by Irene Patino
At times the bay seemed deserted, at others it looked like a free port in which the pirates could anchor to enjoy what the town and its women offered. When the sun was high, the entrance became a curtain of shear-faced rocks. Regardless of its appearance, it was always a trap for those with less than honorable intentions. Once in, never out.
Time passed. Crews, unnerved by what they faced, sometimes gave their ships up without a struggle. They became part of the Ophir's fleet. The 'lucky' mates that were not eaten, were either stored for use later, or pressed into service and made part of the flotilla used to commit further acts of piracy in surrounding waters. Captain Antonio was fair, and human sacrifice was still a known practice in many parts of the world. It brought no undue attention. The government of Cilicia even allowed for anyone foolish enough to commit a crime in their district, to be given to the Captain for disposal. His methods were never questioned.
Odd as it may seem to some, the relationship was a good one. The vampire pirates kept their bellies full, so to speak. The steady supply of disreputable human meals allowed them freedom beyond belief. The ability to walk the streets by standing invitation and without fear made a life at sea more bearable for the pirates. Even though it was not often discussed, the Ophir was the only home they had.
“If I had a woman of my own I would buy her that pretty frock in yon window.”
“Aye, but no woman will come near enough to accept that pretty little frock.” They made up a song as they walked the empty streets peering in one window or another. Their tone was soft and sad:
Here comes the rain
Another day, another storm
I've been down, down, down
For oh, so long
I'll walk this mile
And I'll ask no quarter
For in the end
Blood is thicker than water
Citizens brave enough to walk the streets at night, and merchants or laborers that had no choice, crossed to the other side of the street when they saw the sailors moving in their direction. Women and children stayed inside between dusk and dawn. They were in no danger as long as the contract held, but still, fear of the possibilities kept them at bay. They were a plain people compared to the Ophir.
From the captured ships laden with treasure, the Ophir was dressed in gilded sails, purple draping and silvered oars and cannons. An admirer of Julius Caesar's panache, Captain Antonio followed suit. Needless to say, the legend of his ship drew more than the casual passersby.
* * * *
“Rumors and maps say that the Ophir lay in chains at Cilicia. Some say the crew is new and inexperienced. Others say it’s the original crew, but no one knows for sure.”
“Aye, Cap’n, but how can that be? The original crew would have to be 200 years at sea now. That’s not possible. I’ll wager that the crew is young and inexperienced. They would be easy to take.”
“Regardless, the stories of treasure have always been steadfast and unchanging. That part must be true. It’s worth a try for an even split, wouldn’t you agree mate?”
“I Cap’n. But what of the others?”
“It has to be done by vote to make it fair.”
“What of dissenters?”
The true coordinates and rules for such a lucrative and dangerous enterprise would be entrusted to few.
Those seafaring men that believed themselves better equipped to deal with the pirates of Cilicia and the crew of the Ophir were not often heard from again except in song. Centuries long after the end of the night crawlers, songs penned by pseudonym such as Voltaire, reworded by others, would continue to blend into society in fringe groups keeping the flame alive.
Fangs were flying, capes were torn
Hell hath no fury like a night crawler scorned
The number one rule in this game:
Never call a night crawler by his real name
The songs served as warnings to those that crossed the line between human and lamia. Real names belonged to the living. To reveal a family name could put relatives, past friends and even acquaintances in jeopardy.
The chantey that may have originated in Cilicia, would be passed from one generation to another as a warning. It was carried to the world by merchants that traveled through its gates and over land.
The Ophir was a golden magnet to the greedy. Tales spread about the opulent Ophir; its coordinates were shared with varied ocean going interests. Many a treasure seeking ship met its end that way. Many a curious schooner was recorded lost at sea after last seen in that area. And Captain Antonio’s fleet continued to grow.
