Island of Ghosts Read Online Free PDF Page A

oar-ports when we were well out to sea to keep out the waves, pulled up a corner of the sail to hold a straight line against the wind, and galloped cheerfully over the salt water in less than five hours. It was still early afternoon when I saw Britain for the first time: a row of cliffs, white above a blue sea, and beyond them, green hills; then the city of Dubris, with its lighthouse overlooking the deep harbor, and its streets climbing up the steep hill behind. The bireme brailed up its sail, let out the lower bank of oars again, and splashed up to the quay amid the shrieking of seagulls and the shouting of men.
    I sat in the stern watching even after the vessel had been made fast. The oarsmen gathered their packs and strode off to their barracks in the naval base, their oars slung over their shoulders; the captain and drummer collected the sacks of dispatches and came aft to talk to me.
    “Lord Valerius Natalis has offered you the use of his own residence in Dubris tonight, Lord Ariantes,” the captain told me. (It took me a moment to remember that Valerius Natalis was the procurator’s name.) “If you like, I can show you where it is and introduce you to his slaves. Or, if you prefer, we can meet here this evening, after I’ve delivered these.” He hefted the sack of letters.
    “I will meet you here later,” I said. He was pleased to be rid of the burden of a clumsy oaf like me, and went off without another look.
    I sat by myself for some time after he’d gone. The water lapped against the dock, and the ship rocked gently, like a wagon in a wind. It was extraordinarily quiet—no sound of men or horses, no clattering of harness or weapons. I could not remember when I had last been alone.
    After a while, I picked myself up and stepped hesitantly onto the gangplank. I could see the shadow of it falling through the shallow water, making it dark, and a school of small fish nibbling at the stones of the quay. I limped very slowly down the plank, stepped onto the quay—and stopped. I had set foot on Britain, the island that was to be prison or home—and the action seemed almost too simple for such a consequential thing. Was this really the invisible island beyond the world’s end, the island of ghosts we all feared so?
    After a moment, I walked on down the docks, out of the naval base surrounding the harbor, and into the town. It felt very odd to go on foot—my people are accustomed to ride everywhere—but somehow the simplicity of it was right.
    Narrow houses overlooked the paved street, some of timber and stucco, a few of stone. A tavern sign shaped like a ship swung above the door of one; it had glass windows on its lower floor, wicker interlace shutters above. A man sold fish from wooden tubs outside his shop. Two women talked by a public fountain, one of them holding a baby. A girl carried a bucket of water, her tongue between her teeth as she tried not to spill it. I walked slowly, trying to take it all in. The cool clear afternoon light was the first light on a new world.
    The street opened into a marketplace where the region’s farmers had set up stalls. I limped slowly through the bustle and the cries, looking. Some of the people there, the wealthier ones, wore Roman dress of tunic and cloak, but most were clothed in what I presumed was the native fashion. The men wore trousers and sleeved tunics that came to the middle of their thighs, and the women wore longer tunics and shawls. Most of their clothing was made of plain gray-brown wool, but they had a fondness for checked cloaks, which they pinned on both shoulders. They were, I thought, on average a bit shorter than my own people, and a bit darker—not so many blond and red heads, though plenty of blue eyes. Their faces were different, too—rounder, wider about the eyes, without the high cheeks and long thin bones. The more Romanized men were short-haired and clean-shaven, the native men long-haired and bearded, like me. They looked at me as curiously