They waited for the inevitable visitations, the vengeful apparitions, the poltergeists that were violent memories settling in.
We had been at sea for three days. As Roca came into view and grew larger and more distinct the men on deck fell quiet. We were under sail now gliding, the sea taking us in, a mother to her children. Below deck even the rowers were silent; what they couldn’t see they felt. Philip and Ciaran rested on the gangway and Edward manned the pilot’s chair. As we gazed upon Roca, our ancient island, I felt an emotion catch in my throat: love.
Roca was my love.
The city glowed silver in the light of the setting sun. An ethereal beauty, our source of strength and wisdom, she warmed me with the spirt of her welcome. The sheer walls of her great harbor rose from the sea and extended like protective arms around the mass of buildings that climbed up along her rich, rocky soil. Directly above the harbor was a large plateau with Government House on one side and the Archives on the other and geometric water gardens in between.
We sailed passed the massive stone gate pillars into the main harbor. Fishing boats docked here and were unloaded of their catches; we would never starve because the sea would always provide. At one time these berths were filled with merchant ships from all places in what had once been our empire. Contents were emptied, weighed, measured and inspected by us, then allowed into the market. By day’s end the ships were filled again and sailed out with new stock to be traded and sold elsewhere. These days barely half the berths were used.
As we sailed closer into the naval harbor, two patrol squadrons of three ships each headed past us on their way out to sea. Jared, the Commander of the lead patrol ship nearest us, held his hand to his ear. I held up eight fingers: eight hits in three days. He held up both hands, fingers wide: ten he promised. The silence on my deck broke: my marines jeered; both crews started shouting obscenities at each other. It didn’t matter; we had made the most important catch of all and I had instructed my crew to remain silent about it.
A few moments later the Serpent bumped gently into a berth. The dock crew scuttled about and secured us. Beneath the floorboards the rowers slammed about, unlocking oars and preparing them for storage. On deck, the crew waited impatiently to go ashore.
Two crew members threw back the deck rail and ran the board out; the dock crew secured it. We had a few rowers and marines with minor injuries: they went down first, followed by the deck marines, the rowers with their oars and finally the officers. Edward, Phillip, Ciaran and I watched every man disembark.
The young rower who had been hit by an arrow was our worst injury. He came past in a stretcher, his arm in a sling, his shoulder bandaged up around the shaft, his eyes contemplating the fascinating sky and his mouth drawn up in a goofy, drugged up smile. His free hand waved erratically skyward.
“Next time you’ll duck,” I said.
“Yes sir!” he said, “I like ducks.”
The rest of the men were eager to see wives and children, to eat, to bathe, to drink, to sleep. They sought comfort in silence or noise, men or women to relieve ache and weary tension from days of prolonged agitation and alertness. And they waited for the inevitable visitations, the vengeful apparitions, the poltergeists that were violent memories settling in. Even I, legend that I was, the lover of the ram-and-pull, was haunted by specters. Carians made me what I was and what I was necessary which meant they always with me.
I burned to see Ilona, be bound up in her pale, pure, lavender-scented sweetness and receive her expression of gratitude, her ultimate favor. Our discovery would please her; my risk would please her and all would be worthwhile.
A light flashed from the Tower; then another, quick, quick. Slow. My brother Castor had seen the Serpent; I was in a day early. I would have to burn just a little bit longer.
