The column set off the way it had come. The procession moved at a brisk pace, without the weight burdening the cart, and marched directly to the river. Built along the sloping shore of the river was a wooden building whose large doors faced the water. The captain inspected the interior of the building. When he emerged, he seemed pleased. He told Tarsa and his men to prepare a fine meal and get a good night’s sleep.
At dawn, the tireless captain awoke them. The horses dragged a wooden boat from the storehouse and down to the river. The open-decked craft was half boat, half raft, around fifty feet long and a dozen or so feet wide, and drew only a few feet of water. A long tiller operated the rudder.
The horses were led onto the boat, and it was pushed and poled into the river to catch the currents. The ride downriver was more hair-raising than their sea voyage. The boat encountered shallows, rapids, drifting trees, whirlpools, and rocks. The Scythians cheered when the boat popped out of the mouth of the river and they saw the ship at its mooring.
The ship’s crew welcomed the new arrivals and helped drag the riverboat onto shore. While the captain wrote in his log, the crew celebrated late into the night. They were astir well before dawn, and the sun was just peeking over the trees as they cast off the mooring lines. Powered by the ranks of oarsmen and the wind, the ship moved swiftly out into the bay, the rowers putting their backs into their work. Like every other man on board, they were impatient to return home.
The exuberance on board the vessel was cut short by an unexpected development. As the ship passed an island, another vessel pulled out and barred their way.
THE CAPTAIN shouted a brisk order to ship oars and drop sails. He climbed onto a large water urn in the bow to better study the vessel. There was no sign of life on board, but the deck was obscured by a wicker fence for cargo protection that ran along the sheer strake, as the highest hull plank was called.
He was looking at a ship of Tarshish.
The craft had the same functionally graceful lines as the captain’s ship. The deck was long and straight, and the curving stern and horse-head-sculpted stem rose high above the water. The captain’s razor-sharp eyes picked out important differences between the two ships. The strange craft had been built for trade and modified for war.
The stranger’s bow was bound with bronze rather than wood, creating a beak that could tear the heart out of the strongest-built ship. The massive scull and prow oars clamped to the hull could serve as battering rams.
The Scythian commander came up to the captain. “Should we send a boarding party?”
The captain pondered the question. A Phoenician ship should pose no threat, but there was no reason for the vessel to be where it was. Its actions, while not hostile, were certain not friendly.
“No,” the captain said. “We wait.”
Five minutes passed. Then ten. After twenty minutes, figures could be seen climbing down a ladder into the warship’s utility boat. The boat approached to within earshot. There were four men at the oars. A fifth stood with legs wide in the prow, his purple cloak billowing out behind him like a loose sail. He cupped his hands to his mouth.
“Greetings, my brother,” he shouted across the water.
“Greetings to you, brother,” the captain said with surprise. “How came you here?”
A look of mock incredulity appeared on the man’s face. He pointed to the warship. “I came as you did, Menelik, in a ship of Tarshish.”
“For what purpose, Melqart?”
“To join forces once again, dear brother.”
The captain’s face betrayed no emotion, but his dark eyes smoldered with anger. “You
“My ship’s hospitality is open to you as well.”
The man in purple laughed. “It’s obvious that we lack brotherly trust.”
“Maybe that’s because we are only
The captain studied the island. Unlike most of the heavily treed shoreline, the sandy riverbank was flat for a few hundred feet before rising into a low, grassy ridge.
“Very well,” he shouted.
The captain told Tarsa to round up a landing party. Tarsa picked four of his most battle-hardened men. Minutes later, the utility boat nudged up to the riverbank. The Scythians stayed with the boat while the captain strode up the sloping beach.
His half brother stood a hundred feet from the shore with arms crossed. He was dressed in full Phoenician regalia, with a richly patterned two-piece tunic under his purple cloak and a conical cap on his head. A gold collar encircled his neck, and his arms and fingers were adorned with gold.
He was the captain’s equal in height, and his handsome face bore a sharp resemblance to his brother’s, with its prominent nose, dark complexion, wavy hair and beard. There were major differences, however. The captain’s regal bearing came across as imperious and arrogant while his half brother’s features were brutish rather than strong. His dark eyes had no depth or softness. His prominent chin hinted at stubbornness rather than determination.
