Many years before, when he had been a child, Brutus heard the sound made by a massive block of stone falling fifteen paces on to stone pavement.
The noise that the winds made now, as they met in the centre of the straits, reminded him of that, although it was ten times more powerful, and accompanied by a shrieking and raging such as no mortal ear normally heard during its lifetime.
Whipped on by the winds, the seas rose into huge, jagged grey-green cliffs, plunging and swirling in such a manner that the entire world about and within the ships collapsed into swirling, drenching horror.
Brutus, who had tied himself to the stem post of the ship so that the seas would not sweep him overboard, screamed at the oarsmen—as within every one of the hundred ships in his fleet captains and officers screamed at oarsmen—to dig in and stabilise the chaotic spinning of the ships.
The oarsmen, fighting down their terror, dug their oars into the waters in the dip-and-hold manoeuvre they had practised a thousand times on dry land. They did well, holding their oars steady against the massive pressures battering both oars and ships, but no matter how well they managed to hold the manoeuvre, the ships would not stabilise.
Not in this sea, not amid this degree of rage.
Cornelia and her companions crouched as deep as they could within the belly of the ship, already drenched despite their thick covering of blankets, hardly daring to breathe in the extremity of their fear. Alongside Cornelia and Aethylla, Periopis had wailed and shrieked, sure that her life was near to ending.
The storm’s intensity increased, and ships were driven far apart. Brutus, watching half terrified, half enraged at his post, saw one of them lifted high on an immense wave, then plummet down its face to dash against the rocks at the base of one of the pillars.
There was a brief glimpse of bodies being hurled through the air, and then the swirling waters ate the entire ship and its people and cargo.
Within seconds there was no sign the ship had ever existed.
“Cursed be you!” Brutus screamed at the waters. He bared his teeth to the storm and shook his fist at the rain that sleeted down. “Cursed be you!”
As if in answer, thunder boomed through the air, resounding horribly within the flesh of everyone who heard it, then three gigantic streaks of lightning seared out of the grim sky: each one hit the mast of a ship.
All three masts exploded, sending bodies and cargo spinning helplessly into the wild seas.
Periopis, clinging to Aethylla and Cornelia, suddenly lost all her reason. She shrieked, tearing herself from their hands, and, rising to her feet as best she could manage amid the violent motion of the ship, fought her way towards the aft deck, perhaps thinking to shelter in the cabin.
Aethylla called after her, holding out hopeless arms, but it was Cornelia who rose and, carefully, inch by inch, made her way after Periopis.
Behind them, clinging to the stem post, Brutus glanced back and saw the two women. For a moment he could not make out their identity amid the dense sea spray and foam, but then he saw the distinctive shape of the second woman.
“Cornelia!” he screamed and, untying himself from his anchor, struggled towards them.
Genvissa lifted her head and smiled. Periopis would prove such a useful tool.
Brutus struggled through the length of the boat, tripping and falling several times as his feet caught first in those of one of the oarsmen, and then twice in the crevices between the huddled, terrified bodies crouching in the belly of the ship.
Before him he could see the two women on the aft deck, struggling and swaying in the violent motion of the ship.
And, in one moment when the spray cleared for an instant, and a gap appeared in the monstrous waves that surrounded the ships, Brutus saw that behind his ship another had been caught in the raging waters, and was dashed against the rocks.
“Artemis, aid me,” he whispered, and fought his way further aft.
“Eventually,” she whispered, “but not just yet.”
Brutus managed to reach the struggling women, realising that Cornelia was trying to pull Periopis back into the belly of the ship.
“Cursed bitch!” Brutus cried as he grabbed hold of Periopis.
She shrieked, trying to wrench herself away from both Cornelia and Brutus.
Brutus let go of her arm with one hand, dealing her a stinging blow to her face, hoping it was strong enough to knock her senseless.
Instead, Brutus’ blow only dealt Periopis strength. She pulled away from Brutus completely, then, stunningly, grabbed Cornelia and drew her towards the edge of the craft.
“Time for you to die, you plump-thighed whore,” Periopis said, almost conversationally.
Cornelia, horrified, tried to tear herself free, but Periopis suddenly seemed possessed of supernatural strength. Her hands tightened about Cornelia’s wrists, and, smiling calmly, all her previous terror apparently vanished, Periopis dragged Cornelia a little closer to the deck railing.
Above them a gigantic wave rose, then crashed down, washing the two women towards the very edge of their deaths, and Brutus back further towards the relative safety of the mid-deck.
Brutus was momentarily blinded by the stinging salt water, and knocked breathless by the force of its blow. When he managed to rub the water from his eyes, and blink some focus back into his vision, he saw that Periopis had fallen over the side of the ship, dragging Cornelia, who was desperately pulling back, almost completely over the railing.
Brutus could not find the breath to shout. All he could see was Cornelia’s terrified face, and her desperate cries as she tried to resist Periopis’ determination to murder her.
Without thinking, Brutus threw himself at his wife, wrapping his arms about her hips, and pulling her back with all his might.
“Let her go,” he finally managed to gasp at Periopis. “Let her go!”
“No,” whispered the demented woman, falling ever closer to the waves. “She’s mine now.”
Cornelia fell forward even further, and Brutus felt his grip on her hips sliding.
“Brutus,” Cornelia shrieked.
“Brutus,” Periopis whispered…and tugged at Cornelia’s struggling form so that Cornelia now hung almost entirely from the ship. Only Brutus’ grip on her robe kept her from going over completely.
“Brutus,” Cornelia whimpered, and, horrifyingly, Brutus understood it was a farewell.
From somewhere came a rage and a strength he did not think he possessed. Pulling himself upright, he leaned over the ship’s railing, grabbed Cornelia’s sodden hair in his right hand and with his left fist dealt a fearsome blow into Periopis’ face.
Her nose and cheekbones caved inwards, sending a spray of blood into the wind…and then her hands opened, and she was gone, and Brutus was dragging Cornelia back on deck.
As soon as Periopis’ body hit the water, the storm wondrously abated. Brutus and Cornelia, kneeling on the deck, looked up, wiping the sea water from their eyes and blinking in the sudden light.
A woman stood on the deck before them, dry and serene despite the wildness of rain and wind.
“Blessed goddess,” Brutus said, and Cornelia felt something turn to ice inside her at what she heard in his voice. “Thank you! Thank you!”
“It is enough,” the woman said, then turned her eyes to Cornelia, “if not altogether quite enough.”
Then she was gone.
Cornelia rubbed at her eyes—they were still filmy and sore with the salt water, and she could not see very well.
“Who was that?” she whispered. “Which goddess?”
He hesitated.
“Artemis,” he said finally.
No, a small, ancient voice said deep within Cornelia. That was Brutus’ night lover.
“No,” said Cornelia in a tight, cold voice. “That was the woman of your dreams.”
Genvissa lay very still, regathering her strength. She had accomplished most of what she had wanted—the crippling of Brutus’ fleet so that it would need to seek out a port in which to shelter for repairs—but she had not managed to murder Cornelia, and that frightened her more than a little.
Brutus had tried very, very hard to save Cornelia. Far harder than Genvissa had thought he would.
Her strength had given out just as Brutus had seemed to find some extra, and the silly Periopis had not managed to pull Cornelia over the side at all.
“Genvissa?”
It was Aerne, and Genvissa fought back a sigh.
“I have been trying to aid Og,” she whispered, “but I fear to have failed.”