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Chapter Text

  Yoseph panted heavily as he was dragged across the floor by his arms, the sting of the whip on his back flooding pain across his body. His armor clung to him tightly, worsening the bloodied wounds. He clenched his teeth, holding in a scream as the guard gripping his right arm dropped him onto the floor face first, pressing his boot into the fresh cuts.

  The man dared not look up into the mad emperor's eyes, for fear of condemning himself to immediate death.

  He heard him click his tongue in disappointment, and Yoseph coughed quietly, saliva dripping out of his mouth, lips numbing from the punch Maxillion had thrown at him as he was beaten.

  "Oh, Naharus. You too? You disappointed me, today. I was really starting to love you!" The man in question stayed silent, not a word daring to leave him. He heard Nero leave his throne, the dreaded taps of his sandals against the marble floor ringing out, before he saw the shadows of the man's feet in front of him. The drool pooled onto the floor in a puddle, and if Yoseph-Amun's face were to fall he would have been covered in it.

  He dared not shake in fear as Nero bent to his level, head still bowed low to the floor in exhaustion and ache.

  The emperor's fingers grasped his bloodied chin, forcing Yoseph-Amun's eyes to look up into his own.

  Nero's were icey blue, and you could tell he was mad in every way possible. Madder than Saul of Benjamin, surely.

  Yoseph-Amun's were of a dark brown. Honey brown, to say the least. They were rounded and large, and certainly had his wife going giggly over how sweet they looked.

  They were eyes that would soon be drained of life.

  "Tell me, Naharus, what made you want to hurt me this way?" Nero raised a brow, a soft, kind smile on his face. Knowing him, it was meant in anything but kindness.

  It was silent once more, as Yoseph's eyes drooped, head lulling to the side. He supposed being beaten to the brink of death would tire any man.

  Any man except one, that he knew of.

  So, he did not flinch, or yelp, or groan, at the harsh slap across his cheek. Yoseph-Amun could already feel its sting brimming.

  "I...I did not want to hurt you, my lord." He gritted out in a soft, meek voice.

  "Are you sure, Naharus? Because, hearing this of you, hearing of your treason, has terribly hurt me. It is a great pain. Your great betrayal is one I fear I cannot bear to handle! How could you do this to me?"

  "I meant you no harm, my lord-"

  "Well it is too late for that! You filthy little—what do you call yourselves? Gentiles? Something like that. Oh, why couldn't you just love me? You could have saved yourself a great deal of trouble!" The emperor sighed dramatically, propping his face up onto his hand as he stayed bent to his level, letting Yoseph's face drop, chin smacking the floor.

  "Naharus, you love me, don't you?"

  "...I love everyone, my lord."

  "Oh, shut up with that already. Do you love me?" Yoseph-Amun truthfully did not know how to answer that. He did not hate anyone. He really did love the Romans just as he loved the Jews and everyone else.

  But Nero had always terrified him. Nero had always spoken in such hatred of his people.

  Nero did not like Egyptians.

  Nero did not like Jews.

  Nero did not like Christians.

  It was unfortunate for Yoseph-Amun, then, that he managed to be all three of them.

  His mother hailed from Judea, and his father came from Egypt. Yoseph-Amun had married a lovely woman from Galilee named Michal.

  He felt a tug on his thick, frizzy curls, lifting his head up to face the emperor.

  "Yes. I love you."

  "Liar!"

  Nero backhanded him, and Yoseph-Amun fell to the side from the impact, the rings on the man's hand digging into the cheek of his skin, drawing blood.

  The mad man took a breath, as though to calm himself, pushing out a smile that Yoseph-Amun thought horrifying.

  "Perhaps I did not teach you enough. Maxillion, Alexander, please, if you will." And Nero looked him dead in the eyes as he was dragged backwards, his wrists tied to the flogging pole.

  The only sounds that rang out was the flick of the whip, and Yoseph-Amun's groans of pain, holding back multiple sobs.

  His wife would be terribly grieved to hear him break her promise.

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  "So. Are you ready to come back, then? I will still love you just as much, if not better." Just worship the gods, was left unsaid, but the man knew that was what Nero had meant. It was just fine to him.

  Yoseph would never relent.

  He laid crumpled on the floor, the cloth left on him soaked in his blood. His armor lay tossed aside.

  He did his best to lift his head, a quiet groan leaving him, and he shook his head in defiance.

  They could beat him however much they liked.

  Nero turned, facing a table of many vases, jewels, and gold. He yelled out in anger, swiping his arm across it, and Yoseph-Amun flinched at the loud noise as everything came crashing onto the floor.

  "How dare you! How dare you! I have housed you. I have treated you as my son! And this is how you repay me!" The man stayed silent, for opening his mouth would only fuel his temper further.

  Nero huffed, and huffed, face bright red in fury. But, in the deafening silence, Yoseph-Amun's arms lifted up each by a guard, Nero looked at him, eyes wide and insane, a large, thin grin appearing on his face. Yoseph's breaths let out rapidly, sweat dripping down his brow, mixing with his blood.

  He took steps down, nearing the crumpled form, fingers flexing.

  He pulled at his hair, staring straight into Yoseph's eyes.

