The Boat of Fate Read Online Free PDF Page A

little to me, for despite my father’s hopes I had made no close friends of my own age. There seemed to be a queer, lonely streak in me; as an only child I had, of course, been forced back to a large extent on my own company, and I looked for nothing better now.
    In the main, though, I got on well enough with the rest of my class, with one exception: Publius Aelius, as he styled himself. His parents owned the big Villa of Hadrian just outside the town, a fact he never allowed to be forgotten, though despite his airs he attended the same school as the rest of us. He was my elder, I suppose, by a couple of years, a tall, olive-skinned boy with black curly hair and smallish, restless dark eyes. From the first his attitude towards me had been condescending in the extreme; ‘Poor Sergius’ and ‘Young Sergius’ were phrases never far from his lips. I bore his ways without too much difficulty, as I was frankly unable to take his bombast seriously. As I rose in my tutor’s esteem, however, his attacks became more overt; till one day I realised, belatedly, that a dangerous situation had developed.
    Gellius’ school breaking up for the day always produced an effect like the collapse of a small dam. Once released from our place of torture, the whole score of us would pour down the narrow, smelly stairs and race in a mob down the alley that ran alongside the building, each determined for some obscure reason to be first into the street. On this occasion somebody elbowed me heavily in the rush, knocking me off balance and sending me crashing into Publius. The books he was carrying flew in several directions, one ending up with a splash in a muddy puddle; next instant I had received a box on the ears that made my head ring. I straightened, eyes stinging and fists clenched. Publius had flushed a dark, brownish red. For a moment I thought he would fling himself at me; then he relaxed, turning away with a sneer. ‘Save your effort, young Sergius,’ he said. ‘When I deal with you, it won’t be with my hands.’ He stooped sullenly, began gathering up his scattered belongings.
    I said angrily, ‘What do you mean? I’m sorry about the books. It was an accident.’
    He looked up, his eyes malevolent. Between them projected what would in future years be a haughty beak of a nose. ‘You should be more careful,’ he said. ‘My father is already teaching me the use of the sword.’ He wiped a spoiled book on his tunic. ‘We come from a long line of soldiers,’ he said. ‘You are the son of a freedman and a runaway Celtic slave. I am descended from Hadrian.’
    Despite my annoyance my brain worked quickly. Some of my father’s bitterest gibes had been directed at Publius’ family; he told them to Heraclites, who lost no time passing them on to me. ‘That would be difficult,’ I said, ‘seeing the Empress Sabrina habitually boasted of her infertility. Perhaps that relative of hers had something to do with you, though, between writing those lousy verses on the Sphinx.’
    The sally, though geographically inaccurate, brought him to his feet. I thought for an instant he was going to attack me again, and stiffened to meet the onslaught; then he laughed, a little too loudly to be convincing. ‘Poor Sergius,’ he said. ‘I keep forgetting. You are still only a child, who cannot yet handle a sword without pricking himself. I don’t fight children.’ He turned on his heel, walked away with some dignity and was gone.
    I made my way home in a somewhat chastened mood. I was still unsure how the situation had come about, but it seemed I had made a thoroughly unpleasant enemy, and some time in the future would have to play my part or bear the consequences of cowardice. Also my ear and cheek still burned a little; and when I thought back to Publius’ insults I felt my temper rise again. That night I sought Marcus in his room. I mooned about for a while, fiddling restlessly with this and that, till finally he told me curtly to find