Here Be Dragons: Three Adventure Novels

by K. T. Tomb

  No one left the ship that night and when the sun rose, they set the ship’s sail and steered west, towards the old town of Kerkouane. They followed the coast from there and soon they saw edge of the Gulf of Carthage. Just before the sun set, the ruins of the old city of Carthage came into view. Romans had sacked the great Phoenician city years before and destroyed it comprehensively. They had taken every stone down and salted the earth so nothing would grow. People had been banned from living there, though it didn’t stop the fishermen from returning to the safety in the great basin of its harbor. It was the best place for miles around to dock and lay-up ships, and the Romans tolerated them being there. After all, there was hardly any danger that the fishermen would re-establish the city, or reform the empire.

  Pyrrhus steered the boat into the basin, still impressed by the grandeur of the harbor, even in its ruined state it was magnificent. A few trading ships were there, but not many. Too much activity and the Roman legion would send troops down from the nearby fort to make the ships leave. They moored alongside one of the fishing boats and spent the night there, with two sailors keeping watch during the night, in case the Romans decided to evict them from the basin.

  Close to dawn the sentry woke Pyrrhus, who had slept on the deck. He was pointing at some movement between the fort and the harbor. Pyrrhus struggled to open his eyes; it took him a while to focus on what was being pointed out to him. In the dim morning light he saw the movement of a column of horsemen. He doubted they would actually confront them. There could not be more than thirty of them, and without infantry and archers it was unlikely they were there to do anything but look menacing; even so Pyrrhus shook off his sleep and began waking up the crew and the rowers.

  As the horsemen trotted through the ruins of the old city and up to the quays along the basin, Aineias realized his ship was being rowed out of the harbor. He crawled out of his little cabin and looked around, eyes still bleary. He saw the rowers on their benches and some of his own sailors helping them along with long poles. He looked towards the shore and saw the soldiers on the quay. They had dismounted and were hacking at mooring lines and pulling fishermen and their crew out of their make shift tents. They used their swords to chop nets to pieces and eventually found a fire from which they took brands to set the boats on fire. One of the first boats to go up in flames was the fishing boat that had been next to them. Several of the crew from the trading vessels had risen from their slumber and began preparing to go to sea, but some were too late and screams of panic could be heard from those ships.

  All the men onboard the Corinthian vessel looked on aghast. They felt sorry for those men. All sailors knew what fire could do to a ship and they knew the pain of seeing one’s beloved vessel go up in flames. It was a pain no sailor ever wanted to experience, yet too many had.

  As they made their narrow escape from the harbor, Pyrrhus’ eyes went to the green hills above the harbor. The Romans had left the great beacon standing on the mountain road. In the heyday of Carthage, it had served as a guide to mariners coming to dock in her port. At first he thought the sleep in his eyes was playing a trick on him but he rubbed them vigorously and looked again. He was not hallucinating, they really were there, but how could that be possible? They had ridden out of Syracuse through the west gates. If they had boarded a ship with those superlative horses, Pyrrhus was certain he would have noticed them at the docks. They were miles across the sea from Cossyra and yet there they stood; all three of them, mounted on those unmistakable white steeds. Their purple cloaks billowed in the wind, the color so deep and rich that it was easy to see it from the distance. He tore his eyes from the enigma and went back to steering the boat.

  They spent the next night in Utica, the harbor that had been the greatest of this coast before the rise of Carthage, and had become the greatest again after the destruction of the city. They took on barrels of water and then sailed west again. They followed the coast for weeks, forever harassed by the Sorókos wind that kept blowing the desert sand into their faces. The scrubbing of the deck was not just a maintenance chore now; the sand kept building up on the planks making them slippery and unsafe to walk on. The men used scraps of wet cloth to tie over their nose and mouth so they would not be swallowing dust with every breath.

  The dust even penetrated Aineias’ cabin, covering his blankets and forcing him to sweep the place out before turning in. It entered the water barrels turning the clean water a dirty, muddy color. The men still drank it, but while it slacked their thirst, it sandpapered their mouths and throats. They were forever on the lookout for a creek of clean water, or a little harbor where they could replenish their supply.

  They were finally able to take fresh water on board when they stopped in at the great port of Arseneria, but by then all of them were coughing and had sore, bleeding gums. The sand still coated every surface around them and they knew it would still be a few more days dealing with the Sorókos wind before they would finally reach the hills south of the Pillars of Hercules.

  Being a compassionate skipper was one of Aineias’ finer points and his crews always loved him for it. They had been at sea for weeks, constantly pushing through towards the Pillars and though the journey had been hard and the men more than a little frustrated, none of them had rebelled against his leadership or shirked their work onboard the ship. Even as the sun set over the bustling trading town and the lights, the smells and the noises of the evening drifted towards the quays, they tediously swept and scrubbed the ships’ deck until it was shining like new. He rewarded them with a gold coin for each of the freemen and a silver coin for the slaves and sent them into the town to recreate themselves.

  By an hour after sunset, all the men had left the ship to seek food, drink and entertainment for the evening. Daizus, chieftain among the Thracians, led his men in their chains down the gangplank. On the dock, Aineias unlocked their ankle and wrist bracelets and stored them in a large chest at his feet. He left the iron collars around their neck so they could be easily identified should they choose to misbehave during their outing. He stepped aside and nodded at Daizus to address them.

