But for two long days there was nothing but the silence of the fore-lookers.
He kept as far away from Cornelia as possible. He had little idea what she did, but vaguely hoped that she kept herself busy as all women did during times of such enforced inactivity. Brutus doubted she would get much sympathy from the other Trojan women. They’d spent the best part of their lives slaving and sacrificing for her and her father’s comfort, and for what? To have Cornelia plot to have them slaughtered the moment they reached for their freedom.
If she sat uncomfortable amid their abhorrence, then Brutus had no sympathy for her. It was a far lighter punishment than what she’d wanted for them.
During those times he didn’t worry about Cornelia, or fret over the condition of his people and ships, Brutus allowed himself to daydream about the woman who had appeared to him in the island vision.
She was no mealymouthed hag. She no petty, semihysterical girl. She was a priestess of great power, undoubtedly a respected and admired leader among her people, and a woman any man would be proud to have at his side.
Damn Cornelia. Damn her!
* * *
AT NOON ON THE THIRD DAY ONE OF THE FORE lookers finally raised the alert; ships approached.
Brutus, back on his own ship, rushed to stand with the fore-looker. “Where?” he said, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder.
‘There.” The fore-looker pointed, and Brutus squinted his eyes against the sun (and thank the gods it was sunny; Brutus did not think he wanted to see any more heavy seas or rain for the rest of his life).
The sunlight glinting off the water made it difficult to focus well, but Brutus gradually made out the sails of three—no four!—ships sailing toward them from the north.
‘Four?” he said, and shifted restlessly from foot to foot as the ships slowly came closer.
‘They must be dragging their anchors behind them,” Brutus grumbled as Membricus joined him.
Membricus did not reply, but concentrated on his own squinting inspection of the four ships. “Three are ours,” he said.
‘Yes, yes,” Brutus said, annoyed that Membricus should so waste time stating the obvious.
Membricus’ mouth twitched. “And the fourth is ‘ours’ as well,” he said, then grinned at Brutus’ face as he turned to stare at him.
‘What? What do you mean?” Brutus turned back to study the ships. They were clearer now, their full-bellied sails filled with wind, and Brutus screwed up his eyes, trying to make out the device on the sail of the fourth ship.
Gods, but Membricus must have good vision for a man of his age.
‘I can’t see,” he said.
‘Wait,” Membricus said, his smile broadening.
And then Brutus suddenly yelled in excitement. “It has a Trojan device! But how, Membricus… how
?”
Membricus shrugged. “Who knows, Brutus? Trojans scattered in all directions when Troy fell. Is it so impossible that a few ships made it this far west?”
Brutus did not answer. He had shoved the fore-looker completely to one side, and had stepped right upon the stem post, wrapping one arm about it and shading his eyes with his other hand, staring ahead.
The ship was a beauty, a warrior vessel, slung low in the water and with oarsmen so magnificently skilled and smooth he could hardly make out the dip and lift of their oars in the water. The hull was daubed in the usual black pitch, but the stem of the ship had been carved into the head of a mystic serpent, and painted in blues, greens, silvers, and golds. The great linen sail had been dyed in similar colors, and in its center strained the familiar device of Troy—the spinning crown above the stylized representation of a labyrinth. “They are brothers,” he said, marveling. “They are brothers!” He began to wave with great sweeping arcs of his arm, then, when the ships had approached close enough that their oarsmen had begun the dip-and-hold maneuver to slow them down, cast himself into the sea, swimming toward the great warrior ship of Troy.
HE REACHED ITS HULL, AND PLACED ONE HAND ON ITS pitch-black surface as he trod water, shaking the sea from his hair and eyes.
‘I have never seen a fairer mermaid,” said a laughing voice, and Brutus blinked, and looked up.
A man of brown hair and fair complexion stared down at him, his open, friendly face wreathed in a huge smile. He was robed in a splendid sleeveless scarlet tunic, a scabbarded sword was belted at his hips, and gold and silver armbands ran up his arms to his muscular biceps.
