Black Ships

by Jo Graham

  “North, then. And perhaps your daughter will put in her appearance soon, so that I am not bereft of my Sybil.” He grinned.

  “Not too soon,” I said. “Not until Sothis rises and high summer comes.”

  AND SO WE SAILED northward up the coast, stopping at each little town and trading. Most of them were no more than fishing villages, poor places with a few dozen families who ran into the woods when they saw our sails. Sometimes there was no one left to trade with, and Xandros called through empty streets in vain, saying that we were not pirates but honest men, answered only by silence.

  A moon later we were off the coast, and I stood by Xandros at the rail after we had left one of these towns.

  “Does it seem to you,” I said, “that there should be many more people here? These woods are rich with game, and the waters are full of fish.”

  “Good fish too,” said Xandros. “And close inshore. They haven’t been fished out. The seas around Wilusa were getting barren. We had to go much farther to find fish than my father said we had in his boyhood. After the first plunder of the city we fished more than we farmed. But these people don’t seem to fish much. Or there are too few of them to make a difference.”

  “Pirates,” I said.

  He nodded. “A bunch of these towns sent men to the great fleet, men who decided to take a ship or two and sail with the Shardan. They’re never coming back.”

  “They are in Egypt,” I said, “with their foreskins cut, working in Pharaoh’s fields.”

  “Or under the sea, where we put them,” Xandros said grimly.

  “Their wealth is gone,” I said. “Who will fish the seas?”

  “Nobody,” Xandros said. “So they raid one another. All of these tribes are at war with one another. They haven’t got any choice. They just pass the loot back and forth.”

  “And it gets scarcer and scarcer,” I said. “And each year there is less grain, fewer olives.” Here too the world foundered, cities fell. Who could plant young olive trees, clear fields for grain, in such times?

  “Which means they have to plunder or starve,” Xandros said. “These are desperate men. If we stopped here we could catch enough fish to feed the People, even with only three ships. But how would we hold on to it? Someone desperate would come to plunder us.”

  “Could they, I wonder? With the new swords?”

  Xandros nodded. “They might not be able to beat us in battle, but they could burn out the camp in short order. We have no walls, no safe place for you and the others to stay. So it won’t do much good for us to fight off an attack if we know that the minute we go fishing they’ll take you all as slaves and plunder everything.”

  I thought about that and saw no way around it. Building fortifications took a great deal of time, and as far as I knew there was no man among us who even knew how. Most of the men who had escaped Wilusa were seamen, not builders and townsmen.

  MY PAINS CAME on the third night after Sothis rose. We were sailing just short of sunset, looking for a beach that was not too rocky to stop for the night. I had been feeling strange all day, elated and tired by turns, with a backache that would not go away. I was standing in the bow watching the waves and walking back and forth when my water broke standing there, drenching my skirts.

  I cried out and Tia came running, passing off Kianna to Kos, who stood dumbfounded.

  “Come on, now,” Tia said. “Let’s go below.”

  “I don’t want to,” I said. Somehow the idea of going into the cabin filled me with dread, maybe because I had seen Tia suffer there so long. “I want to stay here holding the rail.” And then a wave of pain took me and I clutched the rail and held on.

  When I opened my eyes again, Xandros was shouting across to Seven Sisters. The pains came again as I watched Seven Sisters coming toward us, and when they receded Xandros was stretching out his arms to help Lide aboard as they rode alongside.

  Lide came bustling over. I was holding on to Tia’s arms. “Here, let me see,” Lide said.

  “I won’t go below,” I said.

  “Fine,” she replied. “Kos, tell those men to mind their business. Tia, you’re going to help me, and it will all go well. Sit down, Pythia. Let me see.”

  She got me down on the deck with my legs spread and made humming noises. Another wave of pain took me. When it cleared I looked at her.

  “How long has this been happening?” she asked.

  “Just a little while,” I said. “Since my water broke. But I’ve been feeling strange all day and my back hurt.”

