<< Go Back

The Silver Coin (Ancient Elements) (Volume 3)

By Marie Sontag

Order Now!

The Silver Coin
Vol. 3 Ancient Elements
Chapter 1


Peret, Season of Planting, 1777 BC - Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Egypt

Fifteen-year-old Samsuluna fingered the remaining silver coin given him by his adoptive father, Balashi. As the ship rocked beneath his sandaled feet, he eyed the ominous black clouds gathering in the distance. “They say it takes about seven days to sail from Egypt to the Phoenician city of Tyre,” Samsuluna told his friend, Keret. “Once we get to Tyre, I’ll finally be able to complete my quest and reunite with my Uncle Zim-ri-lin.”
Seventeen-year-old Keret leaned over the Phoenician ship’s wicker railing to look at the dark sea that churned below. Keret then observed the swift moving clouds overhead. “I don’t know, Sam.” Keret shook his head. “It may take more than seven days to reach Phoenicia if a storm rolls in.”
Sam returned his coin to the leather pouch strapped around his neck and tucked the pouch beneath his tunic. “Well, at least I’ll have a place to call home again,” Sam said. “Since Balashi’s death…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he gazed at the clouds once again.
Sam turned his head when one of the Phoenician crewmen walked over and stood next to him, scanning the horizon. Something in the sailor’s intent gaze caused Sam to tighten his grip on the ship’s railing.
“Is everything all right?” Sam asked.
The sailor nodded. “Looks like a storm’s blowing in from the northwest, but nothing we can’t handle – as long as we’re not blown off course.”
Sam had never sailed before. The breakfast in his stomach rose and fell with every movement of the ship. “And if we’re blown off course?”
The sailor laughed. “You’re in good hands, lad. Captain Hazor’s one of the best in the business – as long as we don’t run into Mycenaean pirates.”
Sam tasted bile rising to his mouth. He turned to Keret and then looked back at the sailor. A slight smile played on the seaman’s face. Surely the sailor was joking.
After the sailor left, Sam’s thoughts turned back to his uncle. He just had to find Uncle Zim. Sam looked down at his crippled leg and recalled how he’d sworn to never go back to his abusive father in the Zagros Mountains.
Sam recalled that day, just three years ago, when his uncle left the Zagros Mountains for the shores of Phoenicia – the day Uncle Zim gave both Sam and his brother a bronze dagger. “My wife’s father needs help with his bronzeworking business in Tyre,” his uncle privately explained to Sam. “Since I am your father’s older brother and your only living relative, I feel responsible for you and your family. I’ve given you and your brother these bronze daggers, and I’ve given your father a bronze box. The box holds a great treasure that only your father can open when he’s ready to make things right with his family – with you, your brother, your mother, and with me. He must come to me with either you or your brother and the box, and you boys must have your daggers with you.”
“Can’t you just take me with you to Phoenicia now as an apprentice and teach me the bronzeworking trade?” Sam had pleaded.
“No, Sam. Your brother and your mother need you here at home. You’ll find me when the time is right.”
Now, with his brother dead, his father in prison, and the recent death of his adopted father, Sam knew the time was right. He only wished he had the bronze box with him. Surely his father wouldn’t be able to use it while he was in prison.
A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder broke Sam’s reverie.
Keret pointed to the ships that sailed in front of them. “Sam, if we’re caught in a bad storm, the larger ships in our little Phoenician trading fleet here will weather it, but this little saucer of a boat won’t fare so well.”
Sam had to find his uncle. Otherwise, how would he survive? Storm or not, he had to make it to Phoenicia.
A gust of wind whipped across the waves, slapping Sam’s face with a spray of salt water. The skies darkened. The sail and rigging flapped in the breeze. Sam grabbed his walking stick and limped behind Keret as the two scurried to the deck below where the other passengers soon joined them.
The thirty travelers found places to sit atop crates, between large clay pots of goods, and next to bundles of extra sails and boat repair equipment. The small ship did not supply sleeping quarters since their route from Egypt to Canaan hugged the coast, allowing the passengers and crew to camp on the shore every night.
After spending several hours in the cramped, storm-tossed quarters, one of the passengers complained of an uneasy stomach.
“If the ship doesn’t calm down soon,” a young man complained, “I think I’m going to throw up.”
The older gentleman sitting next to the young man shook his head of balding gray hair. “Well, if you do, I don’t care how bad the storm is, you’re going back up top. It smells bad enough down here with all of these sweaty bodies. We don’t need you adding to the stench.”
The hatch opened, drenching them with a torrent of rain. Two crewmen climbed down the ladder, escorting Captain Hazor between them.