  "I will restore everything to you. Everything. And better. I will grant you riches, and promote you to general. You will be of the highest position, by my side." He shook his head. He shook it over and over as Nero listed lavish things he could grant him if he would just simply let. his faith. go.

  "...no. No no no. No, I-"

  "I will grant it all for you! Tell me, would you like a woman? I will gather a line of women! Any concubine you may have-"

  "No!" Yoseph-Amun regretted the raise of his voice as Alexander yanked him up by his hair, and Maxillion socked his boot into his gut, and he doubled over with a groan.

  "...what did you say?"

  "No, my lord. I do not wish for a woman."

  "You do not have one? Or you do not want more?" Yoseph knew the importance of that question. No one amongst the army really knew he was married. Nero certainly didn't. If he let it slip that he had a wife waiting for him, a pregnant wife, who knew what Nero could have done to her.

  And so he shook his head lightly, softening his tone.

  "I...I do not wish for a woman, my lord." He laughed into Yoseph's ear, a terribly eerie thing as the man shivered.

  "Oh, come now, Naharus, surely you have not been at least tempted by a woman of Rome? Think of it. Penelope has had her eye on you for a while now, you know." Nero's index and middle knuckles ran down Yoseph's cheek in mocking comfort as the beaten man made an attempt to turn away, fearfully shaking his head rapidly.

  "Come on, Naharus. It won't do to be so stubborn. Won't you like a woman? One in such a respectable position of power such as yourself can only be granted the greatest. Anything you would like, I will give it to you. You need only to accept the gods of Rome. It is not such a hard thing!"

  "No."

  "Naharus."

  "No." Nero softened his voice further, so awfully soft Yoseph-Amun was for a moment reminded of his late father, guiding him as a child.

  "Don't be so rude, Naharus. This is for your own good. Won't you like to be set free? I need one thing from you. Just one thing. Please." He whispered the last word, close to the man as he turned away, feeling the bejeweled fingers of the emperor thread into his hair, as though he were a father, consoling his son after a rightful punishment.

  "Please." Nero let a small, begging smile pass onto his face, and for a second Yoseph-Amun almost could have believed he would have set him free if he asked, without having to adhere to his command.

  But Yoseph-Amun was not a fool, and so he shook his head once more, stubborn and pious as he was.

  "I am sorry, my friend. I cannot, I...I love you, I love Rome. But I cannot betray my heart and give it to another. He already owns it."

  Yoseph-Amun was correct in his assumption, seeing that Nero immediately stopped the fingers raking softly into his hair, and they clenched around strands of his curls, yanking his head up, and tossing him to the floor, taking no mind as the poor man cracked his head onto the marble tile, letting out a hiss of pain.

  The headache already forming had worsened, and he could not even attempt to place a hand to the wound before the guard grasped his arm, pulling at it harshly.

  "Names. Give me names. I need names!"

  "...I, don't know anybody else."

  "Liar. You lie!" Yoseph-Amun's head flopped to the left as a vase was thrown at him, a shard digging into the side of his temple.

  It was pools of blood that dripped all across his head, and, honestly, the droplets that fell over his face and down the back of his hair was getting terribly uncomfortable. It dripped down his linen ephod, blood fell onto his chest, and it began to form a puddle around him.

  They placed the heavyweight armor back onto his body, and the clasps on the side were tightened harshly, squeezing onto the wounds of his back and the bruises across his chest. He watched as Nero took down a sword from his wall, eyeing it with curiosity.

  Yoseph-Amun had never sweat more in his life.

  He knew what that sword was for. He knew.

  He knew that he would no longer be able to enjoy the breath that his God had provided so wonderfully for him. He knew he would never be able to see his lovely wife again, would never get to raise their child and love them. He would never get to have more children. He would never be able to have the most wonderful conversations with Paul of Tarsus no longer.

  In less than a minute, his life would be gone. 

  Yoseph-Amun would be dead, and he would never get to love his people any longer. 

  "Tell me, Naharus, do you fear death?"

  He very much did, before. He feared it more than anything. No matter how much he knew what would be done to him had he been discovered, he still feared it.

  "No, my lord. I do not."

  "Really, Naharus-?" Yoseph-Amun snapped, bravely looking up, the scruff of his beard, very scarcely grown with nothing more than a prickle,

  "My name is not Naharus. It will never be Naharus. I am Yoseph-Amun, son of a Judean and Egyptian, and I follow the one and only Almighty God, whom you so fear!"

  Nero, with crazed eyes, left the comfort of his thrown, walking towards him, as the men holding him pulled him to a stand. He continued,

  "I do not fear this "God" of yours. You should have kept quiet, Son of Amun."

  He struggled against the grips of the two guards, spitting out words as quick as he could before the emperor could strike his sword against his neck.

  "I serve only one, my lord. May God have mercy upon you! For the pits of fire will surely not!"

    It was terrible luck, then, that Yoseph-Amun, son of the Judean, Salome, and the Egyptian, Khay, had passed out, falling to the floor, giving in to the blood loss and fear, before Nero could even behead him.

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Chapter Text

  "Captain!"

