Читать книгу The Emperor's Men 8: Stormy Heavens - Dirk van den Boom, Emmanuel Henné - Страница 4

Helmut Köhler felt the bile rise inside him. He clung to the railing, stared into the roaring abyss of the sea, felt his stomach crawl up his throat, as the Gratianus slid deep into the trough, and then the familiar gag came, and he opened his mouth. Almost nothing came of it, since he had completely sacrificed his stomach contents to Neptune an hour ago, but the violent, cramping nausea didn’t want to subside. His desperate moan subsided in the roar of the storm, and when the cramp let off and he opened his eyes again, which he had tormentedly closed, he stopped trying to empty something that was long empty.

He took a deep breath, felt the current weakness ease somewhat. Köhler was not the only one on board the expedition fleet’s flagship who fared so badly. This was the third day they were stuck in the storm, and even the most experienced sailor was beginning to push his limits. There was little sleep, and when he tried to find some, he was restless, always interrupted, in violently rocking hammocks that threw you against the comrade or the wall and sometimes with force on the floor. There was hardly anything to eat, and when there was, it was cold, often wet, and those who felt sick hardly managed to eat anything solid anyway. Yesterday, Köhler had dipped ship rusks in thin wine and swallowed them somehow, but an hour later they came back up,

Everyone’s strength was weakening. They all prayed for calm weather, if only a break in the constant romp and roar. The ship was in better shape than its crew. In any case, the Gratianus showed no signs of not being able to cope with the forces.

Köhler looked up and saw Navarch Langenhagen, who was standing on the bridge next to the gubernator, tied up like all of them, because it often happened that a breaker struck the rail with great power and tore an inattentive crew member with him. Screams, cries for help went down in the deafening rustle of wind and waves. But the tightly woven ropes that everyone had to secure himself with and which slid along the guide rails next to the railing had already saved many a life. It was still the case that most seafarers could not swim and deliberately did not want to learn it in order to exchange the torture of a slow death in the sea by drowning as quickly as possible.

Köhler was able to swim.

And he never wanted to give up either.

His stomach felt the same. He sensed another cramp coming. He straightened up, stuck his face into the spray, felt the cold dampness smack against his skin and an icy shiver run down his body. He was wet to the bone, no matter how much he tied the thick leather coat around his body. The masses of water that flowed down his collar were enough to soak him completely.

The nausea in his stomach subsided again. He closed and opened his eyes, wiped his wet face with his wet hand, which did nothing but feel like he had done something, a senseless gesture, expression of weak defiance. Then he felt someone pull on his arm.

Magister Aedilius stood next to him. The ship’s doctor, he was one of the graduates of the Medical Academy of Ravenna, the forge for medical staff that the doctor of the Saarbrücken had founded and which trained the best healers in the world. Aedilius was no longer a young man but of strong stature and had served on many ships before being assigned to the expedition. His gray-brown beard was damp, and he was wearing a hat that encircled his bald head like a second skin.

He did not say anything. He should have screamed to make himself understood. But his eyes expressed concern and a little pity. Aedilius held out a leather bottle to Köhler, with the opening closed, and when he took it, he felt a pleasant warmth in his hand, refreshment enough without having to uncork it. Warmth and dryness. There was little that Köhler wanted more at the moment.

The medic nodded to him promptly. Köhler knew what was in the bottle—a perfidious herbal drink that everyone said was the most disgusting thing they had ever drunk. Köhler had had enough of disgust that he had so far successfully avoided the doctor’s approaches. But now Aedilius had caught him.

There was no escape.

He grimaced and tried to shake his head one last time, but the doctor looked at him firmly and raised a warning finger. Then he made a pouring gesture in front of his mouth. Aedilius was in command of everything related to health. He was even allowed to give orders to Langenhagen.

This was an order. Köhler was a soldier. He followed orders.

He lifted the cork, closed his eyes, and took a deep sip. Better to get it over with and die a dignified death, manly, without fear.

The burning, rotting liquid flowed down his throat. He felt his stomach rebel almost immediately. He didn’t know which was worse, the utterly disgusting taste or the caustic feeling when the drink combined with his upset stomach acid. He immediately felt the gagging sensation start and put the bottle down, ready to do it all again …

But nothing happened.

