The Last Voyage of the Emir Read online

  “Phoenix has quite a reputation around here,” Darius said with a smile. “You may have your hands full keeping your soldiers in line over the winter!”

  Julius nodded with a slight frown on his face. “I have already heard about the pitfalls to be found there. My optio is helping me immensely to discipline the men and prepare for potential problems.”

  Darius looked to the door where his companion was waiting impatiently, beckoning to him. “I’m afraid I have to go or I will be left behind. I hope to get to the mainland in a few hours so I can continue my journey tomorrow. I wish you well!”

  Julius smiled. “And you also! Keep an open mind over the conflict you are going to help with. I have found that these ‘Christians’ are not the troublemakers that some make them out to be.”

  Darius looked somewhat surprised by this but nodded in agreement. “I will! I am glad to hear you say that. There is surely more to this than is being told. Good bye and good travels!” He turned and walked to the door.

  Just then, Julius’ food arrived, so he did not look around to see the rough-looking man in the corner watching him with keen focus, leaning forward as he overheard their conversation. He had an odd greedy expression on his face. He rose from his table and made his way to the door by a circuitous route, making sure to avoid any eye contact with Julius.

  Julius ate in silence, enjoying a well-cooked meal for the first time in several days. He had to remind himself to slow down and savor it, rather than shoveling it in as he had been in the habit of doing lately.

  After he finished, he paid for his meal and inquired about rooms for the night. They directed him to an inn two doors down and he made his way out and walked leisurely in that direction.

  The accommodations were nice enough but nothing fancy. He spoke to the lady in the main room and was quoted a price he thought was far too high for the amenities offered. However, she was firm on the price, indicating that many other people would be happy to pay this sum for one of the few remaining rooms in town. He grumbled under his breath as he gave her the coins for payment.

  The one good thing was that she could offer him a hot bath for just a small amount more. He eagerly paid the extra for that luxury, reserving a time later in the evening, and made his way up the wooden staircase to the room she indicated. The meager furnishings were lavish compared to what he had been living in since leaving his garrison in Caesarea. It was only midafternoon so he had time to take a brief rest before going to the ship to leave further instructions. He took off his cloak and breastplate and lay down to take a short nap.

  He had trained himself through the years to limit his naps and wake when he needed to. His training did not fail him this time and he woke after an hour surprisingly well rested. He wiped the drool off his face and stretched. He put his uniform back on and headed back toward the port, leaving word with the innkeeper that he would be back later in the evening for his bath.

  The port was just as busy late in the afternoon as it had been when they arrived. Julius walked out onto the pier where the individual tenders were ferrying people back and forth to their ships. After waiting a brief time as one tied up to the dock and a sailor jumped nimbly ashore, he asked the man in the boat for passage back to the ship. He climbed awkwardly into the boat settling onto the wooden bench and holding on tightly as the rocking of the boat diminished.

  The pilot of the boat was efficient in rowing toward the grain ship. “This must be the most popular ship in the harbor!” he said, making small talk. “I think you are the fifth person in the past two hours that has asked about getting to the ship.”

  “Oh? Who else besides the captain?” Julius asked.

  “There was a sailor from the ship that I brought to shore and also another person, probably a passenger.”

  “No soldiers, I hope!” Julius said. “They are supposed to be waiting for my approval before leaving the ship.”

  “No, no soldiers came with me. I could see a few of them on the deck looking like they hoped to come ashore, though! There was another man on shore that was asking about the ship, but he was kind of an odd-looking guy in dirty clothes. He definitely didn’t look like he belonged on that ship!”

  Julius nodded absently, his mind occupied reviewing what he needed to do.

  “It was kind of strange that he was so interested in who was on board. He asked if I knew if there were prisoners being transported. I told him…”

  “Wait, what did you just say?” Julius asked, turning to face him. “Did you say he asked about the prisoners? Did he say why he wanted to know?”

  “No,” he responded. “I told him I did not know who was on the ship other than a bunch of soldiers.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Not really. It was odd that he asked if I would be around after sunset. I told him I would not be working that late.”

  Julius thought about this, feeling uneasy. It would make no sense to have someone on this island interested in helping to free his prisoners but he did not want to take any chances. He would have to talk to Gaius to alert him.

  “Thanks for the information. If you see him again, I’d like to know where he is so I can interview him. I’ll be heading back to shore in an hour or two. I have a room at the inn just down from Eunice’s.”

  The pilot expressed agreement. They were just arriving at the ship and he was preoccupied with tying up next to the ladder, so the conversation ended and Julius made his way up the rope ladder to the deck.

  Chapter Eleven

  Demetrius had arrived earlier that morning and was disheartened to learn that The Emir, the grain ship he had been pursuing, was not in the harbor. He had occasionally seen ships in the distance on the voyage from Myra but never close enough to identify the one he was seeking. He was afraid he had lost them. It seemed his chances of actually finding his objective were fading.