  “You slaves have served well and it pleases your Master to allow you some time to refresh yourselves,” Daizus said loudly. “There will be no tolerance for bad behavior. You are expected to always remember your place; patronize only those establishments where slaves are welcome, show the required respect to all free persons of the city as well as their slaves. There will be no stealing, raping or drunkenness. Do not attempt to run away. You know the consequences for such. If you run, we will have your feet removed publicly. If you steal we will let the townspeople hang you. For drunkenness, violence and raping, we will drag you by rope behind the ship until you have drowned. You are my men; your behavior is a direct reflection on me. Do not disappoint me.”

  “Well said, Diazus,” Aineias said, clapping the man on the shoulder. He turned to the slaves assembled before him and said, “He is your chieftain and he has spoken. I am not a hard man, but he is. Obey him well.”

  He walked up the gangplank and turned to watch Diazus leading his men into the town for their night off. He was about to turn away to look for Pyrrhus onboard when he noticed the figures standing there on the dock watching him. They stood shoulder to shoulder at the end of the pier, looking directly at his ship. Though their eyes were never raised to meet his, Aineias felt as watched as a canary in a cage.

  “Pyrrhus!” he hissed.

  “Yes, Skipper?”

  “Why are those men watching us so intently?”

  Pyrrhus turned white when he looked down the dock to see the three figures in purple cloaks staring back at him. He jumped back from the railing and quickly ordered Jason to help him pull up the plank. When they returned to the railing to haul up the boards, they had vanished.

  Chapter Five

  The verdant hills were a pure delight to the entire crew after their ordeal with the winds. It, was not gone, but the ship was finally in the lee of the hills and shelter
ed from the heat and the sand.

  They beached it at the mouth of a small river and lit their fire, cooking their food in clean water from the river. Aineias even allowed a jug of wine to be unplugged and mixed with the clean water in celebration. Then every single man who could swim, slave or free, jumped into the sea to wash off days and nights of dust, and the others waded into the water to wash. The blankets were beaten out and hung from low hanging tree branches so the light breeze could carry away the last traces of dust.

  It was a wonderful night as Pyrrhus and Aineias both walked around their boat to inspect her. By now the time at sea was showing on her. The hull, keel and planks were almost completely covered with seaweed and barnacles.

  “If we’re to catch that damned beast of yours, we might as well clean the hull. She’ll be faster,” observed Pyrrhus.

  Aineias nodded.

  “I was just thinking that, but I’m not sure we can waste the day.”

  Pyrrhus pulled a tangle of weed from the hull.

  “And yet if it turns out that we are just a little bit too slow, you will be kicking yourself.”

  “Indeed.”

  Aineias pondered for a moment.

  “We’ll haul her up and clean her down in the morning. It will take the day to do it properly but if we tackle this now we’ll be spending our next night at the Pillars.”

  Pyrrhus looked over the hull of the ship, the bow of which was beached, her stern still in the water. There were no tides in this sea to help haul her up, but this beach of soft sand was perfect for the job. He stroked the planks lovingly. It was true that Aineias had paid for her, but she was as much his ship as she was his. Pyrrhus had been with many women in Corinth and he loved some of them, but there was nothing like the love of a good ship. No time spent with a woman could ever compare to the feeling of being at the rudder of a great vessel, moving swiftly across the water under a broad sail. The feeling of the wood and fabric, tar and paint floating on the water, transformed into a living thing; the sound of the sails snapping in the wind and the raw power of it driving the boat forward.

  But there was a real chance this fabulous ship could be lost on this adventure. Pyrrhus looked around at Aineias and the skipper understood what he was trying to say.

  “We’ll be careful with her.”

  The night set in and all the men gathered around the fire on the beach. They had their blankets wrapped tightly around them; the temperature had dropped significantly when the sun had set. There were songs and stories, and the jug of wine grew empty. All of them took their turn in telling a story, and many of the old favorites were narrated animatedly. Famous quotes from favored characters were greeted with cheers.

  Jason told the story of his namesake and the hunt for the Golden Fleece, another crew member told the story of Bellerophon’s birth and the capture of Pegasus. Then Daizus, the only Thracian who spoke any Greek, told of Sabazios and his slaying of a mighty dragon. Pyrrhus was next, and he told the story of the labors of Hercules and his passage west, through the great pillars. Finally all eyes turned to Aineias. He was the only one who had not yet told a story, and it was expected that he do so.

  He yawned ostentatiously though and laid himself down.

  “I’m terribly sleepy.”

  Jason stood and kicked his skipper’s arm to ensure he took his turn.

  “There’s no getting out of your duty; entertain us, just as we have entertained you.”

  Aineias grinned and looked around, sitting up again.

  “Very well, I will tell you the story of the Kraken then.”

  All eyes were on him. All ears were at his disposal. They had not heard this story. They did not know the name Kraken, but a new story intrigued them every time.