Köhler’s eyes widened, and he listened to himself. A strange, numbing warmth had settled on his battered stomach, and the nausea was just a lurking feeling somewhere below, covered and anything but acute.

He was almost … fine.

Aedilius looked at him knowingly, smiled, made another, pouring movement.

Köhler did not hesitate a second time.

He had been a fool.

He raised the bottle and took a deep sip. It was still an unspeakable brew, but now he drank it without fear and bad expectations. It made things easier. The warming, numbing feeling in his stomach was intensified and it pushed back the nausea until it was almost imperceptible.

He handed the bottle back to the doctor. Köhler could not gauge whether his expression was adequately communicating the gratitude he was feeling, but it seemed as if the message had arrived. Aedilius nodded to him, gave him a smile, and turned. A boatswain stood a few meters further and, in a high arc, put a meal that was not even slightly digested into the waves. The wind was unpredictable. With stoic calm, Köhler wiped a chewed chunk off his sleeve. Seconds later the spray had completely cleaned him.

Aedilius ran to the boatswain and presented him with the bottle. According to the facial expression of the sea sick, this candidate had previously also been rather reserved about the doctor’s brew. A mistake, as Köhler was now ready to admit. He regarded with pleasure that the boatswain submitted to the doctor’s request, and shortly afterwards the same pleasantly touched facial expression that Köhler had just shown was visible on his features as well. The man took another sip almost hastily.

Köhler now returned to his place next to the Navarch. Another senior officer, Adrianus Sextus Cabo, stood on the foredeck and gave the necessary orders. The night black sky and the spray roaring over the rail made it almost impossible to see from here what was happening in the front part of the ship. It was late afternoon, but the sun was only a faint glow behind the thick banks of clouds that a mighty wind was pushing across the sky. There was not much to issue orders for – almost all of the sails had been dropped, only a small storm sail hung from the front mast. The control of the ships was possible primarily because the steam engine was running at full power, and thus gave the ship enough propulsion to actually influence the course with the rudder. The gubernator was a muscular man who was almost as tall as Köhler, although he did not descend from the generally taller time walkers. He clutched the rudder wheel with strong fists, despite the fact that it was currently tied. The storm came directly from the west, and they steered the fleet against the wind. Without the steam engines, this would be an extremely difficult undertaking. It was problematic enough. The ships were built robustly and had ridden the storm without problems. As always, it was the human factor that started to wear off.

Helmut Köhler could say this with some certainty, at least for himself.

“How are you?” Langenhagen shouted against the noise of the storm and turned his wet, shiny face to Köhler. Next to the rudder hung two storm lamps, which swayed to the left and right on short iron chains and undeterredly cast their pale light on the ship’s command deck.

“Aedilius!” Köhler shouted back. He waved in the direction of the medicus, who was just now giving his herbal drink to another sailor swaying like the storm lamps. Langenhagen grinned and nodded, having overcome his fear of the brew from the start and set a good example. In fact, Köhler had watched him eat ship’s biscuit, cheese, and hot wine without giving everything back.

Köhler decided to no longer unnecessarily question his trust in Aedilius.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Far off course!” Langenhagen back. He pointed to the sky. “We won’t know until it clears up properly.”

“What’s your best guess?”

“Three days are over. The longest storm I’ve ever seen was five. I think we’ll be through soon.”

Langenhagen sounded confident and looked that way. Köhler nodded and clung to the railing that separated the quarterdeck from the rest of the ship. Only the most essential crew remained on deck. The Boatswain regularly checked that everything was lashed tight and counted whether all the people who were supposed to be there were onboard. The rest lingered inside the ship and did little more than wait for the torture to end.

Köhler remembered that the first two weeks of their trip had been absolutely trouble-free and peaceful. They had entered the Atlantic, and it seemed as if their expedition had started under a good star. Favorable winds had accelerated their progress, the ships had stayed together without any problems. The mood among the men had been excellent, full of curiosity, a great desire to explore and discover. When the skies closed and the storm announced itself, nobody had expected such a catastrophic and constant change in the weather. Nevertheless, they had endured it all with great confidence. Weren’t they the best seafarers in the Empire? Weren’t their ships the best of the entire fleet?

But now the mood began to change. Köhler hoped that Langenhagen – who actually had the rank of Navarch, but liked to see himself primarily as the captain of his ship – would be correct with his forecast.

