Carthago, Africa
Three days later, the ship put into port at Carthage. As the sailors traded out their cargo, Sabra, Jurian, and Menas headed down to the docks.
“We should stay close to the ship,” Menas said under his breath. “I do believe that ship’s pilot might make a break for it while we’re on land if it meant he could avoid putting in at Apollonia.”
Sabra glanced over her shoulder and found the captain watching them steadily from the side of the ship, and shuddered.
“This place doesn’t seem very friendly anyway,” Jurian muttered.
Their strange party drew many interested stares from the sailors and dock workers bustling around them—and not all of them were friendly. But when they saw the hilt of Jurian's sword above his shoulder, and the quiet confidence in the way he carried it, they moved away without a word.
The three of them wandered across the busy street that edged the harbor, guided toward a row of food stands by Menas’ appetite. Sabra followed, lost in memories of walking these streets with Hanno, when Jurian suddenly laid a hand on her back and propelled her down a dark alleyway that stank of rotting fish. She hissed in protest, but he jerked his head, laying a finger on his lips. Menas followed, too wary to grumble.
Once they were in the shadows, he left her near the wall with Menas and edged to the corner of the building.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sabra asked.
Jurian waved a hand at her to be quiet, and she crossed her arms and glowered up at Menas.
“Is he always like this?”
Menas didn’t answer, but kept his eyes trained on Jurian’s back. After a moment, Jurian left his vantage point and returned to them.
“There’s a knot of Legion troops over there,” he said quietly. “Standing not two ships down from where our vessel is docked.” He exchanged a glance with Menas, worry in every line of his face. “Do you think…could they have found us so quickly?”
“Are you in some kind of trouble with the Legion?” Sabra asked, her heart jumping in alarm. The last thing she needed was to bring more trouble home with her…especially trouble with Rome.
Jurian ignored her. “What should we do?”
“We should get back to the ship,” Menas said evenly. With a woeful smile, he lifted his shoulders and said, “There’s no disguising me, Jurian. We can’t hide out in the city forever, or we’ll be left here in Carthage.”
“I can’t stay here,” Sabra interrupted. “We have to get back to Cyrene…even if I have to go alone.”
“You’re not going alone,” Jurian said. He tapped his finger against his lip and paced the alleyway for a moment, then returned to the corner of the building. “They’re not paying much attention to the street. We might be able to make it if we go now—”
A sudden shout rang out from the far end of the docks. Sabra and Menas rushed to join him, all three of them peering around the corner of the building. The Legion soldiers were running toward a scuffle, but Sabra was too far away to see what was happening.
After a moment she realized Jurian was tugging her arm.
“Come on!” he hissed. “We have to go, now!”
“But—”
She swallowed the retort and followed him. Menas had already made his way to the ship, and once on the street, Jurian held Sabra to a casual stride. She could hear him breathing thinly and knew he’d rather run than walk, but he was smart enough not to make a scene. The boy was clever; she had to give him that.
Once they made it back onto the ship, all three of them climbed up onto the deck for a better view of the docks. Menas leaned low over the bulwark to hide his height, but Jurian stood tall and shielded his eyes against the light, muttering under his breath.
“I wish we could have gotten closer,” Sabra muttered. “I can’t see anything, Jurian.”
He flinched and stared at her, face grey as the grave, and Sabra’s heart jerked strangely.
“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
He bit his lip and shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just…my sister… Never mind.”
His voice trailed off and Sabra hesitated, wanting to comfort him somehow, feeling ill-suited for the task. Instead she focused on the scuffle at the end of the dock, where the Legion troops had pushed back the crowd to clear a space to settle the dispute. A small man stood in the middle. He looked youthful, but his head was bald save for a thick, dark beard. He had a bright smile on his face, and Sabra couldn't figure out why. A drunken sailor staggered in wobbling circles around him, shouting abuse, but the man just kept smiling and smiling.
Finally, the Legion commander threw up his hands and seized the sailor by the neck of his tunic, flinging him out of the circle of bystanders and gesturing for him to get back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of. The small man immediately sat down on the ground, cross-legged, and held out his hand to the crowd.
