Read Online B. Alexander Howerton by The Wyrding Stone - Free Book Online Page A

only to
see the captain approaching.  Behind him, out on the open sea in front of the
ship, they could perceive three other ships closing on their vessel.  The
captain reached them and bowed courteously.  “Forgive me, princess.  I must
kindly ask you to go below decks and secure yourselves in your cabin.”
    “Are we in any danger?”  Carialla asked with growing fright.
    “Perhaps, milady.  We must prepare for the worst.  Allow me
to escort you.” 
    “That will not be necessary,” Nelka said, taking the
princess by the arm and guiding her.  “We know the way.”
    “Very well,” responded the captain, and turned to bark
orders to his crew.
    Nelka and Carialla made their way below the wide wooden
platform in the center of the ship, and entered the royal cabin at the stern. 
When the door was shut, the princess burst into tears.  “Oh, Nelka, I’m
frightened.”
    Nelka reached out and took the girl in her arms.  “There,
there, child.  The captain is a capable man, the best in the fleet.  That is
why your father assigned him to this craft before he departed, so that in such
an emergency you would have the best man to protect you.  Everything will be
fine.”  Guiding them both to sitting positions on the richly decorated bed, she
put the girl’s head to her bosom and stroked her hair.  They rocked gently for
several minutes, a soft sob escaping the princess from time to time.  They both
expectantly listened to the shouting and tramping of feet above them, but they
could not quite make out what was transpiring.
    Suddenly there was a violent jarring which knocked the two
women to the floor.  Carialla started screaming, and Nelka frantically tried to
calm her.  They could hear a loud, harsh scraping, as if something heavy were
being dragged along the side of the boat.  The commotion above them became
louder, and before long there was the unmistakable sound of the clash of arms. 
Carialla screamed in panic, hunching down as low as she could on her knees, and
Nelka rubbed her back, hair and arms, desperately hoping to relieve her fear.
    After a few minutes, the sound of battle died away, and
their was an eerie silence.  Carialla stopped crying and looked up expectantly,
trying to hear something.  Eventually they could hear the slow, measured tread
of boots coming down the stairs to the lower deck.  The steps slowly
approached, then stopped, seemingly just outside their door.  The women looked
in terror as the door swung slowly open.  There stood a tall warrior, a
stranger, dressed in unfamiliar military garb.  He carried a sword, and blood
was splashed about his clothes.  He looked down at the women, and sighed
deeply, catching his breath.
    “Princess Carialla of Tyre?”  His Phoenician speech was
thick with a Greek accent.
    The princess was frozen in terror.
    “I am Andros of Athens.  I am an admiral in Alexander of
Macedon’s fleet.  I am your captor.  You will rise and follow me.”
    Carialla did not move from her crouch on the floor.  Nelka
hugged her tightly.  Andros stared at them sternly.
    “I am aware you are a princess.  You will be treated with
the utmost civility and courtesy.  We have an appropriately appointed cabin on
my waiting trireme.  You will be looked after.  But make no mistake.”  His gray
eyes narrowed under his blood-caked red hair. “You are my prisoner.  You will
come, one way or another.  You can come of your own accord, or we can carry you
like all the other cargo we are now removing from this sinking ship.”  He
turned on his heel and whispered something to an aide who had appeared behind
him.  He called over his shoulder, “You have five minutes to gather your
belongings.”  He strode out of sight.  The aide, also blood covered but with
sheathed sword, crossed his arms and stared malevolently at the women through
the open door.
    Nelka flew into frantic activity.  As she hurriedly gathered
articles from the cabin into small chests and