Samos
First Edition in English, 2021
© Francisco Bonilla Garriga
Translator for the English version: Megan Elliott
First Edition in Spanish, 2017
Mundopalabras - Spain
© Francisco Bonilla Garriga
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“Wake up!” Magon heard amid an anarchy of cries and sounds that kicked him out of his deep sleep. "Wake up at once!" He recognized the distressing voice of his partner and opened his eyes.
“What's the matter? What's with all the fuss?” he asked as he rubbed his eyes.
“The Romans! They’ve found us and are almost here”.
Magon, confused, looked sleepily at his companion, like he did not understand what was just said. And then, squinting, he saw the hustle and bustle around him. The cellar of the ship was a man's coming and going. He started to help, but a strong jolt threw him to the ground.
He did not know how long he was there, perhaps only briefly, but he stayed lying on the ground, covered in salt water, urine, and faeces from the bilge. He touched his sore head and opened his eyes again. Everything was dark and the murmur of the water revealed a huge gap in the ship’s hull. He uselessly sought out light from the lamps and instantly realised they would already be waterlogged. He looked up in search of the opening through which the cover was accessed. He focused his attention to searching for the access to the roof. The same voice that had awakened him called him again.
“Are you there, Magon?”
“Here, Ascipo!” He stretched his hand out in the direction of the voice until he found his partner's arm. “We’ve been attacked, we have to go on deck.”
“I think I broke my leg," Ascipo replied. “You need to leave; the ship is lost”.
“No chance,” Magon replied as he stood up in pain. He approached his partner and helped him get up. “Are we stranded? Are we close to the coast?” Magon asked as he led his friend toward the deck.
“No, we are still on the high seas.” Ascipo briefly paused to rest. The pain in his leg was unbearable. “When I came down a Roman ship was headed toward us. They have just hit us with their spur. Fortunately, not hard enough to sink us.”
They finally reached the small ladder that ascended to the deck. Magon peered out to ask for help, but he saw flurry of sailors and soldiers preparing to defend themselves against their attackers. He saw a face he recognized; Utibaal of Lixus passed by and decided to help. They both pulled Ascipo up, who, exhausted by the effort, sat down to examine his wound.
“You’re lucky,” Magon said, trying to cheer him up. “I don't think you’ve broken anything; it just looks like a piece of wood has sliced your thigh.”
“Let's go!” Utibaal interrupted. The merchant's face, incarnate and sweaty, looked ready to burst. “The Romans have returned!” he exclaimed as he pointed his arm toward the port side.
Magon joined and glanced over to where the Lixite pointed. It was still dark, but the moon lit up the clear sky far enough to see the silhouette of the Roman trireme outlined dismally on the black sea. Magon's muscles tensed and a prick of anguish ran through his body as he recognized the faces of those who had already killed his wife and children in Syracuse. Their persecutors did not want to sink them. They wanted to board them.
“Come on, Ascipo.” He helped join his friend. “Get up, we have to jump.”
The three men retreated toward the starboard and Magon looked back for a moment to confirm his dark thoughts. The Roman trireme was positioning itself to board the worthless ship and take its occupants as slaves. He grabbed Ascipo by the arm and looked into the black waters, begging his God, Eshmun, to keep them safe in his kingdom.
* * *
The lateen sail, held at port, fluttered slightly amidst the murmur of the whimsical waves that broke against the wooden hull and turned to foam on the extensive blue mantle that surrounded them.
“Careful! If the red scorpionfish bites you, you may not enjoy your tenth year,” Hermes reprimanded his son. The reddish fish jumped briskly on the deck with its open gills and thorns loaded with painful venom, erected to defend itself. Almices moved his bare foot out of the way just in time.
“I'm sorry, father,” the young man replied as the sailor’s leathery hands searched for his prey and armed with a pointed tamarind wood stick, skewered the dangerous fish, and placed it into a worn wicker basket.
