The transport rotated until the bow pointed south.
“All together stroke, walk it together, stroke,” Tivadar ordered.
***
The sun popped into the sky over the mountains to the west. Shortly after Sol Indiges, the Sun God, returned light to the earth, Tivadar turned the Aura. They rounded a point of land and a large city came into view.
“My home,” Tivadar declared. “Methoni, one of the prize leaves on the vine.”
“It’s bigger than I imagined,” Alerio remarked. “Too bad I don’t have time for exploring. But duty requires me to push on for the Isle of Rhodes.”
“Then it’s good that you have time to dine with my family,” Tivadar exclaimed, “while I find you a ship for the next leg of your journey.”
“I hate to impose,” Alerio commented.
“Nonsense,” Tivadar declared. “My wife will want to know who to blame.”
“Blamed for what?” a shocked Alerio inquired.
“For her not being rid of me so she can marry a young and handsome man,” Tivadar announced. “But let me warn you. She may poison us both for your transgressions.”
***
Home port or not, the Aura did business when she docked. Cargo came out of the hold, coins were exchanged, and new merchandise went onto the ship. At midday, a guard arrived. As soon as he was installed on the deck, the crew dispersed down different streets of the city.
“Come Sisera, time to meet your fate,” Tivadar invited.
They caught a carriage and a mile north of the bay, they arrived at a large farm. A plump woman marched out of the house trailed by five children. She stomped up to Tivadar and glared at him.
“Husband, you returned safe from the sea,” she remarked.
“I have, wife,” the Captain replied.
“I suppose you are hungry,” she stated. Then with a curious look at Alerio, she added. “Brought another mouth to feed?”
“I have,” Tivadar answered.
“Fine, one more can’t hurt,” she declared before throwing her arms around the Captain’s neck. “The children have missed you. And, so have I.”
Tivadar lifted her off the ground and returned the hug. Alerio’s fear of being poisoned faded as the children crowded around him. They asked questions while escorting him to the house.
***
Over a table piled high with food, the Captain explained about his capture and Alerio’s rescue. Then Tivadar announced.
“Tribune Sisera is traveling to Rhodes,” he described. “I need to find him suitable transportation for the next leg of his journey.”
“Rehor,” his wife offered.
“No,” Tivadar responded quickly, “no.”
“But, Tivadar, he is the best coastal trader around,” she insisted. “You’ve said as much yourself.”
“Your brother is a good trader,” Tivadar acknowledged. “But his crew are almost pirates. Plus, they are young and have no respect for authority. Or any manners.”
“You aren’t afraid of rude people, are you Tribune Sisera?” she asked.
“No ma’am,” Alerio assured her. “I am mostly around infantrymen and they aren’t the gentlest of creatures.”
“There, Tivadar,” she told her husband, “that settles it. Now you two take your wine to the patio while I see to the cleanup.”
Alerio and the Captain moved from the dining room to a stone outdoor seating area. The five children moved with them as tightly packed as a Century formation on field maneuvers. Tivadar ruffled hair and patted shoulders as the group moved, while Alerio worried about stepping on little bare feet.
“Do you like being married?” Alerio asked once he was settled in a wicker chair.
“When you marry, Sisera,” Tivadar replied, “the center of your world shifts from your forehead. You no longer think only of yourself and your own needs.”
“Where does it shift to?” Alerio questioned.
“Away,” the Captain informed him. He took a sip and smiled. “As far away as your wife is from you. Even across the sea, your thoughts are with her.”
“And her thoughts are with you,” Tivadar’s wife chimed in. “I came out to defend Rehor if my husband thinks to argue against my brother.”
“Wife, the subject has not come up,” Tivadar scolded.
“Then finish your drink and come inside,” she instructed. “You’ve been gone far too long.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Tivadar stated. Then before going to the house, he bent down and whispered. “Be glad she didn’t poison us.”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that,” Alerio whispered back. “She seems to have you where she wants you.”
“It appears she does,” the Captain laughed. “Children entertain Tribune Sisera. And warn him about Uncle Lex.”
