I looked up at him and nodded, hesitant. Nubians had earned the hard-won reputation of being the fiercest fighters in the world. They were not to be crossed. I decided to let his goat lick my hand as much as the animal wanted.
Among all the merchant ships, The Grebes had one of the finest reputations—it carried Egypt’s wheat to Rome, wood from Lebanon, oil and wine from Greece, and delivered papyrus throughout the Mediterranean—but still, a week aboard any vessel was a long time. We would travel along the coastline to Antioch, stopping along the way in Damietta, Ascalon, Tyre, and Tripoli to unload cargo, and then finally dock in Seleucia at the mouth of the Orontes River. From there I would take a barge up the river to the city.
The idea of traveling alone both thrilled and terrified me. As the ship pulled away from port, the key hung heavy around my heart. The library shrank smaller with a distance impossible to bridge, for I knew I would never return to Alexandria again.
We passed the lighthouse and I forced myself to face the sea.
My old life was behind me, and my one chance at happiness existed in an unknown future. Antioch was a growing metropolis, often called the Rome of the East. I tried to imagine what Ariston’s home was like and began to worry that, in a city of over half a million people, I would never be able to find him at all.
As if the Fates could sense my fear, the voyage seemed doomed by the end of the first day. High winds threatened to batter us into the coastline, and a relentless storm followed overhead, meting out punishing rain and claps of thunder.
Fear took root inside me. What if I died at sea? No one would be there to bury me, and I would never find my way to the afterlife. Shipwrecks were a frequent occurrence, and by the second day all the passengers, everyone except the Nubian, were convinced we would die.
I watched him look out to the water, his stance straight and regal against the rain. Was the warrior unafraid of death, or did he simply know he would not perish on this voyage? I had no such certainty.
*
It was the knife at my neck that woke me.
“Make a sound and you’re dead,” a crewman hissed in my ear as his hand reached under my cloak.
The knife cut into my skin and the blade burned as blood ran down my neck. When I whimpered he pressed the blade deeper. I could feel his body against me, and bile rose up in my throat.
The man stopped groping when he felt the coins hidden inside my cloak. “What’s this? The nymph comes with gold?”
He moved the knife away from my neck to cut a coin from my cloak. The moment the blade lifted, a slicing sound blew past me and an arrow landed in his chest. The man made no noise as he slumped to the side.
I was free of him and looked up with terrified eyes. In the darkness I saw the Nubian, bow in hand, kneeling on his pallet twenty feet away.
He came over with the stealth of a cat, picked up the dead man, and lowered him over the side of the boat. It all happened so quickly. When the Nubian was rid of him, he took a piece of cloth from his bag and wrapped it around my neck.
“The wound is not deep,” he whispered.
Shock took hold of me and my body began to shake. In a panic, I looked around to see if anyone was watching. The Nubian did not seem concerned.
“Why are you traveling alone?” he asked.
My teeth chattered as I shivered uncontrollably. “My family is gone.…”
“And the husband you are joining?”
So he had heard my story. His eyes held surprising gentleness. I shook my head, unable to fathom the outcome if he hadn’t intervened. My eyes dropped to the intricate necklace banded around his neck.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He helped me stand and moved my pallet to be closer to his. “I have a daughter. May the gods watch over her as they do you.”
I lay down near him, and his goat licked my arm in a show of welcome. Filled with gratitude, I stared at the vast balcony of stars glittering above me, while beneath me the ocean rocked, lulling me to sleep as a mother would a child, and my fear vanished.
Five of Swords
The knock startled Semele; she’d been immersed in translating. She opened her office door to find Fritz gloating like a blue-eyed Bavarian boy. She fought the urge to slam it in his face. He had wanted the Bossard account and now it was his. She couldn’t believe she had considered buying him champagne.
“Don’t screw it up,” she snapped.
Fritz chuckled and wagged his finger at her. “Temper, temper. Someone’s milk got spilt today,” he said with a heavy German accent. She gave him a withering look he seemed to enjoy. “Anything I should look at first?” he asked in a more serious tone.
“All of it?” she answered sweetly.
She didn’t include the scan of Ionna’s manuscript in the USB drive she gave him, nor did she mention the manuscript’s existence. Let Wonder Boy find that gem on his own.
He took her files. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the auction is the highlight of the year while you’re eating egg rolls.”
“You know I’m ready to kill you.”
He laughed. “Sorry, Semele. You’re just too irresistible. What in the world did you do to piss off Theo Bossard?”
She looked at him blankly. “Nothing,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive. Maybe Mikhail wasn’t being honest and Theo really was behind her reassignment.
By the time Fritz left her office, she was in a black mood. She ignored all the mail that was still piled up and picked up her mother’s letter. She may as well open it. Nothing could possibly make her feel worse at this point. It was probably a belated birthday card with a check to go shopping. Usually her mother took a train to the city to give Semele the check in person. They would hit her favorite antique markets and vintage clothing stores in Chelsea and Williamsburg for the weekend. But not this year.
Semele hadn’t talked to her mother in six months. She knew she needed to call—the holidays were coming soon. But her mother would only start crying and apologizing again. Semele didn’t know if she could take the drama. Something in her had broken the day she found the adoption papers, and she wasn’t sure it could ever be fixed.
With a sigh she ripped open the envelope to find a fancy Papyrus card decorated with kaleidoscope patterns and flowers.
Her heart sank when she saw her mother’s penmanship. She could tell by the extended word length and spacing, the height of the letters and strokes, that her mother had been drinking when she wrote this. Even her signature looked shaky and weak, and the angle slanted downward. Her writing carried all the signs of someone struggling with depression and their sense of self-worth.
Semele returned the card to the pile, wishing she had never opened it. It actually made her feel worse.
She grabbed her purse and laptop and turned off the light. Her mother, office politics, and China could wait. She was officially done with this day.
*
She was headed toward the subway when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number and stopped walking.
“Semele Cavnow,” she answered in a clipped voice.