by David Riley
The Last Voyage of
The Emir
The Last Voyage of
The Emir
David Riley
© 2019 David Riley
The Last Voyage of The Emir
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Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
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Scripture quotations marked NKJV are from the New King James Version®. © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018933344
ISBN 978-1-400329212 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-400329229 (eBook)
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Contents
The Emir
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Final Word
The Emir
The Emir was getting old. Movements had always been slow and ponderous due to great size, but now they were accompanied by creaking and popping noises. Shuddering and wobbling were common, and there were blemishes and stains that would not go away despite vigorous scrubbing. Some days there was a lot of wind, but others hardly any. Many times there was noticeable seepage and wetness in the lower areas where it was not supposed to happen.
This particular Emir was a ship; a large ship from the Egyptian fleet, traveling back and forth across the Mediterranean hauling its cargo of grain. It was about 200 feet long and 50 feet wide, with one tall mast holding a large sail. It could carry as many as 300 people in addition to the cargo.
Most ships were referred to as females but this one was not. The figurehead, strangely enough, was a beautiful young woman, but on closer inspection, you could see that she was holding a baby. Presumably this was the Emir the ship was named after. Details had been blurred as time, weather, and the salt spray of the sea had done their work through the years.
The official name, of course, was in Arabic: Emir al Salaam. Through the years, it had been shortened to The Emir. The crew, not really giving much thought to the name’s origin, were happy to just have a job. The captain, however, knew the story, his father having worked on this very ship as it was built in the shipyard. He had heard the story about the ship’s namesake several times when he was growing up and could tell his father had been greatly impacted by Him.
This is the tale of the last voyage of The Emir.
Chapter One
He rode into Myra just before midday. Three weeks of riding had left him tired, hungry, and in a bad mood. His back was sore and his scarred left arm was aching from overuse since he had wrapped the reins around his stiff and useless fingers.
He had been following the coastline alert for any news. In each dirty little town, he had asked for any news of a ship traveling along the coast. He thought he had found his prey in Sidon. He had news that a ship carrying Roman soldiers and prisoners had docked for a day and some of the prisoners had been allowed to disembark unaccompanied. This was almost unheard of since the soldiers could be severely punished to the point of death if they escaped. The innkeeper was still talking about it after a few days. By the time he had arrived, however, the ship had put to sea again.
He did not have any further news after that, but as he had turned west to follow the shore, the wind was in his face. He had smiled grimly at the thought that a ship would make slow going under these conditions, allowing him to gain on them.
He had been biding his time for more than two years, waiting for an opportunity to exact his revenge. The man had been kept securely locked in the Roman prison in Caesarea, out of his reach the entire time. Initially he had others working with him with similar desire for vengeance. As time passed, their determination had wavered and failed. He alone had persisted, motivated by burning hatred for the man who had destroyed his life. The long jolting ride had only increased his anger.
When he arrived in Myra, he made his way to an inn at the port. He sat down and called for the serving girl to get him food and drink. He was drumming his fingers on the table impatiently when she finally returned and set a plate of meat and bread in front of him.
“It’s about time!” he grumbled. He grabbed the cup from her hands and took a quick drink. She was turning to go when he grabbed her arm. “Wait! I need some information. Is there a ship here carrying Roman soldiers and prisoners?”
“I don’t know,” she said, pulling back from his reach with a frown. “Ships come and go all the time. You need to ask at the port.” She turned and quickly walked away.
“Useless woman!” he mumbled.
He ate in silence, looking around at the other tables. There were no soldiers within sight. He finished his plate and gulped down the ale. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he got up to leave. He dropped a coin on the table as he surveyed the dwindling funds in his moneybag.
He made his way to the port. There was a ship anchored just off shore, and he could tell by the activity it was preparing for departure. He only saw one other ship anchored in the harbor. His frustration grew as he muttered curses under his breath. He stalked toward the pier intending to question the men working there. He feared he had lost his chance.
As he drew near, he suddenly stopped, his eyes widening. Now that he was closer, he could see there was another ship beyond the first, hidden by its size. It had a familiar appearance. He turned and quickly strode closer to get a better look. His irritation receded as he recognized the ship. It was the one! He had seen it leaving Caesarea carrying his quarry.
