by David Bell
“Dawn: when seamen bid farewell and leave poor women standing on the shore, wondering when we shall see them again.”
Sharesh, standing ready at the bowline, just behind the group, shivered, but not from cold, at the sound of the soft but clear voice. She did not raise her hood but he knew the almond-shaped eyes were fixed on him.
“Strange, that you invoke the Lady Mother’s blessing on your first voyage, yet allow no woman to set foot upon the ship. But we are patient and understand your quaint customs. We have come to wish you safe passage.”
“We, my Lady?”
“As I said, we, Lord Kanesh.”
She turned her hooded head slightly towards the coach. Kanesh saw a curtain move and beyond it the dim outline of a veiled face and elaborately coiled hair. Why would the High Priestess and the Commander’s lady rise so early and brave a windy shore to watch a ship, even this ship, put to sea?
She seemed to read his thoughts.
“A little ceremony, my Lord, fitting this auspicious event: the first long embrace between your slender vessel and the great waters. She has no far-seeing eye painted on her bow, nor effigy –”
“Her lines are better left clean and simple.”
“– so the protection of the Lady Mother may be assured by her carrying this sealstone and who better to be entrusted with it than the youngest member of the crew? I see him there waiting at the bowline to do his duty.”
“We must be under way.”
“First the sealstone. Captain Potyr would not forbid the presence of this lady on his ship, would you, Captain?”
Potyr said nothing but stood aside as she made her way towards Sharesh. She spoke in a low voice so that only he could hear what she said.
“A cold morning for the son of the Lady Akusha, colder by far than even the corridors of the labyrinth, is that not so? And there will be many more, and nights, too. Keep this close and it will bring you warmth.”
She took his hand in both of hers and closed his fingers round the sealstone. Her perfume made his head whirl, even in the freshness of the morning. It was true: he could feel warmth rising inside his body. She smiled a mysterious smile and her almond eyes seemed to see deep inside him. She slowly released his hand, letting her fingers tantalisingly caress his skin. He found himself trying to hold on but her hands slid free, stayed close for a moment and then were hidden inside the blue cloak. No one spoke. The only sound was of rigging shaking against the spar in the freshening breeze. The group of men parted to let her pass through and walk slowly along the jetty towards the waiting coach.
Potyr broke the silence.
“Stand ready, bowline and stern line.” To Sekara he said, “We mark your presence and are grateful.” Then, to Kanesh, “Let us take her where she belongs.”
Under sail and with all oars at work, the ship soon stood far out and then changed course away from the now risen sun. Sekara watched until she was out of sight and then walked back with his fellow commanders to their waiting horses. The coach was rolling away in the direction of the town as they took the reins. As they rode away Sekara was thinking that at last the enterprise had truly begun, but how would it end?
Sharesh opened the alabaster box that contained the eye of fire sealstone that Koreta had given him. There would be room in it for the one he had just been given. He looked at it for the first time. This was no image of the Lady Mother. He had seen those that his mother kept near the shrine in her own room and they showed the Lady Mother in her rich gown seated on a hillside and receiving sacrificial offerings, or with strange beasts at her side, or descending from the clouds. The woman’s face delicately carved on this green stone had the tip-tilted nose and almond-shaped eyes he knew so well. Keep this close and it will bring you warmth the full lips seemed to repeat.
The Commander was in a good mood. At the banquet there had been his favourite wine from Halaba and the roast quails he loved. And more Halaba; he smiled indulgently to himself. He thought he had spoken well, too, seriously about the measures taken – successfully – against the pirates, and told some good jokes. The envoys seemed impressed. It had been very late when he finally reached his bed. He remembered the light from a great full moon flowing into the room and a woman in a sheer white gown coming slowly towards him. Yes, he was in a good mood but something nagged his memory. What could it be?
“You were sleeping so sweetly,” said Pasipha, “that I could not bear to wake you, so I went myself to carry out the little ceremony on your behalf.”
“Ceremony?”
“Why, yes, you remember: for the ship, the new one. She sailed on her first trial today.”
“All this way, just for me?” laughed the quarryman as he climbed on board and dropped his sack on the deck with a heavy thud and a ring of metal against metal.