‘But, wait!” The man affected surprise, and stood back. “This is no mermaid! To be sure, it is a man!
What do you here, man, and under what name do you pass?”
‘I am come to greet you,” Brutus shouted, “and, if you would be good enough to throw me a length of rope that I might climb to join you, to embrace you in friendship and brotherhood. I am Brutus, son of Silvius, son of Ascanius, son of Aeneas who was hero of Troy, and son of Aphrodite.”
‘Good enough,” said the man, as if the progeny of gods was the least he had expected, and personally tossed Brutus a length of rope, holding it steady as Brutus climbed hand over hand up the hull of the ship.
As Brutus swung his leg over the ship’s deck railing, the man caught sight of the gold bands about Brutus’ arms and legs, and he audibly gasped.
‘They are the kingship bands of Troy!”
‘Aye,” Brutus said.
‘Then you are doubly welcome to my ship, Brutus, blood of heroes and goddesses,” said the man, clasping Brutus first by the forearms, and then drawing him into a close embrace. “My name is Corineus, of the line of Locrinus of Troy, and I head the four clans who have descended from him.”
‘How came you here?” said Brutus, standing back and studying the man closely.
‘Why,” said Corineus, his expression lightening away from his shock and back to humor, “by ship of course!”
‘I meant—”
‘I know what you meant,” said Corineus, his grin fading. “My greatgrandfather escaped from Troy with your great-grandfather, Aeneas. They sailed together for many years, but when Aeneas decided to settle on the River Tiber, my great-grandfather decided he still had some wanderlust left in him.”
‘Ah, yes, I remember. Five ships of men and women continued on after Aeneas settled. And you are of those ships?”
‘Aye! They established themselves on this coast, some distance north, where they built a great city and divided themselves into four clans descended from Locrinus’ four sons. Come now, take this towel and dry yourself.” Cori-neus’ humor had faded completely now, and he stared past Brutus, now busily drying himself, to the fleet that lay before him. “By the gods, Brutus, something has bitten you well! And so many ships… how many, for the gods’ sakes?”
‘Seven thousand people, give or take a few hundred,” said Brutus, “and ninety-five somewhat battered ships… we were one hundred grand sailing vessels until we became the victims of a supernatural-driven storm.”
Supernatural storms and unnatural earth tremors, thought Corineus. What in Zeus’ name was happening to their world?
‘And you survived.” He looked back at Brutus, and Brutus saw the sharpness in his light brown eyes, and knew that the man wore his natural humor as a mask to charm words from men who would otherwise be more careful.
Brutus suddenly felt a respect for Corineus; he would never be a man to be trifled with.
‘We survived,” he said, “due to the intervention of… a wondrous and powerful priestess. We were favored, indeed.”
Corineus raised his eyebrows. “A wondrous priestess?” “It is a long tale,” Brutus said. “Should I discuss this now, or wait, perhaps, till you have guided my people to a safe harbor? We have injuries aboard, and much of our dry stores are ruined. My people are exhausted and hungry and damp.”
‘We attend to your people’s needs first,” said Corineus. “My home is not far away—a day’s sail, if you can bear it, or a day and a half’srow in your ships if they are too injured to raise their sails. Perhaps, if we row, we can talk tonight, over a meal?” He stopped rather abruptly, and took a step forward, peering at the ship Brutus had so precipitously leapt from. “Who is that fair lady?”
Brutus followed his eyes. Cornelia was now standing with Membricus by the stem of his ship, shading her eyes as she stared at Corineus’ vessel.
‘She? She is my wife.”
‘Your wife? Then leave her not there, anxious and curious,” Corineus exclaimed. “I invite her aboard, to keep you from worrying on her behalf, and you both shall tell me your tales as we sail to my home.”
ecevejsi coRnelia speaksWAS STUNNED INTO BREATHLESSNESS. I HAD NOT seen a ship so proud and so beautiful since one of the Egyptian pharaoh’s vessels had docked in the bay before Mesopotama several years ago.