When he looked up, the girls had gone.
He guessed they had paid the ultimate price for disobedience and been battered to death. Then an incendiary charge lit the scene and he saw them climbing up the side of the warship. Water dripped from their powerful limbs as they made for the oar ports, daggers between their teeth.
Three months earlier, he could have gone after them with ease. Now, a heavy layer of fat weighed him down. He made slow progress and reached the first of the oar ports, panting for breath. Barrels of burning sulphur cast a ghostly blue light over the scene inside.
Tribesmen, with wet cloaks around their faces were dashing about in the acrid fumes, freeing the oarsmen. The girls were in the thick of the action. It was a perfect place to prove himself as a warrior but the oar ports were far too small for him to squeeze through.
He kept going and reached the main deck.
Fires were burning and soldiers were fighting the tribesmen. Morgon was amongst them. His men were being cut down around him. It was only a matter of time before he would join them. Tom climbed over the guard rail and unsheathed his sword.
Suddenly, the fighting ceased.
'Look who's here.'
Mocking voices greeted him. It was the reception he had expected. He didn't care. Morgon was there and that was all that mattered. Fate had given him a final chance to prove himself as a warrior. He pointed his sword at the big man and the tribesmen fell silent.
'Morgon. I challenge you to single combat.'
He eyed the commander of the former thirteenth legion as he left his bodyguard and went across to where he was standing. To his annoyance, Morgon made no attempt to draw his weapon.
'Why you want fight me, Tomas?'
'I challenged you before and you refused.'
'That because you not my equal.'
'I'm your equal now ... I'm a War Master.'
'That not what I hear, Tomas.' Morgon moved closer. 'I hear you no longer War Master like I no longer commander of legion.' He dropped his voice. 'Natives want cut you up. They want cut me up too ... best we be friends.'
'You're a coward, Morgon.'
'Tomas. You still little boy. We can fight. But, if we fight, I no kill you. I just wound you and let natives do rest.'
Morgon took an incendiary grenade from his belt.
'We can make alliance but we not have much time. You decide before natives come and get us ... or this thing go bang.'