“He pilots the Momus with ingenuity, sails the seas heroically, on a boat named for the God of Satire, Mockery, and Poetry,” they cried. “We love Uncle Lex.”
“I cannot get my own way in my own house,” Tivadar protested. “Maybe I should poison myself.”
“Us too,” the children shouted.
Alerio watched the transport Captain strut to the house. While the Legion officer was distracted, a little girl crawled into his lap.
“Are you a Hoplite?” she inquired. “Like the ones at Ther, Ther, Ther…”
“Thermopylae,” Alerio suggested.
“Yes, there,” she gushed. “Are you?”
“In a way,” he replied. “I am heavy infantry but not a Hoplite. I’m a Legionary.”
Alerio spent the rest of the day teaching the children about the Legion and the Republic’s heavy infantry. To his surprise, they listened to his every word and never once seemed bored. Then, the little girl rested her head on Alerio’s chest.
“Do you have any children?” she questioned with a sleepy yawn.
“No, I am not married,” Alerio told her.
“That is a shame,” she said sounding like a little old lady. “Someday, you must marry and have children. You will be a great father.”
She snuggled into his chest and, as her breathing shallowed, a strange feeling engulfed Alerio. Suddenly, he felt an urge to protect the innocent child and make the world a better place for her.
The feeling faded when Tivadar’s wife lifted the child from his arms.
“Are you married, Sisera?” she inquired.
“No, ma’am,” Alerio replied. “Why do you ask?”
“You are very good with children,” she complimented before carrying the sleeping child to the house.
Looking up at the darkening sky, Alerio inhaled and relaxed. Then an image of Gabriella DeMarco crossed his mind. He attempted to hold the image. But as quickly as it arrived, the vision vanished, leaving Alerio feeling lonely.
***
The coastal trader Momus boasted a length of thirty-five feet, nine across its beam, and had a meager draft of just 5 feet. There were few harbors, coves, or intercoastal settlements the boat couldn’t service.
“You will need to cut down on your stops,” Tivadar instructed a young man who vaguely resembled the Captain’s wife. “Sisera is traveling to the Isle of Rhodes. And I owe him.”
“I can get him to the Island of Kithira,” the man offered. “He’ll easily get a sea snail trader from there.”
“That works. Just be sure you take care of him and treat him with respect,” Tivadar ordered before turning to Alerio. “Sisera, this is Rehor Lex, skipper of the trader Momus.”
“Captain, it’s good to meet you,” Alerio stated.
The crewmen on the Momus, all younger than their youthful skipper, burst out laughing. Overcome with the humor, all three fell off the bundles stacked on the deck.
“Call me Rehor, or Lex, but Captain is a bit much for a trader of this size,” Rehor Lex proclaimed.
“As you wish Rehor,” Alerio started again. “I am Alerio Sisera. Call me anything you want, just not late for supper.”
A new round
of laughter burst from the deck.
“It wasn’t that funny,” Alerio told the three.
“Or that clever,” one reflected.
“Or that original,” another observed.
“You are correct, it wasn’t that funny,” the third man offered.
Alerio studied the three. One lacked the mass to be a threat in a fight. The second carried lean muscle and the third was doughy soft. None appeared to be a fighter although with their attitudes and absence of discipline, they would need some martial skills. At least enough to defend themselves against offended drunks.
“No thanks, I’m not drunk enough,” Alerio commented.
“No thanks to what?” one inquired.
The second questioned, “Drunk enough for what?”
“For me to take offense and drown you like rats,” Alerio replied pleasantly with a smile on his face. “But with enough wine, I could be convinced.”
“Who are you?” Rehor asked. “Better yet, what are you?”
“I am a Tribune in the Legion of the Republic,” Alerio replied. “And I don’t take umbrage easily.”
“Filib is my first oar,” Rehor introduced the man with the lean muscle mass. “The fat youth with the blond hair is Isyllus.”
“I take offense at that,” Isyllus protested.
