Wayward Son (25 page)

The following days, Cain thought afterward, were like a descent into an abyss. In fact, he fully expected a night vision from the master of spirits, but there was an even more ominous silence instead. As the vessel called at island after island, usually at night, clandestine replacements renewed the crew. By the time they reached the island of Serifos, seventy-five miles from Athens, only two of the original Phoenician oarsmen were left.

And then, the unthinkable, which had festered unspoken in the minds of both Cain and Tanith. Ahiram, whose health had always been robust, fell prey to violent bouts of coughing. Cain was virtually certain that the captain had at last contracted the plague.

As the ship got underway at sunrise from Serifos, the last stop before the Greek mainland, Cain and Ahiram sat together under the awning at the stern. Though seriously ill, Ahiram had lost none of his composure. He gazed at Cain directly with penetrating gray eyes.

“Please take care of her when I’m gone.”

“You can’t be serious, Ahiram. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m going to Athens, at any rate,” the older man replied, with the trace of a smile.

“I want to tell you something,” Ahiram continued. “You and Tanith have grown close over these few months. I know she loves you, Cain. You have treated her with the respect I always hoped for my daughter. But in our home city, back in Tyre, she never received that honor.”

“How not? She has beauty, wit, intelligence… Any man in his senses would prize her for his wife, Ahiram.”

“Until such a man discovered her curse.”

Ahiram’s failing eyes missed Cain’s startled reaction. “Curse?” he asked in as calm a tone as he could manage.

“She prays to Astarte, our great goddess. But Astarte did not grant that my daughter would ever be a mother. She is barren.”

Cain looked down as an unaccustomed empathy touched his heart.

“That was the end of her marriage as a young woman. Such news spreads quickly in a city like Tyre. More rapidly than the plague, perhaps.”

“I love her for herself, Ahiram. Not for children from our loins. And remember, she saved my life.”

The older man smiled wanly. “I’ve never asked too much from you. But now I ask you for my beloved daughter’s sake. Keep faith with her.”

Cain bowed his head and pressed the sick man’s hand as another fit of coughing shook Ahiram’s body.

***

Three days later, they buried him at sea. When Cain had assured Tanith that he could maintain the morale of the remaining oarsmen until they reached land for a proper burial, she merely answered, “He is a Phoenician. Let the sea be his in death, as it was in life.” As tears welled in her eyes, Cain placed his arm around her shoulders in silent comfort.

With Ahiram gone, Cain became the de facto captain of the vessel. It was up to him and Tanith to plan the final act of the voyage that had begun so auspiciously and then turned into a nightmare. Cain understood what was needed.

“We need to scuttle the ship at least a mile offshore,” he told Tanith. “Everything that can spread the plague has to go down in the sea.”

“And the sailors?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“If they are already infected, they will probably not survive. But the grain and the rodents—they must all be cast off.”

“How will we make land?”

“We will swim for it, my dolphin. You saved me once. Now we will save each other.”

Privately, he was amazed that Tanith, unlike her father and the crewmen, had not so much as a trace of a symptom. From eons of experience, he well knew his own immunity and powers of recuperation. But Tanith, who had ministered to dozens of ill sailors, also seemed immune.

The couple decided to be candid with the remaining crew members, telling them of the necessity to sink the ship and warning them of the dangers of any alternative course. The crew understood the severity of the situation, accepting the news with grim resignation.

At the first sight of Cape Sounion, four of the oarsmen would abandon their benches and venture below decks. There they would hack out gashes in the hull, and seawater pouring into the ship would sink the vessel within minutes. The entire crew would abandon ship. Improvised rafts would help the refugees gain the beach, or so Cain hoped.

Soon the plan went into effect. The prow began to tilt upward at a bizarre angle. As he and Tanith jumped from the deck, Cain thought of the story she had told him about Mot and Yamm, the Phoenician gods of the sea and of death, respectively. The two were brothers, and Cain hoped that they were on cordial terms that morning.

CHAPTER 30

Greece, circa 1230 BC

THE HOUR-LONG SWIM to shore proved easier than Cain had imagined. Strong, rhythmic swells helped propel them landward, and their only real challenge was avoiding the flotsam and jetsam from the scuttled ship. He and Tanith could hear breakers booming on the rocky coast near the headland of Sounion, but to the left they could see a broad, sandy beach where the water was calmer.

