by Gwynn White
Whenever she found herself in such situations, she had learned long ago that the first step was to stay calm. She would focus inward first, to remind herself of who and what she was. She was immortal. She had died over a thousand times before. She would die again. She would rise again.
Her second task was always to study her surroundings, to look for the nearest escape route or weapon, to decide whether to use guile or violence to achieve her goal.
In the past, she might have used her fighting skill. After all, she had her dagger safely tucked into its strap around her thigh. No, tonight, she would use guile… and poison. Easier to explain away his death.
Ferox shoved her up against the door, his hand still over her mouth. Petra relaxed every muscle in her body and let him feel her smile beneath his fingers. When she motioned with her eyes toward the tiny berth in the corner, surprise lit his eyes. In his confusion, he let his hand slip from her mouth, so she grabbed at the chance.
“There’s no need to rush, Ferox. I know what you want, and I want it too.”
He was so shocked that he stepped back from her as though she were an apparition. He wouldn’t know what she truly was until it was far too late.
She walked further into the cabin to put him more at ease, though he stood in the center of the room, dumbfounded as to how to proceed. She knew just the thing.
“I smuggled a bit of wine aboard, Ferox. Shall I pour you some first?”
“Woman, you surprise me.”
“Oh?” She noticed he hadn’t used the formal “signora” when addressing her.
“You’re not like—like any…”
“Woman you’ve ever met? No, you’re quite right about that. And you’ll never meet my equal again. So we’d best make the most of it.” She flashed him her most winning smile and turned her back toward him as she rummaged among her things for the small bottle of wine she had brought for Lucius. It was his favorite vintage from their best vineyard. A rich, deep red.
“I’ve not had a woman in a year,” Ferox breathed into her ear. He reached around to grasp at her breasts, and she forced herself not to pull away.
“I can well believe it, seeing as you are a sailor. Sit on the bed, and I will bring you your wine. It’s a fine Sangiovese.” She held up the bottle for him to view the expensive wine, and his smile of jubilance was genuine.
“What is your name, or shall I call you goddess Aphrodite?”
“Call me whatever you like,” she said, as she slipped a healthy pour of mortanine into the bottle. “I will be your salvation tonight, Ferox.” She couldn’t bear to look at him this time, so she stoppered the bottle and the phial and stood rocking with the ship’s movements for a moment, going into the place inside of her where all she could see were Lucius’s endlessly brown eyes in her mind’s eye.
She lost herself there, for how long she knew not. It was only Ferox’s arms coming around her again that brought her out of it. For a moment, she thought about letting him have his way with her so she could pretend his warm body was Lucius’s, but when the smell of Ferox’s unwashed body hit her again, she remembered herself, and handed him the glass of wine as she removed her over-warm cloak and turned to face him.
She almost felt sorry for the man when he downed a sizable gulp of the fragrant wine. Almost.
“Now, you drink,” he said. “It will loosen your tongue and your legs, I promise you.” Lust turned his smile into a prurient grin.
“The poison you drank is going to loosen your hold on life, my dear boy,” she replied, “but I suppose we all need a little relaxation, no?”
“What—?” Before he even spoke the word, she watched the mortanine taking effect. When his jaw began to seize up, he was smart enough to know she had spoken the truth.
“You whore!” He grabbed her, and before she could react, he tipped the glass over and poured it into her mouth. She immediately spit it out into his face, but too much of it had already slid down her throat, choking her.
Her anger soon matched his own, and she threw the bottle against the far bulkhead, enjoying the shattering sound as she took hold of his head, digging her fingers into his skull as she drew the life from him. Between the mortanine’s effects and her Essentian draw, she dispatched him quickly enough.
She had never done a draw while under the thrall of death. It exhausted her strength more quickly than anything else before it. Even with Clarius, his Sanguine draw turned from pain to a euphoric pleasure that drew her into death with a swoon of ecstasy. This was altogether more painful, more draining. And, though she wished for the mortanine to kill her, she did not die right away. Her blood was too powerful now to let her go so easily.
She lay in agony beside the man she had murdered, watching his corpse go through its rigors of death through the night hours. As the moon’s light faded into sun, her body gave up its long fight. She had never been more grateful for death, more hopeful for her blood to wash her body and mind clean.
21
The Stone
The Black Sea
August 13, 1346
Petra awoke to the bite of cold wind, the scratch of burlap against her bare skin, and the irritating boom of a man calling out.
“By the power of your Word
you stilled the chaos of the primeval seas,
you made the raging waters of the Flood subside,
and calmed the storm on the sea of Galilee.
As we commit the earthly remains
of our brother and sister Ferox Bianchi and Signora Petra to the deep—”
Petra sucked in a breath and sat up. The shouts of sailors erupted all around her. Her eyelids snapped open and through the holes in the burlap sack they had sewn her into, she could see they had gathered to give her and Ferox a burial at sea.