Pharaohs, kings and presidents hunted the Ophir, but none could find it. Armies rose and armies fell. Governments were taken over. Battles raged between the powerful countries of the world. Exploration was growing, and new lands were being claimed for one king or another. Trade brought many new kinds of ships and cargo into being. But the Ophir continued to elude its hunters.
The world became a busy place, and the Ophir became a mythological legend while it still existed. Untold riches lay at the bottom of the ocean waiting for time to move forward.
It sailed the oceans attacking ships in the dead of night, taking plunder from the Spanish, French and Portuguese alike, but they had no personal need for any of it. It was a toll for bargaining with the Cilicians’.
The captain and crew feared no one and owed no allegiance. Little existed that could make them regret the decision. The seas gave them birth, and the seas nurtured them. It was home and hearth; time did not exist for the Ophir.
The biggest dilemma the Captain faced was how many captive crewmen were to be allowed to survive. Some were used as day slaves. Some were converted to replace those vampires killed in battle. The rest were eaten. Captain Antonio believed in a balanced inventory.
* * * *
Nine ships total comprised the Ophir’s flotilla. They roamed the seas at night and took refuge in illusions during the day. Their hive-like mind had the power and strength to dress their ships like a rock or a lush island while anchored in stillness.
A cage of iron hung beneath the ship’s hull. The crew would 'sleep' to regain strength in their watery births, until the sun disappeared into the horizon. They would then rise and climb aboard ship to begin their night’s work. The stories of the times always shared the phrase “and out of nowhere” giving rise to the ghost stories told to boys and girls all over the earth.
Those same stories were said to give grown sailors nightmares. No one was safe. No ship could rest easy as long as the Ophir and her fleet existed.
All over the globe, mismanaged nations and wars would complete an intimate relationship that often changed powers and beliefs on land. Finding interest in madness, wondering what events could transpire to create leaders such as Julius Caesar, Ghengis Khan and others, Captain Antonio added to the insecurities of the world.
As shipping lanes became well-travelled, battles became less of a necessity. Time wore on. Stealth and cunning became the tools by which to pillage and plunder. Few ships sailed both laden with treasure and ready to fight. The booty was, at times, of no use to the world of the sea vampire. They were living legends being pushed into extinction by progress.
Juan Antonio Patino de Cuevas Del Drach, would build a reputation as well-known as any pirate or warlord of centuries past. He would also be the one forgotten first.
He would be dismissed as myth, not because he was of no count, but because his exploits were self-centered and occurred due to longevity. You need only endure in order to conquer.
* * * *
While The One continued his path toward a final meeting with the last prophet Nazim, a life of debauchery and death on land and taking pleasure where he could, the Ophir indulged its mates in adventure. It sailed round the coast of a peninsula named Florida after the abundant flowers growing there. They came within shot of a chain of islands heavily populated by pirates. Out of necessity, Europeans used the farthest island south of the main land for respite, traded w
ith the regulars for ships repair, and refreshed their supplies with exotic fruit such as coconuts, mangoes and avocado. If they stayed long enough they learned to cast nets and how to catch and prepare grouper, dolphin, and conch, while managing to avoided confrontation. Other than Calusa Natives, and a few fishing men from Cuba and the Bahamas, no one settled permanently on the islands until much later, leaving it open to be claimed by the fledgling country of America.
The isle was known for its ‘wrecking’ skills. The few permanent residents made a living by salvaging ships that wrecked on its coral reefs. Captain Antonio was aware of its reputation and waters.
The shore was protected by forts, armed and pointing at sea, with a lantern visible signaling visitors to come ashore. That swinging lantern was reputed to be the same lantern used to lure unsuspecting ships onto the reef where its passengers and crew would be stranded. The good citizens of the island, known as Conchs, would row out to rescue them and take the rest as salvage. It was a very lucrative endeavor on the island of Cayo Hueso.
* * * *
I was called to parlay with the inhabitants of the island. Two of the Captain’s most articulate men took me as close as it was safe to speak to the man sending the signal.
