In the Shadow of Heroes Page 17

  And that was all she said. Cadmus felt angry with himself for being even the slightest bit surprised. Of course she was leaving him. What did she care about the Golden Fleece? About the ambitions of a foreign emperor a thousand miles away?

  ‘I’m going to try and get some sleep,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ she said, and turned back to the darkness.

  Cadmus went down through the narrow cutaway in the deck and Orthus followed him. He found a vacant bench and tried to get comfortable on the hard, smooth wood. He looked around the hull at the paintings of Jason and his triumphs. Seawater was already dribbling through the cracks in the planks, causing the colours and the lines to run. As sleep came over him, Cadmus thought, distantly, that it looked like the great hero was weeping.

  When he woke up, he could see a thick shaft of light falling through the gap in the deck. He swung his feet off the bench, nearly treading on Orthus, and wandered drunkenly down the length of the boat. Some of the crew were also sleeping down here; the rest he could hear thumping about overhead.

  He climbed the steps and warm sunshine washed over him. On all sides of the Argo the sea was spread out like a vast tapestry threaded with gold. Thoas had the helm and Tog was at the prow, shielding her eyes against the glare. Her mouse was back on her shoulder.

  ‘Hello,’ Cadmus said with a yawn. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I thought you could tell me that.’

  Cadmus looked around. Not a landmark in sight. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘But let’s not forget, you’re talking to the boy who didn’t know east from west.’

  She looked out over the glittering waves and sighed.

  ‘Then where do you think we are?’ she asked.

  ‘Best guess . . . somewhere just past Zakynthos, or Cephalonia. But I can’t see either of them.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So . . . either we’re way off course or we are making much better time than I expected.’

  ‘I thought so,’ said Tog. ‘I told you we could catch up a few days.’

  ‘I admire your optimism,’ said Cadmus, ‘but we’ve got a very long way to go yet. I hope the gods are as favourable as Thoas seems to think – if the wind isn’t with us, this journey could be ten times as long as the one from Rome to Athens.’

  The hours and waves and the high clouds passed them by, and it seemed that the gods were indeed on their side. They saw nothing but flat ocean and occasional schools of dolphin, which had Tog yelping with delight. The weather remained hot and fine, and the breeze was at their backs even after nightfall. Linus, the man descended from Orpheus, played songs for them on his lyre. It was almost idyllic.

  The following day, a rugged blue landmass appeared on the horizon, rising to a distinctive peak at one end. Cadmus ran to Thoas, who was guiding the two steering paddles at the rear of the ship.

  ‘That’s Mount Etna,’ he said.

  Thoas nodded.

  ‘But it can’t be. We can’t have reached Sicily already. We’ve only been at sea for two days.’

  ‘As I have told you,’ Thoas replied, ‘the Argo is blessed by Athena. And Apollo has shown us the way.’

  He gave his patronizing smile again.

  Cadmus turned away and scowled at the horizon. Growing up with Tullus made him wary of any good luck. If his master had been there, he would have reminded Cadmus daily to beware of Fortune’s fickleness: At Jupiter’s door, he would have said, stand two urns, of good and evil gifts, and he deals from them equally . . .

  After Sicily, Jupiter began to dig particularly deep in the second of those two urns. The winds remained favourable, but even on calm seas the Argo barely held together. Every time Cadmus awoke on his bench, he noticed a little more seawater lapping at his feet. The crew tried carving wooden staves and pegs out of one of the oars, which they used to plug the holes, but still the water came in. At Hippo Regius, part of the decking collapsed, and two men fell through on to the rowers beneath them. One of the steering paddles broke on a reef two days later, and they were forced to zigzag for the best part of a day before they could fashion a new one.

  And it wasn’t just parts of the ship they lost. When they stopped at Tipasa, Hyllus, the man in the lion skin, went hunting and never returned. At Thoas’s command, they left without him.

