Landfall

In the light of day, the coastline stood much as it had the night before, unremarkable, seemingly uninhabited, a short distance away. On the Phoenix, as on the other ships, the captain gathered the seafarers for an announcement. “By order of the Queen, and with the unanimous agreement of her advisors and the captains of these ships, it has been determined that this is our final landfall. Here we will disembark, and here we will stay. You have arrived at your home port.”

Hearts nearly burst with joy. The seafarers squealed and hugged and wept as they examined the landscape with wholly admiring eyes: the high ridge that spanned the rough red cliffs to the north, the promontory to the south; the ridge face that sloped upward from the pristine beach to a rim where date palms stood like sentries, their floppy frond tops glistening in the morning sun.

“We can place lookouts on the high points north and south!”

“The ridgetop looks so majestic!”

“Look! My uncle’s profile—there, in the cliff face! It was he who sent me from Tyre with his blessing!”

After a pause, someone said, “But…there’s nothing here.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group as reality stood starkly before them. Sand, cliffs, shrubs, sky. There was, really and truly, nothing there. It dawned on them that the voyage, for all its difficulties, had been the easy part of their endeavor—and the easy part was over. A sailor detected gloom and shouted, “That’s the point! We’re going to build it! Who dares join me?” He held up his arms and flexed his muscles, left and right. Everyone laughed and the jubilation resumed.

            On the Phoenix, as on all ships, the captain called for landing party volunteers. All hands went up. Some raised two hands and shook them vigorously, begging to be chosen. The captain picked a few, but everyone continued clamoring for a spot.

“If you don’t choose me, Captain, I’ll jump in and swim ashore, so you might as well put me in a boat,” the Oarswoman shouted.

A lighthearted mutiny arose. Everyone wanted to touch land. The captain revised his plan, allowing them all to go but insisting on a buddy system. Everyone said yes, yes, but they’d have agreed to just about anything for a chance to get to shore.

“Not so fast, not so fast!” Bitias’s husky voice boomed across the water.

From behind the Arbiter came a rowboat carrying Barca, the Lieutenant, the Priestess in her tall, conical crown, and Queen Elishat dressed in white linen robes, her dark hair pinned up under her sparkling diadem and cascading down her back. A censer in the stern sent up bright white puffs of smoke. The rowers pulled up onto the beach and the elites stepped onto the shore. Had the seafarers been nearer, they’d have heard Elishat’s delighted giggle as she slipped out of her sandals and curled her toes around the sand. They watched the Priestess scoop up a handful of earth and hold it to the sky. Had they been closer, they’d have heard her prayer of thanks for the success of the voyage and an appeal for ease in the endeavor ahead. They would have seen her face tear-streaked with kohl. As it was, they watched the Priestess and the Queen each add a spoonful of frankincense to the censer and cheered when it rose into the sky.

The captains gave the okay and everyone crowded into the shore boats. They poured out onto the beach like crabs out of a bucket. Some danced, some pranced, some picked up sand and squeezed it in their fists, claiming it as their own. One fellow collapsed face-down on the ground and tried to hug the new land. The children chased one another, flapping their wings and screeching like seagulls. Prayers of thanks rose to the heavens and drifted across the turquoise sea.

The ridge slope was craggy and steep, and a discussion ensued as to whether it could be climbed. The passengers scanned the ridge, guessing at best routes to the top. Hannu broke away and scrambled up the side until he ran out of options, turned around, and with a playful shrug, picked his way back down. The crowd gave him a tepid round of applause and General Barca shouted, “Well, that’s one possibility tested and eliminated! Thank you, Hannu!”

Barca assigned a scouting party to climb the ridge and see what was above. Each scout started from a different place, the better to find the easiest route to the top. What from the beach looked like soft, cliffside greenery turned out to be thick, spiny brambles. Handholds and footholds gave way unexpectedly. Curses of pain and frustration echoed back to the beach, though after weeks of living among sailors, few flinched at the salty language. Rather, the people below called out encouragement and suggestions. When the last of the climbers reached the top, everyone breathed a sigh of relief and prayed for their safe return.

The beachcombers, meanwhile, turned their attention to finding resources along the shore. In their enthusiasm, everything looked useful. They set aside stones deemed to be perfect for building a foundation though there were not enough of them to construct anything bigger than a goat shed. They rubbed the leaves of plants between their fingers and under their noses to see if any could be used to brew tea. None could, and one raised a stinging rash. However, they did find a large deposit of clay, and Uru, who had recruited a tribe of younger children to assist her, discovered a familiar specimen of sea snail from their knee-deep search along the shore.

From the ships the beachcombers brought fresh water, wine, olive oil, dried herbs, a handful of salt, fishing spears and a fishing net. They scoured the beach and turned up crabs and mussels, seaweed, fish, and an octopus. They dug a shallow pit and lined it with stones. They piled dry driftwood on top and set it alight. When the stones were hot, they brushed off the ash and placed the raw fish and mussels and crabs on top. They covered the food with mounds of seaweed and let it cook. Meanwhile, someone dropped an armload of driftwood in the middle of the beach. Others gradually added to it, and soon a pyre stood ready for the night’s bonfire.

At around noon, the scouts returned to the top of the ridge and climbed the easiest path down. Everyone gathered in excited anticipation. The scouts answered the most important question first: Yes, they’d found a fresh water spring. The word gushed from everyone’s lips as if they’d never uttered or tasted it before.

“Water! Water! Blessed be, water!”

“Water, lovely, wet water!

“Ba’al, all praise to you for water!”

Everyone felt a sudden thirst. And, the scouts said, there were plenty of fields for grazing the animals. The settlers clasped their hands in prayerful gratitude.

“Grass! Blessed grass!”

“Merciful grass!”

“Oh, thank Ba’al for grass!”

They imagined their flocks in the fields, munching away, building up the strength to produce jugs of milk, chunks of cheese, and a slew of little kids and lambs. Next came the report of a forest of cedar, oak and pine. The carpenters turned their thoughts to felling trees to build carved oak doors, pine furniture, and cedar rooftops. One excited carpenter shouted, “In the new city, everything will be made of wood!”

“Even the ovens?” someone shouted.

“Even the ovens!” he said, and everybody laughed.

At the report of olive trees, some people wept. The sacred olive. Oil for cooking, olives for eating, and handsome olive wood bowls, spoons, and serving trays. This was a sign from the gods to be sure.

“All right,” Barca said. “Tomorrow morning, we all head up the ridge. In the meantime, we will continue to ration our supplies until we can find out what resources are available here.”

The beachcombers peppered the scouts with questions. Everyone swam and talked and sat around eating the seafood they’d found in abundance. Even a passing afternoon shower didn’t dampen their spirits though it proved that the beach, exposed as it was, would not do for a permanent settlement.

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