After she had taken a few breaths to calm her own hysteria, she spoke out above the din of shouts and prayers and curses.
“Captain Gratian, if you will be so kind as to release me. As you can see, I am very much alive.”
“Signora Petra, is it truly you?” He knelt and ripped open the burlap, letting it fall around her. “I felt for your heart myself. No pulse or breath showed that you survived. Are you mortal or spirit?”
She wanted to say neither. “I am as alive as you are. Help me to my feet, Captain. This chill wind will be the death of me yet.”
At this, the men gathered closer around. She glimpsed the horror and fear on their faces, which didn’t bode well for the rest of her journey. Sailors were notoriously wary of having women aboard ships.
The captain ripped open the burlap and pulled the rough cloth away from her face, which immediately set her body to shivering. She realized she was dressed only in her chemise. Likely they had stripped her belongings and meant to sell them in Kaffa when they reached the Crimea.
“Your cloak, Captain?” she said, crossing her arms over her exposed skin as the men stood around gawking.
The captain shut his gaping mouth and deftly removed his cloak to cover her. Petra clasped it around her neck and reached up for him to assist her. He hesitated.
“I am flesh and blood, Captain Gratian. Just a little tired from my ordeal.”
He took her hand and gently helped her rise, but he released her hand quickly and continued to stare hard at her face. Without breaking eye contact with her, he shouted abruptly to his men. “Stop gawking, or I’ll dock your rations!”
“My personal effects, Captain?” she asked.
“If you’ll forgive me, Signora… I need to know what happened to Sailor Ferox.”
She pulled the cloak further around her, which did nothing to warm her bare feet or help her come up with a good explanation.
“Captain,” she began slowly, “as I was retiring after supper last night, Ferox forced himself into my quarters and attempted to rape me.”
The captain’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.
“The only thing I had in my defense was an herb I slipped into a wine bottle I was saving for my hus
band, who I hope to find when we arrive in Kaffa.”
“How is it you do not know the whereabouts of your husband?”
She paused, struggling to come up with a believable lie. “He was taken to Kaffa after sustaining an injury during battle.”
“Ah, he is a soldier, then.”
“Yes, Captain. I have received word he is still there.”
“Since you both appeared dead, how is it Ferox did not survive?”
“After he ingested the herb, which I had not known was so poisonous—I hoped only that it would make him sleep—he forced me to drink of the wine as well. I spit most of it out.”
“I see. Signora Petra, for your protection, I think it best you remain below deck for the remainder of the trip. I will personally bring food and drink to your quarters, and I will have a trusted man help you with anything else you may need when I am on duty.”
She tucked the cloak closer about her and nodded. “Agreed, Captain.”
“Men, continue with the burial of Ferox while I escort the lady below. If any of you go near her, I will see you removed from sea service for the rest of your lives.”
As the men gathered around the body of Ferox, Petra turned away, wishing with every step she would find Lucius before it was all too late.
Even though Petra spotted land through her tiny porthole that morning, the captain ordered his men to drop sail. Eventually, she watched as another galley ship flying a Genoese flag came alongside the Athena. Shouts carried between the ships as the two captains relayed news. What she heard terrified her.
“Turn back, Captain, if you value your lives at all. The city of Kaffa is under siege.”
“Is it the Tatar-Mongols again?”
“Yes. All trading has ceased. Kaffa is running out of supplies. They have turned us away.”
“Why?”
“We are to return to Genoa immediately to request aid.”
At this, Petra rushed topside, determined to find a way to make landfall. By the time she stood before Captain Gratian, the other ship was already underway. She wore her heavy cloak, which shielded her from the fierce east winds.
“Captain, I must go to Kaffa. I cannot go back to Genoa without my husband.”
“You heard the news, yes? We must turn back. The city will not let us make berth at the port.”
Petra glanced toward the city, calculating the distance to the docks. She heard the faint sounds of siege machines echoing over the water. She had never been in the middle of a battle, but if Lucius was trapped somewhere in that fortress, she wouldn’t rest until she found him.
“I will pay you handsomely for a boat to row ashore.”
“What?” He let out a great guffaw, and those around them who heard her laughed as well. “You haven’t the strength to row so far.”
“I do. And I must, Captain. Take my money, and I will no longer be a burden to you.”
“I could not in good conscious let a woman enter into a city under siege without even a servant to protect her.”
“Captain, you will either let me have your lighter, or I will swim ashore. I would much prefer the former, but if I must I will swim—” She had begun to remove her cloak when he touched her arm.
“You will have your lighter, Signora, and one man to row you.”
“Sailors of the Athena to me,” the captain yelled. When the sailors gathered on the main deck, the captain addressed them. “You now know the city of Kaffa is blocking all but supply ships as they battle under a Tatar siege.”
The men nodded, anger and frustration in their eyes.
The captain swept a hand toward Petra. “This lady has urgent business in the city and needs an escort by lighter to the port. Who will volunteer?”
