“Aleph! Bet! Aleph! Bet! Aleph! Bet! Aleph! Bet!”
One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two.
The number system shared by the Phoenicians and the Hebrews and adopted by the Greeks.
Dwayne and Caroline leaned over the port freeboard and looked back along the white wake. Far behind them, a broad sail was momentarily visible against the horizon. The slight chop served to hide it from sight most of the time. The Nubian who called the alarm must have been gifted with extraordinary eyesight to have spotted it.
Ahinadab was perched high on the stern structure that curved back over the tiller deck. He stood on footholds that were cleverly concealed in the carving and clung with one hand to the heavy truss line that ran the length of the ship. He called down orders to Yada, who adjusted the helm, shoving or pulling the iron-bound blade of the rudder as needed. The young Nubian with the eagle eyes stood by, but assisted only when the course change was radical enough to require his added weight to hold the tiller steady.
They were running. That was obvious. Whoever was following their course was someone they feared—a bigger fish.
Crewmen adjusted the sail to take advantage of the following wind. They moved the lines back and forth along the freeboard that ran down either wale. They clewed the lines tight to wooden cleats. The cables went taut, and the sail snapped into rigid life.
“The other ship? Who is it?” Caroline asked Praxus who joined them at the freeboard.
“A Carthaginian vessel,” he said glumly.
“And that is a bad thing?” she asked.
“They will hang us all.”
“How the hell can they know it’s Carthaginian?” Dwayne asked.
“Praxus says it’s the shape of the sail. It’s broader than ours. That means a bigger boat, a trireme or larger. More oars, more oarsmen. The Carthaginians are the only navy in these waters with that kind of vessel,” she said.
“So, faster,” he said.
“Not necessarily. My reading tells me that these vessels do ten knots at best. But three banks of oars mean less strain on each rower. They can spell rowers and still keep pace. According to Praxus, they’ll catch up to us eventually unless the skipper thinks of something.”
“How eventual is this?”
“Two days. Maybe more depending on the skill of their captain,” Caroline said.
“You’re shitting me. These guys can keep up this pace for two days?” Dwayne said.
She spoke to Praxus, then turned back to Dwayne. “We’re all hands to the oars until dark. Then they’ll spell the rowers. One bank on, one bank off until morning. If we haven’t lost the pursuing ship by morning, it’s back to all hands again.”
“What about these guys? Can’t they row too?” Dwayne nodded toward the armed men now standing along the gunwales looking bored.
“They don’t have the skill sets,” Caroline said. “Rowing takes training. You don’t want amateurs pulling the oars. That guy calling off the count? He gets more of a share of the loot than anybody except the captain.”
“Do you know what these clowns did to piss off the Carthaginians?” Dwayne asked.
Caroline relayed the question to Praxus, who only shook his head, lips pressed tight and a mournful look.
“He’s lying,” Dwayne said.
“Uh huh,” Caroline said.
From a terrifying start, the mood on the Lion went from organized panic to brittle tedium within hours. Even a sea chase with the possibility of mass executions at the end of it becomes a drag after a few hours of inactivity. Most of the fighting crew stopped watching the horizon for the pursuing shadow. They remained quiet, muttering among themselves or dozing while the rowing boss paced the center deck, calling out the rhythm in a sing-song voice as regular as a metronome. As the sun passed its zenith, jugs of water and baskets of hard cheese and dried fruit were passed about.
Dwayne and Caroline sat out of the way in the prow by the seer. Echephron was snoring softly with his robe pulled low on his face.
“This wasn’t in the kid’s book, was it?” Dwayne said.
“You read it too. No mention of being chased by anyone,” Caroline said and popped a date in her mouth to suck the sweet flesh off the pit.
“Maybe he forgot about it. Maybe it turned out all right.”
“I don’t know. It could be it slipped his mind over time, but I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Dwayne said.
“Because of the attention to detail in Praxus’ writing.” She shrugged. “I don’t think he wrote his first draft when he was an old man. I think he’s writing it now. So, maybe our capture changed things. Maybe he never even lived to finish it.”
“That’s fucked up. How did our capture make today different?”
“In the codex, Praxus sure doesn’t mention us. He also wrote that the ship was only anchored at Nisos Anaxos for one day. After they caught us a lot of the crew camped overnight on the beach. We didn’t leave until late the following day.”
“Almost twenty-four hours behind schedule,” Dwayne said.
“Enough of a difference for us to cross the path of another vessel the Lion would have missed if they left on time.” Caroline frowned and rose up to spit a pit over the side.
“And probably one that was on the prowl for these assholes.”
“The treasure. You think that’s it?”
“I think it’s time Praxus gave up some answers.”
“Does it make a difference?” Dwayne said.
“It does to me,” Caroline said, popping another date in her mouth.
41
Lion at Bay
Moonless night dropped on the Aegean, with the comet visible as a frosty smear against the stars. The sail and lines shone silver. The deck was awash in black shadows. The pursuing sail was invisible in the dark somewhere behind them.