“Don’t fool yourself,” said Typhis. “The skipper wanted to put her through her first trial under ballast and you come cheaper than stone, so mind you stay amidships. We don’t want her going down by the stern. What have you got in there?” he said, kicking the sack. “Shit, it’s broken my toe!”
“Tools of the trade,” said the quarryman. “Hammers and a chisel or two and my old army issue axe. Good one, too. Feel that edge. Now, where do I sleep?”
“You’re not here to sleep. If you’re coming with us you have to learn to be a seaman now. Here, catch hold of this. This is what we call an oar.”
On the stern deck Potyr looked up at the sun. It was still well short of its midday height. Even taking her light loading into account it had been a very fast crossing of the bay. She had at least twice the pace of the Dolphin and she handled beautifully. He had put her through two complete fast circling turns and she answered the rudder as eagerly and quickly as a dog followed the shepherd’s whistle. At the beginning of the first, Typhis had had a tight look on his face but, at the order to make the second, he had just grinned and almost casually leaned on the tiller. Potyr ran his eye along the length of the ship, noting every detail. He saw the big black quarryman carrying an oar upright in one hand as easily as if it were a walking stick and watched as he seated himself on one of the midships thwarts and found the pin for holding the oar once the ship was clear of the jetty. Potyr sniffed the air and sensed a change in the wind: time to see what she could do under sail. He gave the order to cast off and, a few moments later, heard the familiar soft double thud of feet on the deck as Sharesh and Namun jumped aboard.
When she was fifty ship lengths offshore, Potyr ordered the oars inboard and the sail to be hoist. Naudok thought a great deal about sails. He once told Namun that if a ship was a bird, its sail was the wings. This sail was made from linen woven with the sideways yarn thicker than the upright, because Naudok said this made it able to stand up to stronger winds that could give the ship greater speed. To lessen stretching it was made from several panels strongly and tightly sewn together with doubled thickness where the sheets were tied to the lower corners. The head of the sail was shorter than its foot because Naudok reckoned this made her steadier in a strong blow. The riggers grumbled about the weight they had to lift, but Potyr took no notice. He knew they would boast about that sail in the taverns, though they were under strict instructions to say nothing about the bracing lines lashed to each end of the spar. The wind was on the port quarter and the sail quickly filled. Typhis swung the tiller to hold her away from the shore. White foam sprang from her foot and the sheets hummed. The crew grinned. The wind was doing their work for them. After a nod from Typhis, Sharesh edged his way forward and sat down beside the quarryman.
“Are you coming with us?”
“Well you can see me here, can’t you?”
“I mean, all the way; all the way to the Tin Islands.”
“If that’s what the Captain wants.”
“I am Sharesh. What is your name?”
“I never was given a name. My mother died when I was born and I never knew my father. You can call me Kerma, if you like. I told you that’s where I come fr
om. Will that do?
“Kerma. Yes. I am glad you are coming. Is that your talisman?”
The quarryman instinctively raised his hand to finger the little amulet of the god with the staff that hung round his neck.
“I’m not supposed to say his name, but he looks after us poor men who work with stone.”
“Ship on the port beam, closing fast!” called Namun at lookout.
“Warship,” said Potyr. “Looks like the one with the young captain who joined us at Kestera.”
“Sent by Sekara, I’ll be bound,” said Kanesh, “to tempt us into showing what we can do.”
Potyr looked at him steadily. “Then let us show him, shall we?” He turned and spoke briefly to Typhis who bellowed the orders.
“Slacken that portside brace and lash it tight! Ease the starboard brace now! Out oars! Dig in! Wait for it! Pull! Pull till your eyes stick out! Don’t let the navy show you the way home a second time!”
To his surprise, Kanesh saw the spar turn a short way to starboard, allowing the sail to fill more deeply as it turned squarer to the wind. He looked questioningly at Potyr who gave a slight shrug.
