“We are coming into a small harbor on Dhenoussa. Khafir-Amun found it about an hour ago. It is a small cove on the south side of the island. There are two long crests through the island, one in a straight line, the other curved; the inlet is in the last curve of that second crest. Approaching it is proving difficult: the seas are still high, and we cannot use the sail, and the oarsmen are being cautious not to splinter their oars on hidden rocks.”
“Did Khafir-Amun have any more information about the island?” Sant-Germainus asked, wanting to concentrate on something other than his discomforts.
“There is no spring on the island, or so the sailors say, so we will have to get water from cisterns on the island, which should be full after such a storm as we have had, assuming the shepherds and fishermen will allow us to have enough for our needs,” said Rutgeros. “Also, there is a monastery on the north end of the island; the fishermen are on the south side, so there should be food available somewhere. The monks should be charitable at this time of year, for their faith.”
“Assuming the captain is willing to pay for it,” said Sant-Germainus sardonically.
“Alas, I fear he has other plans; he intends to seize what he wants and to leave the island before anyone knows we have come.” Rutgeros bent down to offer the support of his arm. “And speaking of the captain, I have informed him of the severity of your sea-sickness so he will not expect you to ask for food.”
“Prudent of you, old friend,” said Sant-Germainus with a rueful smile. “Not that I am not ravenous.”
“As is the rest of the crew,” said Rutgeros. “If the captain had decided to make for Thera without taking on food and water, there would have been mutiny.”
“Or a dead crew,” said Sant-Germainus flatly; he would hate to have to drift in a damaged ship with nothing but decaying bodies and only Rutgeros for company.
“The captain is greedy and foolish, but he knows he could lose everything, including his life, if he starves his oarsmen.”
“I should hope so; his men must know it,” said Sant-Germainus. He managed to squeeze out of the bunk and get to his feet, but he discovered his head still ached and his strength was at low ebb.
“Hold steady,” Rutgeros recommended in Byzantine Greek as he offered the support of his arm to Sant-Germainus; there were other men near them who were listening to their conversation and would be suspicious of what they did not understand. “I discovered one of your chests in the cargo hold, the only one they took from the Morning Star. Apparently the straps and locks intrigued the captain; he couldn’t get it open, and so he brought it aboard, hoping he will find treasure inside.”
“And so he shall, if only he knew it,” said Sant-Germainus drily, still speaking the Latin of five hundred years ago. “If the earth is not soaked, I will take advantage of having it here once we are safe in harbor.”
“You might have to wait until the crew is sleeping,” Rutgeros pointed out.
“Which most will do, with only a few put on watch through the night. They will not notice what I do, if I am cautious,” said Sant-Germainus.
“I could attend to it for you,” Rutgeros volunteered.
“It may come to that,” said Sant-Germainus as he looked toward the open hold where the ladder was beginning to shake; someone was climbing down. “We will make our decisions in this regard later.”
“A very good notion,” said Rutgeros. He stepped back as a middle-aged man with Greek features but dressed in Syrian finery came into the hold. “Captain Argourus,” he said, effacing himself.
“I see you are awake,” said the captain, ignoring Rutgeros and addressing Sant-Germainus; he fingered his curled beard, his lower lip protruding. “May God give you a good day on the Eve of His Nativity.” He made a great show of signing himself. “On this day, we must all be doubly thankful.”
“He may have provided our deliverance, more or less.” He indicated the pitch and roll of the ship. “We are not safely anchored yet.”
“Can you doubt it, on this of all evenings?” Captain Argourus pointed directly at Sant-Germainus. “Do you question His mercy? You will tempt God to allow the sea to swallow you.”
“The last few days have been demanding, yet I am still here.” Sant-Germainus steadied himself by holding onto the edge of the top bunk of the tier; his Byzantine Greek was impeccable, but slightly accented. “I do not know if this is because of fate or chance or the season; the Christians in this crew must have effective prayers at this time.” He paused and added, “If there is reason for thanks, then I am thankful.”
