Her captain was a bluff, hearty,
wind-tanned Maltese, Maganno by name, swarthy, hook-nosed and with a shock
of black curls. He counted the gold pieces Alopex gave him and said, in
Latin with a strong Punic accent:
"My ship is yours from here to Tiber wharf."
We shook hands on it, went on board and she cast off at once and was out
of the harbor before the sun had dispersed the fog. To our surprise we set
a course not about southeast as we had expected, but along the coast until
we passed Ulbia, and then almost due east. Maganno explained:
"Give me the open sea. You Italians are always for hugging the shore: we
Maltese, like our Phoenician ancestors, are all for clear water. I've
sailed between Corsica and Sardinia, and once was enough for me. I've made
this cruise many times and I always prefer to weather the Holy Cape."
North of Corsica, in fact, we sped, with a fair following wind and we had
an unsurpassably fortunate voyage; skies clear, wind always favorable,
steady and neither too gentle nor too strong. Our time we spent on deck
from before sunrise till long after sunset, dozing through the heat of the
day; Agathemer, when awake, playing on his flageolet, more often than he
was silent, to the delight of all on board.
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