Instead, Brutus’ blow only dealt Periopis strength. She pulled away from Brutus completely, then, stunningly, grabbed Cornelia and drew her toward the edge of the craft.
‘Time for you to die, you plump-thighed whore,” Periopis said, almost conversationally.
Cornelia, terrified, tried to tear herself free, but Periopis suddenly seemed possessed of supernatural strength. Her hands tightened about Cornelia’s wrists, and smiling calmly, all her previous terror apparently vanished, Periopis dragged Cornelia a little closer to the deck railing.
Above them a gigantic wave rose, then crashed down, washing the two women toward the very edge of their deaths, and Brutus back farther toward the relative safety of the mid-deck.
Brutus was momentarily blinded by the stinging salt water, and knocked breathless by the force of its blow. When he managed to rub the water from his eyes, and blink some focus back into his vision, he saw that Periopis had fallen over the side of the ship, dragging Cornelia, who was desperately pulling back, almost completely over the railing.
Brutus could not find the breath to shout. All he could see was Cornelia’s terrified face, and her desperate cries as she tried to resist Periopis’ determination to murder her.
Without thinking, Brutus threw himself at his wife, wrapping his arms about her hips, and pulling her back with all his might.
‘Let her go!” he finally managed to gasp at Periopis. ” Let her go!”
‘No,” whispered the demented woman, falling ever closer to the waves. “She’s mine, now.”
Cornelia fell forward even farther, and Brutus felt his grip on her hips sliding.
‘Brutus!” Cornelia shrieked.
‘Brutus!” Periopis whispered… and tugged at Cornelia’s struggling form so that Cornelia now hung almost entirely from the ship. Only Brutus’ grip on her robe kept her from going over completely.
‘Brutus!” Cornelia whimpered, and horrifyingly, Brutus realized it was a form of farewell.
From somewhere came a rage and a strength he did not think he possessed. Pulling himself upright, he leaned over the ship’s railing, grabbed Cornelia’s sodden hair in his right hand and with his left fist dealt a fearsome blow into Periopis’ face.
Her nose and cheekbones caved inward, sending a spray of blood into the wind… and then her hands opened, and she was gone, and Brutus was dragging Cornelia back on deck.
AS SOON AS PERIOPIS’ BODY HIT THE WATER, THE STORM wondrously abated. Brutus and Cornelia, kneeling on the deck, looked up, wiping the seawater from their eyes and blinking in the sudden light.
A woman stood on the deck before them, dry and serene despite the wild-ness of rain and wind.
‘Blessed goddess!” Brutus said, and Cornelia felt something turn to ice inside her at what she heard in his voice. “Thank you! Thank you!”
‘It is enough,” the woman said, then turned her eyes to Cornelia, “if not altogether quite enough.”
Then she was gone.
Cornelia rubbed at her eyes—they were still filmy and sore with the salt water, and she could not see very well.
‘Who was that?” she whispered. “Which goddess?”
He hesitated. “Artemis,” he said finally.
No, a small, ancient voice said deep within Cornelia. That was Brutus’ night lover .
‘No,” said Cornelia in a tight, cold voice. “That was the woman of your dreams.”
GENVISSA LAY VERY STILL, REGATHERING HER STRENGTH.
She’d accomplished most of what she’d wanted—the crippling of Brutus’ fleet so that it would need to seek out a port in which to shelter for repairs—but she had not managed to murder Cornelia, and that frightened her more than a little.
Brutus had tried very, very hard to save Cornelia. Far harder than Genvissa had thought he would.
Her strength had given out just as Brutus had seemed to find some extra, and the silly Periopis had not managed to pull Cornelia over the side at all ill, the fleet was all but crippled, and for now Genvissa must content herself with that.
‘Genvissa?”
It was Aerne, and Genvissa fought back a sigh.