  Odysseus awoke with a gasp, the wind bag clutched safely in his arms as he startled from Eurylochus' panicked yell.

  "Eurylochus? What? What is it?" The man in question stood in front of him, heavy breaths letting out as he managed to get out,

  "Man overboard." Odysseus jumped to his feet, shoving the wind bag into his friend's arms as he ran to the ledge of the ship where a group of men had gathered.

  Sure enough, there, in the waters of poseidon, lay a limp body, strange armor, and blood had begun to pool around him. He turned, waving men to him for help.

  "Men, grab the ropes, help me pull him up!"

  Eurylochus stood alongside him, grabbing unto the thick rope, as a crewman dove into the water, flipping the unconscious man over as he tied it around his waist. He pushed him closer to the boat, and on Odysseus' word, the six men holding onto it pulled as hard as they could.

  The man in the water helped lift him, and the rest of them grabbed his arms, dragging him over the ledge of the boat.

  Odysseus lent out a hand to the man, who lifted himself up, soaked to the brim.

  The captain, sleep-deprived for about 8 days now, squinted at the strange body laying asleep, or possibly dead, on the floor.

  "Medic!" He yelled out, and one of the men left of his crew, Ziphir, pushed through the crowd of men surrounding the strange one, bending down and pressing his fingers to the side of his neck.

  His eyes widened, whispering,

  "By the g*ds, he's alive!" He barked out orders, taking up the man's bloodied arm in a rush, standing and gripping the other as he pulled him across the deck, and down to the dingy, makeshift infirmary.

  Odysseus climbed down with him, asking,

  "Ziphir, my brother. Tell me what you need."

  "I need you to stay with me as I assess him for injuries. Can you do that for me? Elpinor, I have a supply of gauze out by the sails, may you get a pile of them?" Elipinor nodded, running out as Odysseus turned to him, clasping his shoulder.

  "Yes...yes, of course." He blinked away his fatigue, eyes red and watery from the abundant lack of sleep. Ziphir dropped the man onto the linen cloth laid out on the floor.

  His hands struggled against the man's bronze, bulky armor.

  "Damn it! What are these things made out of?" The captain pulled out a knife, handing it to him, and he mumbled his thanks as he cut through the clasps of the armor. Odysseus pulled off his boots, undecided as to whether to gag at the smell, or the fact that his feet looked unrecognizable under the cake of blood.

  "Captain..." He turned his head to the medic, finding him staring down in horror at the man's chest. Behind the armor, the man wore a light colored ephod, well, he assumed it was light colored. He couldn't really tell, seeing as the man's blood had dyed it dark red.

  "Oh, what god could he have possibly angered?" An uncomfortable laugh rang out, and they stared at each other in nervousness.

  This better have been worth it.

  Odysseus watched the man rip through the cloth, tearing it open.

  He really should not have been so shocked as he was. He shouldn't have cupped a hand to his mouth in shock.

  But the lacerations all over the front of his body was a true sight to behold. Ziphir pulled the cloth off him, and he flipped him over halfway, and somehow, some way, his back was more horrifying than the front.

  The skin was practically falling off him. The cuts were long, and irritated. There were bruises where there weren't lashes, and they oozed over on the brink of infection.

  "Yeah, tell Elpinor I'm going to need more bandages."

...

  It was about three hours of the two men kneeled over the poor man that they had been able to make the most progress they could in stopping all the bleeding, the infirmary reeking of blood and sweat.

  There were gauze pads tossed everywhere, soaked in the man's lost blood.

  Odysseus, in his zoned out focus, had not even noticed it. But now, with the man cleaned up and dry, he discovered a necklace tied around him. The captain felt the rope around his neck, finding the pendant, a strange fish shape, lingering on his chest.

  He turned it over, feeling the engraving of a cross, a sort of x, across it.

  "Hm. Weird."

  Ziphir sat off to the side, mixing a bowl of some sort of ointment.

  "When he wakes, if he wakes, you apply this to his skin, alright? And this one, here, give to him to drink for the pain."

  He handed him the ointment cream, and a liquid concoction that smelled briefly of mint.

  "You want me to stay with him?"

  "Well, you need the wind bag to stay closed, don't you? I highly doubt he'd be able to do anything."

  "Crap. The wind bag. I handed it off to, uh, could you grab it for me?" Ziphir nodded, a salute, before running up the stairs as Odysseus collapsed by the injured man's side in exhaustion.

  He stared at the man, once covered in dirt, and every inch of his skin below his head covered in blood, now pristine with sweat and currently dry bandages. His hair, however, was still caked in dry blood, crusted over on the ends of some curls.

  Odysseus waited for Ziphir to come back with the wind bag, as he scooted over to sit with the man's head by his feet, tugging at the tangled strands.

  "Captain." He looked up, finding Ziphir holding out the bag with caution and gentleness, so as to not open it. He stood, taking it in gratitude, asking,

  "I thank you. Would you be willing to get me a bowl of water? His hair is filthy. And it reeks of iron."

  Odysseus tugged the wind bag close to his chest, and he fought the sleep that had threatened to wash over him.

  They were so close to home. So. Close.

  He was slick with sweat, clothes soaked from the spray of the ocean water, and he smelled abysmal. And he was hungry. And tired. And fatigued.