“Coin for the poor traveler?” he said, his voice reaching Sabra’s ears with surprising clarity. “Coin for the poor?”
One of the soldiers flipped him a coin. “Read me my fortune, fool,” he cried with a loud laugh.
And then, for no reason whatsoever, the bald man lifted his gaze, bright and piercing, and stared straight at her across the crowded dock.
“Chains may bind, but words may loose.”
Sabra caught her breath. The man seemed to be speaking straight to her, not to the soldier who stood waiting for his words.
“That’s it?” cried the soldier. “Nothing else?”
The man smiled up at him. “I say what I must, and no more than I must.”
The soldier rejoined his troop, and slowly the bystanders trickled away from the scene. Just before the eddy and swirl of the crowd hid him from view, the bald man smiled at them and raised a hand in salute.
Sabra heard Jurian’s sharp gasp and glanced at him. His face was a ghastly white, like he’d seen a spirit, and he turned away to lean back against the bulwark.
“Menas,” he said. “Did you see…? That’s not…that’s not possible.”
Menas chuckled. “It is. With him, it is. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten me out of a mess.” He rubbed his beard, exchanging an amused glance with Jurian. “Eh, maybe that’s how he gets all his money.”
“What do you mean?” Sabra asked. “Do you know that man?”
Jurian only got to his feet and moved away to the other end of the boat. Sabra watched him go, then turned back to Menas.
“Can you please tell me what is going on? Who was he?”
“An old friend,” was all Menas would say. “A powerful friend.”
That little bald man? she wondered, bemused, and turned to scan the crowds again, hoping for another sight of him. There had been such a kindness in his smile, and she couldn’t banish the sense that he had been speaking to her. She didn’t know what the words meant, but they comforted her somehow.
Maybe that’s what he means by powerful?
Do you still know nothing of power?
She winced and focused on each face on the street to drive the sinister voice away. And then—her breath caught in her throat, and her blood turned to ice. There…on that merchant ship just putting into port…
No. It’s impossible. We left him in Portus. There’s no way he could have followed us…
“Cast off lines!” the captain shouted suddenly, breaking through her panic. “Oarsmen!”
Sabra ducked down behind the bulwark, smiling when Menas gave her an anxious look.
“I never like this part,” she whispered.
He smiled and dropped heavily down to the deck beside her. “Me either.” He jerked his head toward the stern behind the cabin. “I think we lost our greasy traveling companion.”
“Gods be praised,” she muttered.
After another scanty evening meal of fish and dried fruit, Sabra decided she never wanted to eat fish again. Or raisins. Particularly not in combination. She stood up from the mound of rope she’d been sitting on and leaned over the ship’s rail, feeling the wind pick up and whip across her like a stinging lash. It was evening already, but it seemed too dark too soon.
“Storm’s coming,” one of the sailors shouted at them. “Come on, clear off the deck!”
Menas and Jurian were on their feet in an instant to follow him, and Sabra stared in terror at the sea as she trailed Menas down the steps. She thought of the sea storm on her way to Rome, but that was nothing compared to this. The waves churned, pummeling the hull of the ship and showering them with an icy spray. A tattered rack of clouds was building on the horizon.
With Innai gone, Jurian invited Menas and Sabra to sit together in his berth. Sabra climbed up into the upper bed, where she could see out the small window and watch the approaching storm. Jurian and Menas settled on the floor in the darkness. The sailor had forbidden them a light, explaining that if the storm got too wild, a broken lamp or an unguarded candle could set the whole ship alight.
After a few moments of silence, a roll of thunder set the cabin walls trembling. Lightning knifed through the sky, and the ship pitched. Below her, she heard Menas groan and Jurian chuckle softly.
“You’re just never going to get used to this, are you?” Jurian’s voice said in the shadows.
“They call me River Walker and not Boat Rider for a reason,” Menas growled.
The ship pitched again, more steeply this time, and Sabra heard the sailors on the deck above begin to shout. She closed her eyes, murmuring a prayer under her breath.
“Menas,” Jurian began, his voice unnervingly calm as the ship twisted beneath them. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
Sabra stumbled over her words, then forgot about the prayer altogether as Jurian began to speak.
