"But I know how busy you must be. It hardly seemed worth bothering you. Probably it's the owner of the hut, come back to fetch something."
"A looter, more likely." The centurion drew his sword. He walked up to the door and pulled it open with such force that the top hinge broke. "You, inside, come out!" He took a step closer, peering into the darkness. I followed behind, pulling my dagger from its scabbard. With one hand I knocked his helmet forward, over his eyes. With the other I raised the dagger and struck him hard with the pommel at the base of his skull. He fell in a heap at my feet.
I sheathed my dagger. "Make yourself useful, Fortex. Pull him inside the hut. And don't harm him!"
I stepped back and scanned the ridge. "I don't think anyone up there could have seen that, do you, Tiro? The hut shielded me from view. Besides, they're all too busy watching the city and the harbor entrance. I've managed to buy us a little time, but before long they'll miss him, or start wondering about our horses on the beach. What are you waiting for? Pull the skiff into the water and let's get going!"
Tiro looked chagrined. "Gordianus, I-"
"You should read more Greek novels, Tiro, and less of that insipid poetry Cicero produces."
Within moments we were in the skiff and away from the beach. Tiro unfurled the white sail. Fortex pulled hard at the oars. I sat in the prow, shivering. I had wet my feet getting into the boat. The water was colder than I expected.
I watched the shoreline. The centurion suddenly appeared at the doorway of the hut, looking dazed and rubbing the back of his head. I waved to him and returned the smug smile he had given me earlier. He staggered out of the hut, shook his fist, and yelled something I couldn't make out.
Fortex laughed. "I should like to have cut his throat. I've never killed a centurion. Ah well, perhaps another time."
The wind was with us. So was the current. We skimmed across the smooth water. The shoreline receded and the walls of the city loomed higher. Our course was a bit ragged- Tiro was not quite the sailor he made himself out to be- but despite some zigzagging we kept heading in the general direction of the port. It seemed almost absurdly easy, considering how daunting the task of getting into Brundisium had appeared to me the previous night.
The other skiff was upon us so quickly that it seemed to materialize from thin air. Tiro was busy with the sail. Fortex was rowing with strong, steady strokes. It was I who saw the skiff first, but not until it was almost within arrowshot of us. It was a long sleek boat, larger than ours, with two rowers and two archers, both of whom already held their bows aloft with arrows notched, aimed in our direction.
I looked to see where the skiff had come from, and noticed a strip of shoreline directly across from the port. A considerable contingent of soldiers was gathered there, along with a few small boats. Another skiff was heading out to join the first in pursuing us.
I nudged Tiro and pointed. Just as he turned to look, one of the bowmen released an arrow. We both flinched, but the arrow fell well short, into the water. It was a test shot to gauge the wind and measure the distance. The second bowman released a shot that came substantially closer. Meanwhile, with two rowers to our one, the skiff steadily gained on us.
"By Hercules, Tiro, can't you keep to a straight course?" I shouted. "If you keep zigzagging back and forth, they're bound to catch us before we reach the quay!"
Tiro made no answer. Perversely, it seemed to me, he veered off course, heading directly toward the city wall, instead of continuing at a more oblique angle toward the port. The skiff gained on us rapidly. I heard a noise like a hornet's buzz and ducked. An arrow flew over my head and tore into the sail, where it snagged and caught, the shaft flapping against the taut canvas. We were at their mercy, with no way to defend ourselves. I gazed at the cold water, bracing myself for the moment we would have to abandon the boat, debating whether drowning was preferable to death by arrows.
Suddenly I heard shouting above our heads and looked up to see soldiers manning the harbor wall. I saw the strategy of Tiro's navigation, to bring us close enough to the wall to put our pursuers in range of arrows from the city's defenders. The fact that we were pursued by Caesar's men was enough to bring Pompey's soldiers to our defense.
With a whoosh like carrion birds taking flight, a hail of arrows descended from the wall. Some fell closer to us than to the pursuing skiff. The water was dotted with little vertical splashes. None of the arrows struck a target, but the point was made. Caesar's men stopped closing in on us.
Tiro sailed parallel to the wall, heading for the quay. The pursuers likewise turned and sailed parallel to us, keeping their distance, trying to edge close enough to shoot us with their arrows without being shot themselves by the archers on the wall. I lay back and crouched as low in the boat as I could, not only to avoid arrows but to give Tiro room to move as he struggled with the sail.
I heard a scream from the other boat and saw that one of the archers had been struck by an arrow in his shoulder. He lost his balance and fell into the water. I hoped our pursuers would turn about, but they left the man's rescue to the boat that followed behind them.
We drew closer and closer to the port. A crowd had gathered on the quay to watch, cheering like spectators at a race. Gazing up from the bottom of the boat, I caught glimpses of the archers who trotted along the parapet, keeping up with us. They hooted and laughed whenever they paused to notch an arrow, take aim, and fire. They were above harm, in no danger of return fire from our pursuers. To them the exchange was a lark, a diversion. How different it felt to me, hunkering down in the boat, watching arrows fly overhead.
A hornet's buzz was followed by a splintering crash, and I felt something tickle my nostrils. An arrow had pierced the side of our boat and stopped just short of splicing my nose.
Suddenly the skiff gave a lurch. We abruptly slowed and angled about. My first thought was that Tiro had been struck and had lost control of the sail, but he was still upright, almost on top of me. Then I saw Fortex. He still gripped the oars, his knuckles fish-belly white, but he had stopped rowing. His eyes were open. His lips trembled as if he wanted to speak, but all that emerged from his mouth was a bloody cough. An arrow had pierced his neck clear through. The metal point protruded from one side, the feathered shaft from the other.
Tiro was frantically working the sail and unable to see what had happened. "Row, Fortex!" he yelled. "Row, damn you!" The oars, dipped in the water and held rigidly in place by Fortex's grip, acted as rudders, causing us to spin. Tiro cursed. A moment later the boat struck something with an impact that rattled my teeth. Tiro tumbled overboard. The splash stung my eyes and sent cold water up my nostrils.
I heard cheering, and realized it was the quay we had struck. I blinked and peered over the bow. Our pursuers had kept up the chase until the last possible moment. Now they turned about and headed back. A final, double volley of arrows followed after them, as the archers on the wall were joined by more archers firing from the quay.
I had reached the port of Brundisium, unscathed.
XX
Everyone in the crowd around us seemed to have an opinion.
"He'll probably die if you pull out that arrow."
"He'll die for sure if you leave it in!"
"Are you certain he's still alive?"
Fortex lay flat on his back on the boardwalk, his eyes open and unblinking, his beard thickly matted with coughed-up blood. More blood coated the shaft of the arrow protruding from either side of his neck. His body was absolutely rigid, every muscle quivering with tension. His fingers remained curled in a white-knuckled grip. It had been a struggle to pry them from the oars. It had been a greater struggle to lift him out of the boat and onto the quay. The front of the tunic was smeared with blood.