Sam instinctively rose to help, but the recent pain of losing his adoptive father, Balashi, pushed him back down. Keret looked sideways at Sam, then got up to lend assistance.
“How can I help?” Keret asked.
“Grab his legs while we lower him down,” said one of the bearded crewmen.
Between the three of them, they managed to get the limp-looking captain to the final rung.
“What’s wrong with Captain Hazor?” Keret asked.
“He had a slight fever this morning, but insisted on steering us through the storm,” replied the sailor with a bushy brown beard. “He finally collapsed at the rudder and allowed the first mate to take over.”
Keret and the crewmen laid the captain on a nearby pallet. Keret felt the captain’s forehead. “He’s burning up.”
One of the sailors went to a storage area and brought back a cloth and a flask of water. He poured water onto the cloth and placed it on the captain’s forehead.
Keret looked over at Sam. “Do you have anything in your medicine bag to help bring down the captain’s fever?”
Sam slowly shook his head. I no longer practice medicine, Sam silently tried to remind Keret, not since Balashi died.
Keret clenched his jaw. Eying Sam’s medicine bag on a shelf above Sam’s head, Keret yanked it down and pawed through it. He opened one of the leather pouches and withdrew a few dried leaves. Sam used them once to help Keret recover from a fever.
The spaces between Sam’s ribs ached. In Egypt he’d failed to help those he loved. What good could he do now to help those he didn’t even know?
While Keret prepared a tea from the leaves, the older gentleman stood and approached one of the sailors.
“Can we still see the rest of the fleet ahead of us?” he asked.
“We lost sight of them quite a while ago,” the sailor replied. “This storm bats us around like a cat with a dead mouse. We’ll be lucky if we can just stay afloat.”
A young woman began to cry, and the young man next to her put his arm around her shoulders. Sam closed his eyes, crossed his arms and leaned back against a crate. Things will be all right when I find Uncle Zim.
Sam didn’t know he’d dozed off until a loud boom jolted him. The crate he leaned against pushed him forward. Nearby jars teetered, and the floor shook. Sam looked over at Captain Hazor and saw his eyes flutter open.
“What was that?” Sam asked.
“I’ll go up and find out,” Keret replied.
Keret climbed the ladder and opened the hatch. Yelling filtered down to the compartment below. Sam couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded like someone was shouting orders.
The captain leaned on his elbow to help him sit. “The storm has stopped,” he said, “but it sounds like we’re being boarded by Mycenaean pirates.”
Before long, five men with long hair and short beards descended the ladder. Each had a sword strapped to his waist. Like most of the Phoenician sailors, the Mycenaeans had bare chests and wore kilts around their waists.
The captain struggled to his feet and approached one of the Mycenaeans. “I am Captain Hazor, captain of this ship,” he said. “State your business here.”
The Mycenaean unsheathed his sword and placed its tip beneath Captain Hazor’s chin. “You’re not the captain here anymore,” the short, stocky man said. “We’re pirating this ship and loading all of your goods onto our vessel. If you’re smart, you won’t put up a fight.”
The young woman cried out. “Are you going to leave us stranded out here on the Great Sea?”
The Mycenaean laughed and waved his sword in the air. “Oh, no, lady. We have other plans for you. You’ll all soon be slaves of rich Mycenaeans!” The stocky man laughed again and then turned to the other four pirates with him. “Load all of this cargo onto our ship. Make these passengers help. If they give you any trouble, run them through with your blades.”
Sam’s eyes widened. He shot Keret a worried glance. Keret turned to say something, but a whack on Keret’s shoulder from the flat side of a Mycenaean’s sword stopped him short. Sam and Keret joined the other passengers and Phoenician crewmen as they helped the pirates carry the cargo of jars, ivory and crates up the ladder and onto the Mycenaean ship. A heavy fog hung in the air, restricting vision beyond a few yards, but the wind and rain had stopped.
As the last of the cargo and passengers boarded the Mycenaean ship, the stocky Mycenaean shouted to one of his men who still remained on the Phoenician ship. “Now burn their ship.”
Sam watched as a clean-shaven Mycenaean torched the Phoenician ship’s sail, its rigging and the wicker railings.
The Mycenaean captain laughed and addressed his prisoners. “This way, there’ll be no record of what happened to you. By the time people realize you’re missing, you’ll all be slaves of Greek merchants or landowners. And I’ll be that much richer!”
Sam swallowed hard. Numbness overtook him as he saw his hopes, like the sail of the Phoenician ship, go up in flames.
A loud crash, followed by a jolt, interrupted the Mycenaean captain’s gloating. Sam turned to see a Minoan warship pull up alongside the Mycenaean vessel. A large ramming device on the front of the warship had punched a hole through the side of the Mycenaean ship.
Keret shouted to the prisoners. “Quick. Everyone move to the back of the ship!”
