The small vessel ploughed its way silently through the swell, a ghostly form amid the mist which clung avidly to its sides. Ahead and alongside, the eerie silhouettes of shacks and huts rose up, all of them derelict and forlorn in their abandonment. Guillaume stood at the prow, keenly watching for the signs of a jetty and the ship that would be moored there.

Ten more minutes passed until at last the first signs emerged. A man stood on the shoreline, waving a torch above his head, as beside him the outline of his great vessel appeared. The jetty, Guillaume noted, was considerably smaller than he had expected, and it slightly unnerved the young Patriarch that only this rotting stretch of timber now stood between the two ships. He wasted no time in wondering, however, instead making sure that his axe was concealed beneath the cloak he wore over his mantle, and that it was loose in its frog - for the first sign of danger. He leant against the bulwark of the prow, his palms pressed firmly into the oak beam as he listened for the tell-tale knock of wood on wood that would signal the ship's docking.

The sound came moments later. Guillaume, his arms already tensed for the impact, leapt deftly over the side of the ship as it came in past the jetty, and felt his feet hit solid wood as he landed on the end. He waited in the ship's shadow as it slowed behind him; and then, seeing the new captain's signal fire a short way away, he rose up and started forward.

The mist thinned further past the shoreline, and certain things became clear to Guillaume. The abandoned village was not so abandoned after all, although the state of the few individuals that still walked its streets made it seem even more like a ghost town. They were probably just the people who had chosen to stay behind when a war had hit their shores, Guillaume thought. Either that, or they're the survivors. The captain, a large, muscular figure whose greying hair fell in wisps around his shoulders, stood in stark contrast to his surroundings. Despite his probable uncleanness his clothes had barely a tear or stain in them, and they were not those of any poor man. Guillaume called out to the man as he neared, and caught the expression of relief that passed quickly across his face as he turned.

"Sir William of Cyprus, I assume?" he called over, starting towards Guillaume with his free hand outstretched.

"Yes, friend - that's me. I'm sorry for the delay, we ran into some trouble in the Marmara."

The captain raised his eyebrow, and chuckled. "That'd be pirates then?"

"Not quite, no." Guillaume looked away, towards the bulk of the vessel that loomed up beside him. "So this is your ship." It wasn't a question, and he forgot to conceal his disappointment.

The ship was a Byzantine dromon, a type of craft Guillaume knew to have been used in Byzantine naval military for centuries. He had seen many diagrams of them in his grandfather's library back in France as a child, and had heard many stories about their mighty prowess in battle. But this one was very different. It must have only been half the size of a usual dromon, with half the number of oars on its bulwarks and only half the number of crew running its decks. There were still two masts, and thus two enormous triangular sails, but the size of them only made the whole thing look cramped. Guillaume also noted how old the vessel must have been, and how badly that fact had been concealed. Every plank of wood appeared pitted and rough, splinters protruding like forests from them. The shelter at the back looked about ready to collapse in on itself. In fact, the whole thing looked ready to fall to pieces.

When Guillaume looked back round at the captain he almost laughed at the hurt expression he had drawn across the aged man's face. He threw an apologetic look at him, and then started pacing slowly towards the ship, the captain falling into step alongside.

"She used to serve in the Byzantine military, she did. And a mighty fine thing she must have been, too." He sighed, and looked sadly at the ground. "Of course, then she got old. I found her in a scrap yard, I did. Put everything I had into repairing her, so I could give her some work after her retirement. Ten years later, and here we are. Believe me, she might not look like much - but she's fast."

They continued in silence for a minute or two, before Guillaume suddenly asked, "So what can I call you?"

The captain seemed to consider for a moment. "I haven't gone by any name in years... just the Captain, I suppose."

Guillaume nodded. Behind him came rapid footsteps, and he turned to see Symeon running towards him.

"Sire, the captain demands the final payment. He couldn't find you, and accused you of trying to escape without paying."

The Templar smirked. "That wouldn't be beyond him, I suppose. Here, take this to him." He pulled a small cloth bag from his belt and placed it firmly into his protector's hand. "Meet me on board our new ship in ten minutes, with the provisions. Get one of the crew to help you."

Symeon nodded. He looked doubtfully up at the dromon, before turning and jogging away. Guillaume returned to the Captain, who had watched the exchange curiously.

"Well then. Let's get on board. Where will I be staying?"

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

The Pigolampida glided gracefully out through the wall of mist, its sails billowing from their masts and its crew singing jauntily on its deck as they rowed. At its prow stood a mighty figurehead, a young man clad in full white, with a bright red cross splayed across his chest and a golden crucifix at his neck. In the ship's wake lay the Dardanelles strait and the Gallipoli peninsula, both enshrouded in fog, and ahead lay a golden sunset and a journey full of wonders and mysteries.

The figurehead turned to his companion as the vessel picked up speed, and smiled to him.

"Come, Symeon. We must acknowledge the Hour of Vespers."

The pair knelt at the prow, a light breeze on their faces and in their hair. And as they opened their mouths and their minds to pray, a fleeting image of the Holy City flashed before their eyes, and filled them with hope and courage for the voyage to come.