by Tom Pollack
***
They covered the two hundred nautical miles to Crete in a single week, coasting the large island of Rhodes en route, as well as the smaller islands of the Dodecanese. After mooring the ship at a stone quay in the harbor of Heraklion, Ahiram and Cain once again directed the off-loading of trade goods for the marketplace. After three days, their business was concluded. With large amphorae of Cretan wine placed on deck for delivery in Athens, the crew prepared to set sail. This time, however, the winds were less favorable. The oarsmen would have to pitch in for much of the voyage if the ship were to reach Athens by the autumnal equinox.
The first part of their route lay across the open water of the Sea of Crete. Then they would be able to island-hop in the Cyclades, with Santorini, Sikinos, Sifnos, and Serifos in sight for much of the time. The final stretch would take them west of Kithnos and Kea, thence to Cape Sounion, the tip of the Greek mainland. From there it would be an easy stage to Piraeus, the port of Athens.
Late one afternoon, they were halfway to Santorini when Baltsar, one of the oarsmen, slumped forward at his bench. Cain hastened to his side, thinking that perhaps the man had succumbed to a hangover from the sailors’ revelry in port. When he questioned Baltsar, however, he discovered that the man had barely been ashore at Heraklion, preferring to remain shipboard.
“Do you feel any unusual aches or pains?” Cain asked.
“Yes, some painful swelling that I’ve never felt before,” Baltsar replied.
“Where is the swelling, man?”
When Baltsar raised his bare arms aloft, Cain felt a wave of dread. The swollen lymph glands in the armpits were a sure sign: the plague. He remembered the rats in the grain amphora shortly after they had set sail from Tyre. They had acquired cats in Cyprus, but the felines had obviously not been able to control the situation. Now the rodents were apparently spreading the disease.
Baltsar pointed also to his neck, where the swellings were painfully apparent. Knowing that there was only a slim chance that the oarsman would recover, Cain patted his shoulder and ordered him to his bunk for a night’s rest. One of the other marines would take his place.
Before the evening meal, Cain sought out Ahiram and confided his suspicions. The captain accepted the news with stoic calm. When Cain pointed out that many more crewmen might already have been infected, Ahiram quietly reassured him. They could stop at any number of the islands, he said, if they needed to replenish the crew. Cain decided not to touch on the possibility that the plague, no respecter of rank, might not limit itself to the crew. Instead, he objected that acquiring fresh recruits would be difficult if word got out that the Phoenicians were piloting a “plague ship.”
Captain Ahiram put his foot down. “We have made a large investment in this voyage,” he said sharply. “We must stick to our schedule. If there are problems with the crew, my young friend, I will handle them.”
Seeing that Ahiram would tolerate no dissent, Cain backed down.
Overnight, two more oarsmen became ill. One could not stop vomiting blood, while the other had developed a rash of lurid red spots on his skin. As rumors circulated among the men, the afflicted crew members were ostracized by their fellows. Cain spoke urgently to Tanith.
“There is no cure,” he said. “We will have to find a way to isolate these men.”
“How is that possible on a ship this size, Cain?”
“We could leave them ashore at Santorini. Ahiram has the resources to pay for their care on the island, or for their burial there.”
Tanith shook her head. “These men have families. We cannot abandon them on a foreign shore.”
“You have to remember the risks of contagion. The plague is the master traveler of trade routes. Within a week, most of the crew could become infected. Who knows if you and I are immune? And your father…”
Tanith broke in. “Panic is a more dangerous enemy than any plague. Let us keep our heads. When we land at Santorini, we will see how things stand.”
***
At Santorini the situation became even more urgent. Now six crewmen lay ill, and Melita, the faithful maidservant who had tended Tanith since childhood, had died. Baltsar’s illness had progressed to the point where his skin was actually decomposing, causing excruciating pain. Ahiram faced a cruel dilemma. On Cain’s advice, he discreetly inquired if the afflicted men could be cared for on the island. But he needed replacement oarsmen. How was he to hire them if the plight of the “plague ship” became public knowledge? Somehow, aided by Cain and Tanith’s persuasive powers and a full purse, the necessary brokering was accomplished. The Phoenicians, now reinforced by half a dozen Greek mariners, weighed anchor a few hours after their arrival.
