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The ship's swayed as they cut through the waters of the Eastern Mediterranean, bobbing

up and down as they rode the crests of the waves before crashing down into the troughs.

Their timbers and ropes creaked under the string.

The sail flapped as the wind gusted and then died, billowing with the next breath of

wind pushing the ship south.

Prize, yells, orders, and snippets of conversation came along with the wind, floating from one

ship to the next as the flotilla made its way down the coast of Syria toward the rich land

of Canaan and still richer Egypt beyond.

These seven ships had already come a long way.

With war and sail, their crews had taken them all the way from the blue waters of the

Aegean to the island of Cyprus and now still further east and south.

Guided by seasoned mariners who had traversed the well-known coastlines of the Eastern Mediterranean

before, the ships had hopped from Cove to Cove, inlet to inlet, and landing spot to landing

spot.

Some of those places had been home to fishing villages and communities of traders.

After the seven ships passed through, there had been fewer inhabitants and far less in

the way of movable wealth.

The crews bristled with weapons, dulled bronze spearheads and notched swords glinting in the

afternoon sun.

They carried their blades with the easy assurance of people who knew how to use them.

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