  “Long ago, when the Gods of Olympus had just taken control of this world,” Aineias began, “Poseidon rode along the shores of the Ocean. He loved going there, but he didn’t always have the time to ride those waters with their high waves and their strong tides. This sea is his garden, the place where he rests and works, but the Ocean was the place where he went to play. He raced along the shores that day enjoying the spray and the roughness of the waters. He loved the breaking waves and the roar of the water’s rise and fall. He raced for miles and miles and then turned back and rode the same waves in the other direction. Then he felt the retreating tide pull at his chariot and he struggled with the reins. It took every ounce his concentration to keep his chariot facing the right way and he rode those waves and tides like only a god can. But then...”

  Aineias looked around the gathering, his eyes resting on each face in turn.

  “Then, he saw her and BAM!” He struck his left hand with his right fist and made everyone jump. “His chariot crashed into a wave and he could do nothing but take the tumble into the wild sea. Moments later he came up, sputtering, spitting out the salt water of the ocean and he looked at her again. His eyes had not deceived him; she was beautiful. A creature with dark, sun-kissed skin and dark hair, eyes as green as the stormy sea and a perfectly sculpted body. He loved her the moment he saw her. He loved her that moment more than his love for Amphitrite and as he mounted his chariot again, he did not steer it into the roaring waves again, but straight for the coast and to her.

  “She stood there gazing at him as he reached the beach. Poseidon stepped off his chariot and walked up, slowly coming closer to where she stood.

  “‘What is your name, gorgeous creature?’ he asked her, bowing to her.

  “‘I am Lotus,’ she answered shyly.

  “He took her hand in his and kneeled down before her, pressing her hands to his lips.

  “‘I am Poseidon, the great god of the sea, one of the Lords of Olympus. I am the Tamer of Horses and the Shaker of the Earth and I will shake the Earth to have you.’

  “The maiden tried to pull away from him, but he held on to her hands with gentle force. He looked into her eyes and she understood there was no malice in him. She raised him up from his knees and they kissed. They kissed and they dropped onto the sand and made love throughout the night and well into the morning. She accepted him with all her being and Poseidon knew that he had impregnated the beautiful woman.

  “In the morning, the revered Amphitrite came looking for her husband. She looked for him in the sea and then, not finding him there, she raced into the ocean to look for him there. She was afraid her husband might have had an accident as he played in the wild waves of the untamed ocean. She searched the waves and the depths in the morning light, then resorted to searching the shores and there she found her husband with the dark woman in his arms. Amphitrite feared the wrath of her husband, so she raced back to her home and tried to forget what she had seen. But, she could not. Even when her husband returned to her, she could not forget seeing him in the tender moment of love he had shared with the woman. No matter what she did, she could not forget and she cried inconsolably. Then as the night closed in on her, she hatched a plan.

  That next day she sought out the witch that lived close to the old temple of Apollo that had stood outside of Troy and she asked the woman for a spell. She asked for the most terrible spell she could make. Then she went back to the same shoreline, and she watched and waited. She waited for the dark skinned woman to come back to the beach and after a long time, she did. She walked along the beach, already caressing her stomach, aware that the seed of Poseidon had given her a child. She was happy, smiling as she walked along the shore but that was when Amphitrite surprised her. She launched her spell at the woman, leaving her reeling from the shock of the attack. When she recovered, her assailant was gone but she was fully aware that the child growing in her had been changed.

  Later that year, Poseidon returned to the woman, to witness the birth of their child. She knew as she bore the pains of her delivery that the child was not a boy or a girl. The head came out first, but there was no skull and no hair. The head was tender and smooth. The eyes were set lower. No torso appeared, instead out came eight arms and no legs.
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  Poseidon was appalled when he saw the octopus and immediately knew what had happened. He roared and raged and called out the name of his wife and immediately raced home to find the woman who had cursed his son.

  “The woman cried and her family gathered around her. They knew the child could not remain in their village and so they took it from her. They took it on board one of their boats and when they had gone three miles out to sea, they threw it overboard, knowing that the sea would take care of the abomination. When she heard what they had done she ran to the cliffs to throw herself into the sea, but Poseidon stopped her. When he realized that nothing he said would keep her from throwing herself into the sea, he changed her into a tree, which he named Lotus, and rooted her firmly to the earth on the cliff.

  “But the child didn’t drown, the ocean nourished the monster and it grew. It grew to great size and fed on the animals of the seas until nothing the ocean produced could stem its hunger. So ever since, the monster has preyed on ships, breaking them to pieces and sinking them and eating the crew. The monster is wild, having had no mother, and known no father other than the ocean. It is said that his mother did do one thing before he was taken from her and dumped into the ocean. It is said that the dark woman named the child. She named it Kraken.”

  The men were quiet as Aineias finished his story. They were enthralled; it followed all the rules of folkloric storytelling, but it was new and new stories always seemed to work well with men addicted to stories. It was Pyrrhus who broke the silence, bursting out in a loud laugh.

  “That is the worst story you have ever told!”

  The others began laughing as well and they paid Aineias their own compliments for the inventiveness of his story. He took a moment to accept their crass compliments and then decided it was time to sleep. Pyrrhus was on first watch with the order to wake someone up to take over halfway through the night.