While two ships in need of repair sailed with the Ophir, the rest of the armada protected Cilician waters. Four day-slaves rowed to shore to enlist the aid of local craftsmen. Would they bargain for the labor?
“Ahoy! Of what ship do ye hail?”
“We sail from Cilicia”, the pirates responded.
“Welcome,” answered the citizen. “Cilicia? We've never heard of the Cilicia. What country?”
“A country far from here. We are from the East.”
“What do you seek?”
“Ship repairs. We need supplies for repairs and labor. Can you come aboard and negotiate with our Captain?”
“Yes. I will come aboard.”
“We will escort you.”
They waited for the man to pull alongside and then escorted the skiff back to the Ophir. The Captain and crew cloaked their ships in a thick fog, and overlaid Cilicia on top of the name Ophir in the mind of the man climbing aboard. The crew took three steps back, turned and disappeared into the fog rolling onto the deck.
The citizen's eyebrows went up in surprise, but the Captain walked to him and touched his shoulder forcing him to turn and look into his eyes. The Captain’s eyes seemed to glow and grow with intensity as he looked deep into the other's eyes. All disturbing thoughts were erased.
“Your name?” Captain Antonio looked deeply into the first man’s eyes
“Jose Vasquez”.
“Jose, welcome to the Cilicia.”
When the captain directed his mesmerizing gaze in the direction of the second man, he said, “I am Grillo”, in a very shaky voice.
When the negotiations were over, Jose would remember nothing out of the ordinary. He would make all arrangements for repairs and payment. Supplies and crew would board the disguised Ophir that night and work until just before daybreak.
The lamia crewmen responsible for cleaning the hull of barnacles would work in groups of ten, two hours at a time beneath the water level, heard but not seen by the islanders.
* * * *
I, as was my habit, went back to my quarters. Through experimentation with my original master, we discovered that if I was drained in small amounts, and then replenished with less than taken, my life could also be extended beyond that of mortal man but less than that of the vampires. The evidence of putrefaction was difficult to deny. Flesh is finite, unfortunately. Until the point where I was a skeleton dressed in imagination, I continued to hope for release.
My reaction to land was minimized. It weakened me, but did not incapacitate me. I took longer rest periods.
My hearing acute, I was careful to record the events taking place just above my station, as well as all negotiations. My records were meticulous. If these writings were to be discovered, I was sure they would be dismissed as the ravings of a lunatic.
“Jose?”
“SSssh! Be silent. The sooner we complete these repairs, the sooner we go back to our homes and families.”
Grillo bowed his head and went back to replacing worm eaten planks on the ship’s deck. His skin crawled when he heard shuffling noises coming close and then receding. Although he would peer into the fog that hung like a thick curtain around them, he could see nothing.
He could, however, hear and feel the scraping sounds from beneath the boat. It vibrated through his body and unnerved him.
* * * *
Captain Antonio watched the workmen replace the deck planks. They worked fast and with expertise. He could sense the fear in the one called Grillo. The man was well named.
Grillo’s hearing was excellent, and every time he sensed anyone near, he did a little jump, much like the grasshopper he was named for.
“What was that? Did you see that?” Grillo jumped.
“Stop! You frighten me more with your behavior than any other distractions.”
“But, Chuchi ... ”
“Don’t call me Chuchi. It’s Jesus and the name gives me greater comfort than you.”
The Captain kept his men at bay. They weren’t hungry as much as curious. If one didn’t know better, you would almost call it melancholy. But the truth was they sometimes toyed with those that came aboard. They experienced the stories told about them and thought them amusing.
More than once a vampire, in the middle of a human meal, was heard to giggle. He sometimes lost his grip on one victim or another while draining the man’s thoughts. The predator would snuffle. The victim’s blood would shoot out of the lamia’s nose, wasting a life and a meal at the same time.