  Still the Argo limped on, as far as the Pillars of Heracles and the edge of what Cadmus knew as Mare Nostrum: ‘Our Sea’. Here – he told Tog – Heracles had single-handedly narrowed the gap between Hispania and Africa, to prevent monsters from the ocean entering the seas of Italy and Greece. As they passed through into the vast blue beyond, Cadmus hoped that was one myth that wasn’t true.

  Sea monsters, it turned out, were the least of their worries. All the way up the coast of Hispania they were battered by storms, and the Argo was tossed like driftwood on the towering, bristling waves. After a month at sea, Cadmus found himself going below decks to pray to the gods, regularly and without embarrassment. There really was nothing else he could do. It was just as Thoas had said – everything Cadmus had ever read and learnt counted for nothing when the powers of heaven were turned so fiercely against him.

  In the middle of one of these tempests, crouched with Orthus in the darkness of the hull, he felt an arm around his shoulders. He looked up and was surprised to see Tog beside him. He hurriedly wiped the tears from his cheeks.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, and her voice was so calm and deep that it seemed to quell the shrieking winds.

  ‘I want to go home,’ he said, and as soon as he gave his thoughts words, he started to cry again.

  ‘I know,’ said Tog.

  He waited a moment to compose himself, sniffing loudly. ‘I should never have left Rome. I shouldn’t have gone looking for the fleece. I’m not made for this sort of thing. I’m not a hero. I’m an idiot. I’ll get to Britannia, and then what? Defeat Nero and the empire on my own?’ He took several deep, shuddering breaths. ‘What am I going to do?’

  She looked at him seriously, her blonde hair like an aurora in the gloom.

  ‘Endure,’ she said.

  Cadmus opened his mouth but sensed she had more to say. The ship rose into the air and crashed into the trough between waves, sending Cadmus’s stomach into the roof of his skull. She spoke again.

  ‘That is all we can do. All we have ever been able to do. We cannot change what the world gives us. We cannot hope to have control over Fate, or Fortune, or the gods. If you try, that will only cause you more pain. Right now, there are two storms, Cadmus. One out there, and one – ’ she pointed to Cadmus’s heart – ‘in there. There is only one that you can hope to put a stop to. You cannot choose whether you suffer, or how you suffer, but you can choose what you think and what you feel about suffering. You can fight against it, little Cadmus against the universe; or you can accept it. Think of your heroes. Did Jason want to go looking for his special blanket? No. He was forced to by his uncle, and he endured what was given to him. Did this man Heracles want to do his labours? No. He would rather have stayed at home, I am sure. This is how a hero is made. They are made in hardship, like a sword forged under a hammer. So. Endure for now. One day, you might enjoy remembering all this.’

  Cadmus just stared at her. It was the most Tog had ever said. It was also everything Tullus had tried and failed to teach him from his philosophical dialogues. This kind of Stoicism always seemed such an easy thing to advocate if you were a wealthy Roman senator. Coming from Tog, Cadmus thought for the first time there might be some truth to it.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said.

  Tog nodded, suddenly awkward. There were shouts from above, and she went back up to help bring the Argo’s sail under control.

  To Cadmus, sitting in the darkness, the storm seemed suddenly quieter.

  XXIII

  When he woke up, the ship was rocking Cadmus slowly from side to side, like a mother with her child. Water was still dribbling through the seams between the old and new timbe
rs, the crew were endlessly bailing, but it remained afloat. Just.

  Tog was standing next to him, shaking his shoulder.

  ‘Cadmus! Wake up! Come and see!’

  She didn’t wait for him, but ran back up the steps into the daylight. He rolled off his bench and followed her up on to the deck.

  The sail was in tatters overhead, and the boat was strewn with debris. It was a floating shipwreck. Tog was leaning over the rail around the ship. Her mass of blonde hair blew crazily around her ears, and the waves threw spray into her closed eyes.

  In front of them were miles of colossal white cliffs, topped with green so vivid it made Cadmus’s eyes hurt. The weather had cleared, and the sky was not one he had seen before. Tufts and whorls of cloud broke and merged and broke again, giving glimpses of pale blue beyond. The spring sun came and went, and the cliffs shimmered in its cold light, higher than any he had seen in Italy or Greece.