  Just a little while longer, and he would be alright. He would be home with his wife, and his son, now ten years old, would probably be as energetic as ever.

  "Here you are, captain." The medic set down a bowl of warm water, and a rag, as he made his way back up to the stairs.

  He took up the light colored cloth, dipping it into the water as he gently separated the strands stuck together. He scrubbed the wet rag against each curl, watching as it came away with dried blood, staining it red.

  He scrubbed to distract himself, running his fingers through the tight curl, the crust of the blood slowly but surely cracking, loosening itself from the man's hair.

  It was quite dark in color, darker than Odysseus', that was for certain.

  Surprisingly, his skin was as well. Brushed fully in bronze, Odysseus himself was a good few shades lighter than he was. His skin was rough and terribly calloused, covered in cuts that he and Ziphir had done their best to fix.

  He mindlessly ran the cloth against his hair, occasionally running it over the top of his heated forehead to be rid of the dirt and grime sticking to it. He hoped the man wasn't running a fever, at the very least.

  It was well past an hour that he had gotten bored of cleansing him, and, satisfied with his work, he scooted back against the wall of the deck, resting his head as he clutched the bag of wind close to him.

  He hoped the day passed quickly, and that he would finally be able to make it home to his wife and child. They would be safe. And he would be safe, at last, after ten years of this mess. Odysseus was not too sure what he would do with the unconscious man, but he figured they could discuss it once home was near. Which was getting to be quite soon.

  Odysseus would only rest his eyes for a moment, that was all. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Unless someone was there to ruin it. And they were.

  It was thirty minutes of calmly resting his eyes, a thump between his brows that had not managed to go away, that he heard a weak, terribly hoarse groan. He forced himself wide awake, a quiet gasp releasing him as he found the previously limp man on the floor flutter his eyes open, lips opening and closing in pained grunts.

  He pulled himself over to the man, hovering over him as he watched him struggle.

  "My brother, are you alright?"

  A few groans were the only answer he received. At least he was alive.

  Seconds later, the man began to wheeze, inhaling and exhaling rapidly as he began to hyperventilate. He struggles to maneuver his arms more comfortably, to no avail, and Odysseus stuck his hands out in reassurance, pushing his shoulders gently back down.

  "Hey, you're okay now. Nothing is wrong. You're on my ship, yes?"

  And, with the man's eyelids swollen and watery, barely open, he let out a whimper, quiet and gravelly,

  "...Michal?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Yoseph-Amun's lungs burned horribly as he attempted to push himself awake.

  The last thing he had remembered was collapsing to the ground before Nero had taken a sword to his head.

  His vision was blurry, tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he attempted to make sense of his location. The first thing he noticed as to where he was, was that he was lying on something uncomfortable. And, instead of his blood soaked ephod and armor, he felt bindings wrapping him tightly. It also smelled of sweat and grime. It was moist and humid, quite dark, and the walls were of wood.

  Was he in some sort of ship?

  He let out a groan, not yet noticing the man in the corner behind him.

  His throat was parched with dehydration, and his bones ached.

  As he blinked away his fatigue, attempting to force his eyes open, he felt the shadow a person leaned over him, and he did his best to hold in the gasp of fear.

  Just get up. Get up.

  He could not move his arms more than an inch before he felt them become paralyzed once more. Yoseph-Amun heard the person speak, however, instead of the Roman he was used to, or Hebrew, an accented Greek voice spoke up,

  "Hey, you're okay now. Nothing is wrong. You're on my ship, yes?" So it was a ship.

  However, in his delirium, he had briefly thought of home.

  Of his beautiful, heavily pregnant wife and their unborn child.

  Was she here with him? If only life could have been so easy.

  "...Michal?" Yoseph's heavily accented voice as an Egyptian man rang out just quietly, and he inhaled painfully once more.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Tn i?" Yoseph whispered. Because, if this man spoke Greek, at least, that was the first thing he spoke, were they still in Judea?

  "Excuse me? I—what?"

  Oh. Right. He couldn't understand him. He thanked God then and there that he was taught Greek, forcing out,

  "Where...where am I?"

  "Ah. Right. Good man, you are aboard on my ship, we are returning to my land. My men and I should be home in no more than a day. We will get you better treatment once we arrive, but for now this was the best I could do."

  Yoseph forced his eyes completely open, looking down at his fully bandaged body. The gauze was barely sprinkled in excess blood, and he was thankful for the strange man, in that moment.

  "Say, that word you said, a moment ago? Was it meant for something else?"

  Yoseph hesitated, wondering what he should tell him. He could be upfront, tell the man he primarily spoke hebrew and demotic, or he could lie and say his words were simply mumbled.

  Well. He had been saved from near death. And so there was no point in lying.

  "I am...an Egyptian. Well, half. And my other, is Judean. I know Greek because I was taught it." His voice croaked awkwardly between his words as he spoke, and he was just the slightest bit embarrassed at the random gaps in between his enunciations.

  "You are from Egypt?! Man. What could you have possibly done to arrive all the way here?"

  Yoseph-Amun raised an eyebrow. Whatever he meant by that.