“How wonderful to see you after all these years, dear brother,” Melqart said, with an engaging smile that had more slyness than charm in it.
The captain was in no mood for insincere niceties. “Why are you here?” he demanded.
“Perhaps our father decided that you needed help on your mission.”
“He would never have trusted you.”
“He obviously entrusted you, and you’re a thief.”
The captain’s cheeks burned at the insult, but he held his anger in check. “You haven’t answered my question.”
His half brother shrugged. “I learned that you were on the move. I tried to intercept you, but your ship was too fast and we fell behind.”
“Why has your ship been fit for war?”
“These are dangerous waters.”
“You defy our father by coming here. This would not be his wish.”
“Our
“And
“There is nothing to talk about. You will turn your ship back. We will follow.”
The captain spun on his heel and strode back toward the river. He kept his ear cocked for footfalls, in the unlikely event that his brother found the courage to attack him. But the only sound he heard was Tarsa, who cried out:
“Captain! Behind you!”
The Scythian had seen a dozen or so figures rise from the grassy ridge behind the beach.
The captain wheeled as the men sprinted in his direction. Tattoos decorated their shoulders and chests.
“Kill him! Kill him!”
The captain drew his short broadsword as the screaming Thracians quickly encircled him.
He pivoted to face his attackers, but he couldn’t guard his back. A Thracian moved in with his javelin in throwing position, only to stop short and drop his weapon. Clutching at the feathered shaft protruding from his throat, he let out a wet cough, sank to his knees, and fell forward face-first into the sand.
Tarsa calmly notched another arrow to his bowstring. With no more effort than taking a breath, he killed a second Thracian. The others scattered.
Tarsa’s bowmen unleashed a deadly rain of arrows that found their mark in the backs of the fleeing Thracians.
The captain let out a mighty war cry and ran up the beach. He swung his sword in a powerful blow that would have decapitated his half brother if Melqart hadn’t sideslipped the blade in a desperate parry. Under the flurry of blows that followed, Melqart tripped over his robes and fell in the soft sand.
He rolled onto his back and threw his sword aside. “Don’t kill me, my brother.”
The captain hesitated. Evil as he was, Melqart was still a blood relative.
Tarsa shouted another warning.
A second wave of Thracians had appeared on the ridge to reinforce the first line of attackers.
The captain backed off and dashed for the boat, leaping over the dead bodies of the attackers.
The Scythians unleashed their last arrows. The hastily aimed shots slowed the Thracians’ advance but didn’t stop it.
Tarsa threw his bow aside, grabbed the captain in his powerful arms, and lifted him into the boat. The rowers pulled at the oars and put the boat quickly out of range of the javelins, which splashed harmlessly into the water behind them.
The captain climbed onto the deck of his ship. The lookout man was handing out spears and swords, which he had neatly organized in an on-deck weapons room.
Melqart’s boat pushed off from the beach with the last of the Thracians. The wicker fence on board the warship dropped to reveal at least a hundred men on a raised combat deck.
The sun glinted off their spear tips. Their shields were hung over the balustrade to create a defensive wall. The captain saw plumes of smoke rising from the deck and ordered urns of water placed around the ship.
Trailed by thin streaks of smoke, flaming arrows dipped in pitch rose from the ship and arced down from the skies in a fiery shower.
No arrow found a human target, but some stuck in the sides and deck of the ship. The flames were doused with water from the urns, but another volley followed the first, and some of the flaming arrows landed in the furled sail.
Crewmen pulled the sail onto the deck and stamped on the blazing cloth, ignoring the glowing embers that burned their feet and legs.
The captain barked an order to lift anchor. As the Scythians unleashed a deadly volley of arrows for cover, the rowers moved the ship backward out of range of the fire arrows. But the awkward maneuver left the ship broadside to the other vessel.
Flames from the sail were spreading. The captain knew that his vessel was doomed. Ships were made of wood, hemp, pitch, and cloth. Within minutes, the vessel would become a huge flaming torch.
