Dion picked up a bulging water skin, his muscles groaning as he carried it from the sandy shore to the large vessel rocking on the waves. He plunged into water up to his knees and handed the skin up to bald-headed Cob, who carried it to the bow and nestled it in the sheltered section with the other supplies.

His jaw cracked as he stifled a yawn; it was just after dawn; they were leaving early to catch the outgoing tide and give them plenty of time to sail to Phalesia. The water was warm on his legs and a sea breeze blew gently on his face, cooling his tanned skin from the already radiant sun. He wore a well-made white tunic suitable to both sailing and trading.

Dion made way for a wiry man twenty years his senior to get past and nodded. Sal, a longtime friend of Cob, nodded back, handing up still more supplies to the old man. As Dion headed back to the beach for more provisions he saw the last two men who would be crewing the twenty-foot sailing galley – his father’s biggest ship – newly arrived.

‘What orders?’ a slim youth with his first growth of beard asked. Dion saw he had a scabbarded sword in one hand and a stuffed satchel in the other.

‘Riko,’ Dion said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Glad you could make it. Get your things into the boat, and then help us load her up.’

‘Not much in the way of provisions,’ said the second man, Otus, a tall brawler with a broken nose.

‘We’re only going to Phalesia. If we’re traveling further we can get supplies there.’

‘Will we be there tonight?’ Riko asked.

‘No,’ Dion said. ‘The wind’s against us. We’ll have to beach tonight on the far side of the narrows.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Otus. ‘Come on, lad.’ He inclined his head to Riko.

Shielding his eyes, Dion saw his mother waiting on the grassy bank higher up. He looked for more figures but felt a surge of disappointment when he saw that she was the only member of his family who had come to say goodbye.

As he climbed the beach he felt sad. He hadn’t expected much more from the king, but it was unlike Nikolas to let him go without a word of farewell.

‘Mother,’ he said, ‘it’s time to go.’

With her typical lithe grace, she came forward to embrace her son. ‘I don’t know if you are departing on a long journey or not. I wish I knew.’

She continued to hold him by the shoulders as he scanned the area, trying to hide his emotions but failing.

‘Father . . . Nikolas . . . They’re both busy?’

The queen nodded. Her manner was strangely distracted. ‘You know how they are; it’s always soldiers and fighting with them. They’ve had an early start at the bowyer’s workshop.’

‘Well, I’d best be going.’