  He sat in the back corner of the inn, scowling at his plate. The food was barely tolerable, and the girl that brought it was worthless. She was rushing around like she had no idea what to do. He had to yell at her a few times to bring him his food and his drink. She had plopped it down on the table in front of him and disappeared again, like she was in a hurry to get away from him. The only good thing was that she had a nice figure. He had leered appreciatively as she walked past.

  He glanced around the dimly lit room at the people. All of them looked ignorant, like they belonged in such a rotten place. How had he ended up in this dung heap? He used to be important. He had wealth and power. People respected him. Now, here he sat, one hand useless, eating this gruel and wearing rags. He had dipped into his money stores to make it this far, and now it looked like he would be stuck here for a few months.

  When he saw the Roman soldier come in and find a table, he wondered if perhaps it was not hopeless after all. He watched warily from the shadows, weighing his options. He could tell by his uniform that he was a centurion. They were not useful to him. They were too honorable and committed to be bought. Back before his life was ruined, he had several soldiers that were quick to do his bidding. Even on that terrible day, they had arrested the men who had ruined his business. Their ringleader, however, had run away, leaving town before he could be apprehended. That was the man he hated that needed to suffer for what had happened.

  Another soldier had arisen from a table in the back, and as he walked toward the exit, he stopped to speak to the centurion. He strained to listen as they greeted each other, and he overheard them talking about prisoners on one of the ships. His breath caught and his pulse quickened as he listened intently. Could it be? Maybe his stop here had not been so worthless after all. The man he had been pursuing since Caesarea might actually be here, anchored in the harbor. He could be close to ending his quest and making him pay for what he did.

  After the second soldier departed, he watched the centurion closely. His food had just arrived and it appeared he would be there for a while longer. Demetrius left a few coins on the table and made his wa
y to the exit being sure to stay out of sight. Once outside, he hastened to the dock and searched for someone who could give him more information. He saw a small boat tied to the dock, a passenger having just disembarked.

  “Hey, you!” he called to the boat’s pilot.

  The man looked up, a slight frown on his face as he saw the man’s shabby attire.

  “Yes? Do you need something?”

  “Yes! I need you to tell me what you know about the big grain ship in the harbor! Who is on it and where are they headed?”

  “I don’t know a lot of details but I know there is at least one regiment of soldiers as well as some other passengers. I overheard some of the passengers saying they are headed to Rome, but it sounds like they are looking for a place to winter.”

  “Did they say if they were transporting prisoners?” he demanded.

  He shook his head. “I did not hear anything about that, just the soldiers. Why do you ask?”

  “None of your business!” he growled. “Can you take me to the ship later this evening, after sundown?”

  The pilot’s expression hardened slightly. “No, I don’t think I will be able to help you. I will be stopping soon. I’m afraid you’ll have to check somewhere else.”

  Demetrius sighed in disgust and muttered under his breath as he turned abruptly and walked away. He walked back up the road, but he could see the centurion ahead of him, so he quickly turned down a side street out of sight. He watched surreptitiously as the soldier entered the inn across the street. After waiting a few minutes, it appeared he would not be coming back out for a while.

  He walked on to the edge of town, deep in thought. He found a small grove of trees and sat down in the shade, leaning against the tree trunk to rest and plan his next move. He rubbed his left hand as he once again inspected the ugly scars. The aching still flared up frequently but he had grown accustomed to it. Drinking wine helped when he was able to get it. Two of his fingers were useless, half gone, and the remaining nubs scarred and fused. The remaining fingers were still there but stiff and covered in the irregular ridges left behind from the fire. At least he still had his thumb and it worked well enough to grasp things but not enough to allow him to do any detailed crafting like he used to do.

  As he once again considered his losses, his anger began to rise. His work was gone and his wife and son dead. He would not allow himself to think about the events of that night. The twinge of guilt that rose with their memories had mutated with time into anger that burned inside. He blamed the Jewish teacher, Paul, for ruining his life. After three years, the anger had matured to a deep desire for vengeance, driving him to pursue an opportunity to kill this man, Paul.

  Initially, he thought he had found some others who could help him achieve his goal. There were about forty Jews who had vowed to kill Paul and had taken an oath to not eat or drink until this had been accomplished. Unfortunately, they were weak in their resolve, and when Paul was imprisoned in Jerusalem out of their reach, they were about to give up. He was the one who had come up with a plan and urged them on, feeding their desire for vengeance out of his own deep stores of hatred for Paul. At his urging, they had gone to their Jewish leaders, who hated Paul as much as they did. They asked the Jewish council to request that Paul be brought before them for more questioning, but this band of zealots would be lying in wait for him along the route, ready to end his life.

  The Jewish conspirators were idiots, however. They had been talking about this plan in an inn and were overheard. Somehow, word got back to the soldiers and the commander arranged to transport Paul under cover of darkness with two hundred horsemen guarding him.6 So much trouble over a worthless prisoner, but it kept him out of reach. He was moved to Caesarea and was imprisoned there for two years. The Jewish conspirators lost their resolve and gave up quickly. Only he kept the flame of hatred stoked, waiting and waiting for some sort of opportunity.

