Kon frowned, uncertain as to his meaning.
“Of the Nile,” Menas explained.
Kon was puzzled. “How is it you speak Greek?”
“Byzantines. Greek used to be our first language. I speak Coptic too, and my native Dongolawi, of course.”
Kon considered it a divine blessing he’d been shackled to a man who was obviously educated. In the years ahead intelligent conversation might save his sanity. Then a thought intruded. “Coptic?”
Menas kept his eyes on Nizar. “Christians and Mohammedans have lived together in peace in my country for centuries. Nubian Christians are loyal to the Coptic Patriarch of Alexandria. Ironic, isn’t it, that’s where our destiny awaits.”
The fickle wind changed again, necessitating a resumption of rowing. Kon heaved on the oar with muscles already spent. He’d have to wait patiently to learn more about his intriguing fellow captive.
NAVIGATING ROUGH WATERS
“We will seek shelter with the Venetian community at the Chiesa di San Marco dei Venezia,” Zara explained to Jakov. “They will welcome you even though you aren’t Venetian.”
“There is a community of Venetians here in Bari?” he asked.
She nodded as the crews made their way through the narrow streets to the chiesa. “It has grown steadily since the church was built over a hundred years ago by Doge Pietro Orseolo to celebrate the liberation of Bari from the Saracens. It’s a safe haven for travellers from my republic. Most of them come and go, traders like my father. The Polani name is well known here.”
He grimaced. “We must hope the men who kidnapped me are not among them.”
They were welcomed, fed and sheltered. Prayers were offered for the success of their voyage. Zara had to reluctantly agree with suggestions from several of the Venetians that the Pravda was the more suitable of the two ships to go in pursuit. She’d be faster and more manoeuvrable in the heavy weather they predicted. A skeleton crew of loyal men was left to guard the Nunziata with instructions to sail back to Venezia if they didn’t return in a month. The community of San Marco undertook to organise a rotating watch.
Nevertheless, it was difficult to abandon her beloved ship as they set sail on the noon tide the following day. Standing on the forecastle of the Pravda with Lupomari and Jakov, she swallowed tears. “We’ll see her again,” she reassured her captain, aware of the distress he must be feeling.
His jaw remained firmly clenched. “I’ve been in command of her for nigh on fifteen years and I don’t intend for anyone else to be master.”
“Well,” Jakov interjected, “you can be in charge of the Pravda on this voyage. I am no captain, but I need to learn, as do my men.”
Zara smiled. “You’ll be learning from the best.”
Lupomari smiled modestly. “This will be a new endeavor for me as well.”
Zara admired her captain. He hadn’t hesitated to join the adventure. His life as master of a Polani ship wasn’t free of danger but this voyage held unknown risks.
“I surmise they’ll head for Alexandria,” Lupomari said, “by way of the Ionian Sea. If they sail non-stop, it will be difficult to catch up. Depends on their captain’s knowledge of landmarks and the stars.” He reached into his leather tunic and pulled out a well-worn little book. He opened it to reveal neat handwritten notes. “I’ve sailed to Alexandria many times, hence I have my pilot-book of sailing directions. However, he might have compiled a similar record.”
Jakov took a keen interest in the scribblings, asking many questions. Zara was as versed in the art of daytime and nocturnal navigation as Lupomari, thanks to her father, but she was happy to let her captain share his expertise, glad to center her thoughts on Kon. If she prayed hard enough, perhaps the Blessed Virgin would carry her entreaties to the Almighty.
She held on to the railing with both hands when the Pravda encountered heavy seas and unfavorable winds outside the break-wall. In normal circumstances they might have turned back and waited for better weather.
But time wasn’t on their side.
~~~
As darkness descended a loud argument erupted on the forecastle of the Feloz.
“Nizar wants to carry on,” Menas gasped between strokes as he and Kon pulled together, “but the captain is refusing.”
Kon didn’t have the strength to comment on his comrade’s knowledge of yet another language, but prayed the captain got his way.
After long minutes, Nizar stomped into view. It was too dark to see his face but his voice betrayed his anger when he gave the order to raise the oars. He hurried off, brandishing his whip.