  She nodded. “Coming on hard, is it? Chances are it’s been going all day, you just didn’t notice. The babe is well down, and you’re opening fast. Probably hurts quite a bit, but it should make it go faster. Tia, ask Xandros if we can make shore. If she won’t go below I’d rather get on land.”

  Another pain took me.

  Lide pressed my hand and I rode it out. Polyra had come back and crouched on the other side of me. “Good, good,” Lide said. “Opening nicely. Pains close together and fast. You’re doing fine.”

  I didn’t feel fine. But I didn’t feel frightened either. It was like having Her inside me again, being possessed by something much larger. Life, I thought. By some strange goddess.

  “Again,” Lide said.

  I heard Tia’s voice somewhere far above. “Xandros says he’s going to get in as close as he can to this beach. It’s rocky, but it looks like small stones and we can get fairly close in.”

  Some part of me that was far away thought with amusement that it was unlike Tia to give a beach forecast, repeating Xandros word for word. Perhaps she was afraid.

  “It’s not like it was with you,” Lide said to her over my head, and I knew I was right. “You were too young and the baby was early. She’s ready. She’s more than ready.”

  Waves cresting and receding. I could hear the waves on the beach. I clutched Tia’s hand. Somewhere above the pain I could hear Xandros giving the order to ship oars, his voice breaking on the call. Water splashing around the bow.

  “Come now,” Lide said, taking my elbow and helping me up. “Between pains. Let’s get you over on the beach. Tia, tell your husband to go build a fire. We’ll need the warmth. Polyra, where’s my knife?”

  “Don’t cut me,” I said.

  Lide pressed her hand against my cheek. “It’s not for you, girl. It’s for the cord. You’re open all the way. I can see the top of the baby’s head.” Her voice changed. “Kos, get over here and help me lift her!”

  Between the pains Kos took me up in his arms and got me over the side. Another wave, stronger than before, took me. I could hear him breathing hard, the splash of the seawater around his knees.

  “Put me down,” I said. “Kos, put me down!” I flailed.

  “Kos, put her down!” That was Tia.

  Waves, pushing me and pushing me.

  “Not in the water, you idiot!” That was Lide.

  My feet splashed ankle deep in seawater. “I have to. I have to,” I said. I crouched down, grabbing Tia’s arm.

  Lide swore at Kos. “Another few paces wouldn’t have killed you!”

  The sounds of them running the ship in. Xandros’ voice.

  Tia ordering Kos: “Go take the ship. Go on. They’re trying to run up.”

  I grabbed her arm tighter. Time stopped in a place beyond pain. Three drops of blood fell between my spread legs, dropping into the seawater. With an exhalation the child slid out, long, wide body dropping into Lide’s hands, cord slithering after. One leg landed in cold seawater, and the child screamed.

  It wasn’t a tiny mewing sound like Kianna had made, but a full-throated yell, indignant and loud. The knife flashed. The cord parted, and Lide lifted the child from the dragging water.

  “Ah there,” she said with satisfaction. “What a big strong boy! You have a fine son, Sybil.”

  I felt Tia’s arms around me, supporting me, and I reached out one hand to where Lide held him dangling free. Yes, he was a boy. His little phallus
was erect and his scrotum swollen from the birth, olive skin and wide shoulders, a thick cap of dark hair on his head. His face was squinched up with screaming, his eyes clenched shut.

  “Oh, oh, oh...” I said.

  Another wave of pain, but I hardly noticed. “There’s the afterbirth,” Lide said. “All nice and in one piece. Hold still.”

  The sea took it. Salt water stung me on the incoming wave.

  “Let me hold him,” I said.

  Tia helped me up. “Come this way. Bai is getting a fire going. Come out of the water.”

  I stood and Lide put him in my arms. His little fist opened and closed against my collarbone, and he cried like a bleating lamb.

  “He’s so big,” I said.

  They led me, half leaning on Tia, to the fire Bai was lighting, sat me down on someone’s cloak with a blanket around me.

  “He’s a fine big boy,” Lide said. “And a good healthy wail. Sit down now.”

  The fire flared. I held my son in my arms.

  “He’s twice Kianna’s size,” I said.