  ‘Britannia,’ he said.

  She turned and gave a wide smile.

  ‘I know these cliffs,’ she said. ‘My grandfather conquered some of these lands. If we continue around this headland we’ll enter the mouth of the river, and that’ll take us into Catuvellauni territory. I know where to go from there.’

  The Argo drifted towards the beaches, its crew staring open-mouthed at this new and strange land. As the cliffs rose and fell and crumbled in places, they were given tantalizing glimpses of the mysterious world beyond, lush and green and swollen with rainfall. Then, as suddenly as it had been revealed, the clouds massed ranks and the sun began to sink and the island was lost in shadow.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ said Tog, pointing to the front of the ship. The priest, Thestor, wasn’t looking at the land but into the air high above him.

  ‘He’s reading the skies,’ Cadmus explained. ‘Looking for omens in the flight of birds.’

  Just as he said this a pair of white gulls flew west of the mast, and Thestor gave a shout. He went and spoke to Thoas at the helm, and Thoas bellowed his orders.

  ‘To the oars, men!’

  The heroidai went noisily below decks and the oars appeared from the sides of the Argo like the legs of a spider. As they swept the sea, Thoas pulled hard on the new steering paddle, and the ship began to crawl slowly in the opposite direction. Tog frowned and ran to the back, followed by Cadmus and Orthus.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.

  ‘We have drifted too far to the east. But Apollo has shown us the way. The fleece lies to the west and the north.’

  ‘But my home is east.’

  Thoas just looked at her with disinterest and strained on the tiller again.

  ‘We are not here to take you home.’

  ‘Then I’m going,’ said Tog defiantly.

  ‘If you wish,’ said Thoas. ‘I will not stop you. We have no need of you.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, good luck talking to the druids without me. Good luck with the local tribes. Good luck finding your way through the forests and the marshes.’ She brought herself closer to him. ‘You are far from home,’ she said, in a voice that made Cadmus’s hairs stand on end. ‘Your gods hold no power here.’

  Thoas ignored her and set his eyes on the horizon. Tog turned to Cadmus.

  ‘Are you coming?’ she said.

  ‘Coming?’

  ‘If you really want to find your special blanket, you need to be with me, not them.’

  ‘But . . . how . . .’

  ‘Don’t listen to her, boy.You are surrounded by the blood of the heroes. We are the only ones who can rightfully claim the Golden Fleece. Stay with us and you will be honoured to the heavens.’

  Tog already had a foot on the balustrade of the ship. Cadmus looked around. The few heroidai who weren’t rowing were watching the scene unfold.

  ‘I can’t . . .’ he began.

  Tog looked a little disappointed, but no less determined. He watched her tucking her mouse into the inside of her tunic.

  ‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘I understand.’

  Before Cadmus could say another word, she dived from the side of the boat into the white water churned by the oars.

  Cadmus watched her blonde head disappear beneath the waves and reappear, darker, in the ship’s wake. The cliffs were perhaps two hundred feet away. He had no doubt she could make the distance easily.

  He needed more time to think. Always thinking, never just doing. Same old Cadmus.

  ‘We are better without her,’ said Thoas. ‘Athena has guided your decision well.’

  Cadmus looked at Tog, paddling to shore so steadily she looked almost lazy. She seemed to draw him with her on an invisible thread. No more thinking, then.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said to Thoas. ‘I’m going to take my chances with her.’ Then he turned to Orthus. ‘I hope you’re a better swimmer than me.’

  He went to the edge of the boat, held his nose, and jumped.

  A calm, yellow light. The ground cold, gritty, but not uncomfortable after so long sitting and sleeping on a wooden bench. A fine rain, like a mist, tickling the skin.

  Cadmus propped himself up on one elbow, took a deep breath, choked, gagged, and was violently sick on the sand. He collapsed again into the shallow pool of water beneath him, which was slightly warm from the heat of his body.

  He took a few more tentative breaths, keeping his eyes tightly shut. There was a tang of salt and seaweed that made his nose sting.

  He sat up again. His head spun for a moment, and then stopped. He opened his eyes.

