Aries Fire (6 page)

“I’m not exactly sure of that answer,” he said honestly. “I’m more concerned with what might happen to you.”

Seira stared at him and lost all expression. She felt his sincerity and it silenced her.

“Come with me,” he said. 

They walked toward the bow. He nodded at a passing crewmember that relieved himself over the side of the ship.

Oh, how vulgar, she suddenly frowned.

She looked away and pretended not to see him and peered out of the corner of her eye at the source of his rivulet.

The captain gestured for her comfort and they seated themselves on wooden benches tucked neatly into the frame of the ship.  She heard the breaking of the waves splashing evenly below.  Dawn was upon them and the sky streaked alight of orange and violet.

“You need to be careful, Seira,” he said.

“What’s your name, Captain?”

How was it that she didn’t know him?  Or did she?  He did feel familiar to her somehow, but she couldn’t place his face or name.

“Alexander,” he said, a puff of air blew his hair and brown curls spilled onto his forehead. He was so handsome.

Bastard of a man!

“Alexander, tell me.  What do I need to be careful of?  Men like you?”

“Angry words?  When we were just so friendly.”

“Stop that.  How dare you mock me.” She wanted to slap his face or bite it, then open her mouth and…

“I’m not mocking you,” he said kindly, and she believed him. 

Seira drew a short breath and put out her fire. She changed the subject.  It was always the best course of action to remain in command of any conversation.

“What do you know of Jerusalem?” she asked.

 “Jerusalem?  It’s a beautiful city.  The market place and the temples.”

“Why do I need to be careful?” 

 He was quick and followed her spontaneous manner.

“Because you are a threat to the Bishop, Cyril, and he has spies in all places. That’s why.”

She shot off the bench and paced.  Cyril’s name burned a hole in her heart. Her stomach lurched and she faltered, landing on her hands and knees.

Alexander leapt to her aid and grabbed a nearby bucket. He pulled her up by the waist without effort.

“Sit down.  Lean forward.  Here, use this.  Take deep breaths.  That’s it,” he said as she vomited.  He stroked the hair from her face.

“Care to kiss me now?” she mumbled before she vomited again.

Alexander burst into genuine laughter and put his arm around her as she sat up.

“Better?” he asked.

Seira nodded and took a deep breath.

“Here, wipe your face,” he said, drenching a waistcloth with water from his deerskin flask.

Her hair was plastered to her cheek. 

By the stars! I must look awful.

“Thank you.  Infinitely better now,” she sighed and paused with sobriety before continuing.  She hid her embarrassment in more words. “I think it was that evil man who had my mother murdered.” 

That was the first time Seira uttered those words aloud. She took herself by surprise.  Her voice gave validity to her unspoken, relentless thoughts. Alexander pulled her closer for support.  She felt strangely calm.  She had said it. He had heard it.  How often had she told anyone her deepest thoughts? 

Even if they are but accusations, they’re private, mine. 

She turned and looked at Alexander squarely.

“But why would Cyril want me dead?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, to be sure, perhaps because you are your mother’s daughter.  That might make you a future threat to his religious campaign.  I promised your grandfather that I’d see you safely to your destination. I never go back on a promise.  You’re safe with me.”

“Yes, you said that before,” she grinned. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Because you wanted me to and because I wanted to. It seemed like a fair trade.”

“Thinking like a merchant captain?”

Alexander laughed.

“How long before we reach Ashkelon?” 

The taste in her mouth was offensive.  It caused her to smack her lips together. She swallowed repeatedly to be rid of it, but that didn’t help.

“With this weather, maybe by dawn, tomorrow.” He looked up at a cloud as he spoke.

“Another night on the ocean. I’ll be sick again.”

“The water doesn’t agree with you then?” He grinned at her.

“Well, I like water when I’m thirsty, but to float and roll about like a vat of olives isn’t…”

Seira was interrupted by sudden cries from atop the ropes on the high mast.  The crewman pointed in the direction of the bow, way out to sea.  They jerked their heads and quickly scanned their sights across the water.  There was a ship in the distance.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“It’s too far to see their symbol.  Get below and stay there.  Go now!” he said. 