Captain Argourus regarded him narrowly, then decided not to make an issue of it. “You did well, they tell me. You kept us from going completely off course. We wouldn’t have made this landfall without your seamanship.”
“You are most generous to say so, but it was more luck and the whim of the sea that brought us safely through the heart of the storm,” said Sant-Germainus, keeping most of the irony from his voice; only the arch of one fine brow suggested any mordant intent.
The captain studied Sant-Germainus for a long while, and again chose not to argue. “Do you know this island: Dhenoussa?”
“I have passed it many times, but I do not know it. This is the first time I have landed on its shores.” He did not add that except for his first voyage to Egypt roughly two thousand years before, in the past he had been in the hold of his ship, atop his chests of his native earth, in a stupor, not struggling on deck, chained to an oar.
“But you are not adverse to going ashore,” Captain Argourus said.
“No, I am not,” said Sant-Germainus, who was eager to have earth beneath his feet, and the chance to find an animal—a goat or a sheep would do—to allow him to ease his hunger.
“Good. I will send you to the monks; they are more likely to help us than any fishermen—my crew will deal with the fishermen. The monks are supposed to aid seafarers, aren’t they? Their cisterns are full, no doubt, and for the monks, these being their Holy Days, they will not begrudge us water and food, in the name of their God. But the request will do better coming from you than from me.”
Although Sant-Germainus agreed, he asked, “Why do you think so?”
The captain snorted. “Monks don’t like pirates. They’re likely to refuse me on that point alone.”
“But you think they will provide me with food and water because I am a captive,” said Sant-Germainus.
“It would be like them; their faith requires it,” said Captain Argourus, his smile widening. “Especially if you tell them I will kill you and all the men from your ship if you fail. They would rather be martyrs than betray their calling.”
Sant-Germainus regarded the captain steadily. “And you intend that I should plead for all of us?”
“And the monks, of course, since we would kill them, too, or lock them to the oars if they deny us. They can further their good acts by taking those of the oarsmen who are stricken, and treating their ills. We will lose half a dozen men to frostbite, I fear, and will need replacements for them. The monks could provide us with strong arms.” He coughed. “Tell them that during their Holy Days, they should uphold what their founder taught, and suffer for the good of others.”
“Ship oars!” came the shout from the rowing-hold.
“We must be close to shore; you can hear the breakers and smell the beach,” said the captain. “We will have to use the small boats to get to and from the land; there is no dock or quay at the inlet, not that it would be safe to tie up to any such structure with the seas still so high.” He pointed to Sant-Germainus. “Be ready to go ashore. I will not stomach delays. Our need it too urgent.”
“I will have to find a cloak. My clothes are not sufficient to keep a mouse warm, not out in the open wind,” said Sant-Germainus. He did not want the clothes for protection against the elements, but to secure himself from prying eyes.
“Your manservant can find that for you,” said the captain as he made for the ladder leading to the deck above. “Be read
y. I will take your reluctance out on the hide of the oarsmen,” he declared ominously as he set foot on the lowest rung.
“I will find what you need,” said Rutgeros to Sant-Germainus.
“Thank you,” said Sant-Germainus, a troubled line settling in between his fine brows. He stood, accustoming himself to the roll of the ship, trying to put the discomfort of his headache and nausea behind him; forcing himself to listen to what the sailors and oarsman were shouting, he was able to reach a point where he could ignore his water-caused irritations, and to put his attention on what was going on around him, so that by the time Rutgeros came back from his search with a fine, if old-fashioned abolla, its deep pleats smelling of salt and rosemary; he was able to pull it on with little more than a wince. It’s color—a dark olive-gray—made him seem one with the shadows.
“It is a bit damp,” Rutgeros said apologetically.
“What is not?” Sant-Germainus countered with a hint of amusement. “It is mostly dry, and it is heavy enough to keep out the wind.” He saw Khafir-Amun descending the ladder into the hold. “How is this anchorage?”
