Daggers in the Dark (Book 3 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 16

My own stomach churned every once in a while, though I ignored that gnawing sensation of weakness. It would not do to show it. I resolved that it would be best to keep the men at work, to busy themselves and take their minds off the nauseating voyage. My boys were fighters, not sailors, but under the apt and steady hand of Abu Musa, there was always a task at hand; one that they always excelled at, while I watched from afar with shrouded pride.

The largest of our galleys could host up to fifty troops, while others usually consisted of anywhere between thirty and forty. The vast majority of them working the oars on the benches to either flank of the ship. The others were just as vital to the progress of our advance. Working as sailors or performing a dozen other jobs while traversing the calm seas.

When the time came to harass any Roman ships, they would pluck javelins, bows, mail shirts from a heap below deck to rain down hell on the enemy. The oarsmen would join in on the slaughter should I see fit to board a ship, in which case melee weapons would be prudent. In close quarters combat, it would be wiser to use a simple shield and sword, perhaps an axe if one was a hulking brute like the Nubian. Spears would likely prove to be your downfall for the lack of mobility and space. I found that an orderly shield wall would be the wisest course of action in such circumstances, but it was difficult to coordinate a formation with the enemy brandishing a weapon on the other side. A shield wall would prove easier to organize when it was our vessel that would be assaulted, though that too would require a high level of discipline.

My boys were untested at sea, but I was confident in their abilities.

It was a confidence that would be shaken on the third night of the voyage.

We made for steadier pace in the dark and the boys were more sullen than usual at that time. Abu Musa roared no commands, the oars lulled in their holes and a number of sailors retired to corners of the ship, where they lay huddled and swathed in furs or cloaks to rest their bodies and minds.

Sleep was difficult for me to find, however. I needed to be alert in the case of an emergency, and the excitement for the spoils to come was simply too overwhelming. I usually spent those nights either silently stalking the helmsman's platform, lost in thought, or conversing with Tariq and Mundhir in hushed tones.

I had entrusted 'Abd al-Ka'aba with his first command; five ships deeper into the center of our formation of three hundred ships. The center was mine, while Abu al-A'war matched our pace to our left. The right flank was commanded by a third commander, a man from al-Fustat. The latter had the majority of the ships, somewhere around a hundred and fifty; all of them were Egyptian vessels.

'Amr and the Nubian were also entrusted with their own body of ships.

'Amr. He had been my friend since childhood. He was as a brother to me. But he did not accompany me to the court of Mu'awiyah in Damascus as Mundhir had. 'Amr had preferred staying behind in the capital city, Madinah, to pursue his duties as part of a police force in the city as well as maintaining already existing loyalties there.

But now, he was among us. He had joined our expeditionary force some days prior to our arrival in the port city of Beirutus along with the Nubian, and to my glee, they had been assigned to my unit.

But I had been away from him for long. I'd forgotten the tension that existed between us, the stark contrasts in our beliefs. The disagreements last we met.

Our reunion was distant rather than warm. Cold rather than jubilant. With a scowl on his face, his mouth moved in prayer as he flicked through the beads of a rosary in his hand. Ever the pious Muslim. He had a dark blot on his forehead where the skin cracked; the effect of extensive prostration during prayer.