Seira was safe with him else she wouldn’t have obeyed.  Before leaving, she jumped up and kissed him on the cheek. She ran down the steps and crept up to Lem.  He snored rhythmically.  Sleeping on a hard wooden floor looked immensely unappealing. Seira silently thanked the stars that she was born to class.  She repeated her maneuver over his body, this time, without disturbing his rumpled tunic.

She shut the door quietly, leaned into the portal, and peered out. She saw nothing, but heard only the sounds of men as they ran: their feet pounding the timbers. Their muffled voices alarmed and excited her. All she could do was wait. Seira reached for her journal, pen, and ink container. The scratch of her reed scribbled away in darkness save for the light of dawn streaking through the tiny hole. At last, an adventure worth writing about!

A loud thud stopped her pacing. 

What? 

After making a journal entry all had been silent, save for the creaking of the ship.  It was now way past sunrise.  She could see the sun’s reflection on the water.  They were nearing late morning.  All seemed calm except for the occasional redistribution of… what?  Amphoras? Crates?  Seira tried to imagine what those men were doing out there.  She peered out of the portal and craned her neck to see.  Nothing. 

Aries’ fire! 

Seira was exasperated that no one informed her of the current matter.  She flew at the door with no patience left and flung it open. Lem stood there rubbing his arm.

“Shut the door.”

“No.  What goes on?”     

“A passing ship unloads cargo is all. There’s no apparent threat to us, but it’s safer if you’re unnoticed. Shut the door.”

She slammed it shut and opened it again.

“Who are you to tell me what to do?”  She slammed the door again. 

There was a knock.  Seira opened it, ready to slam her packed fist into Lem’s limp groin or his arm numb from sleep on a wooden floor bed, whichever presented an easier target.  It was the first mate. He stood in front of Lem and he offered up a small basin of water and a clean towel to her. She dropped her suspended arm and unclenched her fist. Seira’s behavior might have seemed childish if not seen in full view of the situation. She reassured herself, and then beamed. She hoped her expression appeared demure and not preposterous.

“Min Fadlik, aanise, Kaboudan, ah,” Mahoumad realized that Seira could not speak Arabic. “Kef bet ool…how to say,” he said to Lem, asking for a translation, then remembered. “Ah. Koboudan wishes you join him at for eating, aanise, um, Ma’am,” he said.

He handed her the items and bowed.

“Oh. Tell the Captain I’ll be up presently,” she said sweetly.

As the crewman turned from her, she stuck her tongue out at Lem and kicked the door shut.

Seira took her time and readied herself.  She wished for a long hot steam and an oil bath.  The basin of cold water and fresh clothes would have to do. She pulled her pale green silk tunic from her bag, with silver embroidered sleeves.  It was made especially for her on a loom brought from Crete. All of her clothes had to feel smooth, with knots and itchy clumps removed, or she wouldn’t wear them.

She couldn’t wear them.  Seira felt everything sometimes, people and textures. She could feel people merely by touching their clothes or possessions.  Scratchy fabric made her skin crawl.  The household tailor had to put extra care and attention into making her clothes.  Even if she neglected to thank them personally, she was truly sorry for the servants who had to toil more for her sake.

That was one reason she valued Marina.  Her simple mind gave Seira a place to hurl her dramatic emotions.  She had a pure heart and was willing to give of it freely. That’s what Seira would remember her for the most.

The thought of Marina made her smile as she smoothed her tunic free from wrinkles after slipping it over her head. Seira decided to enrich her outfit by layering her juppe over the tunic.  Her smock was of the finest linen: dyed to match the earthen clay. She would fasten her fibula to her left shoulder, befitting her nobility. Seira dug deep into the pocket of her satchel and felt the carved ivory box that protected her pin.  She removed the pin carefully from its mound of silk wrapping and held it in her hand.  It belonged to her mother, before that, to Theon’s mother. 

It lay in her palm, almost the width of her hand, and she remembered when her mother gave it to her.  She was twelve and her body not yet sure of what gender it would be.  Tall and breastless, she climbed trees and slapped the servants who tried to pull the woods from her hair.  It was one such day when Hypatia entered her bath. She presented Seira with the family fibula.  Why she did that during her bath, Seira would never know.