  "What do...what do you mean?"

  "Brother, we are nearing Ithaca in no less than a day."

  A pause.

  And then Yoseph's eyes widen as much as he could manage, and, without a second thought, he let out a strange, pained and disbelieved yell, sounding more like a hurtful cry.

  "You're lying!"

  "I have no good reason to lie, child! I am the king of Ithaca. We have returned from war in Troy. We will be there soon, I promise you, and then I will grant you my finest physicians to treat you-"

  Yoseph let out another cry. Except, this time, it sounded more like a suppressed sob, as he forced his body up, heaving.

  "No. No. No no no no no. No!" He shoved his head and buried it into his bandaged hands, holding in tears as his fear caught up to him.

  "Child, you're fine now. You'll be okay in due time-" He shook his head over and over.

  His wife.

  "Michal. Michal! Oh, Michal."

  "Was that your friend? I'm sure you'll be able to find him soon."

  "She is my wife!"

  "Oh! My apologies." He shook his head in dismissal.

  His headache was pounding, growing in strength.

  "Look, please, son, just rest for awhile, alright? You lost too much blood to be up and about, losing your wits like this. Please."

  Before he could protest, he lifted a hand to the side of his head with a groan, a sudden sharp pain overtaking it.

  "See? Rest. Now." The strange man pushed his shoulders back, along with his head, forcing it back on the uncomfortable floor. He grabbed a thick garment from behind him, tucking it under his head as a makeshift pillow.

  "Rest easy, son. Rest easy."

  And his eyes closed shut, everything fading into black as the headache slowly resided between his brows.

...

  "...Captain! What do we do?...open!–...away!"

  Yoseph-Amun faded in and out of consciousness as he heard men yelling for help above the deck. He let out a quiet protest, attempting to fight the sleep in his eyes.

  He felt hands forcing him put,

  "No. Stay here. It is safer. Sleep."

  He fell back into his rest, sweating, and terribly hot.

  The second time he awoke, it was to the feeling warm sand against his back, hands on his arms as he felt himself get dragged.

  His head hit the ground, and he coughed, barely opening his eyes before immediately shutting them, not yet used to the bright light.

  Someone knelt beside him, a hand to his forehead as they spoke.

  "Are you alright, child?" It was the same one from before. The captain, he could now assume.

  Yoaeph-Amun was fully awake now, managing a tight head nod as he slowly lifted himself up.

  "What happened?" He looked around, finding very little men around him as they lay stranded on an island.

  "Remember what I said about being close to home? Disregard that. We are lost. And shipwrecked. And 53 men are left, now."

  "How?"

  "Do you need your armor back? You must be freezing with your fever."

  "Oh. Ah, yes, if you'll allow it."

  "Of course, my friend. Give me a moment." The man stood, and Yoseph noticed the way he walked so defeatedly, as though no hope remained in him any longer.

  "Would you like me to wash it for you? It's terribly stained in your blood."

  "No. Please. Let me do it. It is the least done for you."

  The foreign man stood, legs shaking and head spinning as it burned hot, though he shivered greatly in his feverish mind. He took his armor from the captain, nodding in gratitude as he dropped to his knees in exhaustion by the ocean.

  He scrubbed at it, dunking it in over and over.

  The blood washed away from the rusted metal, and he knew he would need to wait hours before it could fully dry. If he wore it now he'd die of hypothermia.

  "What is your name, foreigner?"

  He turned to the older man, who sported a questioning look on his face, as well as fatigue and disappointment. Whatever may have happened to get them to this point must have been truly awful, then.

  "I am Yoseph-Amun." The captain smiled, worn and fake, as though putting up a mask to hide his pain.

  "I am Odysseus, of Ithaca, foreigner. Father of Telemachus."

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Chapter Text

  "My friend, I know this is a terrible ask, but do you happen to know where my ichthys went?"

  Yoseph-Amun turned to Odysseus, a worried look on his face. His necklace was missing, the empty weight of the fish shaped pendant in the middle of his collar bone making him feel bare.

  "Your...what?"

  "Oh. Right. Sorry. My uh, you see, I had this sort of pendant I tied around my neck. But I can't seem to find it." Odysseus raised his eyebrows, a face of recognition upon him as he shoved his hand into a pouch tied along his waist, pulling out the rusted ichthys Yoseph had worried himself over. 

  "I took it off you when me and Ziphir were dressing your wounds. Figured you'd want it later." He took it from him with gratitude, tying it back around his neck as he looked around in his loose, linen garment. His body was terribly stiff, the bandages tightly wound around him, pinching his skin.

  "Where are the other men?"

  "I sent them as scouts. That large palace over there? Suppose we could get some sort of refuge if anyone is home."

  "Ah."

  "Come, child. It is not warm enough for you to be standing about in such thin clothing." Odysseus grabbed his arm, dragging him over to sit down next to him. Yoseph complied, feeling a breeze forming in the wind, a shiver coming along. The ship he'd just been dozing off in mere moments ago was nowhere to be found, devoured by the oceans.

  "So...I suppose a storm must have caused the shipwreck?" Yoseph looked over at the captain, taking care to notice the hesitant expression on his face.