The all-too-familiar sound of leather biting into human flesh, followed by shrieks of pain indicated he was taking out his wrath on the unfortunates.
Kon and Menas had by now perfected the art of slumping forward on the oar in unison. Kon was too exhausted to feel disgust. He seemed unable to control his body’s persistent trembling. He had to harden his heart and think only of himself if he was to survive.
The ship drifted and he wondered vaguely why the captain hadn’t dropped anchor. Then suddenly they were out of the wind and the ship lurched when the anchor touched bottom.
“Tricase on the tip of Italy, I’ll wager,” Menas said under his breath. “The captain doesn’t want to venture into the Ionian Sea in the dark. They say there are depths out there no lead-line has ever fathomed. He must be new at this.”
“With any luck he’ll drive the ship aground and we’ll drown.”
“Don’t despair, Konrad. I am named for Saint Menas, the patron saint of miracles and wondrous events. We cannot lose hope.”
Kon closed his eyes and listened to the gentle lapping of waves against the side of the ship. It reminded him of the night he’d spent watching over Zara. The memory muddled his thinking. “You are a Christian? I’ve never heard of your blessed saint and I studied religion.”
Menas didn’t seem to take offence at the doubt in his voice. “Which is the reason you speak Greek. I will tell you of my saint another time. I believe we are actually going to be given sustenance.”
Kon opened his eyes. Fatimids were indeed distributing small pottery bowls to the rowers. His expectations weren’t high, but at least he wouldn’t starve to death. Such would likely be the fate of many in the hull. It was difficult to understand why a slaver would pay for a slave and then starve him.
“A man like Nizar gets his satisfaction from inflicting pain and suffering on others,” Menas whispered.
Again the Nubian seemed able to read Kon’s thoughts. It only increased his curiosity, but he remained silent when a bowl of grey liquid was thrust at him.
He sipped the tasteless gruel, wishing it was also odorless. “What’s the smell?”
“Don’t ask,” Menas replied.
He held his nose and swallowed the lot in two gulps. “I hope the food improves once we get to where we are going.”
Menas shrugged.
Kon shivered, chilled by the night air after sweating for hours in the hot sun. He doubted the Fatimids would provide any kind of covering.
He became alarmed when the Nubian wriggled out of his loincloth, but had to admire the man’s resourcefulness when he draped it over his shoulders. He unwrapped his own loincloth and did the same.
Menas shuffled closer. “We can either freeze or share our body heat.”
In different circumstances Kon might have punched out those white teeth, but the Nubian was right. They edged closer until their bodies touched.
“Will you pray with me, Konrad?”
He nodded, filled with a serene sense of being in a holier place than he’d been in a long while. They prayed in silence, each man sending his petitions heavenward before slumping into an exhausted sleep.
PURSUIT
The Pravda sailed on into the night. Lupomari instructed Jakov how to use the stars to navigate and stay on course. “But it’s vital to have a good steersman as well,” he pointed out. “A man who knows the winds.”
“Like Rospo,” Jakov replied.
Lupomari nodded. Everyone was aware Rospo’s skill had kept them going in the heavy seas and unfavorable winds they’d battled throughout the day.
“By dawn we should reach the tip of Italy,” Zara told them, “especially if the favorable winds blowing now continue all night.”
Jakov leaned towards her. “You must get some sleep.”
She agreed reluctantly and wandered off to the stern-castle. The only thing left of the Nunziata’s original cargo were the animal skins used to protect the goods from the elements. They’d been brought aboard the Pravda and arranged into a sleeping area of sorts. She collapsed onto the pile, and gazed up at the stars. Sleep was elusive, but it wasn’t the odor of mildew clinging to the hides that kept her awake. This ship had transported Kon to Bari from Termoli and the certainty of Drosik’s cruel treatment lay like a lead ball in her belly.
A worse ache pressed on her temples. Whatever he had endured at Drosik’s hands was likely nothing compared to what he was suffering aboard the slave ship. She’d heard horror stories about slavers, but thinking on such tales might lead to madness.
