CHAPTER 57
Several home-bound Ariminumese barges rang their bells as they passed the Tancred: their masters might be on poor terms, but the sailors exchanged the usual courtesies. Over Khoril’s objections, Ezra didn’t steer the Tancred along the coast – the open sea might be more hazardous, but it was faster. Weather allowing, it would take a few days to escape the Adriatic’s confines, and Ezra wouldn’t be easy until they had passed out of the grasping Hands of Helen and into the Middle Sea. From there the swift trade winds would carry them East.
They made good headway – Ezra claimed the Bora wind owed him a favour – and a cheer from the nervous crew rang out at the first sight of the outstretched thumb of Etruria’s so-called hand. Normally the Tancred stopped in the Tarentine port of Brindisium, but not today – by now their escape was surely known, and the Ariminumese had doubtless set out in pursuit.
Ezra told them it was better to think of something else. ‘At sea, what matters most we control least. All we can do is do our work as well as possible.’
It sounded like something Doc would have said, and Sofia wondered what he’d make of her now, abandoning Etruria on the strength of a few bad dreams. She kept telling herself that her flight was Rasenna’s best hope, in the hope that she’d start believing it.
Levi’s respect for Ezra had visibly grown as he saw his expertise at the tiller, and how the crew relied on him. The Ebionite’s work might keep him at the stern, but nothing escaped his keen black eyes. He watched the fog, stubbornly hugging the Etrurian coast, but his weatherbeaten face felt the wind changing and the colour of the sea, changing from cold green to dark blue, told its own tale.
Sofia had never sailed before, but discovered happily that it did not make her ill. Ezra inspired confidence; she found it fascinating to watch him work. As he checked the ship’s course against the stars and corrected it, he told her, ‘Wind and water are alive, and like us they change their mind ceaselessly. The stars alone are constant.’
‘I’d like to be that way,’ Sofia said.
‘Hush, girl,’ said Ezra, making horns against ill-luck. ‘That’s wishing for death.’
The sails barked and rippled complaint and jealously held on to the last of the day’s wind. Sofia looked up at the bloated silhouette of the sail and saw there a portent of how she would be in a few weeks. By then she must have found safety. She was cold, and tired of running.
Ezra noticed her yawn and sang to the waves, ‘The day ends and even the sea’s paths darken. Time to sleep.’
Khoril had donated a small sternward cabin to Sofia. As she let her cot’s gentle rocking lower her into sleep, she looked though the portside hatch at the coast. Fog clung to it like snow. To assuage Pedro’s doubts, she had manipulated water – but doing so meant exposing herself to the Darkness. Now, even as the distance between her and Etruria increased, she could feel the hunger at the heart of Concord. The beast grew strong; it would consume Rasenna, Ariminum, Veii, Salerno and finally all Etruria. Giovanni had saved Rasenna from the Wave, though the price was annihilation. If her fate was to die for her child, she swore she would not be found wanting.
Hours later, when she woke from her usual dream of the abandoned city that must not be looked upon, she left her cabin and found Ezra leaning on the stern rail contemplating the stars that were fading before the dawn. The splashing waves disintegrated into foam.
‘What’s it like, Ezra? The Holy Land? I’ve never seen a desert.’
‘You’re looking at one now, child. Don’t you know what makes a desert?’
‘Sand?’
‘Emptiness. There’s none greater than the sea. In all deserts the wind is master, holding life and death. See, it moulds the waves as it moulds the dunes. That is why one who travels deserts must know the winds, learn their names so that he can negotiate with them.’
‘Haggle with the wind?’ Sofia said wryly.
‘Certainly. Sailors harness the wind with sails just as your engineers funnel water with weirs.’
‘It’s your slave then.’
‘It could drown us in a second! There is a great difference between using the flow and forcing it. One must never force Nature.’
Sofia looked down at the receding water. She felt its strength taut like the muscles of a bandieratoro and shivered. ‘You’ve heard of Girolamo Bernoulli?’
‘I live on a boat, not under a rock. Who hasn’t heard of the Stupor Mundi?’
‘He was my grandfather’s enemy. He forced water to do awful things. He tortured it into a deadly Wave; he raised a great tower in Concord with it.’
‘I heard that tower was burned,’ Ezra said, looking at her keenly. When Sofia said nothing he said, ‘He will not forgive that.’
‘I’m safe from him at least,’ Sofia said with a smile. ‘He’s dead some twenty years.’
Ezra kept looking at her. He began to say something, then stopped. He turned around and swore.
Three silhouettes in the early dawn.
A moment later, a voice from the rigging above announced that the ships were Ariminumese.
Captain Khoril came to the stern to see for himself. ‘Damn. Damn. Damn.’
Levi joined them. ‘We’ve a good lead,’ he said optimistically.
Neither Ezra nor Khoril looked away from their pursuers. Their heads shook simultaneously. ‘That big bastard in the middle is the San Barabaso, the Moor’s flagship. It has one more deck than us. He’ll give chase until our rowers are completely exhausted, then the other two will board us. Listen! The drums are changing. If only we’d had a few more hours’ lead … damn.’
‘What about making a break for the Thessalonian Hand – that’s Oltremarine territory. We could get lost in the islands—’
‘Too far, too little time. I’m sorry, Levi. We’re well hooked.’
In a quarter of an hour, the San Barabaso was within hailing distance. At the helm, Leto Spinther stood quietly beside the Moor as he hollered, ‘Captain of the Tancred, prepare to be boarded.’
‘The hell I will, you black devil!’ Khoril returned. ‘I don’t care what title they’ve given you, you’re still a pirate by my reckoning. Board this ship in open waters and Oltremare will consider it a hostile act. You authorised to start a war?’
Large swells buckled the waters that divided the two galleys. The two other Ariminumese ships were still some distance away.
When the Moor didn’t answer immediately, Leto grabbed his arm. ‘Do it! I’ll back you.’
The Moor pulled his arm free and gave the Concordian a gentle shove. Leto hadn’t got his sea legs and stumbled. ‘General Spinther, I let you aboard at the Procurator’s insistence, but if you issue another order on my ship you’ll spend the return voyage in the brig. I’m well aware it would suit Concord to see Ariminum at war with Oltremare, but I answer to the Doge.’ He turned back to the Tancred and cupped his hands. ‘Captain Khoril! I give you a minute to turn about. If you do not allow me to escort you back to Ariminum I cannot answer for your safety.’
Leto watched the Moor turn a small egg-timer. A minute passed with no answer. The Moor’s face was blank as a death-mask until the last sand grain dropped. Then his features twisted into those of a gleeful demon. He ordered his marines to prepare for a hostile boarding.
Then with a muttered oath, he said, ‘Wait – listen!’
A small bell rang humbly across the waves, and the Tancred slowly turned about.
‘Stand down, lads,’ the Moor called, then, with a tight smile, ‘another triumph for diplomacy. Piracy’s so much easier with the force of the State behind one’s sails.’
Leto could feel the Moor’s disappointment that the Tancred had not elected to fight. His experience with Geta had taught him about gamblers. ‘Something amiss?’ he asked innocently.
‘I thought Khoril had salt,’ the Moor remarked bitterly, and gave orders for the other two vessels to fall behind the Tancred, ‘—in case he finds some.’