  Finally, Paul had appealed to Caesar, so they would need to transport him to Rome. By then, however, Demetrius had let some of his information sources lapse, and by the time he was aware of what was happening, the soldiers were able to get the prisoners onto a ship. He quickly packed a few belongings and gathered his stores of silver, but the ship departed before he could find a way to sneak aboard.

  That had led to his journey overland to Myra and then to his slow frustrating voyage to Fair Havens. The ship was uncomfortable and crowded, and he had been treated with no respect whatsoever. The contrary winds had made the journey maddeningly slow, despite his complaints to the crew. They had arrived in Phoenix just yesterday, and the captain and crew had made it clear he was no longer welcome to travel with them. Besides they were going to stay put and winter in this ugly place, afraid of a few storms and winds.

  He had felt acutely the failure of his quest and had resigned himself to trying to find a way on to Rome before spring. Then, his gods (though he despised them) had smiled on him, sending that centurion to the same inn where he had been eating. This had to be Paul’s ship. There was no way there would be another grain ship headed to Rome carrying prisoners, especially one causing religious uprisings. He must find a way to get on that ship.

  He laid his head back against the rough bark of the tree. The sunlight was filtered through the leaves and the afternoon breeze was warm. His mind began to wander as his eyes grew heavy and his breathing deepened. As his mind relaxed, memories of that horrible night flooded in.

  —————

  He rarely allowed himself to remember. It was too painful even after a few years had passed. But now, as his fury against Paul was fresh, he relived his rage over his wife’s betrayal in following Paul’s teachings about Jesus. Images popped in and out of his mind unbidden in a chaotic replaying of those events.

  He recoiled as he recalled the rapidly spreading flames. Seeking a way to douse the flames, he had run to the workshop to find the water barrel he used for his work. By the time he reached it, however, smoke filled the room. His intoxicated brain was reeling, and he collapsed to the floor next to the barrel and briefly passed out. He did not know how long he had been out, but surely not long. When he regained consciousness that evening, the roof above him was fully engulfed in flames, and he could see that it was starting to disintegrate and sag dangerously low. He remembered in his panic his eyes darted around the room for anything that could help.

  He had grabbed the top of the water barrel against which he was leaning and pulled with the last of his strength as he felt the intense heat burning his left arm. Then the glorious sensation of the cool water flooded over him dousing his flaming cloak. At the same time, the weakened wall behind him gave way. He had rolled back out of danger as the rest of the ceiling collapsed to the floor where he had been only moments ago.

  He crawled to safety and struggled to his feet. He started to return to the house but it was gone. All that remained was flaming rubble. He could see the smoking remains of a body where the front door used to be and as he drew closer saw the silver bracelet on the wrist identifying his wife. A large pile of burning debris was next to her, and he gasped at the thought that his son was buried under the rubble.

  As he stood transfixed by the sight, he became aware of a burning sensation in his hand and arm. Bewildered, he looked at his left arm. In disbelief, he saw the damage to his left hand. His flesh was blistered, hanging loose in parts, and his fingers appeared destroyed. His mind could not make sense of this. It was like he was seeing another man’s hand. But then, the pain roared to life and there was no doubt it was his own.

  The rest of that night had been a blur. He knew he needed help for his burns. With no aid to be found here, he had staggered as quickly as he was able toward the temple a few blocks away.

  He had become very close to one of the temple priestesses, causing significant strife in his marriage when his wife became aware. He followed the familiar route to her quarters and pounded on her door. Her happiness at seeing his face had transformed to panic at seeing his wounds. She
had helped him to her bed and called a doctor. After various poultices and treatments, his pain was still intense and they made arrangements to transport him to Smyrna. After several days at the medical facilities there, he had been transported on to Pergamum for the rest of his treatment, finally recovering to his current condition.

  —————

  He startled out of his reverie to a hissing sound. It took him a moment to remember where he was. The hiss sounded again and he looked to his right to see a green and black snake just a few feet away. It was about two-feet long, and it was coiled up on a flat rock warming in the sun.

  He froze as he focused his attention on it. He was not really afraid of snakes, not anymore. When he had traveled to Pergamum to the center for medical training, he received much of his treatment in the Asclepion. This temple to Asclepius had a room full of snakes, an homage to the god of healing who took the form of a serpent. Part of his treatment involved spending time surrounded by the snakes. His initial aversion to them was eventually replaced by a cautious respect, and over time he began to learn the characteristics of the snakes that were dangerous.

  As he studied this specimen before him, he could tell it was a poisonous viper. He cautiously moved his left hand toward his canvas bag lying on the ground nearby. His clumsy, scarred fingers were able to grasp the bag and slowly bring it to his side. The snake continued basking in the sun, its head swaying back and forth trying to sense him as its forked tongue tasted the air for his scent. He reached slowly with his right hand, pausing when the snake turned toward the movement. He carefully removed his few belongings from the bag as he shielded the movement with his body. Once it was empty, he slowly brought it up to his lap and turned it inside out.

  He reached for a small pebble and placed it carefully in his left hand. Then he put his right hand into the inverted canvas bag, always watching the snake for any sign of danger.