Marcus stood on the deck of the ship, his gaze fixed on the vast expanse of the stormy sea. It was his first time traveling across such treacherous waters, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. The wind howled around him, tugging at his hair and his oilskin cloak, as if trying to warn him of the dangers that lay ahead. The ship creaked and groaned under the relentless assault of the rough seas, causing many of the soldiers on board to succumb to seasickness. Marcus, however, had managed to withstand the motion of the ship until recently.


It started with a faint discomfort in his stomach, a nagging sensation that he tried to ignore. But as the hours passed, the pain intensified, gripping him like a vice. He doubled over in agony, unable to find relief. The relentless retching left him weak and disoriented, and he eventually succumbed to unconsciousness.


When Marcus regained consciousness, he found himself in a small cabin, the gentle sway of the ship lulling him back to reality. As he stirred, a kind hand rested on his forehead, providing a comforting touch. Marcus looked up to see a man standing before him, his features betraying his Greek heritage. He held a mug of wine in his hand, offering it to Marcus.


"Take it slow. You've been out for quite some time," the man said in a gentle accent.


Marcus nodded, accepting the mug with gratitude. As he sipped the wine, he observed the surgeon's nimble hands, skillfully attending to his needs. He realized that he was in the ship's sick bay, and the man before him was none other than Constantine, the ship's skilled surgeon.


"What happened? How did I end up here?" Marcus inquired, his memory still hazy.


"You passed out on the deck. Thankfully, one of your comrades noticed and helped you below deck. I treated you before your condition worsened," Constantine explained, his voice filled with concern.


Marcus felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that his life had been saved. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and glanced at the small bowl of porridge that Constantine had placed on the nearby table.


"You saved my life," Marcus said, his voice filled with gratitude as he slowly consumed the nourishing meal.


Over the next few days, Marcus remained in the sick bay, his body gradually recovering from the grip of the illness. Constantine tended to him diligently, administering medicines, ensuring he was well-fed, and providing companionship to lift his spirits. Their conversations ranged from tales of their respective homelands to discussions about the upcoming battles in Britannia. Marcus found solace in Constantine's presence, his kind and reassuring demeanor providing a sense of comfort during his darkest moments.


As the ship finally approached the coast of Britannia, Marcus felt a renewed sense of purpose. He was eager to fulfill his duty as a soldier, to face the challenges that awaited him on foreign soil. But he also knew that he owed his life to Constantine, the Greek surgeon who had shown him true kindness and compassion during his time of need.


"Thank you," Marcus said, clasping Constantine's hand as he prepared to leave the sick bay.


Constantine smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting a deep sense of understanding. "It was my duty. Take care, my friend, and may the Gods watch over you in your battles."


With those parting words, Marcus stepped back onto the deck of the ship, his heart filled with gratitude for the man who had saved his life. As he prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead, he carried with him a newfound appreciation for the power of compassion and the bonds that can be forged even in the midst of chaos.