  “Just about,” Tia said. Her skirts steamed. We were all soaked with seawater.

  I sat and watched the ships come in. Seven Sisters wasn’t to shore yet. The sun was just below the waves and the stars were showing. It had seemed like an eternity, but it couldn’t have been very long. I said so to Lide.

  “Not long at all,” she said. “Fast for a first birth. And a strong child at the end of it. Let’s get you settled so he can nurse. Sometimes they don’t want to at first, but it’s good to try. Makes you stop bleeding better.”

  I waited in the firelight, my son at my breast. I lifted my nipple gently and rubbed his cheek with it. He turned his head and clamped on, his toothless gums surprisingly strong, a look of utter contentment on his face.

  I sat there watching him, feeling receding cramps like waves going out to sea, strangely unreal, like I watched from above. In a few minutes Lide brought me some warmed wine, and I drank it drowsily. The boy closed his eyes and sighed, sliding off the nipple.

  Xandros knelt down beside me. “Are you all right?”

  I lifted a fold of the cloak around me so he could see. “He’s a boy. He’s a big, fine boy.”

  His hair was black, like mine and Xandros’, with his father’s wide shoulders and broad chest.

  Xandros bent his head against my shoulder, his arm around me, tears streaming down his face.

  There was a stir, a flare of torches. Neas, with Maris and Wilos, was standing at the edge of the firelight, as though at the door of a house. “May we greet you?” Neas asked.

  Lide stepped back, opening an invisible door. “Prince Aeneas.”

  Xandros looked up.

  Neas knelt before me. “Lady, may I offer my congratulations?”

  “Thank you,” I said, and opened the cloak again so he could see the baby.

  “It’s a baby,” Wilos said.

  Neas looked at him gravely. “What is to be his name?”

  I looked at Xandros. In truth, we’d not discussed names for a boy. “Markai,” I said.

  Neas nodded and touched the boy’s forehead gently. “Markai son of Xandros son of Markai,” he said. “You are welcome to our company, Son of the People.”

  Xandros met Neas’ eyes. “Thank you,” he said, and his eyes were full. “Markai son of Xandros son of Markai. My son and I will ever stand with you.”

  Wilos looked at me, and he smiled suddenly. “When I’m king,” he said, “I promise Markai can be one of my captains.”

  “That’s a good promise,” Neas said, ruffling Wilos’ hair. “May you be as true to it as I am to Xandros.” And he reached out and clasped Xandros’ hand, wrist to wrist.

  The baby hiccuped and turned back to my breast.

  NIGHT’S DOOR

  I don’t remember much about the first few weeks after Markai was born besides him. He was a big boy, and he wanted to eat constantly, nursing and sleeping and sleeping and nursing again while morning turned into noon turned into sunset turned into night. It all blurred together for me after a few days, napping in the shadow of the rail on Dolphin with him held close while we skimmed over the blue waves, waking to find us at some small village that would trade. I would fall asleep with Markai held tight, and wake to find that I was lying beside him in the bow cabin, the baby swaddled and warm, that someone had laid a cloak over me to ward off the chill of the night.

  One night I woke in a panic, my breasts aching with milk and reached for him. Markai sighed, and made a little grunting noise in his sleep, but did not wake. His brow was cool and damp, his clout dry. It was nearly dawn. He had nursed at midnight, but didn’t seem inclined to wake and nurse again.

  I got up and went out into the predawn light. Dolphin was run in on a beach of white sand. The waves rocked her a little as they washed against her stern. Xandros was on watch, sitting on Dolphin’s bow. He smiled when he saw me.

  “Where’s Markai?” he asked.

  “Sleeping,” I said, and came and sat beside him. “And that’s a surprise. It seems to me he does nothing but eat.”

  “That will change soon,” Xandros said. “Three weeks. And he’s big. He’s gone a full watch tonight. I was sleeping when you fed him. I went on watch when you were sleeping.”

  I looked around at the warm summer night, feeling the breeze off the water stirring my damp hair, my sweated body and heavy breasts. “I must look like a mess,” I said.