“The fat or the blond part?” the third crewman inquired.
“And the mouth is Olek,” Rehor said while pointing out a lean darkhaired youth. “He is the one most likely to get us run out of a village.”
“Chased by a jilted husband or an angry father,” Isyllus offered. “and sometimes by brothers.”
“He likes the ladies?” Alerio guessed.
“Worse than that,” Filib remarked. “The ladies can’t resist Olek’s charms.”
Alerio studied the first oar and revised his initial impression. Lean yes, but the man carried a curved sica with a black oyster shell hilt. Not a cheap weapon or one likely carried by an unskilled swordsman.
Just as Legionaries in a squad filled roles to fit in, the crew of the Momus assumed identities. Rehor no doubt was the leader, Isyllus the clown, Olek the lover, leaving Filib to fill the position of enforcer. If the parts fit together well, the crew would be tightly bonded and dependable. If not, they would lose unit integrity in a crisis.
“We have clear skies, smooth water,” Rehor declared, “and a fair morning to make Foinikounta.”
Isyllus and Olek moaned.
“What?” Filib challenged. “You don’t like snails?”
“They smell,” Isyllus protested.
“Sisera, toss your gear onboard,” Rehor directed. “Filib, get us off this beach.”
As the crew pushed the Momus into the bay, Rehor Lex spilled helpings of wine and olive oil over the side.
“Poseidon, God of the Sea. We beseech you for mercy during our travels over your domain,” Rehor prayed as he poured. “Keep the seas calm, the monsters in their depths, and the birds flying along our route. For a safe voyage from sheltered harbor to sheltered harbor, we give you thanks with these humble offerings.”
Alerio took an oar and with four rowers dipping, the trader Momus glided quickly from the bay.
Chapter 18 – Indigo Snails
At first, the coastline had beaches suitable for landing with access to green grass and trees above a gentle slope. Then slowly, the expanse of beach shrank to a ribbon of sand at the base of uneven rock cliffs.
At midmorning, Rehor Lex steered the Momus eastward and the shoreline rose twenty-five feet from the sea. It seemed as if a giant had broken off a section of land like a man would rip off the end of a loaf of bread.
“It looks desolate,” Olek suggested to Alerio, “but watch ahead.”
Eventually, the high cliffs flowed into rolling hills. And where rocks had risen above the sea, the forest and farmland spread to the edge of the water.
“There’s nothing like traveling by boat,” Filib told him. “Your view changes with the wind.”
“Enjoy the fresh air,” Isyllus warned Alerio. “For, I swear, by mid-day the stink of snail will assail every breath you inhale.”
“So, the Momus is a snail trader?” Alerio asked. He heard Rehor use the phrase and thought it fit the discussion.
“No,” Filib came back. “We are a coastal trader. We only haul snails when we need extra coins.”
“Or when we have to travel fast and skip ports-of-call,” Rehor added. “The snails pay a premium. But the cost is cleaning the smell from the boat and your senses afterward.”
By midday, a village with a fleet of small boats came into view.
“Welcome to Foinikounta,” Olek stated. “The sea snails grow in abundance in the shallow waters of the cove. And the fleet of boats are used to harvest them.”
“The snails grow, are plucked from the cove,” Isyllus chanted, “end parts ground to overflow, to make cloth that glows in indigo. And into a cook pots the other end goes.”
“It needs work,” Rehor offered. “Roll the sail and dip the oars.”
Rehor angled the Momus towards the beach but steered away from one area. A field of light brown with spits of blue covered a portion of the sand. Behind the defined area, men sat at stones cutting and separating objects. After dividing the parts, one segment went into a pot suspended over a fire, the split shell got tossed to the light brown area, while the other object was dropped into a clay bowl.
As the boat drew closer to shore, Alerio could see that thousands of crushed shells created the brown field.
“Broken snails’ shells,” Olek mentioned. “From a distance the golden brown is pretty.”
Then the wind shifted, and a rank aroma drifted over the boat.
“Aha, do you know what that smell is?” Filib asked.