His constant presence in her thoughts and dreams reassured her he still lived.
She came to her knees and made the sign of her Savior. “I confess my wantonness,” she murmured, hands clasped in prayer, “but I beseech you not to punish Konrad Wolf for it. The sin is mine alone and it was I caused him to give up his freedom. Guide our ship so that we might deliver him from his torment.” She swallowed hard. “It was not my intention to entice him away from his calling. I swear not to tempt him again if only…”
The prospect of a life without the nourishing warmth of Kon’s body pressed against her was too much to bear and she curled her knees to her chest on the hides and wept.
A humming drifted to her ears from somewhere above. Raspy…off-key…a lullaby she hadn’t heard since childhood.
Rospo was crooning her to sleep.
~~~
As dawn broke, Nizar bellowed a wake-up call. Surprised he’d slept, Kon peered up at the steep cliff walls that had sheltered them overnight.
Menas covered his mouth with the end of his loincloth as he readjusted it around his hips.“The last of Italy.”
If his oar-mate was right, they were about to row into the Ionian Sea. Kon had learned enough about winds from Rospo to know the steady gust teasing the sail would mean easier going—provided it continued.
His prayer was granted when the wind filled the leather sail and the ship picked up speed. His aching muscles needed the respite. He considered leaving the loincloth draped across his shoulders as protection from the sun which would soon be hot enough to burn off another layer of his skin. But he felt nervously vulnerable. Nizar was unpredictable.
When he stood awkwardly and braced his knees to wrap the cloth back around his waist and between his legs the cruel tyrant stared at his groin, licking his sneering lips.
Two Fatimids began distributing bowls of the same obnoxious gruel to the rowers, losing their balance several times as the ship made headway. When their task was complete, Nizar directed them to the now-silent pile of pitiful wretches and they began culling the newly-dead, hacking off limbs and chucking the mutilated bodies over the side.
“Much more of this and I’ll go mad,” Kon murmured into the grey liquid.
“Keep the faith,” Menas muttered back.
His new friend was right. He had to turn to his faith for strength because there was no hope of rescue. It was unlikely Zara would risk the Nunziata even if she had discovered where he was being taken. They barely knew each other. She was the woman he’d have married if the fates had been kind, but did she feel the same inexorable alchemy?
If he wanted to avoid a life of brutal servitude, he’d have to start plotting a way to escape. Preoccupied with the impossibility of every scheme he conjured, he fell into a doze. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when raised voices in the stern-castle drifted to his ears. He narrowed his eyes at Menas.
“They are worried. There’s another ship, far behind,” the black man whispered.
~~~
Lupomari’s shout woke Zara from a fitful sleep. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, awed by nature’s grandeur as they sailed past the rugged grey cliffs of Tricase.
Jakov hunkered down beside her. “There’s a vessel ahead.”
“You look exhausted,” she replied, nigh on swallowing a yawn when his words penetrated the fog in her brain. She scrambled to her feet. “A ship? Is it the Feloz?”
“Too far away to tell, and Lupomari doesn’t want to get too close.”
Nervous excitement tightened her throat. “I’ll take his place on the forecastle so you can both get some sleep. Use the hides. They stink, but they’re soft.”
She climbed the fist few steps of the stern-castle, relieved to see one of Jakov’s men had taken over from Rospo. Her loyal crewman lay curled up on the decking, snoring loudly, his several chins vibrating with each exhaled snort.
She lifted her face to the wind. “We’re making good speed. We must hope this fair weather keeps up. The Ionian Sea is no place to encounter a storm.”
Jakov lay on his side on the skins. “But favorable winds also help our prey.”
She nodded. “It may come down to tactics. Sometime on the morrow we’ll pass the Ionian Islands. We Venetians are experts at playing cat-and-mouse at sea.”
Jakov frowned. “Why are you doing this?”
She averted her gaze. “It is my fault Kon faces a future as a slave. I owe him a debt.”
Jakov smiled. “I understand debts, but there is more, isn’t there? You’re in love with him.”