The following days, Cain thought afterward, were like a descent into an abyss. In fact, he fully expected a night vision from the master of spirits, but there was an even more ominous silence instead. As the vessel called at island after island, usually at night, clandestine replacements renewed the crew. By the time they reached the island of Serifos, seventy-five miles from Athens, only two of the original Phoenician oarsmen were left.
And then, the unthinkable, which had festered unspoken in the minds of both Cain and Tanith. Ahiram, whose health had always been robust, fell prey to violent bouts of coughing. Cain was virtually certain that the captain had at last contracted the plague.
As the ship got underway at sunrise from Serifos, the last stop before the Greek mainland, Cain and Ahiram sat together under the awning at the stern. Though seriously ill, Ahiram had lost none of his composure. He gazed at Cain directly with penetrating gray eyes.
“Please take care of her when I’m gone.”
“You can’t be serious, Ahiram. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Well, I don’t think I’m going to Athens, at any rate,” the older man replied, with the trace of a smile.
“I want to tell you something,” Ahiram continued. “You and Tanith have grown close over these few months. I know she loves you, Cain. You have treated her with the respect I always hoped for my daughter. But in our home city, back in Tyre, she never received that honor.”
“How not? She has beauty, wit, intelligence… Any man in his senses would prize her for his wife, Ahiram.”
“Until such a man discovered her curse.”
Ahiram’s failing eyes missed Cain’s startled reaction. “Curse?” he asked in as calm a tone as he could manage.
“She prays to Astarte, our great goddess. But Astarte did not grant that my daughter would ever be a mother. She is barren.”
Cain looked down as an unaccustomed empathy touched his heart.
“That was the end of her marriage as a young woman. Such news spreads quickly in a city like Tyre. More rapidly than the plague, perhaps.”
“I love her for herself, Ahiram. Not for children from our loins. And remember, she saved my life.”
The older man smiled wanly. “I’ve never asked too much from you. But now I ask you for my beloved daughter’s sake. Keep faith with her.”
Cain bowed his head and pressed the sick man’s hand as another fit of coughing shook Ahiram’s body.
***
Three days later, they buried him at sea. When Cain had assured Tanith that he could maintain the morale of the remaining oarsmen until they reached land for a proper burial, she merely answered, “He is a Phoenician. Let the sea be his in death, as it was in life.” As tears welled in her eyes, Cain placed his arm around her shoulders in silent comfort.
With Ahiram gone, Cain became the de facto captain of the vessel. It was up to him and Tanith to plan the final act of the voyage that had begun so auspiciously and then turned into a nightmare. Cain understood what was needed.
“We need to scuttle the ship at least a mile offshore,” he told Tanith. “Everything that can spread the plague has to go down in the sea.”
“And the sailors?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“If they are already infected, they will probably not survive. But the grain and
the rodents—they must all be cast off.”
“How will we make land?”
“We will swim for it, my dolphin. You saved me once. Now we will save each other.”
Privately, he was amazed that Tanith, unlike her father and the crewmen, had not so much as a trace of a symptom. From eons of experience, he well knew his own immunity and powers of recuperation. But Tanith, who had ministered to dozens of ill sailors, also seemed immune.
The couple decided to be candid with the remaining crew members, telling them of the necessity to sink the ship and warning them of the dangers of any alternative course. The crew understood the severity of the situation, accepting the news with grim resignation.
At the first sight of Cape Sounion, four of the oarsmen would abandon their benches and venture below decks. There they would hack out gashes in the hull, and seawater pouring into the ship would sink the vessel within minutes. The entire crew would abandon ship. Improvised rafts would help the refugees gain the beach, or so Cain hoped.