‘I have been trying to aid Og,” she whispered, “but I fear I have failed.” eigbo n|,’ f ONE OF THE
FLEET MANAGED TO COME THROUGH the frightful storm unscathed, but only five ships in total perished. The remaining ships limped through the straits of the Pillars of Hercules in various states of damage; many completely de-masted, others trailing broken or snapped masts through the water, still others with half the ship’s quota of oars washed away.
Over five hundred men, women, and children had lost their lives. Brutus ordered that the few visible floating corpses be retrieved for a suitable cremation when they could reach dry land; the others, he supposed, would spend their eternity floating at the bottom of the straits. He asked Membricus to speak prayers for them, and to cast burning herbs across the waters to still their souls, and he hoped that they would find peace, and not linger to draw others to their deaths with watery, bitter siren songs.
Night had set in quickly once the storm abated. Neither Brutus nor any of the fore-lookers could see any possible landing—and even had one been close by, Brutus would not have wanted to risk the ships on unseen rocks during a night landing. So he determined they should set anchor as best they could close to the northern shoreline, and spend a cold wet night on the ships—there was not a dry robe nor blanket among the entire fleet, and Brutus dared not allow fires to be set within the hulls of the ships.
The three ships that had sustained the least damage, however, Brutus sent sailing north-northwest, following the coastline. They were to seek a suitable bay where the fleet could anchor, the people disembark and see to their wet clothes, blankets, and their injuries, and a forest where they could cut new masts for those ships that needed them. There was still an unknown time of sailing ahead of them, and Brutus wanted to be able to take advantage of the winds while he could.
G He spent many hours consulting with his officers, and clambering from ship to ship to offer support and to assess damage, and did not return to his own ship until the dawn of the next morning. His robe was still damp, his cloak a sodden, useless mess, and by the time he sat down beside Cornelia on the aft deck he was shivering uncontrollably.
She had awakened at his return—or perhaps had not slept at all—and shifted slightly to make room for him at her side. As he sat beside her, sighing gratefully as he rested his back against the side of the ship, she hesitated, then leaned in close against him, offering him her warmth.
He stiffened slightly, then relaxed. He was too tired and heartsore to push her away at the moment, and if he was truthful with himself, he did not truly want to.
‘Is my son safe?” Brutus said, laying a hand on her belly. “Aye. He is the warmest of all of us, I think.”
Brutus realized he was not the only one shivering, and again after a momentary hesitation, pulled Cornelia as close to his body as he could. There were people to either side of them—Aethylla on Cornelia’s right, and an oarsman called Daedeline on Brutus’ left—but even as tightly packed as they were, their damp clothes and the night wind made for a miserable existence.
‘What were you doing,” Brutus asked very softly, lest he disturb what slumber their neighbors could manage, “to risk yourself and our child like that? Rushing to save Periopis?”
He felt Cornelia shrug. “I did not think. I thought only to save her.” “For the sake of the gods, Cornelia, she almost killed you!” Brutus truly did not know what to think about Cornelia’s actions in trying to save Periopis. Had Cornelia’s concern been genuine… or was it like her pretense at seductiveness? A ploy to win him to her so that he might not kill her or put her aside once his son was born?
‘Periopis has… had two children, Brutus. When she ran toward the back of the ship, that’s all I could think of. I heard them crying out for their mother from where they sat close to the stem…” She shivered again and Brutus thought it the tremor of true emotion rather than an act. “I remembered the sounds of the children dying in Mesopotama, their mothers beside them. I couldn’t stand it.” She shivered again. “I don’t know, Brutus. I acted without thinking.”
She was shivering more violently than ever now, and Brutus rubbed his hand up and down her upper arm, trying to warm her. “You should have thought of your child first, Cornelia. You risked not only yourself.”
‘Aye, I risked your son as well my body his cradle,” she said, bitterness edging her voice.
Brutus let her remark go, remembering only that frightful moment when he’d seen Cornelia stumbling after the incoherent Periopis. In that moment he had not a thought for his child, but only for Cornelia. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she spoke first.