Sam, still numb, allowed himself to be herded along with the others to the ship’s stern and out of harm’s way. The passengers huddled together while men from the warship stormed the pirate ship, swinging swords and shouting commands. “Surrender now or we’ll cut you to pieces and throw you into the sea,” the newcomers shouted.
The Mycenaeans charged the invading seamen. Swords clanged, men shouted, and cries rang out as the ends of blades found their marks. Sam saw the still feverish Phoenician captain swing a club at one of the Mycenaeans. The captain missed. Just as the pirate was about to shove his sword into the captain’s chest, Keret’s muscled arms
heaved a clay jar at the Mycenaean. The jar smashed into the side of the man’s head. Blood splattered as the pirate fell to the deck. Keret guided the Phoenician captain to the safety of the other passengers.
“It looks like the men from the warship have this under control,” Keret told the wobbly captain.
Another pirate, with sword raised, jumped off a crate near Keret. As the rogue bounded toward his friend, Sam thrust out his walking stick. The pirate fell headfirst onto the deck.
Keret looked at the downed man and then flashed Sam a grateful smile. Keret put his foot on the man’s back while Sam found a rope and helped Keret tie him up.
Most of the pirates now lay wounded on the deck. Others hovered under the watchful eyes of their warship captors. Sam then saw the stocky Mycenaean captain leap onto the burning Phoenician ship.
“He’s getting away!” Sam shouted, pointing to the fleeing pirate.
A tall, bearded man from the Minoan warship chased after the Mycenaean captain. When they neared the Phoenician ship’s burning mast, the pirate turned and grabbed his pursuer’s arm and swung him around. When the pirate released the Minoan, he smashed into mast’s pole.
The pirate ran to the side of the Phoenician ship where he began to cut the ropes that fastened a lifeboat to the outside of the ship. Sam saw the injured Minoan lean back on the mast’s pole and cradle his arm at his side. As the injured man tried to stand, a tall young woman appeared on the deck of the Mycenaean warship. She shouted orders to several of the Minoan warship’s crewmembers. Two of the seamen ran after the pirate captain, and one ran to the side of the injured man at the base of the burning mast.
A few minutes later, with the pirate captain in custody and the injured man at the woman’s side, Sam and the other passengers let out a collective sigh of relief.
The young woman looked about Keret’s age, probably 17 or 18. Her bright, intelligent-looking eyes darted from the injured man to the passengers, and then to the Mycenaeans now in custody.
“Put the pirates in the hold of our ship,” she commanded her men.
Sam studied the young woman’s slender face and black hair that fell in ringlets to her shoulders. The round golden earrings that hung suspended from her delicate lobes, along with her flounced bell-shaped skirt and frilled white blouse spoke of royalty. Who is this woman and where did she come from?
The feverish Phoenician captain approached her. “I am Captain Hazor, captain of the burning ship,” he greeted her. “Many thanks for coming to our aid. And whom might you be?”
“I am Ari-adné, Princess of Crete. My father, King Minos, prides himself on ridding these pirate-infested waters from the likes of these scoundrels. We just completed a mission to Egypt and were returning home when we saw your ship in distress.”
The captain bowed. “Many thanks, Princess Ari-adné. We were on our way to Phoenicia when we were thrown off course by a storm, and then boarded by these Mycenaean pirates.” Captain Hazor raised his chin as he glanced at the pirates being taken to the hold of the Minoan’s ship. He then looked over at his own vessel, now engulfed in flames. “It looks like our ship is no longer seaworthy, and neither is this pirate ship, judging by the hole your warship put in its side. If your vessel has room for our merchandise and passengers, may we sail with you to Crete until we can secure passage to Phoenicia?”
“By all means, Captain Hazor.” The princess nodded. “My men will load your cargo onto our ship and my crew will make your passengers comfortable. First however, I must ask if you have any physicians among your passengers or crew.” Princess Ari-adné looked at the injured man at her side. “I know a little about the healing arts, and it looks to me as if the captain of my ship has gotten his arm pulled out of place. I think a trained healer can put it back. Do you have such a distinguished guest among your passengers?”
Captain Hazor pointed to Keret. “This young man treated me with herbs earlier today to help bring down my fever. Perhaps he can look at your man’s arm.”
Keret nudged Sam. Sam looked down at the ship’s deck. He knew other cultures held healers in high esteem. He had already failed to help the Phoenician captain earlier that day. How could he now offer his limited services to a princess, especially one so beautiful?
Keret cleared his throat. “I believe I can help,” Keret said. He bowed slightly. Grabbing Sam by the shoulder, Keret pulled his friend closer. “And my apprentice here will assist me.”

Order Now!

<< Go Back