"Three points north," protested the tall young officer beside Sharina. The headband around his blond hair and the border of his linen breechclout were the same bright red, making him a dandy of greater refinement than the common sailors with their earrings and tattoos. "That's all we'd have to steer to set the mainsail and let the oarsmen rest."
As soon as the vessel got under way, the crew had erected a deckhouse of light lacquered wood just forward of the steering oars, one on either side of the hull, and the captain's seat beneath the overhang of the curving sternpost. The shelter protected Asera and Meder from the sun and windblown spray, but it would have to come down or be blown down in any kind of weather.
Sharina found the deckhouse cramped. On a day like this she preferred the open air anyway, so she'd refused the wizard's invitation to join them.
For all its size, the trireme had remarkably little space for the people aboard it. The Blood Eagles were mostly near the arms chest forward of the mast. There was more space on the outriggers, but the troops were landsmen and clearly uncomfortable about being so close to the foaming sea. The outriggers were planked over, but they didn't have railings.
"We've a full crew, Kizuta," Captain Lichnau replied. "A slow stroke on one bank isn't going to wear anybody out; in fact it'll keep them in condition. And three points north is three points closer to Tegma than I want to chance. Now, go check the forewell and see if the caulking on those started seams is holding."
Sharina stood almost between the two officers; they ignored her, treating the passengers as absolutely none of their business. The status of seamen on Ornifal—at least among officials of the king's court—must be very low.
And what was the status of peasants from Haft? May the Shepherd wait with me. May the Lady take me by the hand. I'm so alone....
Nonnus half-stood, half-reclined in the curve of the forepost. He gripped the rail with one foot. His other leg was crossed under the right knee, and his laced fingers supported his head as he looked back along the trireme's deck. He gave a minuscule nod and smile in response to Sharina's glance.
Even in this mild weather the trireme's bow slapped hard as it came off the top of each swell, because of the weight of the bronze ram. Spray flew, bathing the hermit. It glittered on his hairy limbs and soaked his tunic, though the heavy black wool didn't seem to change.
The conditions had no effect on Nonnus. He was out of the way, and he had a view of everything that happened on deck.
Sharina started toward him. The gods might or might not be on her side. About Nonnus there could be no doubt.
The officers' argument ended with Lichnau saying, "All right, set the jib sail but I don't trust even that after what we met on the run east."
Kizuta trotted forward on the starboard outrigger, shouting to members of the deck crew. Nonnus bumped himself upright with a twitch of his hips and walked toward Sharina. Sailors carrying a roll of canvas, the jib sail, danced a graceful pirouette with him as they passed in the opposite direction through the crowd of Blood Eagles.
Along with other baggage, the troops' breastplates and helmets clogged the passageway between the oarbenches below. The rowers' own minimal personal effects were under the benches or folded as padding. For now the Blood Eagles wore the jerkins and caps of soft leather which cushioned their metal armor. Dry leather can turn a swordcut, but it becomes a soggy mass of no more protective value than cheese if drenched by waves or a rainstorm.
The Blood Eagles had stowed their weapons in the arms chest, since there was no threat from anything except possibly the weather. In the cramped confines of the ship there was a good chance of losing a spear overboard or injuring a friend. Swords and daggers would knock against the ship's rail and fittings, damaging the ornamented scabbards, and the blades' high-carbon steel was almost certain to rust in the salt air.
Soldiers sat on the long chest or stood nearby, because it was the only part of the vessel to which they felt a connection. One of the younger men looked at Nonnus and said, "Say, some knife you've got there, old man. It'll drag you straight to the bottom of the sea if you go over. Want to stick it in here?"
His heel thumped the arms chest behind him.
"I'll have to be careful not to fall overboard," Nonnus said mildly. He'd placed his javelin in the chest when he came aboard, but Sharina didn't remember the hermit ever being without the big knife except when he was praying.
She pushed quickly to Nonnus' side, then realized she should have held back for a moment. The soldier's eyes hardened to see a pretty young girl on the old man's arm. The other Blood Eagles watched, clearly disinclined to interfere with whatever their comrade had in mind.
"Yeah, an old codger like you could go over the side real easy if he got uppity with his betters," the soldier said. "I figure that knife's a bit big to shave with, so why don't you put it away right now? Better yet, why don't you toss it over the side?"
The hermit's face had no more expression than a stone. "I'm sorry if I offended you, sir," he said. His head barely moved, but his eyes flicked in both directions. There were soldiers behind him as well as in front.
"Ningir, what the hell! do you think you're doing?" Wainer shouted as he burst through the crowd of his men. His face was flushed with anger. He'd rushed forward from where he'd been kneeling by the deckhouse, speaking to the procurator within.
"Well, I—" the soldier said in surprise.
"Listen, you young fool," Wainer snarled. "I never saw work a sword could do that a Pewle knife couldn't; and once I saw Pewle knives do what swordsmen would not. Now, get below and don't come back up until you've made a written inventory of all the baggage!"
"I don't have anything to write on," Ningir protested.
The officer poked him in the chest with an index finger as thick as a broomstick. "Then take off your jerkin and write on that!" he said. "Or stay below till you rot and grow mushrooms, I don't care which. Just get off this deck!"
The shouting pressed Sharina's body away the way a sheep twists from the blades at shearing time. Nonnus was firm as a rooted oak. He didn't hold her, but his side was a supporting buttress.
White-faced, Ningir turned and walked toward the companionway in the stern. The other Blood Eagles had straightened. Those who'd been sitting on the arms chest now stood up. Nobody spoke for a moment.
"Damned young fool," Wainer said, looking almost but not quite at Nonnus as he spoke.
"Thank you, sir," Nonnus said, his voice oddly husky. "The Lady was with me, that you came when you did."
Wainer snorted. "The Lady was with Ningir or I miss my bet," he said. He looked from Nonnus to Sharina, frowning slightly as his eyes shifted back to the hermit. He said, "I was at the Stone Wall."
Nonnus nodded calmly, but Sharina felt his body go as hard as it had been while facing Ningir. "You're of an age to have been there," he said.
"So are you," Wainer said, watching the hermit without blinking.
"I'm of an age to live in a hut in the woods, sir," Nonnus said, "as far from the world as I could go without leaving it."
He gave Wainer a crooked grin. "I'll thank the Lady for your intervention, sir," he said; bowed; and shepherded Sharina ahead of him toward the far bow.
The sailors had rigged the jib sail to the boom; it bellied well out to the port side. The outline of a shark's jaws was stenciled in red on the canvas, some sort of military boast or identification.
"What did he mean about the Stone Wall, Nonnus?" Sharina asked in a tiny voice.
"There are others who will tell you, child," Nonnus replied. "I will not."
He stood looking out over the sea. Sharina stood beside him, ignoring the slapping spray. Neither of them spoke again until the sun neared the western horizon and the hermit turned to cry, "Land on the starboard bow!"