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The Legacy of a Distant Treasure
Excerpt

Prologue
535AD

The volcano rumbled and spewed dark ash into the daylight sky, casting the land under a gray, ethereal night. Long used to nature’s anger, the people of Java fled, praying to their Hindu gods for salvation.

The intensity of the rumbling increased and the ancient, broiling mountain roared. The ground shook, opening fissures and toppling structures.

And then, inexplicably, the rumbling decreased, and the fury of the volcano diminished. What should have been a cataclysmic explosion never happened.

And history changed...

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940AD

The Belisarius slashed through the massive, white-capped wave, its wooden frame protesting violently as sheets of salty spray lashed its deck. Overhead, clouds the color of volcanic ash twisted and rolled like some primordial snake, while lightning danced across the distant horizon, chased by drums of rolling thunder.

Leonidas stood braced on the aft deck of the Imperial Byzantine dromon, rivulets of water streaming off his dark, clean shaven face. A white tunic, bordered in purple, clung to his body like a second skin. A wide leather belt cinched his narrow waist. Dark brown eyes peered from below a sharp brow, at once admiring the fury of the primeval storm while fearing for the safety of his beleaguered crew. Again the ship heaved violently, and his hand shot out, clutching an aft-castle beam for support. He shared a nervous smile with two men standing beside him.

Captain Xanthus Stamatas returned the smile with a wide-eyed look of fear. Lashed securely to the tiller, his muscular arms bulged with herculean the effort of struggling with the side-mounted rudder.