“I asked Innai which power gives life—the Dark or the Light…Body or Soul. He said that the Light was the Good, and the Dark Evil. He said that the body was evil. And when I asked him the question, he couldn’t answer me…but I don’t even know why I asked it. I wish…” His voice trailed off. “I just wish Mari were here to explain it.”
When Menas spoke, Sabra could hear the smile in his voice. “But you haven’t asked a question yet, Jurian.”
“I suppose…if God is good…and you say that the Christ is the via et veritas et vita…” Jurian’s voice faltered.
“Go on,” Menas prompted him gently.
“Then how is it that He demands death?”
Sabra pressed a hand to her mouth to keep herself from gasping. Was it true, then, what the Romans said? That the Christians took victims of their own for dark sacrifices? If it were true, then perhaps the God of the Christians and her own dark god weren’t that different after all.
“Why do you say that?” Menas was asking.
“Because…Mother and Eugenius…and my sweet Mari…they all died. They had to die. God…God required them to die, Menas. And if He is supposed to be Life…then I don’t understand. Why would He not want them to live? And why would they want to die?”
Menas was quiet for a long time, and Sabra waited, breathless, for him to speak. “There’s something you need to understand, Jurian. About love.”
Love? Sabra thought.
“Love?” Jurian asked at the same moment, as if he’d read her mind.
“Let me ask it this way. If Casca had given you the time or the choice, would you have offered to die in your sister’s stead? If you knew it would save her, would you?”
“You know I would. You know I wish I had.”
“Why?”
Sabra edged closer, wishing she could see Jurian’s face in the swallowing darkness. Lightning flashed outside the cabin and thunder followed almost instantly. The ship heaved and rolled beneath them.
“Because I love her, Menas,” Jurian said. “And I would want her to live.”
“And what is the greatest gift that you could give your sister?” Menas asked.
“My own life.”
Sabra felt the tears running down her cheeks. She thought of Ayzebel, her hands burning with coals, her back torn with lashes, her face pale and amber eyes still and empty as she hung dead in her bonds in the square. She thought of Elissa, smiling from the pillar of sacrifice.
“When your mother and Eugenius accepted death…when Mari witnessed with the signum and accepted her death…it wasn’t because they hated life, or because God required death.” Menas paused for a moment. “It was because they loved, Jurian. They loved God beyond everything else. And when your love is strong, you don’t fear…and you don’t waver.”
Sabra drew a shaking breath as quietly as she could manage. Everything about the sacrifices they offered the dark god in Cyrene was an execution. The god was a god of blood and death, and he demanded those things. He was a maw…a gaping, devouring hell-mouth.
But that’s not what I teach the children, she realized suddenly. I have taught them about sacrifice…to be willing victims…to offer their lives for the sake of the city, for their own families…for everything they love…
“That’s why we make the signum,” Menas continued. “That’s why it is the sign of our faith. It is the Sign of Love, Jurian. The Love that sets men free, the Love that conquers death, the Love that banishes evil.”
As the lightning flashed through the tiny window, Sabra saw Menas’ large hand gripping Jurian’s shaking shoulder. As the darkness swallowed them again, she heard Jurian’s broken breath and realized that he was weeping too.
“I never knew,” he managed, voice taut with tears, “that love could hurt so much.”
“Stay the course,” Menas told him gently. “Death is not the end.”
The ship suddenly pitched so violently that Sabra was nearly flung off the bed. She heard Menas grunt as he crashed over, and Jurian’s muffled cry.
“All hands!” a sailor’s frantic voice screamed from the deck. “All hands!”
A moment later, another sailor appeared at the doorway of the cabin. “You two!” he shouted, his voice hoarse from salt spray and barking orders. “Get up here or we’re done for! We’ve lost three men to the sea tonight, and we can’t hold her head steady without help!”
Sabra recovered herself just in time for Jurian to thrust something into her hands.
“Keep this safe for me,” he said.
Sabra wrapped her hands tightly around the scabbard of Excalibur as Jurian and Menas clambered out of the cabin and onto the deck above.