  Xandros put his head to the side, as though considering the matter carefully. “You look like a woman with a three-week-old baby,” he said.

  I laughed. “You should take up statecraft, with answers like that!”

  “I thought I did,” he said.

  “I think you did too,” I said. “It’s not much like fishing, is it?” I looked out across the beach, the banked campfires, the People sleeping in the moonlight. Around the perimeter of our camp I could see several men moving, watchmen like Xandros, who had care of us while we slept.

  “No,” he said. “But there are good fish in these waters. This bay is magnificent.”

  South of us, the beach of white sand swept away in a perfect crescent, broad and wide, with hills rolling down covered in green. To the north, the mountain rose. When I looked at it, the hairs rose on the back of my neck, and I felt Her hand like a chill sea breeze. The mountain looked like some sleeping monster stretched out in repose, towering over the blue sea and dotted islands, its head wreathed in clouds or steam. “Xandros,” I said.

  “What?”

  “The mountain.”

  “What about it?”

  I couldn’t take my eyes from it. “It’s like the Prison of the Winds,” I said. “Or Thera That Was. It’s a forge. A gate.”

  He looked at it. “It’s not doing anything. It hasn’t. There’s just that little puff of cloud over it that never seems to go away.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s doing anything now. But it will. Maybe a long time from now, maybe not. But it just is. Whatever it is. A gate.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t prophesy before breakfast,” Xandros said, but he looked nervous, like a pious man who is making a joke he shouldn’t.

  I put my head on his shoulder. “It’s nothing to do with us. Not now. After all, it’s not as though we’re planning to live here. But I do wish I could get around to the other side, northward up the coast.”

  “That’s where we’ll go tomorrow. Today, rather,” Xandros amended. “Why?”

  “There’s something there.” I felt Her hand at my back, felt Her like a whisper in my mind. “One of Her holy places. I need to go there, and so does Neas.”

  “Why?”

  “So he can be king,” I said. “I knew when he found the golden bough that it would not be long. Just until Markai was born. She was waiting on him.”

  “The Lady of the Dead waited on Markai?” Xandros asked.

  “Yes.” I laid my head against his neck. It was nice to be with him alone for a mi
nute while the stars paled above and the Seven Sisters sank into the sea. “She waited for life.”

  Xandros swallowed. “He’s a fine boy.”

  “He is,” I said. “And I love him more than I ever imagined possible.” Which was true. But then, I had never imagined love very much.

  Xandros nodded against my head. “Yes.” He swallowed again, but his voice was steady. “That was why the Achaians killed my wife. She would not let them take the girls. She fought them so hard...” His voice broke, and he bent his face against my hair.

  I put my arms around him and held him as he finally cried. I wrapped myself around him, as though it would make it better, though I knew that it wouldn’t. I have seen enough grief.

  When at last he looked up at me, the blue shades of night were going and the dawn was coming. Two years, I thought. It has taken him two years to cry. Two years, and another child to fill his arms. Below, I heard a hungry whimper.

  “I need to get Markai and feed him,” I said.

  Xandros nodded. “Go on. No need for him to wait for his breakfast.”

  When I had fed him and brought him up on deck with me, the People were beginning to break camp. With Markai slung against my side, I went in search of Neas. I found him eating day-old bread beside the fire, having come off the dawn watch himself.

  “Prince Aeneas,” I said formally, though I did not look Death’s priestess with grimy flyaway hair and a baby slung on my hip, “we need to sail around to the north side of the mountain, up the coast. There we need to make camp, and I need to go onto the slopes of the mountain.”

  Neas looked at me with surprise, but what he said was “If that is what your Lady requires, of course we shall do so, Sybil.” He looked up at the mountain. One little puff of smoke rose, pink in the dawn. “I wondered,” he said, his pale eyes distant. “I wondered when I saw it.”

  “It reminds you of Thera That Was,” I said quietly.

  He nodded. “It does. And I don’t know why.” Neas looked at me, led me a little way from the fire, where Lide was giving Wilos bread smeared with honey to break his fast. “Something strange happened in the night. I can’t explain it. I’m not the kind of person...”