  "...of the sort, yes."

  "Right." The younger of the two ran his hands along his biceps in an attempt to warm himself as they sat in wait. Odysseus stared daggers into a specific spot in the sand, jaw clenching.

  The silence between them was deafening, and Yoseph attempted to find his next words as hesitation made its way to him. The man hadn't really anyone to talk to much back home, besides his wife, and occasionally the Holy men.

  "How do you think you got here?" Yoseph looked at him, thinking of the question. In all his honesty, he truly had no idea.

  "I'm...not so sure. One moment, I was seconds away from death, and then I wake up on your boat."

  "From death?"

  "Ah. Well, you see, uh, I was a sort of...soldier in the military."

  "Yes, I can see that. Your armor, it's quite fascinating."

  "It is actually Roman." Odysseus paused, squinting before he turned to look at him in suspicion.

  "Roman? What is..."

  "Yes. But, well, they don't exactly take kindly to my people. Especially with that mad emperor."

  "Roman."

  "Yes?"

  "Hm. Never heard of it. Well, what is this mad emperor?"

  "He worships his gods. I worship my God. He did not know I was one of the ones he despised. The ones he loved killing. They found me as I was praying in their gardens. And, well, it was not exactly a great ending."

  Odysseus stopped him, raising his hand in confusion.

  "I'm sorry—what? He beat you because you worshipped only one of the gods? I fail to see the big deal here-"

  "I worship none of your gods, man of Ithaca. It is one God I set my eye on. And one I will not let go of."

  The captain paused, hesitant in speaking further in fear of sparking his gods' wrath. To refuse worship of their gods was simply unheard of. They were right there. And their divine punishment was certainly nothing to take lightly, it was for certain.

  "I would take heed in how you treat the gods, foreigner. For they can be angered in less than a second. Perhaps it is why you ended up here."

  "You are a good man, Odysseus. Which is why I must be honest in my heart:I would sooner die than even touch upon the practice of your worship of these beings."

  "Watch your mouth, man! They can hear us. You'll curse us all!"

  Yoseph simply turned his head with a subtle roll of his eyes, exhausted and done with the pointless conversation.

  He was grateful then, for the distraction as one of the captain's men came panting back, running as desperately as he could. 

  He was quite dark.skinned, with barely any hair on his head, and he looked fearful of his discovery.

  "Captain!"

  "Eurylochus? Back so soon? What happened to the rest of your men?

  What happened to you?"

  "The palace—it, we heard a voice, you see! But it was a gentle, calming voice. Not hostile, nothing of the sort."

  The man continued rambling on as he stalled, Yoseph had noticed, and he stood abruptly catching himself as his head spun, and Odysseus lent him an arm to lean on.

  "What was in this palace?"

  "Sir. We have faced many a challenge. But this...this was too much for us."

  "What was it? Say it, man!"

  "A woman," The man deadpanned as one could get, and Yoseph paused his struggled breathing to side eye him with a raised eyebrow.

  Really? A woman? That was what caused them to lose?

  "...what?"

  "Two words was all it took to have us. 'Come inside,' she said!"

  "Oh."

  "Seriously?"

  "She brought us in, gave us all a meal to eat

 But what was inside it, you see, was a spell!"

  "Mm."

  "They began to squeal. And they grew snouts and horns and ears and all of the sort! She turned them into pigs!"

  Yoseph looked over to Odysseus, who was in the middle of nodding his head, thinking the problem over.

  A woman. Who turned men into pigs?

  She would certainly give Jezebel a run for her money.

  "Sir?"

  "A moment, Yosiph. I'm thinking." Yoseph shivered lightly from the cold, clenching his garments around him tighter to gather warmth.

  Whoever this "enchanting" woman was, she seemed nothing short of a harlot, Yoseph thought.

  And all the men who were entranced by her were just as much as she was. For, certainly, by their ages, they had wives.

  Odysseus turned to them, face lit up with an idea.

  "I'm going in there."

  "What?"

  "Sounds alright to me."

  "Captain, let's just cut our losses, and escape while we still can. We can't afford to lose you-"

  "I won't sacrifice my men like this, Eurylochus. If they can be saved, I will do it."

  The man looked at Yoseph, quiet for mere seconds, before placing a hand on his shoulder.

  "Well, I cant leave you to freeze to death out here. You will stay by me, and you most definitely will not speak out of turn. Understand?"

  "Of course, sir."

  "Good."

--------‐-----‐------‐-----------------------------‐--------------------

  The palace was certainly more grand than Nero's. Though both had similar marble columns and such, this one had a nicer color palette. Yoseph noticed the strange little girls running around with fins on the sides of their head, and he raised an eyebrow.

  "Lady of the palace?" Odysseus called out, and both men turned, finding the woman standing in the middle of the hallway with a smile.

  "Come! It must have been such a long and hard journey all this way. Surely a man cannot resist being served a meal by such pretty women?" She put her fingers to her mouth, and gently pulled a fin girl over, nudging her to them.

  Yoseph couldn't hold in a judgemental facial expression, side eying both women as his head recoiled in disgust.

  Odysseus coughed, putting on a charming smile. 

