The Boat of Fate Read Online Free PDF

something useful to do or clear off and leave him in peace. I swallowed at that and said suddenly, ‘Marcus, will you make me a sword?’
    He put his work down, stared at me gravely in the lamplight. He said, ‘And why would you want a sword?’
    I said primly, ‘To defend my honour.’
    Marcus smiled at that, slowly. He said finally, ‘What’s wrong with your fists?’
    I said, ‘I think it’s gone rather too far for that.’
    He pursed his lips, frowned, whistled between his teeth. Then he rose and walked towards me, stood arms folded, looking down. He said slowly, ‘Caius, a sword is not a toy. Nor is it just a weapon. It’s like a badge, or the Standard a Legion carries in front of it. It tells other people something about you. It tells them you are no longer a boy, that you’re no longer looking for concessions. It tells them you think of yourself as a man, that you’re prepared to live in their world and bide by its rules. Once you take it in your hand, there’s no more backing down. You have to finish what you have begun.’
    I felt rather annoyed at him. He seemed to be criticising me, though I wasn’t sure how or why. I said, ‘I have thought about all this, Marcus, and my mind is made up. I want a sword.’ He still waited, frowning, rubbing his lower lip with his finger. He said, ‘And would your mother approve of what you want to do?’
    I said quickly, ‘She doesn’t know. You mustn’t tell her. Promise, Marcus.’ I hesitated. I said, ‘It’s partly for her sake anyway.’
    He shook his head at that. He said, ‘Caius, Caius ...’ He turned away, abruptly; then he swung back. His face looked queer; angry, and dark. He said, ‘Very well. A sword you want, a sword you shall have. Come to me tomorrow evening. Wear an old tunic; I shall want you to work the bellows.’
    He was as good as his word. I lit the forge and pumped while he banged and hammered, striking showers of sparks from a strip of glowing iron. Later, working under his direction with needle and waxed thread, I fashioned a scabbard for myself and a belt from which to hang it. Marcus made a hilt and cross-piece, tempered the blade and scoured it with sand; and finally, a few nights later, the work was done. I took the thing in my hand; a little bright heavy blade, tailored to my grip. I could scarcely believe it was mine.
    ‘Take it away,’ said Marcus gruffly. ‘Don’t wave it about in here. And mind you learn how to use it.’
     
    At school things were getting better and better. Gellius, having detected at least the stirrings of a fellow spirit, thawed considerably, devoting more time to me than anybody else. The evening sessions still went on; but now they became a pleasure. The concentrated training in rhetoric improved both my diction and my memory; I bored and baffled Marcus by turns with classical dissertations till eventually the long-promised deerhunt took place.
    It was an exciting affair. For weeks beforehand Marcus had me collect large feathers, as many as I could find. What use he would put them to he refused to say. We camped away from home for several nights, in a belt of woodland half a day’s ride north of Italica, where Marcus spent some time preparing a complicated and ingenious trap. The feathers, many of them dipped in bright dyes, were plaited into light ropes that he strung from a series of posts set between the trees. A tweak at one of them would set the feathers twirling and spinning for yards; deer, he assured me, would not cross the barriers, though they presented no real obstacle. The trap was funnel-shaped when he had finished it, a hundred yards or so across the mouth and tapering to a narrow corridor, in which he dug several pits. These he camouflaged with branches and dried grass; then came the ticklish business of the drive. He rounded up a handful of local peasantry, all of whom were more than ready to co-operate on the promise of fresh venison. The deer, pretty, dappled creatures with dark,