Read Online B. Alexander Howerton by The Wyrding Stone - Free Book Online
Authors: The Wyrding Stone
Ads: Link
raven-dark tresses
whipping around her head in the blustery wind. She turned her gaze back to the
city of Tyre, ancient beyond memory, rising majestically in many tiers from the
bedrock of the island off the coast of the Levant, the only dwelling place she
had ever known. Now she was fleeing, perhaps forever, from her town, her
people, her life.
Her father, the king, was away with the Persian fleet,
attempting to harry Alexander’s asiatic assault force from the sea. Her
brother, acting as regent of Tyre, had sailed to the mainland to parley with
Alexander’s delegates. They had showered the emissaries of the island city
with compliments and gifts, and had requested permission to peacefully enter
Tyre and make sacrifices in the temple of Herakles, whom the Tyrians called
Melkart. The temple at Tyre was purportedly the most ancient shrine dedicated
to that god, and the Macedonians would consider it a great honor to worship and
sacrifice with the Tyrians.
The delegation from Tyre had discussed the proposition
amongst themselves, and had concluded that it was too dangerous to allow the
invaders from across the Aegean, who had been pillaging their way through
Anatolia, into their ancient and venerable city. Who knows what the barbarians
would do once they were inside? They communicated their refusal, and in less
than a day the answer had come back: Alexander was furious at the lack of
civility, and would enter the island city, with or without the permission of
the inhabitants. The delegation retreated in terror and began preparations for
the coming storm.
“Come, come, there is no time to lose.” Carialla was
brought back from her reverie by Nelka, who had approached and put her wizened
arms around Carialla’s shoulders, attempting to guide her toward the waiting
ship. “We must sail for Carthage now, or all is lost!” Carialla wiped at a
falling tear as she turned to look at Nelka. Her wise old visage melted into a
sympathetic smile as she cupped the princess’s cheeks in her aged hands and
gazed into her soft, brown eyes. “Oh, me dear, my flower, my jewel, you are so
young, beautiful, and fresh to the ways of the world to be taking on such a
heavy burden. Yet this is the fate that Melkart has prepared for you. He will
not take you from this life until it is your time. Until then, you must be
strong, and bravely face every challenge he tosses at you. Come now.” Nelka
gently took her hand. “We must be away.”
She led Carialla onto the waiting trireme, and in less than
half an hour the three staggered banks of oarsmen on either side of the
majestic ship put oar to water. The craft glided smoothly out from its mooring
berth and proceeded out of the Egyptian harbor. Once in open water, the
singular great sail was unfurled to speed the ship on its way to the Tyrian
colony of Carthage, on the coast of Libya.
The princess made her way to the stern of the trireme and
leaned on the gunwale, watching wistfully as her beautiful city on the sea
receded. Occasionally she reached up and brushed her long, dark, windblown
hair from her face, which the people of Tyre had called the fairest in the
whole city. She valiantly tried to abstain from breaking out into sobs, but
was not very successful.
Nelka approached and rubbed her back with one bony hand.
“Be brave, my child, we are safely away. The fate of the city is now in the
hands of the gods.” Nelka tried to comfort the girl as they both gazed with
melancholy back at their retreating home. Suddenly, Carialla squinted, and
furrowed her brow. It seemed to her that she saw a black speck at sea level
detach itself from the north side of the island fortress. She pointed. “Do
you see that, Nelka?”
“Dear, my eyes are old and tired. I cannot… wait!” Her
face slowly transformed into a look of terror. “That is a pursuing enemy
trireme. We must inform the captain at once!” They whipped around,
whipping around her head in the blustery wind. She turned her gaze back to the
city of Tyre, ancient beyond memory, rising majestically in many tiers from the
bedrock of the island off the coast of the Levant, the only dwelling place she
had ever known. Now she was fleeing, perhaps forever, from her town, her
people, her life.
Her father, the king, was away with the Persian fleet,
attempting to harry Alexander’s asiatic assault force from the sea. Her
brother, acting as regent of Tyre, had sailed to the mainland to parley with
Alexander’s delegates. They had showered the emissaries of the island city
with compliments and gifts, and had requested permission to peacefully enter
Tyre and make sacrifices in the temple of Herakles, whom the Tyrians called
Melkart. The temple at Tyre was purportedly the most ancient shrine dedicated
to that god, and the Macedonians would consider it a great honor to worship and
sacrifice with the Tyrians.
The delegation from Tyre had discussed the proposition
amongst themselves, and had concluded that it was too dangerous to allow the
invaders from across the Aegean, who had been pillaging their way through
Anatolia, into their ancient and venerable city. Who knows what the barbarians
would do once they were inside? They communicated their refusal, and in less
than a day the answer had come back: Alexander was furious at the lack of
civility, and would enter the island city, with or without the permission of
the inhabitants. The delegation retreated in terror and began preparations for
the coming storm.
“Come, come, there is no time to lose.” Carialla was
brought back from her reverie by Nelka, who had approached and put her wizened
arms around Carialla’s shoulders, attempting to guide her toward the waiting
ship. “We must sail for Carthage now, or all is lost!” Carialla wiped at a
falling tear as she turned to look at Nelka. Her wise old visage melted into a
sympathetic smile as she cupped the princess’s cheeks in her aged hands and
gazed into her soft, brown eyes. “Oh, me dear, my flower, my jewel, you are so
young, beautiful, and fresh to the ways of the world to be taking on such a
heavy burden. Yet this is the fate that Melkart has prepared for you. He will
not take you from this life until it is your time. Until then, you must be
strong, and bravely face every challenge he tosses at you. Come now.” Nelka
gently took her hand. “We must be away.”
She led Carialla onto the waiting trireme, and in less than
half an hour the three staggered banks of oarsmen on either side of the
majestic ship put oar to water. The craft glided smoothly out from its mooring
berth and proceeded out of the Egyptian harbor. Once in open water, the
singular great sail was unfurled to speed the ship on its way to the Tyrian
colony of Carthage, on the coast of Libya.
The princess made her way to the stern of the trireme and
leaned on the gunwale, watching wistfully as her beautiful city on the sea
receded. Occasionally she reached up and brushed her long, dark, windblown
hair from her face, which the people of Tyre had called the fairest in the
whole city. She valiantly tried to abstain from breaking out into sobs, but
was not very successful.
Nelka approached and rubbed her back with one bony hand.
“Be brave, my child, we are safely away. The fate of the city is now in the
hands of the gods.” Nelka tried to comfort the girl as they both gazed with
melancholy back at their retreating home. Suddenly, Carialla squinted, and
furrowed her brow. It seemed to her that she saw a black speck at sea level
detach itself from the north side of the island fortress. She pointed. “Do
you see that, Nelka?”
“Dear, my eyes are old and tired. I cannot… wait!” Her
face slowly transformed into a look of terror. “That is a pursuing enemy
trireme. We must inform the captain at once!” They whipped around,
Similar Books
