Free John Masters by The Rock Page B

knees. "An extra man to the steering oar," Pendril called. "And you two, say a prayer and throw the bodies overboard."
    Tamar went down to the rowers' deck. Daniel lay face down, the knife in his back. Two sailors picked him up as she knelt. She bit her lip, but she knew the rule of the sea. She bowed her head and closed her eyes and prayed. She had not wished this fate on him. When she looked up again, she was alone.
    After an hour lying in her cabin she rose and went about the ship, giving the rowers food and wine and the sailors water.
    It was the opposite of the night of the ritual orgy at Carteia. Then the hours had started slowly and gradually moved faster; now they went fast and gradually slowed, though there was no minute, no second free. The roaring and groaning and creaking and crying were continuous. There were always three sailors at the steering oar. Pendril was always moving, from bow to stem, from upper deck to lower, exhorting, cursing, encouraging. In the reflected lightning she saw oars smashed and new ones put in the rowers' hands. She saw three rowers rise together from their bench and stumble like blind men toward the ladder to the deck and Pendril run at them, his knife drawn. One man fell in the gangway, a lurch of the ship flung another like a stone against the bulkhead, and the third, when he stumbled back to his oar, could not control it. The end kicked up under his chin, breaking his neck. Pendril pulled in the oar and lashed it down.
    As time slowed, her bones ached, her head throbbed, and she did not know where she was or what she was doing. Once lightning fell slowly from the sky and in it, like a held lantern, she saw Pendril's face, his teeth bared, the water held on his skin, not falling down. Then darkness again. Out of the darkness he said, "I love you."
    Light spread, and all was gray where before it had been black or violet or slate. Low clouds raced across the sea, but the waves were becoming less. After two hours a yellow tinge came to the day, and watery rays of sunshine began to lighten the color of the waves. By noon the storm was past.
    "Take in four more oars a side," Pendril said wearily to the rowmaster. "Just keep her head to the sea until dark. Let the rest sleep." To Tamar he said quietly, "Will you go to my cabin?"
    She hardly heard, for something was coming slowly to them on the waves, a dragonlike shape, dark, waving thin arms. Pendril stared too and after a moment said, "A tree branch!"
    Under the slow beat of the oars the Kedesha crept on. Tamar said, "The bough is gnarled. It is a fruit tree." The bough drifted closer. "With fruit on it," she said. "Two ... round..."
    "Golden apples," Pendril cried. "But they are not gold."
    "I will get them," she cried. "Tie the end of that rope around my waist!" She raised her arms, pulled her robe over her head, and stood naked. His hands shaking, his soul drunk with her slender, full beauty, Pendril fastened the rope, while the steersman gaped like a man dumbstruck. Pendril gave the rope a turn, then she slipped into the sea and swam powerfully to the bough. She plucked the fruit and started back.
    On deck she stood a moment pressed close to him, and he repeated, "Will you go to my cabin now?"
    "The fruit!" she said, pulling on her robe. "Are they apples?"
    "Later," he said. "We shall learn later."
    She lay shivering, eyes closed, until she heard his step. She felt him slide her robe gently over her shoulders and head. She waited. His warm face came down on hers, still cold from the sea. Her lips parted, her body gave one fierce tremor, then all cold was gone, all fear. She was warm, and she heard her own voice murmuring, "Pendril!" A luxurious flowering began in her body, and she spread herself to enfold him, her arms around his neck, her eyes wide, smiling up at him. She clasped her legs around him and a long thrusting began, sliding deeper to her heart. Tears flooded her eyes, and she moaned in time with the creak and heave of the