Khafir-Amun was tired; his big shoulders slouched and there were purplish shadows around his eyes. “It is the best we can have in this location,” he said. “This ship will not go much farther, in any case. We need food and water and the hull requires patching.”
“Is it breached?” Sant-Germainus asked, trying to conceal his alarm.
“Nothing too serious, but the hull must be patched; the damage will get worse if it isn’t attended to now. Three of the oars are in need of repair, as well.” He rubbed his lips. “I am hungry, and I need sleep.”
Sant-Germainus nodded. “As are we all: hungry.”
“The captain will have to provide for us, and soon,” said Khafir-Amun, scowling as he looked for a bunk in which to nap. “And everyone is tired, I know I am not alone. Some are asleep at their oars.”
“Then the captain will provide rest and food,” Sant-Germainus agreed, thinking of the errand ahead for him. “If he has any sense.”
“Six of the oarsmen have been set to fishing from the fore-deck,” said Rutgeros. “They should catch something to cook.”
“Octopus,” said Khafir-Amun. “I like octopus.”
“I suspect anything would do now,” said Rutgeros. “Except, perhaps, sponges.”
“In storms like this, fishing is uncertain,” said Khafir-Amun, no longer paying much attention as he covered his yawn.
“All the more reason for me to make haste,” said Sant-Germainus, as much to spur himself on as to explain his mission.
“So say we all,” muttered Khafir-Amun.
“Is there a lantern I can take with me?” Sant-Germainus asked, for although his eyes did not require the extra illumination to see in the night, he knew better than to forge off into the fading light with nothing to light his way.
“I’ll find one for you,” Rutgeros said, and went forward in the chilly, malodorous hold, moving carefully among the groups of worn out oarsmen who sat on the floor, bent with fatigue.
“So you really are going to speak to the monks, are you?” Khafir-Amun asked Sant-Germainus.
“The captain insists,” said Sant-Germainus, resignation in every aspect of his body.
“Just like that? On your own?”
Rutgeros returned, carrying a simple oil-lantern, its wick just starting to burn. After blowing gently on the wick to increase its brightness, he held it out to Sant-Germainus silently; Sant-Gemainus took the oil-lantern and studied it for a brief moment, then looked att Khafir-Amun. “He has promised to kill you and all those he took from the Morning Star if I do not persuade the monks to feed and help us. I have no doubt he would carry out his threat.” His face was impassive but there was a glint in his dark eyes that revealed the contempt he felt for the captain. “That is not the way I would prefer to mark the remembrance of my birth.”
“I see. So you aren’t likely to do anything other than what the captain requires,” said Khafir-Amun. “He’s a clever old devil, Captain Argourus is.”
“Do you admire him?” Rutgeros asked in disapproving surprise.
“No,” said Khafir-Amun. “But many pirates would simply cut their losses and strand the captives and the injured on this island to fend for themselves. At least we have something more than thirst and starvation ahead of us.” He listened to the outburst of activity on the deck, and smiled. “Ah. Someone has caught a fish. As soon as the men get the fire going again, we will have a little to eat.”
“I hope the fish is of good size,” said Rutgeros.
“Or that more are caught, and soon. They will put the fish in with the driest of the beans that are left into the pot, and anything else that we can still safely eat that hasn’t been washed overboard.” Khafir-Amun touched the charm that hung around his neck on a hin brass chain. “We will not die tonight, or tomorrow.”
“If I can convince the monks to aid us,” said Sant-Germainus, going toward the ladder, his oil-lantern raised.
Khafir-Amun coughed discreetly. “I have some information to pass to you, which Ynay told me: none of us from the Morning Star are permitted to take you ashore, or to go with you. We are hostages, to gain your compliance. The captain said you must stay with his men as far as the shore, and then go on your own. If you aren’t back by dawn, he will throw one of us into the sea at noon, and another at sunset, and then he will storm the monastery with his men, and take what they want.”
“Why did he not tell me himself?” Sant-Germainus asked, preparing to climb to the deck.