  "No thank you, my lady, I was only here to inquire about my me-"

  Yoseph felt hands on his shoulders, and he shuttered, holding in a gag as the woman turned her to her, and she smirked at him, pulling him over to the dining table, forcing him into a seat.

  "Oh but this one looks so hungry! Don't you, pretty man?" The last two words were purred out, like a lioness, as though she assumed he would fold under her voice, and the other girls surrounding him.

  Her voice reminded him of the drunk pagan women back home.

  The woman hooked arms with a girl, leading her to him before having her place her hand on his arm, which he immediately snatched away, glaring at the two.

  Odysseus ran over to them, cutting them off. 

  "My lady, I am here to inquire of my men. They were last here, do you happen to know where they went?" She scoffed, laughing bitterly.

  "Who, me?"

  "Have you done something to them?"

  "All I did was reveal their true forms."

  Odysseus deadpanned, "You turned them into pigs."

  And the illusion was over. She snapped her fingers, "seductive" smirk dropping from her face as she brought out a knife. Yoseph attempted to stand from his seat at the table, but she slammed her hands onto his shoulders, pushing him into the seat.

  "Where are you going, lovely? You two aren't going anywhere until I'm done with you." She pointed the knife at Odysseus.

  "I don't know why any of you are here, but I have my own to protect. I cannot in good nature neglect my nymphs. Don't think you can underestimate me." She walked closer to Odysseus, waving her hand around him, and Yoseph began to disassociate from their conversation.

  For as much as the woman was horrid, she truly did have lovely decor.

  It was so shiny you could paint your reflection in it.

  Odysseus stood strong, confessing, proudly,

  "Well I must be a god like you cus I got this molly with my bare hands."

  "Hermes gave it to you, didn't he?"

  "Fine, yes. But that's not the point."

  Yoseph had heard of Hermes before. At the time that Paul had visited Greece, he had told him that the people there thought of him as a god. Some said Zeus, others proclaimed Hermes.

  Yoseph admitted that he had barely paid much attention when he appeared. He had zoned out, even now, and so was a bit surprised to find the woman now...well, feeling the man, to put it in nicer terms, and he cringed, immediately turning his face away.

  Whatever they were doing, he wanted no part of it, and so he attempted to stand without making much noise, hoping to make some sort of escape.

  He slithered himself out of the doorway, hiding his face from them, but before he could even reach the exit, the woman appeared before him, crossed arms, and he groaned.

  "Where are you going, darling?" She grasped his arm, rubbing a spot with her thumb, but he yanked it out of her grip, taking a few steps away from her as she walked toward him.

  "Do not touch me, lady."

  "Aww, and why is that?"

  "I am a married man, to a dignified holy woman at that."

  "Oh, but all those other men were married. Surely you would like another?" As she reached her hand toward his face, he smacked it away with a glare, not yet noticing Odysseus' gasp and hands to his head in panic.

  "Most certainly not! God has provided for me one woman only, and one woman I shall have." She smiled thinly, a trick up her sleeve.

  "Really? Which god limited you so terribly?"

  "He has not limited me. I am bound to one woman only. And His name, lady, is of many names. Do not try and tempt me with your lustful nature." Yoseph felt a hand grip his arm, attempting to pull him away, but the woman pulled him back toward her, eyeing him.

  "Goddess, I beg you, forgive his disobedience. He is a youth, and you know how they are. I assure you, he did not mean any of it-"

  "No. I meant it all. Hear me, witch, you know what you are? A whore. You are a Jezebel, and these men are certainly filthier whorish adulterers. I suppose you all deserve each other."

  The woman looked at him, the very slightest taken aback from the insult. Odysseus looked ready to slit his throat then and there.

  She spoke.

  "Well. I have never met a man so determined to insult me in respect to his wife. Well, besides your captain here. But he has not insulted me yet, he merely sulks."

  "That's what you were doing? Sulking?"

  "If you don't keep your mouth shut I will skin you alive."

  "Go ahead. It shall be no worse than Nero."

  Odysseus glared at him, but before he could do anything, the woman gripped Yoseph's chin, tilting it to her. She smiled.

  "You're brave. You are not afraid of angering a goddess?"

  "I am not afraid of angering a demon, no. I have angered many, I assure you." His throat was dry, and he did his best not to dry heave from the nausea crawling up from his chest.

  She hit him. Well, slap, was more like it. It hurt quite terribly, even with all the body ache radiating through the man from his fever. But he stayed silent, holding in a roll of his eyes.

  "Well. If that's that, come, captain, I shall house you and your men until you get what you need. And you, I shall I hope I never have to hear your voice again."

  "Glad-"

  If Yoseph was a child, he would have wanted to die of embarrassment. He heaved once more, gagging, before relieving himself of whatever contents had entered his stomach a few hours earlier all over the floor, right by the woman's legs.

  She cringed, backing away, and the captain yelled out, smacking his face.

  "We're doomed. We're all doomed!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Yoseph-Amun sat by the fire his captain made, ignoring the nymphs peeking their heads out from their hiding places in curiosity.

  Odysseus sat beside him, forcing the other man towards him as he held up a bowl of alement.

  "Your mouth almost cost you your life."