“I have often asked myself how can you use a wind when it’s on your beam or use it better when your ship is running near downwind. I happened to mention it to Namun…”
“… knowing he would talk to…”
“…Naudok somehow worked out the necessary knots and rigging…”
“… and here we are, leaving the navy behind. I think we should not anchor in our bay tonight but lead the navy all the way to the Palace harbour. If we can keep this pace we should be tied up and all ashore by the time they turn the point.”
“There will be trouble in the taverns.”
“Yes, but this time the quarryman will be there.”
It was early morning, clear and fresh. They stood on the roof of the Port Controller’s house, looking over the parapet towards the harbour.
“You made the point very emphatically yesterday,” said Sekara drily, “and created a problem for me at the same time. I have already had three navy commanders declaring their own vessels are now obsolete.” His face softened into a rueful grin.
“Given all the interest and practical support you have provided, no one is better equipped than yourself to address such a problem,” said Kanesh.
“Don’t rub it in. I can deal with it. Now, what comes next? Are there no faults with the ship?”
“She took in more water than expected and even though the timbers will swell further and tighten the joints, it means we shall need more of the black caulking and linen. I know it is expensive but Naudok will not permit use of beeswax because he maintains it hardens and flakes in time. The riggers complain about the weight of the sail and complicated knots and sheets, but they will get used to them and trimming will be easier with a new parral holding the spar to the mast. Ways of shortening sail for when the wind blows gale force need to be devised. In fact we may also ship a smaller sail for use at times like that. The steering gear worked well but the helmsman has worries about the metal fittings. They will be tested more severely soon.”
“Is that all?”
“The owner’s wife, and, it has to be said, some of the crew, request that the anchor stones bear carvings of the Lady Mother of the Seas. I approve of that.”
“I can arrange it, if it must be done. When do you sail?”
“One more day of trials and training; a day to load and provision, draw up lists and receive despatches; dawn on the third day from now. The captain thinks we should have good weather for the passage to Telchina.”
“Telchina? What business do you have in Telchina?”
“None. We will not call there. Landfall is a rocky cape on the far side of Telchina. Once there, the captain turns towards the rising sun and holds steady on that course with land to larboard in sight all the way until he reaches the Kinaani coast: six days, perhaps, unless there is need to stop for water.”
“And two days more to Gubal, unless you call in at Alasiya. You could take on copper ingots there.”
“We do not have the time. We have only Gubal in mind, for the profit to be made on the goods we carry, especially the earths from Korus – you know about them – and Cabira; and inspection of the steering gear metal fittings by a smith reputed by some to be a god in disguise, such is his skill in the mystery.”
“Indeed? Dealing with gods requires the greatest cunning, a quality they do not possess, though one cannot say the same for some of their servants, eh? But you have experience – of both, perhaps? You keep your thoughts to yourself. Very well, back to the ship. When does she sail today? I have a sudden wish to to see for myself how she handles.”
“You will have to eat breakfast on board.”
“We can be there before the cakes grow cold. My Captain of Archers is with the horses below.”
Sweeping up his cloak, Sekara strode quickly towards the staircase and was halfway down as Kanesh’s words followed his retreating back.
“The Captain of Archers: I was meaning to speak to you about him.”
The sun was nearing the horizon when the ship’s fenders gently bumped against the jetty wall and she was secured. Sekara stepped ashore, wet, wind blown and tired but also exultant. Grooms hurried up with dry cloaks and flasks of spiced wine for him and the Captain of Archers. Sekara raised his flask towards Potyr and Kanesh who stood on the stern deck.
“Those three warship captains were right,” he called. He took a long drink and looked out to sea. “One day we shall have to see how she can fight.” He glanced up at Kanesh. “With archers on board, of course.”
