‘Damn this foul wind… First mate!’
Footsteps padded over the deck and then the crewman replied, ‘Yes, sir?’
‘The wind’s veered again. Rouse the watch. I want the sail sheeted tight in. Tell the steersman to keep as near to the wind as he can hold the ship. Unless this wind changes, we’re going to lose a day, maybe two, before we reach port.’
‘Aye, sir. I think so.’
‘Carry on.’
The mate turned away to summon the watch and Marcus heard shouting and the thud of feet on the deck, then a short while later the ship heeled over a little more. The motion became less settled as the bows slammed into the waves. Marcus felt his heart sink as he thought over the brief exchange he had heard. The ship was delayed. If the captain was right, then it might be some days before they reached port. Marcus knew that he must have water and food before then if he was going to survive and have the strength to continue his quest for General Pompeius. There was only one thing for it. He would have to leave the hold and try to find something to eat and drink. Better to do it now, while it was dark and there was less chance of being seen.
He waited a while to give the crew time to settle back down, then wriggled out of his hiding place. The hold was filled with the sounds of creaking timbers and the slosh of water in the bilges. Above him Marcus could just make out the thick crossed lines of the grating that covered the hold, except for one corner where there was a square gap. It was just large enough for a man to climb through and Marcus guessed it was there in case the crew needed to check the hold without having to remove the grating. Creeping carefully across the wool bales and jars that were packed tightly together, Marcus approached the gap. The hold was sufficiently full for him to reach it without any difficulty. He stretched up and gripped the edge of the hatch and then, muscles tensed and straining, he lifted himself up. As his eyes came level with the rim of the hatch, Marcus looked around the deck.
The first glimmer of dawn was filtering across the horizon. At the stern of the ship there stood a man clasping the tiller that controlled the huge steering oar. A handful of men lay on the deck in front of him. Closer to the hatch, some more figures sat hunched together against the ship’s side. One of them shifted and Marcus heard the clink of a chain. They must be slaves, he realized. Part of the ship’s cargo. No one seemed to have seen him and Marcus let out a long, low sigh of relief. Then his eyes fixed on some baskets and a barrel at the base of the mast.
Marcus eased himself up, over the edge of the hatch and on to the deck. Then, staying low, he slid across the weathered and worn planks until he reached the foot of the mast. His fingers groped over the edge of the nearest basket and came across some hard, round objects. Apples. He smiled to himself and helped himself to four, tucking them inside his tunic. Even though he was pleased with his find, Marcus knew that apples alone would not satisfy his hunger.
A sudden snore made him jump and he glanced round in terror. Only a few feet away, curled up on the deck, was one of the crew. The man muttered something and began to breathe heavily. Marcus was about to turn his attention back to the baskets when he saw a half-eaten loaf of bread and some sausage on the deck beside the man. He licked his lips at the thought of making a meal of the crewman’s unfinished food. With a quick look round to satisfy himself that no one was paying him any attention, Marcus edged towards the snoring sailor. He paused a short distance away and stealthily reached out a hand to pick up the bread and then the sausage. With a slight smile of relief that the man was still asleep, Marcus turned back towards the cargo hatch. He was keen to return to his hiding place, and feast, before the light got any stronger and gave him away. He had almost reached the hatch when the steersman’s deep voice boomed out across the deck.
‘Change the watch! Change the watch! Morning watch, unreef the mainsail.’
The crew began to stir, and the man whose food Marcus had helped himself to snorted and then began to sit up wearily, his hand groping towards where the food had been. He opened his eyes and looked straight at Marcus. He blinked and frowned, then he saw the sausage and bread in Marcus’s hand and his eyes widened in surprise.
‘Thief!’ he cried out, scrambling across the deck towards Marcus.
11
Marcus lashed out with his boot, the nailed leather striking the sailor in the face. The man cried in pain and clasped his hands to his nose as the blood began to run. The sound alerted others nearby, who turned to look.
‘Who’s that boy?’ someone called out.
‘Well, he’s no passenger!’ another voice responded, and some of the men on deck laughed. ‘Seems we have ourselves a stowaway, lads.’
Marcus backed away from the man he had kicked, then rose to a crouch. He bit a chunk off the sausage and chewed furiously. Watching the men on the deck carefully, he backed against the opposite side of the ship. More of the crew edged forward curiously, while at the rear of the vessel the captain emerged from the hatch leading to the handful of small cabins at the stern. He was followed by a large man in a red tunic who climbed up beside the steersman for a better view.