“Go below deck!” Langenhagen shouted. “I want to know if everything is okay. And eat something. Aedilius’ drink really helps. You need strengthening. Hot wine, slightly diluted. Something solid on it.”

Köhler only nodded. Now that the herbal potion had taken effect, he felt a different kind of rumbling in his stomach. Hunger. Clearly recognizable desire for food for the first time in three days. He immediately followed the order.

He was grateful when he closed the companionway. It was a little quieter down there than on deck, the roar of the storm fading somewhat into the background. He saw sailors looking at him, nodding, often sitting tired against the wall or curled up in hammocks, in different phases of exhaustion, boredom or illness. But there was calm, a little fatalism, and only a few conversations. No dice game. No noise except the muffled roar from outside. A certain discipline in exhaustion. Good enough for Köhler, good enough for the ship.

He entered the galley. The ship’s cook, called Smutje in the language of the time-wanderers, looked at him expectantly. It was significant that the only man who was completely unaffected by the storm was of all people the master of supplies. He showed his gaps in his teeth when he grinned at Köhler and gestured at his supplies with a sweeping gesture. The man was his best customer and always chewed on something. Even now, his mouth moved not only according to his words, but also to work on food. This sight had recently made Köhler nauseated, but now it triggered something like anticipation in him.

“A fresh start, sir?” The man was dripping with hypocrisy.

“Still an iron stomach, Vitelius?”

“Bronze, like our brave machine. Some wine?”

“Water and rusks.”

“The very big risk, sir. You are a brave man, an ornament of the fleet, an image of Roman masculinity.”

“Stop talking rubbish.”

The Smutje grinned and handed him what he wanted and watched with a certain lurking look what was going to happen. He was genuinely impressed when Köhler ate the food with methodical chewing and then pecked some soaked crumbs off his coat. The Smutje smiled knowingly. “Our dear Medicus’ herbal drink.”

“Clever man.”

“I swear on the stuff. Haven’t drunk anything of it yet.” The cook patted his stomach. “Bronze, as you know.”

Köhler gave the man a disparaging look, but was as happy as a child that the rusk in his stomach made no move to reappear.

“Are you all right down here?”

If anyone could answer that question, it was the Smutje. He was one of the few who still looked at everything with open eyes. And very much amused in most ways.

“With drawbacks. I think some are almost bored.”

“As soon as the wind subsides, we set sail again to save coal. Then there will be more than enough to do.”

“But that doesn’t apply to legionaries. Not only are they sick, they absolutely don’t know what to do with themselves.”

“There’s a lot of cleaning up to do upstairs. We will put together work details. They’re going to be busy, too.”

Vitelius nodded and scratched his ear. Apparently he found something, looked at it for a moment before immediately put it between his busy jaws. Köhler was reasonably certain that behavior like this couldn’t be healthy.

“How long?”

“The Navarch thinks no more than two days.”

“And are we heading further west?”

“Indeed. I prefer not to say anything about whether the storm has broken the fleet apart. We have had no contact with the other ships since the winds started. Only noise on the shortwave. We’ll have to wait here too, and see what the end of the wind will bring us.”

“Two days?”

Köhler smiled.

“Is it getting too much for you? Despite a bronze stomach?”

“I haven’t cooked anything decent in three days. I am filled with pity and care for my starving comrades. They have to get some proper food between their teeth.”

Köhler agreed. However, he assumed that the Smutje did consider primarily his own teeth with his remark.

“Just be patient.”

Köhler raised his hand in greeting and turned away. A short passage below deck confirmed the cook’s statement. Everything was quiet, as far as one could really speak of calm with these violent waves. He answered a few questions – roughly the same ones he had just discussed – and spread more confidence than he felt.

But he was an officer. Always smile and wave.

When he finally struggled back up, he closed his eyes, almost blinded. The beam of light that had briefly shone down on them through one of the thick cloud banks had disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared – but his heart leapt when he saw the light dancing over the violent waves.

A good sign.

Langenhagen nodded to him, grinning happily. Even the helmsman looked relaxed, although he was still clutching the steering wheel as tightly as when Köhler had last seen him.

The wind didn’t let up. A deep wave trough made Köhler’s stomach go up again, but this time everything was under control.

It got better.

Everything was getting better now.