Pray That the Road Is Long
And so the three ships sailed southward, with plans to dock and resupply at the port of Ismarus. Great-hearted Dunam guided the prow of the Eriphyle blithely; the sea lay calm beneath his craft, and as he felt the strong wind at his back, Dunam knew that his fortunes were good. Already his fellow mariners had reported tragedies; Captain Capote of the Calypso had been assaulted by a colossal six-headed monster, and the Odyssey had suffered fever and the roiling waters of a whirlpool. But Dunam was untouched by such setbacks, and prayed once more to Poseidon for his safe deliverance home.
Kevan, the great tactician, eyed the Eriphyle's silhouette on the horizon with some envy. He knew not whether the gods or dumb luck had precipitated his ship's troubles, but he knew that the catastrophes plaguing the Odyssey had already cost him weeks, perhaps months. When would he finally reach Ithaca? The captain's mind was troubled; but as his ship sailed into the port of Ismarus, he allowed himself to relax. Time and perhaps the gods might be against him, but Kevan trusted his intelligence and perseverance to see him through this difficult time.
Long-suffering Truman Capote, on the other hand, could not even take consolation in having reached safe anchor. His ship was fast, and the weather good; but Scylla's attack last week had gravely wounded the captain, hindering his ship's journey as Capote recovered. Even now bandages still blanketed his flank. Nonetheless, it was with satisfaction that Capote now guided his craft, one steady hand on the tiller. His crew had proven its ability to pull together and get things done in times of crisis -- and Capote's years at sea had taught him that if a crew could do that, it could do anything.
Hence the three ships had truly left Troy behind. Ismarus ahead of them and the wind still at their backs, the ships sailed on, that much closer to home.
Kevan, the great tactician, eyed the Eriphyle's silhouette on the horizon with some envy. He knew not whether the gods or dumb luck had precipitated his ship's troubles, but he knew that the catastrophes plaguing the Odyssey had already cost him weeks, perhaps months. When would he finally reach Ithaca? The captain's mind was troubled; but as his ship sailed into the port of Ismarus, he allowed himself to relax. Time and perhaps the gods might be against him, but Kevan trusted his intelligence and perseverance to see him through this difficult time.
Long-suffering Truman Capote, on the other hand, could not even take consolation in having reached safe anchor. His ship was fast, and the weather good; but Scylla's attack last week had gravely wounded the captain, hindering his ship's journey as Capote recovered. Even now bandages still blanketed his flank. Nonetheless, it was with satisfaction that Capote now guided his craft, one steady hand on the tiller. His crew had proven its ability to pull together and get things done in times of crisis -- and Capote's years at sea had taught him that if a crew could do that, it could do anything.
Hence the three ships had truly left Troy behind. Ismarus ahead of them and the wind still at their backs, the ships sailed on, that much closer to home.
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