“Because he said there was nothing to discuss, and he wanted no argument from you—it would avail you nothing.” He lowered his head. “I am sorry to have to tell you, but it is something you have to know. Ynay insisted that you be informed.”
Rutgeros, listening to this, said softly to Sant-Germainus. “If you can escape, my master, do it. We are all dead men in any case.”
“This is an island, old friend—where can I escape?” said Sant-Germainus as he began to climb into the brilliant red light of sunset.
* * * *
The boat that provided a crossing from the boat to the shore was small enough to have difficulties in the swells. Six oarsmen tugged and pulled while Ynay held the steering-oar in the stern. The overcast sky caught the low light from the sinking sun; the lambent light making the sky appear to be filled with lava, and lending the land ahead a smoldering shade of orange. Sant-Germainus sat in the middle of the boat, vertigo threatening to claim him as the oarsmen plied their way through the raucous sea.
“There are no houses anywhere I can see,” Sant-Germainus forced himself to say.
“Your steersman said that this cove isn’t sheltered enough for that. According to him, there is a small village around the point to the west, or there was eight years ago.”
“And you’re planning to go there, are you?”
“As soon as you are safely landed, yes. I’m sorry you have to go ashore at night,” said Ynay to Sant-Germainus, pointing to the eroded peak on the west side of the cove. “They say spirits hold this island at the dark of the year, and not all of them are helpful, or inclined to give aid to visitors.”
“I will keep that in mind,” said Sant-Germainus. He held his abolla closed; the oil-lantern rested on his knee. As the shore grew nearer, he took stock of the rocky inlet and the narrow beach. “How many of you will remain here while I visit the monastery?”
“Two will remain,” said Ynay. “The captain wants the boat to go on to the fishing village as soon as you are landed. They will have something we can eat.”
Sant-Germainus thought that over, and disliked the conclusions he reached about this decision. He would have liked to have a knife with him. “Are there wild animals on the island, do you know?”
“Goats and some pigs,” said Ynay. “There are also a few sheep; the monks maintain a flock for their own use.”
“In folds at this time of year, I suppose,” said Sant-G
ermainus.
“Very likely,” said Ynay, and wiped his face as the boat rode through the first breakers.
“Do you know where the monastery is?” Sant-Germainus asked. “I can not see anything from here.”
“On the northeast corner of the island, on a rocky crest,” said Ynay, and ordered the oarsmen to slow their efforts. “Front oars, prepare to land.” The boat rocked up, then down, and as the bow fell, the two front oarsmen jumped out into waist-deep surf. They took hold of the bow-line and began to drag the boat toward the sand while the other oarsmen pulled in their oars. The bottom scraped and the boat leaned to the port side as the two front oarsmen tugged the boat out of the water. Ynay climbed out of the boat and held it steady for Sant-Germainus, who struggled over the side and into thigh-deep water; his senses rocked as he tried to move out of the spent waves and onto the sand. Although the water was unpleasantly cold, it would have been disorienting to Sant-Germainus had it been warm and still. His first stride almost sent him off his feet, and he flailed to keep from toppling under the water. His hands sunk like talons into the side-rail of the boat, and he clung to this as he made his way the five steps it took to get onto the beach where he sat down, panting, beyond the touch of the water. He looked westward where the orange light was now tinged with violet and tarnished silver, and the sun was a brilliant pool of brass hanging just above the horizon, blocked in part by the cliff at the western edge of the cove, and the mass of Captain Argourus’ ship.
“Not much light left,” said the lead oarsman from his place at the top of the narrow swath of sand. “And the tide is coming in.”
“High water should be at the edge of the sand, against the cliff,” said Ynay.
“And the tide is coming in,” said Sant-Germainus.
“The two of you who remain here should find shelter up there.” He pointed to a broad ledge on the face of the cliff, slightly higher than Ynay was tall.
“Is that high enough?” The second oarsman shook his head. “I don’t want to be trapped on a ledge for half the night.”
The Vampire Megapack Page 4