The entire valley was little more than thin strips of beach, with the inevitable grailstones spaced a mile apart. There were no signs of people, or of human habitation.
“Empty,” declared Bowie, beads of sweat trickling down his back. The Unfinished Business skipped along the water, heading for the next break in the mountains.
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“Nobody’s here,” said Crockett. “But what’s ahead?”
They found out in less than an hour. Though powerful currents and strong waves buffeted their ship, the longboat had been built to withstand major storms at sea. They made it through the narrow gorge at the end of the uninhabited valley with nothing more than a light soaking to mark their passage. And discovered themselves in a huge, placid lake, some ten miles long and four miles wide.
“Out oars,” commanded Lysander immediately. His Spartans, ever ready, were rowing in seconds.
“Not much of a current here,” said Thorberg, relaxing his grip on the rudder. “The worst is past.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Bill Mason, his gaze fixed on the nearer shore. A massive wooden palisade ran along much of the beach, cutting if off completely from the water. Patrolling the walls were leather-clad men, armed with spears and swords. The soldiers watched their passing silently, making no move in response. From somewhere behind the fortifications, a horn sounded. A hundred feet farther down-River, a second responded. And then another a hundred feet beyond that.
“Signaling our approach,” said Bowie. “Lysander, pick up the tempo.”
“I’m headin’ for the crow’s nest,” said Crockett, and scrambled up handholds in the short mast to the lookout perch at its top. The frontiersman had the keenest vision on board.
“Walls across the lake as well,” he called down a few seconds later. “Pretty much the same construction as here. Looks like the same people rule both sides of the River.”
The waterway curved to the right a half-mile ahead. “Keep to the middle of the stream,” Bowie said to Thorberg, the sound of many horns echoing on the beach.
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“Ships up ahead,” cried Crockett. “Two of them, ’bout the same size as ours. Heading out from shore pretty fast.”
“They look friendly?” asked Bowie, already knowing the answer.
“Not likely. They’re loaded with armed men. Lots of them. Plenty of folks on the beach cheering them on. Looks like they know what they’re doin’. We ain’t the first ones passed this way, Jim.”
“Pirates,” said Bowie, disgusted.
“Or worse,” said Socrates, pulling on a dragonleather buckler and helmet. He slashed the air a few times with a hornfish sword, accustoming himself to the weight of the blade. “They could be grail-slavers.”
Bowie cursed. Born in the American South during the late eighteenth century, he considered slavery perfectly acceptable when applied to others. Faced with the same prospect for himself, he exploded with rage.
“Load the ballista,” he bellowed. “Ready the grenades. If these bastards want a fight, we’ll teach them a thing or two about warfare!”
“Spartans, prepare for battle,” ordered Lysander, pulling on his armor and unsheathing his sword. Half the crew stopped rowing and donned their gear while the others kept up the pace. As soon as the first group finished, they took over the oars as their fellows made ready. The entire process took only a few minutes, and without any noticeable reduction in the boat’s speed.
The Unfinished Business rounded the River bend into war. Huge stones, thrown by catapults on the beach, splashed in the water nearby. Giant arrows roared overhead. Propelled by three banks of oarsmen, the two
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enemy vessels bore down on them from both sides. On shore, thousands screamed in excitement.
“Roman triremes,” said Isaac, anger clouding his usually despondent features. Clad in dragonfish leather and armed with two short swords, he no longer looked the man of peace. “Their ships are much heavier than ours. And legionnaires are no sailors. If we can steer free, they won’t catch us. Beware, though,” he said ominously, “if they get close enough to send on boarding parties. On land or sea, the soldiers of Rome fight like cornered tigers.”
“Sounds like you admire them,” said Bowie, his gaze fixed on the approaching warships.
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