Gaining the beach, the castaways encountered some local fishermen, who informed them that a small village was close by. After a ten-minute walk along a dusty track, the travelers were greeted by a grizzled local elder who emerged out of nowhere only seconds after they arrived. Wearing a wide-brimmed, blue woolen hat to protect himself from the hot sun, the old man welcomed them courteously, identified himself as Nikandros, and led them to a small farmhouse. Inside the stone wall that circled the property, goats browsed and hens cackled, busily running about. A slight breeze rustled the gleaming, silver-gray leaves of four sturdy olive trees. The man introduced his wife, Adonia, to the visitors, and she warmly embraced Tanith. Cain knew from his journeys that travelers, strangers, and guests were sacred in Greek eyes. The Greek gods, led by Zeus their king, firmly upheld the age-old tradition of hospitality. Nikandros and Adonia, he thought, were certainly good examples of the custom of the country.

Tanith and Cain, who both spoke Greek, were easily able to make themselves understood to their hosts. They explained that, en route from Phoenicia, their cargo ship had foundered on rocks close to the coast. They had been forced to swim for it as their boat sunk. Nikandros, a farmer by trade but well acquainted with the local fishermen, accepted their explanation, commenting only that the travelers were lucky to have escaped the perils of the sea.

Before they scuttled the ship, Tanith had told Cain that her father had rented a small house in Piraeus, the port of Athens, for many years. There was basic furniture there for Ahiram’s layovers in Greece, as well as a small stash of coins. Cain agreed they would go there as soon as possible. Athens was only forty-five miles from Sounion, and they could make the journey, even on foot, in two days. But they would need fresh clothes before they started. Cain decided to broach the subject with their host.

“Nikandros,” he said, gesturing to the short tunics that he and Tanith were wearing, “we lost all our possessions in the shipwreck. Is it possible for us to purchase fresh clothing in this village? Or in a nearby town?”

“It is not only possible, but necessary! And I will help you. You need to see Philemon, the traveling peddler of this region. As a matter of fact, he should be visiting our village this very day. I will introduce you. But first, you must enjoy our local wine.”

After sampling what Cain had to admit was a delicious vintage, mixed with water as was the custom, the men passed the time with a long walk through the vineyards and orchards surrounding the village. Cain could see that farming was far different here than it was in Egypt. The soil was rocky, and most fields were situated in hilly terrain. The principal crops were barley, olives, and grapes. Now, in late September, it was grape-picking season. Later in the fall and over the winter, olives would be harvested. When Nikandros remarked on a vexing manpower shortage in the village, Cain gladly brokered an arrangement whereby the six Phoenician crewmen would find a temporary home there as farm laborers.

As they returned to the village, they could see that a small crowd of people had collected outside Nikandros’s dwelling. The reason was soon apparent. At the center of attention was a bulging, battered oxcart so heavily loaded that one or two more items on either side might have toppled it. The peddler Philemon had arrived.

Amidst the cooking utensils, children’s toys, looms, wine strainers, brooches, helmets, and robes, Cain and Tanith found what they sought: a long, maroon-colored chiton, or dress, for Tanith, and a cream-colored woolen tunic, together with a cloak, for Cain. But then came the issue of payment.

Declaring that he and Tanith were headed for Piraeus, Cain inquired when Philemon would next visit Athens, hoping that the peddler would agree to sell them the clothes on credit. Philemon replied that he planned to set off for Athens the very next morning, and he invited the couple to travel with him. Far from being a burden, Philemon said, their company would serve as extra insurance against brigands along the way. As for credit, he readily agreed to Cain’s request.

The next morning, after availing themselves of Nikandros’s hospitality for the night, Cain and Tanith set out with the peddler for Athens. At Philemon’s invitation, Tanith scrambled to the apex of the pile of goods on the oxcart and perched there precariously. Cain barely concealed his laughter as he saw her being jostled from side to side, somehow keeping her balance, but just barely.