“Rotting snails in the sun,” Alerio offered.
“No Sisera, that is the smell of ready coins,” Rehor corrected. Then he commanded. “Ship oars. Get us up on the beach.”
Alerio and the three crewmen jumped into the surf and shoved the Momus onto the sand. Men with blue stains on their hands walked over to begin the trading session.
***
When Rehor mentioned sea snail traders, Alerio assumed he referred to transporting snail shells. Unfortunately, while the hard shells could be rinsed of rotting aroma, the valuable parts of the snails could not be washed. And they stunk.
“The harvesters want to know if we are staying for lunch,” Olek mentioned to Alerio. “After cutting out the gut that makes the dye, they boil the snail bodies in those pots with garlic.”
The two stood beside the Momus holding cloth covered bowls that easily fit in their cupped hands. The stench from the bowls also saturated the beach. Just the idea of eating brought bile into Alerio’s throat. It left a nasty taste in his mouth. Between the horrid smell and the vile taste, he was close to throwing up the content of his stomach.
“I am not hungry,” Alerio assured Olek. Then he wondered. “If they are cooking the snail bodies, what do we have in these bowls?”
“Snail excretion and guts,” the crewman announced. “You are holding snail merda and snail cūlī.”
“That is disgusting,” Alerio pointed out.
Filib’s face appeared over the rail of the boat.
“Not disgusting, valuable,” he corrected. “Each bowl is worth a stack of silver. Now, hand me the bowl and be careful not to drop it.”
He reached down and Olek offered up his bowl as if it was a sacrifice. Filib took the container and vanished. He would stow it with others in a cocoon of cloth to protect the clay bowls and the valuable indigo snail parts.
Still holding his bowl, Alerio asked, “Are you going to eat?”
“Gods no,” Olek spit as he answered. “Who could even consider it with this smell?”
***
As soon as Rehor Lex finished the exchange, they pushed the boat into the surf and rowed away. Yet, even as they put distance between themselves and the beach with crushed shells, a reminder o
f the aroma wafted from under the forward boards.
Alerio wrinkled his nose at the smell when a breeze sent a whiff of snail in his direction.
“It smells like coins,” Filib reminded Alerio before he could complain.
By mid-afternoon, the Momus turned off the southern heading onto an eastern track. Changing course removed wind from the sail and the crewmen resorted to oars. After rowing between two points of land, Rehor angled the trader northward and wind filled the sail.
“If the wind keeps steady, the crossing will be an easy sail,” Olek commented.
“What crossing?” Alerio asked.
“We’ll spend the night at Koroni point,” Filib replied. “In the morning, we’ll set out across the water to Stoupa on the other coast.”
“How many days to cross?” Alerio inquired.
His thinking was based on the journey between Syracuse and Vromoneri.
“Take a look around you, Sisera,” Isyllus offered, “the boat is narrow, from aft to forward, it is scarcely a meander. Our belly is a limited shallow hold with no depth for control. To sea we are not fit to go, the shoreline is our home.”
“You are saying,” Alerio summarized, “the Momus is too small for sea voyages.”
“A little better, Isyllus,” Filib critiqued. “Maybe less rhyme and more lyric verse.”
“Everyone is a critic,” Isyllus grumbled. But then he said. “I will reflect on your suggestion.”
“What am I missing?” Alerio asked.
“Isyllus went to a play in Athens last year,” Rehor told him. “After leaving the theater, he asked a beggar…”
“He was a stoic philosopher,” Isyllus protested.
“Fine. Isyllus asked a stoic philosopher how he could become a dramatist and a poet,” Rehor described. “The old fake told our young friend, that any fish in the sky could write, if they practiced flying and rhyming to the same degree.”
“That is…,” Alerio began to point out the absurdity.
“Save your breath,” Olek advised. “We’ve been over the explanation way too often.”
“And so, our young dramatist works on his craft,” Rehor stated. “And we help him by being his audience.”
“We are still waiting for him to fly,” Filib added.
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