Soon the plan went into effect. The prow began to tilt upward at a bizarre angle. As he and Tanith jumped from the deck, Cain thought of the story she had told him about Mot and Yamm, the Phoenician gods of the sea and of death, respectively. The two were brothers, and Cain hoped that they were on cordial terms that morning.
CHAPTER 30
Greece, circa 1230 BC
THE HOUR-LONG SWIM to shore proved easier than Cain had imagined. Strong, rhythmic swells helped propel them landward, and their only real challenge was avoiding the flotsam and jetsam from the scuttled ship. He and Tanith could hear breakers booming on the rocky coast near the headland of Sounion, but to the left they could see a broad, sandy beach where the water was calmer.
Gaining the beach, the castaways encountered some local fishermen, who informed them that a small village was close by. After a ten-minute walk along a dusty track, the travelers were greeted by a grizzled local elder who emerged out of nowhere only seconds after they arrived. Wearing a wide-brimmed, blue woolen hat to protect himself from the hot sun, the old man welcomed them courteously, identified himself as Nikandros, and led them to a small farmhouse. Inside the stone wall that circled the property, goats browsed and hens cackled, busily running about. A slight breeze rustled the gleaming, silver-gray leaves of four sturdy olive trees. The man introduced his wife, Adonia, to the visitors, and she warmly embraced Tanith. Cain knew from his journeys that travelers, strangers, and guests were sacred in Greek eyes. The Greek gods, led by Zeus their king, firmly upheld the age-old tradition of hospitality. Nikandros and Adonia, he thought, were certainly good examples of the custom of the country.
Tanith and Cain, who both spoke Greek, were easily able to make themselves understood to their hosts. They explained that, en route from Phoenicia, their cargo ship had foundered on rocks close to the coast. They had been forced to swim for it as their boat sunk. Nikandros, a farmer by trade but well acquainted with the local fishermen, accepted their explanation, commenting only that the travelers were lucky to have escaped the perils of the sea.
Before they scuttled the ship, Tanith had told Cain that her father had rented a small house in Piraeus, the port of Athens, for many years. There was basic furniture there for Ahiram’s layovers in Greece, as well as a small stash of coins. Cain agreed they would go there as soon as possible. Athens was only forty-five miles from Sounion, and they could make the journey, even on foot, in two days. But they would need fresh clothes before they started. Cain decided to broach the subject with their host.
“Nikandros,” he said, gesturing to the short tunics that he and Tanith were wearing, “we lost all our possessions in the shipwreck. Is it possible for us to purchase fresh clothing in this village? Or in a nearby town?”
“It is not only possible, but necessary! And I will help you. You need to see Philemon, the traveling peddler of this region. As a matter of fact, he should be visiting our village this very day. I will introduce you. But first, you must enjoy our local wine.”
After sampling what Cain had to admit was a delicious vintage, mixed with water as was the custom, the men passed the time with a long walk through the vineyards and orchards surrounding the village. Cain could see that farming was far different here than it was in Egypt. The soil was rocky, and most fields were situated in hilly terrain. The principal crops were barley, olives, and grapes. Now, in late September, it was grape-picking season. Later in the fall and over the winter, olives would be harvested. When Nikandros remarked on a vexing manpower shortage in the village, Cain gladly brokered an arrangement whereby the six Phoenician crewmen would find a temporary home there as farm laborers.
As they returned to the village, they could see that a small crowd of people had collected outside Nikandros’s dwelling. The reason was soon apparent. At the center of attention was a bulging, battered oxcart so heavily loaded that one or two more items on either side might have toppled it. The peddler Philemon had arrived.
Amidst the cooking utensils, children’s toys, looms, wine strainers, brooches, helmets, and robes, Cain and Tanith found what they sought: a long, maroon-colored chiton, or dress, for Tanith, and a cream-colored woolen tunic, together with a cloak, for Cain. But then came the issue of payment.
Declaring that he and Tanith were headed for Piraeus, Cain inquired when Philemon would next visit Athens, hoping that the peddler would agree to sell them the clothes on credit. Philemon replied that he planned to set off for Athens the very next morning, and he invited the couple to travel with him. Far from being a burden, Philemon said, their company would serve as extra insurance against brigands along the way. As for credit, he readily agreed to Cain’s request.