The warship was preparing to come in for the kill.
The large oars at both ends of the ship were being used to swing the vessel rapidly around in a hundred-eighty-degree turn that would bring the bronze battering ram into play.
The ram would punch a hole in the burning ship. Once the ship foundered, it would be peppered with more fire arrows. Grenades filled with flaming oil would be suspended from the bow on poles.
The captain ordered the helmsmen to turn the ship. When the bow pointed downstream, he yelled to the rowers.
“Full speed ahead!”
The ship lurched like a lazy whale and gained speed. The enemy vessel was still turning, and would never be in a more-vulnerable position. Although the prow of the captain’s ship was not sheathed with metal, the thick Lebanese timbers could be used with deadly effect.
Hooves thundered amid the shouts of men. The horses had broken loose from their stable and had climbed up a ramp onto the deck. The Scythians dropped their bows and tried to drive the horses back below. The animals reared and rolled their eyes, more frightened of the smoke and fire than of the noisy human beings.
The ships were yards apart. The captain could see a figure in purple striding from one end of the deck to the other as Melqart urged his crew to move faster.
The burning vessel crunched into the warship. The captain lost his footing and fell to his knees but quickly climbed back to his feet. The horse-head figurehead hung at an angle. The ship had bounced back and was swinging so that its hull would be side by side with the other vessel. Enemy archers could pick them off at will. Spear-carrying warriors would swarm aboard to finish the job.
Discipline had broken down on his ship. Men ran about the burning deck trying to avoid being cremated or trampled by the rampaging horses.
The ships crunched up against one another.
A gust of wind cleared the smoke for an instant. The captain saw the grinning face of his brother staring at him from only a few yards away.
Galvanized, the captain waded along the main deck through clouds of smoke and tried to rally his panicked crew.
A horse reared up on front of the captain, and he had to draw back to avoid being crushed. Suddenly inspired, he plucked a shred of burning sail from the deck and waved it at the horse. The animal reared, and pawed the air with its sharp hooves. He yelled at the Scythians to follow his lead.
A ragged line formed. Shouting and brandishing pieces of flaming cloth or leather shirts in the air, they herded the horses against the low ship’s rail.
Tattooed Thracians lined the rail on the other vessel, their eyes glittering in anticipation of the massacre to come. But then the horses half leaped and half climbed over the rail and onto the deck of the warship. The animals crashed through the line of warriors and raced madly from one end of the deck to the other, trampling anyone in their way.
The captain vaulted over the rail, with the Scythians close behind. A quick thrust of his sword dropped the first man he encountered. Then his entire crew swarmed aboard. The Thracians drew back in confusion under the fierce attack.
The captain’s face was black with soot. He was bleeding from several nonfatal sword and spear wounds, but he moved inexorably toward Melqart, who had seen the tide of battle turn and was trying to find safety at the raised aft end of ship. Menelik climbed a short ladder to the stern where his half brother cowered.
This time he would not hesitate to deliver the fatal blow.
As his sword struck living flesh, however, something hard crashed into the captain’s skull, and he crumpled to the deck, a curtain of blackness falling over his eyes.
LATER, when the last trace of the battle had bubbled to the surface, the silent witness who had been hiding in the grass made his way cautiously along the beach not far from where he had first seen the horse-head monster.
All was quiet. The cries of pain and agony and the clash of weapons had faded. There was only the soft ripple of water along the riverbank, which was littered with the dead. He went from body to body, ignoring gold ornaments in favor of more-useful items.
He was bending over to pick up more booty when he heard a pitiful meow. The soggy mass of yellowish orange fur had its claws dug into a charred board. The hunter had never seen a cat before, and, for a moment, he considered killing it. But he relented and instead wrapped the animal in a soft leather cloth.
When he could carry no more, he stole away, leaving only his footprints in the sand.
Thomas Jefferson glanced at the wall clock with the bright blue-gray eyes whose intensity often startled those who met him for the first time. It was two in the morning; he usually retired at ten. He had been working in the study since six o’clock in the evening, having risen at dawn.