The Sea, Off of the Island of Cyprus
A gleaming iron beak clove through the water. White foam boiled away, washing over eyes painted on the ship's prow. The sea was a summery blue green, rolling softly between the galley and the pale, dust-colored line of the shore. Three banks of oars dipped in unison, driving the ship forward. Its square sail, striped brown and cream, was furled. A flute called an easy rowing stroke, letting the sailors in the benches stretch their muscles without exhaustion.
It was a still, hot day with calm, easy water. The trireme plowed unhurriedly northwest along the Lycian coast. Another hundred warships followed in two columns. Most were two-decked dromons, though a brace of swift, single-banked galleys flanked the main body of the fleet. On the rear deck of the lead ship, the Jibril, Mohammed sat in the shade of a draped awning, looking out upon the quiet sea. The captain of the trireme, a Yemenite merchant, sat nearby. Zoe stood at the landward railing, face shaded by a straw sun hat.
"A placid sea," the captain said, dark face accented by a beard of small, tight ringlets.
"Yes," Mohammed said. "Nothing like the rough waters between your homeland and India. How do you feel about the fleet?"
"Good," the captain said, voice sharp and filled with pride. "The men have taken to the oars well, and my sailors have mastered this crude yardage and sail. A Yemenite dhow could cut closer to the wind, but these ships will do. They are solidly built."
"The Romans," Mohammed said, "are not an idle people."
"Where will we find them?" Zoe turned at the rail, her face pale and pinched-looking. "Why this shore and not another?"
Mohammed looked at her, meeting her eyes. "When we left Cyprus," he said, "I prayed and the voice from the clear air bade me sail north, along the coast, until the water turned dark. There, it said, I should turn out to sea."
"That is all?" Zoe's voice held a petulant snap. "If we burned out these cities as we passed, they would come looking for us."
The captain made to answer, but Mohammed quieted him with a gesture. The Quraysh chieftain stood, stretching his arms, and walked to the railing. The sea hissed past, foaming along the flank of the ship. The water gleamed and flickered, breaking the white ball of the sun into thousands of fragments.
"Can't we go any faster?" Zoe glared down into the rowing gallery, where three staggered decks of benches were filled with brawny men laboring over the oars. "Can they row faster?"
"They can," Mohammed said softly. "But they are learning on this voyage to row as one, to follow the commands of the flautist and the captain. If we rush to battle, or find ourselves trapped against the shore, they will not have the strength to row us out again."
Zoe stared at him, dark eyes glowering. Her anger faded. Her temper was still volatile, but the corpse of her queen remained in Caesarea Maritima. In its absence, her brittleness had begun to fade. "Are you afraid of battle?"
Mohammed shook his head, turning his gaze out over the waters. Mountains marched along the distant shore, thick with dark blue-green trees. A fruitful and prosperous land, with little cities and towns along the coastal plain. Sometimes, if the wind turned, the Quraysh could smell lemon and orange. There were orchards under the flanks of the mountains and fields of grain.
"Zoe, the Merciful and Compassionate One will provide, for I have submitted myself to his will. His voice bids me sail north until the sea turns, so I shall."
The young woman cursed, clenching her hand into a fist. "You have this faith, Lord Mohammed. I do not! I cannot see or hear what you see or hear. I must take you at your word-what if you are deceived? What if you are mad? Then we all die, and my vengeance will be unfulfilled."
Mohammed touched her shoulder and she turned back to him. His face was gentle. "You have seen what I see. Do you forget? With your skills, with your art, can't you tell that I speak the truth?"
Zoe flinched, not from Mohammed, but from burning memory. "I have seen… things. They did not fill me with your confidence."
"Then sit with me and pray, as I do." Mohammed held out his hand. Zoe stared as if the tanned, calloused palm and strong, tapering fingers were vipers. Her eyes met his and they were filled with feat and confusion.
"I am not you," she whispered hoarsely. "If I look upon that face, hear that voice, I will be destroyed. The power that speaks through you is beyond comparison, like the sun to a candle. I will not do it."
"That is fear talking." Mohammed put down his hand and turned to the railing. "But I will not press you. At nightfall, I will pray and see what may be."
– |With a star-filled sky, the fleet rode at anchor, masts illuminated by sea lanterns. A rocky, treeless island lay between the ships and the farther shore, shielding them from prying Roman eyes.
On the raised rear deck of the Jibril, Mohammed knelt on a rectangular mat. He faced the south, knowing that at a great distance, the Ka'ba stood at the center of a city at last at peace. Mohammed bent his forehead to the thick pile of the tug and emptied his mind of all thoughts.
In that inner quiet, he could hear the voice of the Maker of the World. In truth, it filled the sky and the water all around him, singing softly in the rigging. Yet, like all men, the confusion of the day, the shouting of sailors, the matters of eating and breathing and tilling the soil distanced him from that single, pure voice. He closed his eyes, letting a litany of simple prayer wash all these cares away. As he did so, he felt a sensation blossom in his chest, as if a pure, joyous sound pressed against his ribs. He felt the spirit that moved the wind and tide drawing near.
You are almost there, O man, the voice whispered, as if from a great distance. Your enemy is coming. He comes in wickedness and sin, filled with fear and anger. He will destroy himself in rage. He is"Mohammed, what…"
The decking beneath Mohammed's fingertips trembled. He sat up, ears ringing. To his amazement, he saw a burning white light illuminating the sails, the rigging, the sailors… everything within sight was harshly etched. Zoe seemed frozen, one hand flung up to cover her eyes, one hand on the railing of the steps. Mohammed tried to speak but no words came forth. He stepped forward, then froze himself. The source of the light moved as he moved, shadows swinging wildly.
Zoe crumpled, falling back down the stairs. Mohammed leapt to catch her. The light went out abruptly. Suddenly blind, he staggered, trying to grab hold of the railing. His knuckles cracked on wood. At their touch, the lacquered pine crumbled and fell into dust. Mohammed fell heavily on his knees. The deck under him quivered and the once-so-solid boards seemed frail.
"Zoe? Captain?"
A chorus of groans replied, and Mohammed felt his tunic softly flaking away, settling onto the deck like wood ash. Delicately, stepping as lightly as he could, Mohammed descended the steps. The wood felt spongy and feeble, and he wound up crawling to Zoe's side, where she lay sprawled on the main deck. Distraught, his fingers brushed her throat, seeking a pulse. His heart was hammering.
Have I done this? His thoughts whirled like cranes in an updraft. Have I become dangerous?
She was alive, her chest moving, soft breath issuing from her lips.
"Praise the Merciful One," Mohammed said, vastly relieved.
"Mohammed." A rich, cultured voice issued forth from the prostrate girl. Her lips did not move. "You are being deceived."
The Quraysh bolted backwards, slamming his head against the stairs. His vision clouded for a moment with floating white sparks and he grimaced in pain. His heart beat furiously, like a runaway horse. There was a roaring in his ears, and he shook his head, trying to clear the pain away. "This is impossible!"
The night was dark and silent. The wind had fallen off, leaving the air still. Even the sound of the waves lapping against the hull of the ship seemed faint. He crouched forward, staring in astonishment at the supine body on the deck.
Zoe moaned, twitching, caught in some terrible dream.
"Impossible." Mohammed could not believe it.