The next morning, after availing themselves of Nikandros’s hospitality for the night, Cain and Tanith set out with the peddler for Athens. At Philemon’s invitation, Tanith scrambled to the apex of the pile of goods on the oxcart and perched there precariously. Cain barely concealed his laughter as he saw her being jostled from side to side, somehow keeping her balance, but just barely.
“Let’s hope that the travelers we meet don’t draw the conclusion that you too are for sale!” he jested, giving Philemon a playful slap on the back.
She only glowered at them in reply.
***
Candles flickered and guttered as Cain opened the front door of a typical Athenian house. As he stepped inside from the courtyard, a chilly November wind preceded him. But the gust could not compete with the cozy, mouthwatering aroma of the barley bread Tanith was baking at their improvised oven.
“It’s almost ready,” Cain told her.
Outside on the grill, a merry fire was slowly burnishing a roast leg of goat. Their meals were seldom elaborate, but this evening they had two reasons to celebrate. It was Tanith’s thirtieth birthday, and that very morning Cain had landed employment at the fishing docks, thanks to one of Ahiram’s contacts in Piraeus.
Cain settled himself in their small dining room. As he watched Tanith, almost in silhouette, go about her practiced movements before the oven, he reflected on life’s paradoxes. They had been in Piraeus almost two months now. Ahiram’s rented house, though comfortable, was very small—especially for a man like Cain who had lived in his own palace, but also for Tanith, accustomed from childhood to the spacious seaside villa in Tyre. Now they lived in a confined, distinctly dark, three-room cottage made from mud-brick and nestled on a busy and noisy working-class lane. Yet Cain was happier than ever, and Tanith seemed to share his exhilaration in the joint reinvention of their prior selves. Above all, Cain thought, life’s challenges demanded resourcefulness. Better than anyone, he knew the imperative to survive. He was glad that Tanith knew it, too.
Yet there were two faint misgivings in his mind. Like a high, wispy cloud tainting the purity of bright sunshine, the fact that he had not been entirely candid intermittently bothered Cain. Why, he wondered, could he not bring himself to tell her about his past, giving her a full account of all he had been—and of al
l he wanted the two of them to be? Reluctantly, he was forced to confront the link between this reservation and his other worry: that one day, he would lose the woman to whom he had given his heart. Yet the inescapable destiny of his solitary immortality could not deter him from savoring his present happiness.
“What shall we do after our meal?” he asked her as he sliced the meat and she placed the rolls of bread in a large basket on the table.
Tanith’s eyes glowed as she ran her fingers through his locks, “Drink wine, my love! Later, what do you think of strolling down to the harbor? I learned today that some war veterans are expected to return. If the ship arrives on time, they will certainly be at the taverna tonight.”
“These veterans are from Troy?” Cain asked.
“Yes, they served under Menestheus, the commander of the fifty ships from Athens. They are the first to be furloughed home to Greece. We shall hear some interesting stories, at the very least.”
“Good idea,” he nodded eagerly. “But before we go, I have a better idea. Let’s warm our bed and enjoy our cup of wine.”
The taverna was crowded, as usual. The sounds from panpipes, drums, and lyres could barely be heard over the hubbub of voices. Sunburned fishermen and sailors rubbed elbows with merchants from the town and farmers from the outlying countryside. Among the patrons were a fair number of women—whose presence would have been frowned on, or outright forbidden, in the more straitlaced setting of Athens. Cain and Tanith greeted several of her father’s friends, accepted their condolences, and then seated themselves at a small table.
After an hour or so, a loud cheer rippled through the crowd, and a group of tall, lightly armed warriors entered the taverna. The men wore body armor but no helmets. Cain thought that, for troops who had been fighting in a siege abroad for ten long years, they looked to be in remarkably good condition. He wondered absently how long it would take the Athenians to find recruits that would be sent to Troy in their place.