STORM STRESS
Sharesh reported to Potyr that all pieces of cargo transferred from the warehouse to the hold had been checked by him and Namun, confirmed by Merida’s agent, and the tablets and tallystones were ready for the master to store in his cabin. Potyr nodded his thanks, letting his mind run over what lay ahead. She was not heavy laden but what she had in her hold was as valuable a cargo as he had ever carried; bolts of richly coloured and finely woven cloth; gold and silver dishes and ornaments, bracelets, earrings, pendants, all as finely crafted in Keftiu as any to be found anywhere; carved boxes and flasks of onyx and alabaster for the creams, unguents and perfumes craved by the wives and concubines of wealthy merchants and nobles; sealed jars of the unguents and perfumes themselves, made to secret recipes from oil of lavender, sweet resin and, most expensive of all, iris flower; tall jars of wine, some honeyed, some spiced, others pungent with resin, and squat jars of the thick dark thyme-flavoured Keftiu honey; boxes of dried figs and apricots; round goat cheeses packed in leaves to keep them moist and soft; dried fish and salted fish in shallow crates; pots of the famed salt from Lemaka and the coloured earths from Palaka that potters prized; other earths, from forbidden Kuros and the green and orange ones from the island of Cabira, near the Labarna’s shores, claimed by physicians to soak up infections and cure wounds and sworn, by those who dressed and pampered rich ladies, to clear the skin and smooth away wrinkles and blemishes. All the trappings and delicacies to meet the taste for luxury, thought Potyr, wondering as always why such things commanded such higher prices than the copper and timber and stone he sometimes carried. Dusk was falling. Lights were twinkling around the port and the town: time for the ship’s lanterns to be lit. There they were. Kanesh should be returning any time now with the wallets of despatches. It would be a clear night and a calm dawn. Would the winds be favourable, or at least not against them? It was still early in the season but they must be on with it and they had so far to go, farther than anyone had ever gone, he thought. He shivered and made a little private gesture of supplication: preserve us, Lady Mother of the Seas.
“Master?”
Potyr started. The boy, no, not a boy any longer: he was as tall as the captain now and his arms were strong, his legs long. He was looking with a question in his eyes.
“Yes, all seems in order. Carry on. No, wait. Find the helmsma
n and have him see to the lashings on that steering oar and let me know if the archers have stowed all their gear.”
They slipped out of the harbour as the first rose flush of dawn was seeping along the horizon and altered course to follow the coast towards the farmost cape of Keftiu. A flight of birds, eager to seek a shoal when the sun came up, flew over them and out to sea, swooped down, and disappeared against the darkness of the waves. To larboard, Dia and its offshore rock slowly faded away behind them. The horizon began to gleam and suddenly burst into brightness as the sun heaved up into view. To starboard the coastline changed from a soft smudge to a sharp line edged with white and the distant mountain peaks glittered as the bright rays struck the snow which still clung there. The crew began to feel warmth on their shoulders and, with their second wind, settled into a steady rhythm, grew cheerful and began to talk and banter as they bent forward and drew back, forward and back to the time set by Typhis. Midday found the ship passing a cape at the opening of a wide bay. Potyr made a slight change of course to put her on a heading across the bay and the light breeze that had been on their port beam now filled the sail and urged the ship on. Houses dotted the shoreline and at the head of the bay, as if emerging from sleep, the winding streets and alleys of a large town sprawled over a low hill with a white stone palace of many windows and towers and terraces at its summit. A little way out into the bay from the opposite shore lay a small island and harbour busy with shipping. By mid-afternoon the bay lay astern and the ship was back on her first heading, with a pair of islands to port and another, smaller bay on Keftiu to starboard. As dusk was falling the ship eased slowly into a small cove well sheltered from the wind and within sight of the jagged cape that was the last point of land on Keftiu.
To ensure an early start next day, rather than haul the ship up on the beach, Potyr chose to drop anchor and stand off a little way. The water was shallow enough for Sharesh, Namun and two crewmen to wade ashore carrying fish, beans, olives and cauldrons for making the usual stew over a fire of driftwood gathered along the strand line. While he was searching the rocky slopes that led down to the beach for wild sage and thyme to flavour the food, Sharesh came across a track that led inland but, before he could see where it led, he was called back to help with the dinner. The moon had risen in a clear sky by the time that most of the crew, content with food in their bellies, lay down on patches of sand to sleep under their cloaks or blankets. The ship’s lanterns were lit and a lookout posted at the top of the beach. Sharesh and Namun stayed awake, huddling close to the pile of embers, fanning them into flickering life and listening to the mumbles and snores of the sleeping crew. They had something yet to do.
