“I did notice that your father and eldest brother are quite a bit different than the rest of you.”
Hansi shrugged again and then leaned back against the rail next to his brother-in-law. Valens noticed that he was keeping an eye on his sailors while they talked. Even while exchanging pleasantries with family, the sailing master was always on duty.
“Oleg’s quite a bit older than the rest of us. Olaf began spending more time with the family after Grandmother passed on, but by this time our eldest brother was already a grown man and finished with his apprenticeship under our father. He never got that added influence of our ancestors; always considering himself a Roman and nothing more, despite his Nordic given name. In fact, no one outside the family ever calls him Oleg. Me, Magnus, and Svetlana were born Romans, but thanks to Grandfather, we kept that link to our heritage. Father never talks about it, though given that he broke Roman tradition by naming us how he did, he must be at least a little sentimental about where we came from.”
“Svetlana and I have talked about that quite a bit,” Valens said. “I do not have that kind of link with my ancestry. My father was a legionary, my mother a Gaul. I honestly do not know if we were even Latin or if a few generations back one of our predecessors won our family citizenship. All he would ever say is that I was a Roman and that was enough.”
Chapter XI: Sea of Evil
By the second day, the small flotilla had rounded the southwest tip of Italia, after which there was no land in sight at all. As the sun rose on the fourth day, Artorius joined Commander Stoppello on the top deck. The ship’s captain bore a look of concern.
“There’s been a change in the air pressure,” he said. He pointed off to the east. “And there, black clouds are forming in the distance. A bad storm is coming, sure!”
“Can we avoid it?” Artorius asked. “Perhaps there is a port somewhere we can dock in. Honestly, having a view of nothing but sea for the last two days, I have no idea where we are.”
“We are in the middle of the Ionium Sea,” Stoppello replied. “Sparta is a full day’s sailing to the northeast, and we are still at least a day and a half west of Crete.”
“So we sail right through it, then. Well, the lads have been rather restless with boredom, so this’ll liven things up a bit.” Artorius’ attempt at humor was not felt by Stoppello.
“As we get closer, I want your men to cluster at the center of the deck, near the main mast,” the ship’s captain directed. “Have them bind themselves to the mast and whatever else is permanently fixed to the ship. They may be eager to assist, but they will only get in the way of my sailors.”
“Understood,” Artorius replied, his manner suddenly serious as he grasped the gravity of their situation. As the centurion descended the steps, sailors under Hansi’s orders were reefing sails and readying the ship. A few miles away, just within sight off to the southeast, the other ship was preparing for the coming storm as well.
“Well, brother,” the Nordic sailing master said as he approached Magnus, who was directing his legionaries to cluster at the center of the deck, “it looks like you might get a bit damp before this journey is over.”
Magnus noted the deep concern in Hansi’s face, despite his outward boisterousness. “No need to soften the blow. Just how ‘damp’ are we talking?”
“If you look far enough, you can see that the sky is as black as Odin’s raven. A less-skilled crew would likely be torn to pieces in what is to come.” Hansi’s face was hard for a moment before he grinned once more, smacking Magnus on the shoulder. “Not to worry, little brother. I’ll carry you through this, like I did when you thought you could swim across the Lammefjord.”
“I was four years old then,” Magnus noted with a chuckle at the long forgotten memory, “And I had not yet learned to swim.”
“You did after that. I saw to it, knowing Father would give me a severe beating if I let you drown.” Hansi then looked over his shoulder, a blast of cold wind whipping his hair back. “Best secure yourself with your men. There is nothing more you can do, just let your big brother carry you one more time.”
The black clouds and howling winds had come upon them unnervingly fast. Legionaries sat huddled shoulder to shoulder, arms linked together. The more superstitious cringed in terror at the first crack of lightening.
“Steady lads!” Artorius said as he joined his men.
“Sir, shouldn’t you be in the cabin with your wife?” Sergeant Cicero asked, looking up at his centurion, who was doing his best to mask his own fear.
“Absolutely not!” The voice of Lady Diana startled the men. She wore a set of short riding breaches and a loose-fitting tunic. A fierce determination was in her eyes as she linked her arm with Artorius’. “My husband will not leave his men to face the wrath of Neptune alone, and if he goes over the side, I go with him.”
As if to emphasize her remark, the ship dipped sharply and cut into a deep wave. A torrent of sea water surged across the deck, knocking over scrambling sailors, as well as both Artorius and Diana. They each grabbed onto a loose rope and dragged themselves back to where the mass of legionaries huddled together. Despite the helpless terror they both felt, Diana broke into a fit of laughter.
“How absurd would it be if we died now, after all we’ve been through?” she said over the howling wind and near-continuous rolling thunder.
As if the gods were answering her directly, a bolt of lightning speared the lower cross brace that held the now reefed main sail. A fierce blast of wind caused the ship to heave backwards as it surged through another massive wave, snapping the brace, which flew over the back of the ship, taking the sail with it.
“Well, that’s not good,” Artorius said as calmly as he could manage.
As quickly as the storm had fallen on them, it had passed. It was now late afternoon, the sun shone brightly, and there was scarcely a cloud in the deep blue sky. Both sailors and legionaries were in a state of mild shock at still being alive. The deck was completely soaked, and as crewmen sought to make what repairs they could, soldiers were attempting to dry out their armor, weapons, and kit.
Centurion Artorius and Commander Stoppello looked up at the mast and main sail. What remained of the sail was in tatters, the mast cracked in places and a central crossbeam missing. The other ship was nowhere to be seen.
“Think they bought it?” Felix asked as he joined the men.
“Can’t say for certain,” Stoppello replied. “That we have not seen any wreckage is a hopeful sign…”
The tesserarius nodded and turned to his centurion. “Sir, we’ve got the lads drying their gear. Cicero is trying to find his chest of oil and polish so that our armor doesn’t rust. However, with the entire deck being an absolute shambles, he’s not even sure if we still have it or if it was swept over the side.”
“Do what you can,” Artorius said with a nod.
Felix saluted and returned to the lower deck.
“I lost three sailors in that gods’ awful storm,” Stoppello observed aloud. “Two were taken away while trying to secure the main sail, the other was swept off the back deck.”
“I am sorry,” the centurion replied.
“They died doing their duty. And it looks like we’ll be rowing our way to Caesarea.”
“We have over a dozen broken oars,” Hansi replied as he joined them. “I’ve got half the crews rowing, the rest bailing all the water we took on. The bottom deck is almost completely filled, makes me wonder how we’re even still afloat!”
“This will slow things down considerably,” Artorius noted. He turned to the commander. “How long till we get to Caesarea now?”
Stoppello exhaled audibly and paused a few seconds while he did some quick calculations.
“Well, I’ve only got so many crewmen who can man the oars,” he replied. “It’s not like I can have them rowing day and night.”