“You there!” he called to a nearby sailor. “When did that ship arrive?”
“Which one? There are three ships out there!”
“That one!” he gestured impatiently with his outstretched hand.
“It arrived yesterday.”
“What happened to the people on it? The soldiers and the men they were transporting?”
“I don’t know. You might need to ask the harbormaster. His office is over there.” The main nodded toward a low building nearby as he turned and walked away.
He turned with a frustrated growl and stomped toward the office. He thrust open the door, startling the man inside causing him to jump spilling the cup he had in his hand.
“What do you want?” he said irritably as he brushed away the puddle with his hand.
“Where are the soldiers that arrived on the ship anchored out there?”
It took a moment for the harbormaster to comprehend the question. “Are you talking about the one heading back to Adramyttium? That came in from Caesarea?”
“All I know is there was a ship full of soldiers and prisoners that left Caesarea a few weeks ago. I have been trying to catch up to them ever since. Where are they?”
“Well, they just left this morning! The centurion in charge booked passage on an Alexandrian grain ship called The Emir. They are heading on to Rome. I’m afraid you missed them.”
He let out an exasperated groan and slapped the door with a loud bang.
“Hey now! Don’t break my door!” the harbormaster scowled. “If you want to try to catch them, maybe you should talk to the captain of the ship getting ready to leave. They are heading along the same route. And since they are smaller, they probably will catch up to them along the way!”
His eyes widened as he considered this. Without a word of thanks, he whirled around to rush to the pier leaving the harbormaster muttering and shaking his head, and he continued to clean up his spilled ale.
Chapter Two
Gaius leaned against the rail worn smooth by the friction of time. As he watched the frothy surface of the sea, plowed aside by the prow of the ship, he was reminded again that the hope of a restful voyage was not likely to be realized. The noise of a ship at sea engulfed him with the creaking of timber, the slapping of the waves offended by the passing hull, and the snapping and rattling of the pregnant sails laboring to deliver them toward Rome. He could catch snatches of conversations all around him: the crew shouting instructions to one another, men trading good-natured insults, and his fellow soldiers growling at the prisoners in their charge. There were also the smells of the salt tang of the sea and the collective physiology of 200 plus human creatures held in a confined space, thankfully diminishing into his subconscious after several days at sea.
The excitement and anticipation he’d had as they left Caesarea the first day had faded as the monotony and routine of life on board the ship became reality. It had taken him a few days to get used to the movement of the ship but now he hardly noticed it. The weather had been nice but evidently this was not enough to please the captain of the ship. The winds were not what he wanted, so they had to sail to the north along the coast of Asia. This gave them slow progress, and the daily routine overseeing the soldiers under his command became somewhat boring.
Things got more interesting when they arrived at Myra. They had to find another ship heading to Rome, so they had a day in the city while Julius, his friend and the centurion in charge, secured passage for them. Gaius ordered the men of his cohort to keep a close watch on the prisoners. He was well aware of the severe penalties if one were to escape and did not want that on his record. He knew only too well the life-changing implications of letting a prisoner get away, even a dead one. His father had experienced such an incident and never fully recovered.
They finally left Myra a few days ago. The Alexandrian ship, The Emir, was much larger. He estimated there must be 250–300 people on board counting the crew, prisoners, soldiers, and other passengers. The large mast in the center of the deck held a huge sail, and there was a smaller sail at the front. There were two decks below, the lowest a large hold for the grain the ship was designed to carry. It also held a large cistern for drinking water and an area for the provisions to feed the crew and passengers. The middle deck was divided into three main compartments. One was fitted with several hammocks for the crew and one with a large area for the prisoners, soldiers, and passengers to sleep on pallets on the floor. The third room was used as a common area and had a few tables for the people to congregate together.
With nicer weather, most of the people would spend time on the upper deck. The breeze helped to dissipate the normal smells associated with that many men gathered in one space. After a few days, most were still polite and cheerful, but Gaius knew human nature well enough to know that with a long time in limited space, there would likely be some conflict. He started studying the groups of people around him, wondering who would be the troublemakers he may have to help control in the future.