She sensed it wasn’t a question. “Yes, I will go to the ends of the earth to get him back, if I have to.”
He chuckled. “I’m confident it won’t come to that.”
HEAVEN AND HELL
The reign of terror continued aboard the Feloz for a second day, and on into the night. It seemed favorable winds had restored the captain’s confidence in his navigational skills.
Kon, Menas and the other surviving oarsmen endured intervals of strenuous rowing interspersed by fitful dozes, their only sustenance the insipid gruel and sips of brackish water.
As a youth Kon had boasted to his siblings of his strict adherence to fasting rituals required by the Church. Now the painful reality of near-starvation gnawed his belly. He wouldn’t last a year if this regimen carried on, never mind ten.
Nizar’s brutality had thinned the ranks of the slaves in the hull. Fewer now remained to stare blankly into their own oblivion, apparently resigned to their fate.
Nightmares stalked Kon’s brief periods of sleep. He cheered at bloodying Heinrich’s nose with a well-aimed blow, laughed hysterically when he lopped off Nizar’s head with one swipe of the scimitar, and wept as he watched his mother’s coffin being lowered into the ground.
Menas nudged him awake frequently.
Worried his nightmares would incur Nizar’s wrath, or worse still drag him into madness, he conjured visions of his brothers and sister, his beloved parents, Zara.
In the end there was only Zara.
“Is she your wife?” Menas whispered sometime on the third day.
He must have uttered his beloved’s name. “No.”
Menas waited, but further explanation remained lodged in Kon’s throat.
“I am acquainted with a woman of the same name. A Venetian.”
Kon swallowed his thirst and looked away, his confused mind trying to solve the unlikely coincidence Menas had suggested.
“Or rather I knew her father,” the Nubian added. “A trader. Owner of a fleet of ships.”
Kon opened his mouth to reply, but a shout from the forecastle caught their attention.
“Land to larbord,” Menas translated. “Probably Kerkyra.”
The name meant nothing.
“The largest of the Ionian islands.”
Kon took advantage of N
izar’s preoccupation with the newly-sighted land. “I might have gone mad by now were it not for your presence,” he murmured. “I thank God for your companionship. You’ve never faltered, though you’ve suffered as much as any of us.”
Menas lay a gentle hand atop his. “My strength lies in having travelled this road before and been delivered from my torment.”
Kon thought he might have misheard the faintly whispered words. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been enslaved?”
“I escaped once, only to fall again into the clutches of slavers. There are many in this world who believe every black man belongs in chains. They do not consider they might be kidnapping a prosperous trader respected in his own fertile land and beyond. Zara’s father recognized the worth of Nubia and her people. He and I profited from our association. We gained wealth and a strong friendship.”
Kon gasped. “You knew it was the same man.”
“Yes, I discerned it from your reaction when I told you of my acquaintance with him.”
“But how did you gain your freedom?”
“It’s a long story, for another time, when Nizar is once more busy with other matters.”
Kon was humbled. If he ever escaped this hell and then tumbled into it again, anger would consume him. Menas, however, seemed resigned. Or was it hope kept him going?
~~~
Zara dragged her salt-stung eyes away from the distant ship she had to hope was the Feloz to gaze at the shores of Kerkyra.
“Have you been there?” Jakov asked.
“I came to these islands once, with my father,” she replied, recalling halcyon days spent exploring the island.
“I’ve heard of Kerkyra’s scenic beauty from travellers.”
“The islands along this coast are breathtaking. Later we’ll pass Zante. Polani ships call there sometimes to load tar.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Tar?”
“Tar makes a better seal for boats than pitch. The ancient Greeks used to dredge it up from the bottom of a large lake on the island using myrtle branches fastened to the end of long poles. It’s not done much differently now, except the ships don’t use the tar to seal the hulls here—which is what the ancient Athenians did. These days its collected in pots ready for shipping. My father kept some of it for our vessels and traded the rest. It’s a smelly and unpleasant task for the men who have to load the stuff.”
Faithful Heart (The Von Wolfenberg Dynasty Book 3) Page 10