  "I don't much care what you think of my words. If it's not getting me home, it doesn't concern me." Odysseus scoffed, tipping the bowl to Yoseph's mouth, and he reluctantly drank it, holding in a shudder.

  "The other men are fine. All turned back and everything."

  "They're all drunk."

  "What about it? They can't celebrate? I'll make sure they don't do anything stupid."

  "The fish girls look uncomfortable." Yoseph had forgotten what the woman called them, and he simply assumed they were some sort of fish creatures.

  "Fish—what? The nymphs?"

  "Oh. Yes, the nee-mphs. Why do they keep popping their heads out like that?" One of the girls poked her head out from a tree, staring at him as she tilted her face. But when he spotted her, she hid back, giggling. 

  "Well, first of all, your pronunciation is awful. Second, foreigner, I suppose they've taken a liking to you."

  Yoseph was a little weirded out by their staring, but he had to admit they were adorable. When he was home, and he ran into children on guard, he would toss them over his shoulder, spinning until they were dizzy. 

  "They seem like sweet children."

  "You know, for as grown as you are, you sure do have a naive, innocent way of thinking." Yoseph scoffed, and Odysseus handed him a plate of food. He eyed it, but the captain reassured that it was safe.

  "...I was supposed to have a child."

  "You-...oh, right. You mentioned having a wife, didn't you?"

  "Yes. Her name was Michal. She's very nice. It would have been a few more months until I had a child. Now I won't even get to raise it."

  Yoseph looked down at the food, appetite shrinking. He looked over at the other men, laughing and talking rowdy. One of the men, he noticed, was isolated, tied to the bark of a tree, his hands and feet knotted as well.

  There was no food for him. He turned to Odysseus, asking, "Why is your man there?"

  "Hm? Ah, he was caught stealing more rations from whatever was left of the sunken ship. His punishment."

  "You're going to starve him?" Yoseph raised an eyebrow at him, and Odysseus rolled his eyes, sighing exasperatedly.

  "Oh, don't get self righteous on me. He'll probably lose a hand soon as well, but, I'll feed him eventually."

  Yoseph, in his fatigue, with a dizzied head and nausea rising up, stood, careful not to lose his footing, before walking over to the man with his plate of food, sitting beside him.

  "Hello." The man barely looked up, glaring at him, before going back to stare at his tied hands. 

  "What's your name? I am Yoseph-Amun, or Yoseph, if you'd like." He smiled, hoping for a response.

  There came none, which was fine to the man, and so he took up a piece of chicken from his plate, holding it to the thief's mouth.

  "Would you like to eat? I admit I am not very hungry, and I might vomit again if I stomach anything else."

  "Don't bother! He hasn't said a word since we tied him up!"

  Yoseph ignored the captain, hand still holding the bite sized piece. The man hadn't made a move to grab it, but he didn't mind.

  And so, instead, with his hand held up to the thief's mouth, Yoseph began to talk. He said whatever, talking about his home, his family. But most of all, he talked about his wife.

.......

  He told the man many stories about her. He told him what he loved about the woman. Yoseph mentioned the beauty of the place he was in at the moment, complimenting their waters, and the vastness of it.

  "-but I'm sure you don't want to hear all about my wife and her pregnancy and my child. I mean, I wouldn't want another man gushing about his wife when I have one of my own at home, do you know what I mean-?"

  He felt something brush the palm of his hand, and barely shook it out of surprise, looking down to find the thief resting his chin on it, nibbling on the food.

  "Oh! Sorry, here you are." Yoseph placed it into the chief's mouth, who gnawed at it in hunger, and he did his best not to smile. 

  "You can have all of it, if you'd like." The thief paused, eyeing him in suspicion, but Yoseph simply nodded in reassurance, before pausing.

  "But give me one moment. I'm going to get you water, alright?"

  He paused in chewing, staring at him with wide eyes, attempting to back away.

  "I'll be back. I promise. I swear it." The thief briefly nodded, turning his head to look at the plate of food by him.

  Yoseph approached Odysseus.

  "Where do they keep the water?"

  "They have wine inside. Ask a nymph to fetch it for you." He looked at him with a raised eyebrow, hand on his waist.

  "I didn't ask for wine. I asked for water."

  "Alright, you pious fool, whatever. Ask a nymph, I've only been drinking wine."

  "Thank you."

  "Why are you helping him? The man's a thief. You respect a thief before respecting a goddess."

  "It is no matter what I do in terms of respect. I respect him because he is a human, just as much as I am human."

  "Surely your God has, whoever this is, feels offended that you serve someone beneath you?"

  Yoseph paused, turning to the captain.

  "Why would He be? He has served us as the Savior, and we are all undeserving of it."

.....

  "Hello? Uh, nymphs? Can...can one of you lead me to the water?"

  Yoseph looked around in the woman's home, searching for a nymph. He spotted one poking her head out from the marble column, and he sighed in relief.

  "Ah, hello. Could you-" The girl disappeared behind it, and when he looked over she was nowhere to be found.

  "Alright. Ah, geez—gah!"

  And Yoseph turned, coming nose to nose with a nymph with wide eyes, smiling eerily at him.

  "Hi!"

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