Xin’s booming voice reached them over the rush of the current. The men jumped from the sand to wade out to where the aft anchor line was tied fast about the rock. Dwayne squinted into the night. He could hear the voices of men growing closer to the shore. The crewman standing with him took hold of the line and struggled to pull the slack from it. Dwayne lent a hand and heaved. A new raft emerged from the shadows with Xin aboard and crewmen standing and pulling on the anchor line to draw them inshore.
The raft, hastily constructed from boards pulled from the deck of the Lion, was hauled to the shallows and held in place by a line secured about a stake driven into the sand. Xin directed the men to the cache of goods and the loading began.
Most of the night was taken up with transferring all of the Carthaginian baggage onboard. It took twenty trips. The spars were floated across, guided by the strongest swimmers, while men aboard the Lion hauled them closer on the new cordage found in the cache. All were exhausted from the chase and the battle, but this gift from the gods buoyed their spirits and they sang as they labored.
The current stilled at first and then began backing as the sky above turned purple, then pink. The tide was retreating, and the bireme must follow or risk grounding. The last of the goods were stowed below, and the raft hauled aboard to be knocked down and its timbers restored to the Lion’s decking.
Caroline greeted Dwayne as he climbed over the gunwale. He was surprised to see her in clean—relatively clean—clothes. She wore a singlet that reached her knees under a loose-fitting tunic belted at the waist with a triple loop of cord held in place by a bronze clasp. Her girl parts were still well hidden, but now her skin was washed clean. Her hair was a salt-caked mop but no longer plastered with muck.
“How the hell did you manage that?” he asked as she gripped his arm to help him aboard.
“Everyone was so preoccupied with the goodies that no one noticed me grab some clothes from the stack. They were like kids on Christmas morning. I changed in the hold.”
“How’d you get clean?”
“I took a bucket of seawater down with me. I feel a thousand percent better, but I’d still murder someone for a hot shower with soap.”
“That was a big risk, Caroline,” he said.
“And who jumped overboard to go swimming with the pirates?” She squinted, at him, head tilted.
“Any clothes left for me?” he said. His swim trunks were in soiled tatters. He looked like what he was—an extra in a gladiator movie.
“I think you’ll have to wait until we get to a big and tall shop.”
The Lion reached open sea by mid-morning and set course due north, leaving the volcanic island behind them with all oars working. When they were well clear, Ahinadab stood by the mast and called to the crew to gather about. Dwayne and Caroline stood on the raised portion of the prow where they could watch what was happening. Praxus joined them. He too had changed clothes and now wore a white woolen tunic and skirt of red linen. His eyes were wavering, and his young face was deeply lined with fear.
“What is happening?” Caroline asked.
“My master. Ahinadab calls for him. This is not good.”
Echephron, the hunched old seer, was hauled up from below deck. His clothing was black with filth from hiding deep in the bowels of the hold throughout the battle. His hair hung in sodden tangles. His eyes spun in their sockets and he protested bitterly. He was thrown to the boards at the captain’s feet. Xin came through the circle of men, grasping his ax.
“Ahinadab is unhappy with him,” Praxus said.
“I can see that with my own eyes,” Caroline answered.
“The master’s reading of the portents was wrong. He dashed their hopes on the rocks of despair.” Praxus translated Ahinadab’s words, but Caroline suspected that the natural storyteller in him was making the boy embellish a bit.
Echephron knelt and raised shaking hands and spoke in that reedy croak.
“He assures the captain that it was only a mistake. He says that the omens he found within the bird’s innards were for their enemies. That bird was meant to land on their deck rather than the Lion of Ba’al.”
The old bastard was throwing his slave Praxus under the bus. Ahinadab wasn’t buying it. He sneered at the shivering seer and flicked fingers at him in a dismissive gesture.
“Of what use is a seer that cannot see? What use is a reader of portents who cannot read?” Praxus relayed with voice breaking. “You cannot pull an oar. You cannot tie a line. You are only a mouth to feed and an ass to shit.”
The old man screeched and gestured while making a sad attempt to rise from his knees. Praxus did not translate. He only lowered his eyes and muttered a prayer. Ahinadab nodded, and Xin stepped to the gibbering ancient and lifted the ax. Caroline made an involuntary sound and turned away.
Dwayne expected a clean beheading. What followed was butcher’s work as Xin hacked the old man to death with six or more blows delivered with indifference. The keening shrieks from the victim ceased after the fourth chop. What was once an oracle touched by the gods now lay quartered on the deck in a spreading smear of blood, less than the remains of an animal. Xin flicked his ax and sent an arc of blood skyward. He snarled an order and boys gathered up the bits and tossed them to the sea.
Xin added something that made the crew hoot with laughter.
“The old bugger’s back is