The crew was ever present, performing their various duties efficiently. They were accustomed to life on board the ship, so he did not anticipate them being a source of trouble. They seemed to speak in their own language and kept to themselves. Some were weathered, with the dark leathery skin brought on by a life in the wind and sun. Rough calluses were noticeable on their hands. They showed the marks of a rough life at sea, with missing fingers, scars, and pronounced limps, but still able to do the work required. A few looked very young, and he could tell at least two or three were likely on their first voyage. He could see their vigilance bordering on fear as they seemed to be ever anticipating a reprimand.
There were several passengers that kept to themselves, some cautiously making overtures of friendship to other passengers. Most were fairly well dressed, and some seemed to have a definite air of superiority as they avoided contact with the crew or the prisoners. Travel to Rome carried a certain status, and some of them wanted it displayed prominently. Gaius knew their type and expected they would be more demanding as the trip wore on.
The largest group were the soldiers. One cohort was being transported back to Rome after their deployment in Asia. There was also the cohort commanded by the Centurion, Julius, with Gaius as the second-in-command. The two groups, now combined under the command of Julius, spent much of their free time sharing stories of where they had been stationed, often inflating tales of their acts of bravery when on duty and other more prurient conquests off duty. They quickly developed a level of camaraderie during the first few days.
The soldiers were trained for a life of discipline and following orders. For Gaius’ men, this particular assignment was in many ways desirable. They had no reason to fear death due to battle while on the voyage. Any hard labor on the ship was done by the crew who knew the equipment and the work required to maintain the ship. The prisoners really had nowhere to go, so the guards could afford to be less vigilant during the trip. Gaius had to keep reminding them that escape was not the only problem they had to guard against. Mutiny was a possibility as well. He tried to keep a regimented schedule of rotating their shifts and requiring some upkeep of their weapons and uniforms, mostly to keep them on their toes. Complacency and tedium could be dangerous around prisoners, and he was determined to keep trouble at bay.
The final group was the prisoners. These prisoners were a lot different than those he had been around before. Roman prisoners could be violent and difficult but this group was more docile. Twenty-two in number, several of them had been imprisoned in Caesarea, some for two years. It seemed this group was more political rather than violent. Gaius was of the opinion that they really p
osed no significant threat and he did not understand why they had been imprisoned for so long. He and Julius both felt a certain respect for them. In fact, when they docked in Sidon, Julius went so far as to let one of the prisoners leave the ship with his traveling companions, one of whom was a physician, so they could provide care for him before resuming the long journey to Rome. Gaius was taken aback by the freedom allowed by Julius, but knew he had been with them in Caesarea before the journey started, and he trusted Julius’ judgment implicitly. He still breathed a sigh of relief when they boarded again.
During the first leg of the journey, this small group of prisoners and their traveling companions took to sitting on the deck each day, talking. The main prisoner, a man named Paul, was educated and had a gift for teaching. Those gathered seemed to be in rapt attention as he taught them, and over time other prisoners, and even a few of the guards, joined these times of teaching and discussion.
Gaius became curious and stood nearby on a few occasions to see what was being said. He wanted to be sure there was no scheming or plan for mutiny being discussed. Paul seemed mostly to keep repeating themes of holiness and living life in a way pleasing to his god. His favorite words seemed to be “grace” and “peace.” When he heard Paul mention the name Jesus, however, he wanted no more part of the discussion. That name had caused nothing but disruption in his family, and he was not interested in hearing more about it. He kept his distance after that, watching from afar to be sure the soldiers were acting appropriately.
All in all, the voyage had been uneventful. He was glad of that but at the same time hoped for something to break the humdrum monotony. Within reason of course. No need to wish for trouble!
His reverie was interrupted by someone calling his name.
“Gaius! There you are.”
He looked up to see his friend and commander, the centurion of their cohort.
“Hi, Julius! What is happening? Please tell me there is something to do! This boredom is beginning to take its toll!”