Shuffling in close, the vampires could sometimes ‘hear” the thoughts of another, smell their fear. It was like an aphrodisiac. That was why the Captain stood watch. He had to protect his men from mistakes made in foolish moments. This was how the symbiotic relationship with Cilicia and other civilized lands such as Cayo Hueso began.
After a very long and fruitful relationship with the Cilician inhabitants, it came to an abrupt end in the late 1200s. The world encroached upon the clandestine world of the vampires reversing the role of hunter and hunted. The world became much smaller.
* * * *
Traders and entrepreneurs alike approached the oceanic entrance to Cilicia Trachea for hundreds of years. Sometimes they would be given safe passage to trade with the islanders. Others, approaching from the ocean, came at night. They rarely made it past the Ophir more than once.
The quartermaster of the marauding ship whispered, “What now, Captain?”
“Hold your post, mate. Ease in. Tell the gunner to look sharp. The Ophir and her crew are extraordinary. With surprise, speed and God on our side, we can take her.” Arthur Blackrose, Portuguese captain of the Bem-vindo and adventurer, believed in the power of his God. The crew respected him for his leadership and navigation skills. But self-confidence, neither reputation as a fair captain nor faith would save him this night.
The scavenger ship sailed into the harbor in silence. The only sound was the dip of the oars as freed slaves bent their backs into the job. The scull lifted as they passed a giant outcropping.
The Quartermaster, in charge of maintaining vigilance and delegating work, kept his profile low as he went down the line giving orders and whispering encouragement.
“Jean, go aloft. We’ve light airs tonight. Secure the sails. Let her drift in on her own.”
“Fontaine, watch the anchor’s acockbill. Hold for my signal.”
The freed men learned that life at sea was harsh and called for respect of nature and captain. They believed they could walk away from this life, or work their way back to their homes over land, if they so choose. Their superstitious fears, however, had an undeniable grip on their minds and spines. Whispered chants of protection in native tongue washed over the air, a compelling plea...
“Olofi, you who are my s
upply and protection, cleanse my path from all dangers and evils. Let them be gone from me. Listen to me Ch`ngo! Help me Yemaya, do not forsake me Ogun! Intercede for me Ellgua! Hear me Oshun! Look at me with favor Obatala! Act for me Oya! My prayer is just. Bless me, Olofi, that I may be forever blessed. Amen.”
* * * *
Captain Antonio chuckled when he saw the marauding ship’s name. It was the Bem-vindo. Translated into English it literally meant “Welcome”. It was a written invitation.
The Ophir and crew from three other ships in the vampire fleet lowered themselves, hand under hand, down the ropes and chains anchoring the cloaked ship. They slipped into the water without weapons. Daggers, swords and cutlasses would not be needed tonight. There would be no “swordplay”.
Using their own bodies as scaffolding, they climbed upon each other’s shoulders like attacking ants ready to sting the occupants of the invading ship.
“NOW! Me hearties ... NOW!” A cloud scuttled across the moon’s face darkening the sky.
At Captain Antonio’s command, the Bem-Vindo was boarded and the screaming began.
“None, save one, walks away this night. Bring the ship’s captain to me unharmed!”
“Aye, Captain.” Contona swept the deck and found Captain Blackrose’ mind. The captain’s mind was numb in disbelief at the carnage before him. He stood cornered. The crucifix in his hand, held for protection against the evil that had boarded his ship, did him no good. The Boatswain and Contona looked at each other and smiled. Their fangs glistened in the dark. They dragged him to the Captain’s quarters.
“Good job, men. Now take him as close to shore as you dare, then release him.” Captain Arthur Blackrose looked at him wide eyed with fear and incredulity.
“I die with my men, sir.”
“No, Captain. Die you will, but not this night. You will live on to tell the tale, sir, and tell it true.”
With time, the word spread and gave rise to those intrepid few whom would land on the far side of the island, traipse across inhospitable terrain, march through the Cilician Gates and bring news and goods from a greater world than suspected.