None stepped forward. She didn’t know if it was because she was a woman, because they feared the Mongol siege, or because she rose from the dead. Or perhaps it was because she had killed one of their own.
“Extra rations for the volunteer for a full week,” Captain Gratian added.
This intrigued a few of the men. Finally one stepped forward. Grime smeared his face and hands, but he was young and able-bodied, and she felt he would do well.
“Yes, Piero Biondi come forward,” the captain said with a nod of approval. “Deliver the signora safely to the docks of Kaffa, and then return immediately to the Athena. I will give you a letter of admittance to present to the dock master if you are questioned.”
The young man nodded.
“Gather your things while we lower the lighter for you, Signora Petra,” Captain Gratian told her.
“I will make haste,” she said, anxious to be away. By the time she had made her way back to the deck, the sailor was already awaiting her in the lighter. The seas were running heavy, and she did not look forward to the journey to Kaffa. It looked to be several miles to the north.
She slowly made her way down the ladder leading down the hull of the Athena and into the waiting boat below. It was an awkward business with her heavy skirts, but she made it down and plopped herself onto the wooden bench in the small lighter across from her escort.
“Are you ready, Signora?”
“I am.” She looked up at Captain Gratian. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Concern etched into his features, but he held up his hand to her. “Godspeed you on your journey, Signora. I hope you find your husband in good health.”
She nodded and turned to her rower, Sailor Biondi. He had brought bread and two water skins, which she would, of course, leave for him. As he began to row, she studied his hard, angled features.
“Your name, Piero… It means “stone”?
“Yes, Signora, it does.”
“Does your name suit you, do you think?”
He furrowed his heavy, dark brows, which reminded her so much of Lucius’s eyebrows. Though obviously surprised by her question, he took a long moment to contemplate the idea as he rowed with smooth, strong strokes. She watched the movement of his muscles for a moment.
“Yes, I would say it does.”
“Why?” She was genuinely curious now.
“Nothing much moves me. Of all her seven children, my mother always used to call me the steady one. Even as a bambino, I rarely cried or caused a fuss.”
“You are still this way?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” He paused and gazed out to sea, unable to look at her as he retreated into a memory. “There was a time when I was not at sea. When I was set to be married to Agata Caro.”
“What happened?” Petra asked gently.
“She walked into the sea with a stone in her hands and never came back to me.”
Petra said nothing for a moment, as she glimpsed the pain in his eyes she realized he had never shown to anyone else.
“So you took to the sea and, still, you look for the girl with the stone in her hands.”
“Yes.” He almost smiled, recognizing that she understood what he could not express.
“Your name has served you well, then.”
“Oh, yes. I aim to captain my own ship one day. A large merchant galley, yes.” His face relaxed into a pleasant smile, as if he were picturing his future ship in his mind’s eye, and she was glad to distract him from his memory of Agata.
“I believe you will have your ship one day, Piero Biondi.”
His tentative smile turned into a grin. “God be willing.”
“I, too, am a stone. Petra means the same.”
“It sounds old. Is it Roman?”
“It is.”
“Where do you hail from, Signora?”
“I come from Ancient Roman stock.”
“You live in Genoa?”
“For now, yes. In a year’s time, who knows?”
“The captain says your husband is in Kaffa?”
She looked toward the city, where the sounds of the siege had quieted momentarily.
“I wish I knew. I heard tell of him from strangers. From Ferox. I thought it must be him, the man he described. He should have
come home from his journey by now, but he has not. I seek this man in Kaffa, hoping against reason that it is my husband.”
“What is his name?”
“Lucius.” Merely the sound of his name on her tongue brought her to tears.
“I thought a stone couldn’t feel, Signora Petra.” Piero’s voice was tender.
“I once thought so, too, but you and I both know a human could never be a stone. We move, we change, and the world changes with us.”
Their words turned to silence, mired deep as they were in their own thoughts while they neared the city, the sounds of the battle growing louder as the forbidding Genoese fortress loomed ahead.
“Tell me about Kaffa. Have you journeyed there before?” she asked, breaking their comfortable silence.
“Yes, many times, but never under siege.”
“How will I enter the fortress?”
“I fear they will not let you pass through the docks.”
“If that is so, is there another way in?”
“There are six gates into the city. You will find there are two walls, the outer wall and the great wall of the citadel. You can see the outer wall there.” He pointed.
“The Mongols attack from the west?”
He glanced over as his rowing brought them ever closer to the cacophony of screaming men.
“Appears that way. If you look up above, you can see some of the thirty-four towers along the outer wall. I counted them once.”
“Which gate should I enter?”
“It is difficult to tell from so far below, but stay away from the north and west gates where the Tatar-Mongols are encamped.”
“Stay back from the dock and state your business!” one of four haggard soldiers guarding the nearest dock shouted at them. They looked like the very devil. Unwashed, exhausted, and wretched, they eyed her with suspicion and irritation.