“You might have to wait until the crew is sleeping,” Rutgeros pointed out.
“Which most will do, with only a few put on watch through the night. They will not notice what I do, if I am cautious,” said Sant-Germainus.
“I could attend to it for you,” Rutgeros volunteered.
“It may come to that,” said Sant-Germainus as he looked toward the open hold where the ladder was beginning to shake; someone was climbing down. “We will make our decisions in this regard later.”
“A very good notion,” said Rutgeros. He stepped back as a middle-aged man with Greek features but dressed in Syrian finery came into the hold. “Captain Argourus,” he said, effacing himself.
“I see you are awake,” said the captain, ignoring Rutgeros and addressing Sant-Germainus; he fingered his curled beard, his lower lip protruding. “May God give you a good day on the Eve of His Nativity.” He made a great show of signing himself. “On this day, we must all be doubly thankful.”
“He may have provided our deliverance, more or less.” He indicated the pitch and roll of the ship. “We are not safely anchored yet.”
“Can you doubt it, on this of all evenings?” Captain Argourus pointed directly at Sant-Germainus. “Do you question His mercy? You will tempt God to allow the sea to swallow you.”
“The last few days have been demanding, yet I am still here.” Sant-Germainus steadied himself by holding onto the edge of the top bunk of the tier; his Byzantine Greek was impeccable, but slightly accented. “I do not know if this is because of fate or chance or the season; the Christians in this crew must have effective prayers at this time.” He paused and added, “If there is reason for thanks, then I am thankful.”
Captain Argourus regarded him narrowly, then decided not to make an issue of it. “You did well, they tell me. You kept us from going completely off course. We wouldn’t have made this landfall without your seamanship.”
“You are most generous to say so, but it was more luck and the whim of the sea that brought us safely through the heart of the storm,” said Sant-Germainus, keeping most of the irony from his voice; only the arch of one fine brow suggested any mordant intent.
The captain studied Sant-Germainus for a long while, and again chose not to argue. “Do you know this island: Dhenoussa?”
“I have passed it many times, but I do not know it. This is the first time I have landed on its shores.” He did not add that except for his first voyage to Egypt roughly two thousand years before, in the past he had been in the hold of his ship, atop his chests of his native earth, in a stupor, not struggling on deck, chained to an oar.
“But you are not adverse to going ashore,” Captain Argourus said.
“No, I am not,” said Sant-Germainus, who was eager to have earth beneath his feet, and the chance to find an animal—a goat or a sheep would do—to allow him to ease his hunger.
“Good. I will send you to the monks; they are more likely to help us than any fishermen—my crew will deal with the fishermen. The monks are supposed to aid seafarers, aren’t they? Their cisterns are full, no doubt, and for the monks, these being their Holy Days, they will not begrudge us water and food, in the name of their God. But the request will do better coming from you than from me.”
Although Sant-Germainus agreed, he asked, “Why do you think so?”
The captain snorted. “Monks don’t like pirates. They’re likely to refuse me on that point alone.”
“But you think they will provide me with food and water because I am a captive,” said Sant-Germainus.
“It would be like them; their faith requires it,” said Captain Argourus, his smile widening. “Especially if you tell them I will kill you and all the men from your ship if you fail. They would rather be martyrs than betray their calling.”
Sant-Germainus regarded the captain steadily. “And you intend that I should plead for all of us?”
“And the monks, of course, since we would kill them, too, or lock them to the oars if they deny us. They can further their good acts by taking those of the oarsmen who are stricken, and treating their ills. We will lose half a dozen men to frostbite, I fear, and will need replacements for them. The monks could provide us with strong arms.” He coughed. “Tell them that during their Holy Days, they should uphold what their founder taught, and suffer for the good of others.”
“Ship oars!” came the shout from the rowing-hold.
“We must be close to shore; you can hear the breakers and smell the beach,” said the captain. “We will have to use the small boats to get to and from the land; there is no dock or quay at the inlet, not that it would be safe to tie up to any such structure with the seas still so high.” He pointed to Sant-Germainus. “Be ready to go ashore. I will not stomach delays. Our need it too urgent.”
“I will have to find a cloak. My clothes are not sufficient to keep a mouse warm, not out in the open wind,” said Sant-Germainus. He did not want the clothes for protection against the elements, but to secure himself from prying eyes.
“Your manservant can find that for you,” said the captain as he made for the ladder leading to the deck above. “Be ready. I will take your reluctance out on the hide of the oarsmen,” he declared ominously as he set foot on the lowest rung.
“I will find what you need,” said Rutgeros to Sant-Germainus.
“Thank you,” said Sant-Germainus, a troubled line settling in between his fine brows. He stood, accustoming himself to the roll of the ship, trying to put the discomfort of his headache and nausea behind him; forcing himself to listen to what the sailors and oarsman were shouting, he was able to reach a point where he could ignore his water-caused irritations, and to put his attention on what was going on around him, so that by the time Rutgeros came back from his search with a fine, if old-fashioned abolla, its deep pleats smelling of salt and rosemary; he was able to pull it on with little more than a wince. It’s color—a dark olive-gray—made him seem one with the shadows.
“It is a bit damp,” Rutgeros said apologetically.
“What is not?” Sant-Germainus countered with a hint of amusement. “It is mostly dry, and it is heavy enough to keep out the wind.” He saw Khafir-Amun descending the ladder into the hold. “How is this anchorage?”
Khafir-Amun was tired; his big shoulders slouched and there were purplish shadows around his eyes. “It is the best we can have in this location,” he said. “This ship will not go much farther, in any case. We need food and water and the hull requires patching.”
“Is it breached?” Sant-Germainus asked, trying to conceal his alarm.
“Nothing too serious, but the hull must be patched; the damage will get worse if it isn’t attended to now. Three of the oars are in need of repair, as well.” He rubbed his lips. “I am hungry, and I need sleep.”
Sant-Germainus nodded. “As are we all: hungry.”
“The captain will have to provide for us, and soon,” said Khafir-Amun, scowling as he looked for a bunk in which to nap. “And everyone is tired, I know I am not alone. Some are asleep at their oars.”
“Then the captain will provide rest and food,” Sant-Germainus agreed, thinking of the errand ahead for him. “If he has any sense.”
“Six of the oarsmen have been set to fishing from the fore-deck,” said Rutgeros. “They should catch something to cook.”
“Octopus,” said Khafir-Amun. “I like octopus.”
“I suspect anything would do now,” said Rutgeros. “Except, perhaps, sponges.”
“In storms like this, fishing is uncertain,” said Khafir-Amun, no longer