The Navigator Read Free

river and they saw the ship at its mooring.

    The ship’s crew welcomed the new arrivals and helped drag the riverboat onto shore. While the captain wrote in his log, the crew celebrated late into the night. They were astir well before dawn, and the sun was just peeking over the trees as they cast off the mooring lines. Powered by the ranks of oarsmen and the wind, the ship moved swiftly out into the bay, the rowers putting their backs into their work. Like every other man on board, they were impatient to return home.

    The exuberance on board the vessel was cut short by an unexpected development. As the ship passed an island, another vessel pulled out and barred their way.

     
     

    THE CAPTAIN shouted a brisk order to ship oars and drop sails. He climbed onto a large water urn in the bow to better study the vessel. There was no sign of life on board, but the deck was obscured by a wicker fence for cargo protection that ran along the sheer strake, as the highest hull plank was called.

    He was looking at a ship of Tarshish.

    The craft had the same functionally graceful lines as the captain’s ship. The deck was long and straight, and the curving stern and horse-head-sculpted stem rose high above the water. The captain’s razor-sharp eyes picked out important differences between the two ships. The strange craft had been built for trade and modified for war.

    The stranger’s bow was bound with bronze rather than wood, creating a beak that could tear the heart out of the strongest-built ship. The massive scull and prow oars clamped to the hull could serve as battering rams.

    The Scythian commander came up to the captain. “Should we send a boarding party?”

    The captain pondered the question. A Phoenician ship should pose no threat, but there was no reason for the vessel to be where it was. Its actions, while not hostile, were certain not friendly.

    “No,” the captain said. “We wait.”

    Five minutes passed. Then ten. After twenty minutes, figures could be seen climbing down a ladder into the warship’s utility boat. The boat approached to within earshot. There were four men at the oars. A fifth stood with legs wide in the prow, his purple cloak billowing out behind him like a loose sail. He cupped his hands to his mouth.

    “Greetings, my brother,” he shouted across the water.

    “Greetings to you, brother,” the captain said with surprise. “How came you here?”

    A look of mock incredulity appeared on the man’s face. He pointed to the warship. “I came as you did, Menelik, in a ship of Tarshish.”

    “For what purpose, Melqart?”

    “To join forces once again, dear brother.”

    The captain’s face betrayed no emotion, but his dark eyes smoldered with anger. “You
knew
of my mission?”

    “We are family, are we not? There are no secrets among kin.”

    “Then make no secret to me of your wishes.”

    “Yes, of course. Come aboard my ship and we’ll talk.”

    “My ship’s hospitality is open to you as well.”

    The man in purple laughed. “It’s obvious that we lack brotherly trust.”

    “Maybe that’s because we are only
half
brothers.”

    “We share the same blood, nonetheless.” Melqart pointed to the island. “Let us stop this childish discussion and meet on neutral ground to talk.”

    The captain studied the island. Unlike most of the heavily treed shoreline, the sandy riverbank was flat for a few hundred feet before rising into a low, grassy ridge.

    “Very well,” he shouted.

    The captain told Tarsa to round up a landing party. Tarsa picked four of his most battle-hardened men. Minutes later, the utility boat nudged up to the riverbank. The Scythians stayed with the boat while the captain strode up the sloping beach.

    His half brother stood a hundred feet from the shore with arms crossed. He was dressed in full Phoenician regalia, with a richly patterned two-piece tunic under his purple cloak and a conical cap on his head. A gold collar encircled his neck, and