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The goals perched on the rocks above the beach looked down at the sailors' toiling on the

wet sand.

They squawked and cawed and flapped their wings, the sound audible over the gentle splashing

of the waves.

For their part, the sailors grunted and heaved with the effort.

The metal ingots were heavy, and there were dozens of them.

Most of them the dull reddish orange of copper but some silvery tin.

Pauling them out of the ships hold one by one, carrying them down onto the beach and handing

them off to the waiting portors was hard work.

And they had to work fast.

The tide would be coming in soon, and their ship, currently high and dry on the sand, would

be floating away as soon as the blue waters of the Aegean rose high enough.

Over the ingots came the big ceramic storage jars.

They were heavy too, but at least they had carrying handles on each side.

The contents slashed and shifted as the sailors unloaded them, some full of oil, others

whine, others figs or pomegranates.

When man tripped as he hefted a jar up onto his shoulder, the container shattered when

it hit the hard sand, its precious contents oozing onto the beach.

That earned the sailor curses in half a dozen languages from the ship's master, and

merchant from Canaan.

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