  ‘You might not be able to swim,’ said a voice, ‘but at least you float.’

  Tog cast a long shadow over him. He shielded his eyes against the low sun and saw her standing a little to one side, a bedraggled-looking Orthus at her feet. Cadmus coughed again and spat a mouthful of seawater on to the sand.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I wish you’d said you were coming. I had to swim back and fish you out.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  ‘No. You made the right choice.’

  The top of her hair twitched, and her mouse peered out of a thick blonde nest.

  ‘He made it!’ Cadmus exclaimed.

  Tog nodded. ‘He got a bit wet,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to dry him out.’

  He looked out to sea. ‘Where’s the Argo?’

  ‘Gone.’

  That made Cadmus feel strangely tense. If the heroidai found the fleece first, it wouldn’t matter. Keeping it out of Nero’s hands was the important thing . . .

  Only it did matter. After all he had been through, he thought that he deserved to find it first. He wanted to see it, to hold it, to know the truth of it. Not just wanted to. Needed to.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I know where we are. If we can get ourselves some horses we can be at my village tomorrow.’

  Cadmus wondered where Tullus was at this exact moment. They had been at sea for thirty-five days, unless he had miscounted – which was, in fact, highly likely. But for all their misfortune, they had been faster than he had predicted. If Tullus’s group had suffered any setbacks of their own, there was a good chance Cadmus and Tog were ahead of them. For the heroidai, sailing around the west of Britannia would be hard work, especially given the state of the Argo.

  He had already come further than he ever expected. Britannia was beneath his feet. He had a guide. He might just make it, with Tog’s help. The glimmer of hope was a new and unusual feeling.

  At the top of the cliffs the air was fresher and greener. Tog set off across the grass towards some thick woodland, looking taller and more upright than ever now she was in her own territory. Cadmus still felt weak and nauseous from his time at sea, but she never let up the pace. She reached the woods and disappeared into the sodden darkness, but Cadmus and Orthus loitered for a moment on the edges, peering among the dripping branches.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Tog called back to him. ‘They’re just trees.’

  But they weren’t just trees. These were larger and older than any C
admus had ever seen, their cracked and moss-covered bark knotted into faces that seemed to watch them as they passed. Things moved in the undergrowth and the canopy that he had no names for. He could well understand why the first Romans to land here believed Britannia was an island of monsters.

  They walked on, taking deep lungfuls of peaty air. It couldn’t have been further from the atmosphere of Athens and Corinth, which scoured the throat with dust and heat. Cadmus began to understand what Tog had been talking about, all those weeks ago, when they walked among the tombs of the Via Appia. The woods were alive.

  Every now and again Tog would stop, prod the ground, inspect the undergrowth. Sometimes she put a finger to her mouth and tasted the soil. Then she would point and set off in a new direction.

  When they emerged from the trees they were faced with a rolling meadow. Perhaps a dozen horses were cropping the long grass.

  ‘There you are,’ said Tog, apparently to the horses.

  She turned to Cadmus. ‘Wait here.’

  Even after all her feats of strength and endurance, watching Tog approach and tame one of the horses was a wonder to behold. She selected a shaggy-looking brown mare and followed it at a respectful distance. She spoke to it softly, making several laps of the meadow, stepping gradually closer each time. By the time she was finished, the horse let her place a hand on its long nose, and she effortlessly leapt up on to its back.

  She trotted back to Cadmus and extended a hand.

  ‘Is it . . . safe?’ he said.

  ‘She’s not wild. Some tribes let their horses go when they get old. But she’s got good spirit. She’ll see us through.’

  Tog pulled Cadmus up and sat him behind her. He held on to her waist, his mouth and nose full of the smell of her hair and her sweat. He was nervous in a way he couldn’t explain. Pleasantly nervous.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

  ‘North,’ she said. ‘Londinion.’

  XXIV

  The next day, when the sun had almost completed its course across the sky, they found themselves standing on the south bank of the River Tamesis. On the other side of the broad, brown flood was ‘Londinion’ – Londinium, as Cadmus knew it.