Seira kept the pin and carried it with her everywhere, but had never worn it. It was the mark of her womanhood and she felt undeserving of it.  However capable she was of emitting an aura of nobility and status, she still didn’t resemble the women in her household or community.  They were dignified and dutiful. They toted the weight of their men, family, and positions. They were a foreign race to Seira. 

She sighed and traced the pin with her finger.  It was made of gold and copper, inlaid with jewels.  The top portion was diamond shaped, which to her was just a square turned on it’s side.  Geometry was a baffling art.  At the corners of the top three sides resided tiny moonstones. Her finger outlined each corner and slowed briefly to feel the slick surfaces of the moonstones.

She glided her finger downward to the semi-circle that sat just beneath the lopsided square.  The semi-circle was encrusted in a ring of clear topaz stones, and in the center, on the fourth corner, sat a sea-born tanzanite from Tunisia.

That stone gave her such an uneasy feeling, a premonition of fate, as if wearing it would indenture her to an unplanned destiny.  Seira still couldn’t venture to look upon it for very long.  Three slender finger-length stones hung from the bottom of the circle.  They were opalescent. The light touched them and rainbows danced in them.  She held the pin up and the three stones gently dangled. No one had ever told her what those three stones were. She never asked.

Today she’d wear her family fibula for the first time. It was befitting of a woman, noble or not, who had the attentions of a man.

“Mistress,” Lem wrapped on the door. “There’s a royal feast.  It’s safe to come out.  Hurry. These men won’t wait for you.”

“If the captain has prepared a table for me, he wouldn’t allow his men to trespass,” she said.

“But, Mistress,” he started.

“Well, then go and guard it for me,” she snapped at the door.  “And don’t tell me what to do.”

Seira placed the pin back in the silk and reached into her sack for her perfumed oils. They were somewhere at the bottom, so she impatiently dumped the contents of her bag onto the table. Many of her clothes fell out of her bag and onto the floor.  The ship swelled. Seira toppled over onto the heap of clothes. She reached for the edge of the cot when a bottle of lavender oil rolled off of the table and crashed onto her head. The inkpot followed.

“Ouch!” she said, as she rubbed her head. She suddenly realized that the oil and ink spilled over her and all of her things.

“Aries’ fire and Saturn’s curse!” she cried. 

Seira made for the table’s edge and lifted herself when a sudden wave tipped the Ishtar to one side. She staggered and her foot slammed into the very full waste bucket.

“Hazaad.  Will Jupiter not intervene?” she cursed again.

The ship rolled in the other direction.  She fell forward onto the broken bottle of rose water and cut the heel of her hand.  She kicked the bucket from her leg and it propelled through the air and landed on the back of her head. 

“Lem!” she called out as she stood. 

She needed clean water and another towel at once.

“Where are you, you…”

The Ishtar rolled with a creak and a thud as her hands tried to wipe the morning’s foul waste off of her.  By the stars!  “Leemmm,” she cried.

It no longer mattered.  Her hair was clumped with stink. She wiped it quickly and rubbed her hair furiously between two dresses. Her good sandals were immersed in foulness and she had no time.  Incensed, she ripped through her bag in search of another pair.

“That idiot!” she yelled.

She dropped to the floor and tore through her things looking for other shoes.  “Dumb, stupid, mole-faced creature.” 

She felt rushed and intolerant and that made her angrier. She had to find something else to put on her feet. It was ordinary and expected for slaves and middle class to walk barefoot.  Her mind fixated on the entire noble outfit. There was nothing left in the sack, nothing on the floor.

“She doesn’t even know what to do with her tip-toeing feet, let alone think of mine!” she screamed.

“Mistress?”  Lem called.

Seira used an oil-stained dress to wipe her sandals and feet and jumped from the floor.  She threw the door open.

“WHAT?” she screeched like a cat.

Lem’s face curled in repugnance.

“What’s that smell?” he asked.

“Saturn’s spite on you,” she said between her teeth, smoothing her hair.  “How dare you speak to me.  You are my servant, never forget that,” she spewed.  Ink stained fingers snatched the fibula and fastened it to her shoulder.  Her head held high and regal.

“You may escort me now,” she said.