“Let’s hope that the travelers we meet don’t draw the conclusion that you too are for sale!” he jested, giving Philemon a playful slap on the back.

She only glowered at them in reply.

***

Candles flickered and guttered as Cain opened the front door of a typical Athenian house. As he stepped inside from the courtyard, a chilly November wind preceded him. But the gust could not compete with the cozy, mouthwatering aroma of the barley bread Tanith was baking at their improvised oven.

“It’s almost ready,” Cain told her.

Outside on the grill, a merry fire was slowly burnishing a roast leg of goat. Their meals were seldom elaborate, but this evening they had two reasons to celebrate. It was Tanith’s thirtieth birthday, and that very morning Cain had landed employment at the fishing docks, thanks to one of Ahiram’s contacts in Piraeus.

Cain settled himself in their small dining room. As he watched Tanith, almost in silhouette, go about her practiced movements before the oven, he reflected on life’s paradoxes. They had been in Piraeus almost two months now. Ahiram’s rented house, though comfortable, was very small—especially for a man like Cain who had lived in his own palace, but also for Tanith, accustomed from childhood to the spacious seaside villa in Tyre. Now they lived in a confined, distinctly dark, three-room cottage made from mud-brick and nestled on a busy and noisy working-class lane. Yet Cain was happier than ever, and Tanith seemed to share his exhilaration in the joint reinvention of their prior selves. Above all, Cain thought, life’s challenges demanded resourcefulness. Better than anyone, he knew the imperative to survive. He was glad that Tanith knew it, too.

Yet there were two faint misgivings in his mind. Like a high, wispy cloud tainting the purity of bright sunshine, the fact that he had not been entirely candid intermittently bothered Cain. Why, he wondered, could he not bring himself to tell her about his past, giving her a full account of all he had been—and of all he wanted the two of them to be? Reluctantly, he was forced to confront the link between this reservation and his other worry: that one day, he would lose the woman to whom he had given his heart. Yet the inescapable destiny of his solitary immortality could not deter him from savoring his present happiness.

“What shall we do after our meal?” he asked her as he sliced the meat and she placed the rolls of bread in a large basket on the table.

Tanith’s eyes glowed as she ran her fingers through his locks, “Drink wine, my love! Later, what do you think of strolling down to the harbor? I learned today that some war veterans are expected to return. If the ship arrives on time, they will certainly be at the taverna tonight.”

“These veterans are from Troy?” Cain asked.

“Yes, they served under Menestheus, the commander of the fifty ships from Athens. They are the first to be furloughed home to Greece. We shall hear some interesting stories, at the very least.”

“Good idea,” he nodded eagerly. “But before we go, I have a better idea. Let’s warm our bed and enjoy our cup of wine.”

The taverna was crowded, as usual. The sounds from panpipes, drums, and lyres could barely be heard over the hubbub of voices. Sunburned fishermen and sailors rubbed elbows with merchants from the town and farmers from the outlying countryside. Among the patrons were a fair number of women—whose presence would have been frowned on, or outright forbidden, in the more straitlaced setting of Athens. Cain and Tanith greeted several of her father’s friends, accepted their condolences, and then seated themselves at a small table.

After an hour or so, a loud cheer rippled through the crowd, and a group of tall, lightly armed warriors entered the taverna. The men wore body armor but no helmets. Cain thought that, for troops who had been fighting in a siege abroad for ten long years, they looked to be in remarkably good condition. He wondered absently how long it would take the Athenians to find recruits that would be sent to Troy in their place.

Alexiou, the thick-bearded taverna owner, let out a shrill whistle for silence, and the noisy hum of the patrons subsided.

“You all know Sostratos,” he declared, gesturing to a soldier in his midthirties who was clearly the leader of the group. “As a boy he was the finest athlete in Piraeus. Menestheus chose him personally to lead our detachment at Troy. Now he has returned in glory! Hear his news!”

Sostratos, who was obviously not accustomed to speaking in public, was edged forcefully by Alexiou to the center of the crowd, which eagerly pressed forward to hear his tidings. Scanning the rows of faces, he hesitantly raised his goblet of wine. Taking a sip to fortify himself, he announced some shocking news: