and broke into a faltering run down the village road. They watched him disappear into the night and everything went quiet.
Lll
“Don’t stop!”
Jonah pounded down the path to the village. He didn’t stop when he burst into the town square, but bolted across the plaza toward the wadi road. He lurched over the rock threshold and stumbled down the dark gully until he reached the foot of the hill. Gasping for breath, he staggered to a halt and sagged against a boulder. The sack slipped from his grasp as he slid to the ground. He clutched his chest, certain his heart would burst at any moment. Bolts of pain arced though his body like lightning searing an angry sky. After the lightning came the rain, as tears flowed down his cheeks, streaking the dust on his face into rivulets of brackish mud. Finally the thunder, as a guttural wail split the night air like the howl of a wounded wolf. The turmoil in his mind and pain in his body cut the thunder short and gagged him. He rolled onto his side, vomited, and passed out.
Six
S
imon grew impatient as the supply boat slogged through the waves toward the beach. Hardly did it scrape ground beneath the surf when he hurled his bag onto Joppa’s pebbly strand. The throw stretched the scabbed gash on his back, and he grimaced at another one of countless reminders of his near-fatal mishap at sea.
The storm-battered ship stood at anchor far offshore, Joppa’s shallow harbor and strong westerly winds making a closer approach too hazardous. Anxious to get his feet onto dry land, he squeezed himself into a narrow space aboard the first shuttle returning from the Ba’al Hayam . The harbor crew could manage unloading what little was left of the cargo and supplies. He couldn’t get off the ship fast enough. The helmsman shook his head as he once again pondered the road that led him to a life at sea.
The eldest son of a Sidonian widow, Simon followed the path of most of his ancestors who first settled the Phoenician port city. He became a sailor. Lured by the promise of adventure—and discouraged by a depressed economy plaguing the lower class—he left his mother and six younger siblings, promising support from his meager wages whenever his ship put into Sidon. That was twelve years ago, and he’d never been back.
Unlike his ancestors, though, Simon never established an amiable relationship with the sea. He drank water to survive, not because he enjoyed it—and he traveled on it for the same reason. He favored solid ground beneath his feet to the swaying of wood upon water, so it didn’t take long for him to develop a preference for the larger long-distance haulers that handled the swells more gracefully than coastal vessels. Although he hated seeing the coastline disappear below the horizon astern on the voyages to Cyprus, Crete and beyond, he could busy himself with his helmsman’s duties until land emerged once again over the prow as they neared the next port of call.
Simon saw his share of rough weather, but this last trip was the worst. The storm they endured south of Cyprus was unusual this time of year, but the sea had yet to apologize to him for her behavior. The plan was to put in at Acco and offload a portion of their cargo, but most of it had been jettisoned during the tempest. To make matters worse, two days of buffeting by gale force winds and more rain than he’d ever seen in his life pushed the ship far off course. That forced Shem’s decision to bypass Acco for Joppa, the Ba’al’s home port. She limped into the harbor two days later at neap tide.
“Hoi! What’s the hurry?” The foreman at the tiller tottered as Simon’s leap over the bow lurched the boat. Simon splashed into knee-deep water and sloshed to shore. He paused only long enough to drop to his knees and rub a handful of dry sand against his cheek, a ritual he had repeated at every landfall since his first year as a seaman. Swooping up his rucksack, he set off toward
Lll
“Don’t stop!”
Jonah pounded down the path to the village. He didn’t stop when he burst into the town square, but bolted across the plaza toward the wadi road. He lurched over the rock threshold and stumbled down the dark gully until he reached the foot of the hill. Gasping for breath, he staggered to a halt and sagged against a boulder. The sack slipped from his grasp as he slid to the ground. He clutched his chest, certain his heart would burst at any moment. Bolts of pain arced though his body like lightning searing an angry sky. After the lightning came the rain, as tears flowed down his cheeks, streaking the dust on his face into rivulets of brackish mud. Finally the thunder, as a guttural wail split the night air like the howl of a wounded wolf. The turmoil in his mind and pain in his body cut the thunder short and gagged him. He rolled onto his side, vomited, and passed out.
Six
S
imon grew impatient as the supply boat slogged through the waves toward the beach. Hardly did it scrape ground beneath the surf when he hurled his bag onto Joppa’s pebbly strand. The throw stretched the scabbed gash on his back, and he grimaced at another one of countless reminders of his near-fatal mishap at sea.
The storm-battered ship stood at anchor far offshore, Joppa’s shallow harbor and strong westerly winds making a closer approach too hazardous. Anxious to get his feet onto dry land, he squeezed himself into a narrow space aboard the first shuttle returning from the Ba’al Hayam . The harbor crew could manage unloading what little was left of the cargo and supplies. He couldn’t get off the ship fast enough. The helmsman shook his head as he once again pondered the road that led him to a life at sea.
The eldest son of a Sidonian widow, Simon followed the path of most of his ancestors who first settled the Phoenician port city. He became a sailor. Lured by the promise of adventure—and discouraged by a depressed economy plaguing the lower class—he left his mother and six younger siblings, promising support from his meager wages whenever his ship put into Sidon. That was twelve years ago, and he’d never been back.
Unlike his ancestors, though, Simon never established an amiable relationship with the sea. He drank water to survive, not because he enjoyed it—and he traveled on it for the same reason. He favored solid ground beneath his feet to the swaying of wood upon water, so it didn’t take long for him to develop a preference for the larger long-distance haulers that handled the swells more gracefully than coastal vessels. Although he hated seeing the coastline disappear below the horizon astern on the voyages to Cyprus, Crete and beyond, he could busy himself with his helmsman’s duties until land emerged once again over the prow as they neared the next port of call.
Simon saw his share of rough weather, but this last trip was the worst. The storm they endured south of Cyprus was unusual this time of year, but the sea had yet to apologize to him for her behavior. The plan was to put in at Acco and offload a portion of their cargo, but most of it had been jettisoned during the tempest. To make matters worse, two days of buffeting by gale force winds and more rain than he’d ever seen in his life pushed the ship far off course. That forced Shem’s decision to bypass Acco for Joppa, the Ba’al’s home port. She limped into the harbor two days later at neap tide.
“Hoi! What’s the hurry?” The foreman at the tiller tottered as Simon’s leap over the bow lurched the boat. Simon splashed into knee-deep water and sloshed to shore. He paused only long enough to drop to his knees and rub a handful of dry sand against his cheek, a ritual he had repeated at every landfall since his first year as a seaman. Swooping up his rucksack, he set off toward
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