We were already on the main course and well into the wine when Briars arrived. "Sorry," he said. "Problem at the site. Shall I go round and say hello to everyone, or can I eat first?"
"Sit down and eat," I said, remembering he'd been cooking for himself. "Make your own introductions here, and I'll introduce you to the other table later."
"Thanks," he said, reaching for some couscous. "I'm starving."
"Man after my own heart," Ben said. "Eat first. Deal with problems later. Try some of this excellent local wine. Magon, I think the waiter says it's called. I'm Ben Miller, by the way. Harvard. I understand you're from UCLA."
And so the conversation went, and by and large, the evening seemed to go quite well. Everyone made an effort to get along with everyone else, even with Chastity. When she began to whine that there was nothing she wanted for dessert, Ben picked up a branch of dates, and offered her one.
"Try it," he commanded in a voice I expect he put to good use in the lecture hall.
Chastity took the proffered piece of fruit, and carefully placed it in her mouth. "Oh," was all she said, a look of surprise crossing her face as she reached for another. Ben grinned across the table at me.
"Excellent evening," he said.
And it was. People stayed at the tables long after they needed to, and lingered over coffee and fruit. Briars, a good meal in him at last, was charming and funny, and had everyone eating out of his hand within minutes. People came and went. From time to time, someone would get up to get another drink from the bar, or go to the bathroom, but no one seemed inclined to cut the evening short, not even Ben when Chastity, pushing back her chair suddenly without looking behind her, and nearly flattening Susie in the process, also knocked over a glass of red wine, splattering it all over Ben's sweater. He just got up, disappeared for a few minutes, and returned wearing a clean sweater, his good humor intact. Aziza left for a few minutes to fetch a wrap as the evening air turned cooler, and Curtis followed her. People switched places from time to time to talk to someone new: Ed got up and came over to chat with Ben for a few minutes. Susie bobbed around the courtyard continuing her interrogation of anyone she'd missed at the airport or the cocktail party. Emile and Cliff, two businessmen who'd presumably found much in common, got into a discussion about fine cognac, then went into the bar to see what they could come up with, leaving Nora, who went to exchange a few words with Rick before going after Cliff. Even Marlene felt secure enough to leave her daughter alone for a moment and went over to talk to Betty Johnstone. I kept up my end of the conversation as best I could and tried not to fall asleep right then and there. In my sleep-deprived state, I was even beginning to credit Clive with being the genius he always said he was.
All that changed in an instant. "It's gone," Catherine gasped, almost falling into the courtyard in her distress. "My gold necklace. It's been stolen!"
2
T HE MAN SNIFFED the air and cursed under his breath. Storm coming, he thought, looking longingly back as the hills and battlements of Qart Hadasht receded behind the thin white wake of the boat. Bad storm, he added a few moments later, when the first large drops of rain smacked the deck and the rectangular sail began to luff briefly as the wind abruptly shifted. Superstitiously, he touched the silver pendant around his neck that held the magic words--painstakingly copied on a tiny piece of papyrus--that would keep him safe.
He stamped his feet on the wooden deck to keep warm. Why had he ever agreed to this? He didn't even know the ship's destination, let alone how long he would be away. A sudden vision of his tiny baby daughter made him smile. She was the reason why, of course, and the other one on the way. He wanted a good life for them all, and there would be extra profit in this voyage. The captain, Hasdrubal--he'd sailed with him many times before--was a stern but honorable man and had promised him that much.
But what was it about this journey that made it necessary to leave on such a night, to steal from his warm bed and the loving arms of his young wife, to slip across the courtyard, then through the silent city streets past the metal workshops and the artisans' quarters to the harbor? What need was there for the ship to slip its moorings when the night was darkest, maneuvering the squat little freighter quietly out of the harbor, where the sail was raised and the wind and the current took her? Did they think they could outrun the storm? And why now, with winter coming? He'd be sitting out the storm season at the voyage's destination, wherever it might be--that much was certain. His new child would be months' old when he got back.
Even in good weather, why sail at night, and alone? What were they worried about? Pirates? His eyes quickly scanned the coastline, peering into the dark coves where danger might lurk. But if pirates--and here he smiled--thinking that his own people had made piracy an art, and a rather lucrative one at that, then why sail unaccompanied? There were warships aplenty in the harbor when they left. They could have escorted the ship.
Pirates should not be a hazard at night, surely. Few except his fellow citizens ventured to sea at night. Even fewer knew the secrets of the polestar, and the aid to navigation that star could be. And fewer still had the courage it took, preferring to huddle in little bays until the light, then scooting to the next landing place before darkness fell once more.
A foreign power, perhaps? Possibly. There were other nations that challenged their supremacy at sea from time to time, but they did not enjoy the protection of the city gods, Baal Hammon and Tanit, nor the god of the old city and sailors, Melqart, to whom he, Abdelmelqart, sailor of Qart Hadasht, had been pledged at birth. It was unbelievable that Agathocles the Greek tyrant should have outrun Hamilcar's blockade, but it was said he'd burned his ships once he'd reached the shore, so he should be no worry at sea, no matter how much a threat on land.
And where were they going? It was a puzzle, to be sure. East, that much was clear. Egypt perhaps. He had done that route often enough, hugging the Libyan coast all the way. The great pharaoh always had need of their goods, the riches they brought from the lands at the ends of the sea. Or Tyre, the mother city, from whom Qart Hadasht's founder, the great Elissa Dido had once sailed? Now, that he wouldn't mind. Even if Qart Hadasht had outstripped Tyre in grandeur and importance for some time now, since Alexander had captured the city, Abdelmelqart would still like to see it. He could picture the amazement in his wife's eyes as he recounted where he had been, the things he had seen and done. A vision of her long, long dark hair caused him to look back again. He could no longer see the city. Soon enough they would round the headland, and if there was an offshore breeze--and he hoped there wasn't, because it was the worst stench in the world, no matter what wealth it brought--he'd catch a whiff from the vats where the purple dye fermented. Then he'd need to keep a lookout for Iranim, a shadow on the sea off to the port side of the ship, and if the ship turned south toward the Libyan coast, for Hadramaut--what was left of it after Agathocles had captured it--then the island called Meninx.