their thieving. They were plunderers, of that I had no doubt. Their eyes never stopped counting up my treasures, and they grinned at the tally they came to.
I did not wait anymore for them to stand and come at me. I raised my staff, I spoke the word. They went crying to their pen like all the rest.
The nymphs were helping me set right the toppled benches and scrub away the wine stains when one of them glanced at the window. “Mistress, another on the path.”
I had thought the crew too small to man a full ship. Some of them must have waited on the beach, and now one had been sent to scout after his fellows. The nymphs set out new wine and slipped away.
I opened the door at the man’s knock. The late sun fell on him, picking out the red in his neat beard, the faint silver in his hair. He wore a bronze sword at his waist. He was not so tall as some, but strong, I saw, his joints well seasoned.
“Lady,” he said, “my crew has taken shelter with you. I hope I may as well?”
I put all my father’s brightness into my smile. “You are as welcome as your friends.”
I watched him while I filled the cups. Another thief, I thought. But his eyes only grazed my rich trappings. They lingered instead on a stool, still upended on the floor. He bent down and set it upright.
“Thank you,” I said. “My cats. They are always tumbling something.”
“Of course,” he said.
I brought him food and wine, and led him to my hearth. He took the goblet and sat in the silver chair I indicated. I saw him wince a little as he bent, as if at the pull of recent wounds. A jagged scar ran up his muscled calf from heel to thigh, but it was old and faded. He gestured with his cup.
“I have never seen a loom like that,” he said. “Is it an Eastern design?”
A thousand of his kind had passed through this room. They had catalogued every inch of gold and silver, but not one had ever noticed the loom.
I hesitated for the briefest moment.
“Egyptian.”
“Ah. They make the best things, don’t they? Clever to use a second beam instead of loom weights. So much more efficient to draw the weft down. I would love to have a sketch.” His voice was resonant, warm, with a pull to it that reminded me of ocean tides. “My wife would be thrilled. Those weights used to drive her mad. She kept saying someone ought to invent something better. Alas, I have not found time to apply myself to it. One of my many husbandly failings.”
My wife. The words jarred me. If any of the men in all those crews had had a wife, they never mentioned her. He smiled at me, his dark eyes on mine. His goblet was lifted loosely in his hand, as if any moment he would drink.
“Though the truth is, her favorite thing about weaving is that while she works, everyone around her thinks she can’t hear what they’re saying. She gathers all the best news that way. She can tell you who’s getting married, who’s pregnant, and who’s about to start a feud.”
“Your wife sounds like a clever woman.”
“She is. I cannot account for the fact that she married me, but since it is to my benefit, I try not to bring it to her attention.”
It surprised me to a huff of laughter. What man spoke so? None that I had ever met. Yet at the same time there was something in him that felt nearly familiar.
“Where is your wife now? On your ship?”
“At home, thank the gods. I would not make her sail with such a ragged bunch. She runs the house better than any regent.”
My attention was sharp on him now. Common sailors did not talk of regents, nor look so at home next to silver inlay. He was leaning on the carved arm of the chair as if it were his bed.
“You call your crew ragged?” I said. “They seem no different from other men to me.”
“You are kind to say so, but half the time I’m afraid they behave like beasts.” He sighed. “It’s my fault. As their captain, I should keep them in better line. But we have been at war, and you know how that can tarnish even the best men. And these, though I love them well, will never be called best.”