Miro looked up at the rail of the foreign ship. He could see a tall man standing where he'd been watching the fight, a cadre of officers around him. The tall man wore a dark blue hat with a feather, and Miro knew this must be the captain.
Beside the captain two men held long stick-like devices pointed in Miro's direction. A trail of smoke rose from one of the sticks.
Miro looked at his arm and saw a small line of blood where something had cut through his sleeve. He had no idea what manner of weapon the sticks were but he wished for his rail-bow.
He thought about the explosion at the wedding. At least he'd made it to the right place.
"Draw back," the captain ordered, and the swordsmen fell back, leaving Miro exposed to the marksmen. His eyes met Miro's. "Do you surrender?"
"Do you guarantee the safety of my wife and myself?"
"Your wife," the captain said, an amused expression on his face. "Yes, I guarantee it. While on my ship neither of you will be harmed."
"Amber, come out," Miro said. He threw the cutlass to the floor.
The sailors came forward and marched Miro and Amber to the side of the strange ship. At sword point they climbed a ladder and were soon under guard on the ship's deck.
A sailor searched the hold of the Intrepid, then climbed up the ladder and reported to the captain. "There's nothing worth taking, Commodore," the sailor said.
"Sink the ship," the captain said. "Let's give our gunners some practice."
Sails were set, and Miro and Amber watched stoically as the bronze barrels sent shot after shot at the Intrepid.
Soon water rushed into a hole in the side of the caravel. Miro watched with sadness as the bold ship that had saved their lives sank.
Miro was suddenly too weary to pay much attention to his surroundings. They were on the main deck of yet another ship, and once again at the mercy of her captain and crew.
He and Amber received strange looks from the sailors, and Miro realised how bedraggled they must look. Amber still wore men's clothing. Miro's trousers were several sizes too big for her and held up by a piece of rope. Her white shirt was equally disproportionate, hanging almost to her knees. Miro wore the clothing he'd found on the dead man washed up on the beach, also not his size. The pain from the lump on his head now returned with intensity, and he felt sick. Amber was sunburnt, with cracked lips and blistered hands. Miro turned a palm up and saw bloody blisters on the soft skin, below every finger and at the base of his thumb.
In contrast, this was the cleanest, neatest crew he had ever seen. They wore tailored clothing of blue with brown trim, the seams finely-stitched and material light and supple. Rather than going barefoot, they wore tan shoes of soft leather, and each man's hair was cut short, rather than the motley variety of the Delphin's crew.
Miro had killed several of their number, yet where a less-disciplined crew would have taken revenge on Miro for what he'd done, these men kept Miro under close guard, yet waited on the convenience of their captain.
The tall man with the feather in his hat called out. The bronze tubes were again rolled back into the ship's interior and the wooden shutters closed with a series of slaps. Miro learned the tubes were called cannon.
Once his ship was underway, the captain came over to inspect his new prisoners. He had intense brown eyes and a square jaw, with an accent that reminded Miro of Hermen Tosch, while his dark clothes were of a fine quality Miro had only seen on the richest nobles and merchants in Seranthia. He looked Miro up and down, and then gave Amber a casual glance.
"Put the woman away somewhere before the rest of the men see her," he ordered.
"Aye aye, Commodore."
"Search the man, see that he has no weapons on him, and then bring him to me. I'll be in my cabin. Actually," he paused, "wash his face, hands and hair. The sea gods only know what vermin he's brought aboard."
Amber was taken away while Miro was warily searched and then taken to a bucket and instructed to wash using a piece of yellow soap. With his wife in the hands of these people, Miro wasn't going to try anything.
He wondered why they hadn't killed him with the projectile weapons. Was there still a chance he could rationalise with the captain and explain his situation?
Miro was taken to an ornate panelled door, waiting while one of the sailors knocked.
"Enter," the captain's voice came from within.
A sailor pushed open the door and Miro was taken inside. The cabin was the most luxurious Miro had seen on a ship. Different varieties of wood had been chosen to create a harmony of colour and grain. There was a long desk at one end, with two low recliners next to a squat table at the closer end. Two doors must lead to the captain's personal privy and sleeping cabin.
"Commodore," one of the men at Miro's side spoke. "We've brought the man we captured."
"Thank you," said the captain, rising from his desk and coming around to stand in front. He again looked Miro up and down. "You are strangely dressed for a barbarian, aren't you?"
"I'm not a barbarian," Miro said.