Let me yet know of you whither you are bound.

No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy.

~ Twelfth Night 2.1

The men on the ship accepted my name as Claudio and didn't ask about the straps of cloth and leather that I kept wrapped around my wrists day in and day out, hiding the brand of a pirate. There was another sailor with us named Antonio, but he could go by his given name without fear of arrest. I could not. Our ship, a small vessel that seemed to promise a respite from trouble, was employed carrying cargo from Messaline to Venice that no one would bother stealing. In a crew of two dozen, we had only two passengers: Roderigo, who called himself a merchant's son, and Roderigo's mystery guest who never left his room. Only the captain visited the guest's cabin, and the other sailors wasted no time guessing at who lodged behind that door: illustrious nobleman, notorious criminal, or illicit love?

I didn't care. Because we got to see Roderigo.

The young man entrusted with the cargo of our ship, Roderigo was no older than eighteen or twenty and had the face of an angel. He glowed with joy and energy and wonder at the world. When he spoke with the captain or other members of the crew, he often tried to affect snobbish indifference, looking down his nose and pursing his lips. But anyone could see through it to an aching desire to be heard despite youth and innocence nothing could hide. Sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, he stood at the side of the ship, smiling and tilting his freckled nose into the wind.

Having someone so beautiful on board put a skip in my step. The captain, bless his soul, thought it was merely my enthusiasm for good hard work and commended my diligence.

One afternoon days before the storm, when I was sitting on a barrel on the main deck and coiling rope, Gonzalo noticed that my eyes were nowhere near my task. "Think 'e's pretty, Claudio?" Gonzalo settled next to me, leaning against the rail. He was fond of giving fatherly advice, which he lavished on any man smaller than him, younger than him, or whose beard was shorter than his. This included everyone on the ship. I could feel a torrent of boring good sense coming on, so I shrugged and kept my eyes on our young passenger. Roderigo's arms swung as he walked. He always seemed so unconscious of his beauty, and so keen to notice everything around him, which made me wonder what land he came from where men looked out and not in.

"Everybody thinks he's pretty."

"I don't see everybody watchin' 'is every move like a cat lookin' at a bowl of cream."

"A cat can look at a king."

"But 'e can't hope to fuck one."

I screwed up my face. "I said nothing about fucking." My gaze followed Roderigo as he crossed the length of the ship. The breeches he was wearing fit snug on his slender body. I bit my lip.

"You're a soddin' idiot! Stop starin'." Gonzalo shoved me. "I knew a man got 'imself in jail for lookin' at the wrong…" Here he lifted a bushy gray eyebrow.

"Ass?"

"It happens." He spoke as if his words imparted wisdom it was beyond my ability to understand. His fingers ran along the piece of driftwood he was forming into the shape of an anchor. He barely looked at the materials in his hands when he worked. I often worried he'd lose a finger, and I didn't want to be around to see it.

"I'm not worried about that. Broken out of jail before."

"What landed you in jail, Claudio?" He spoke almost indulgently. "Stealing a loaf of bread?"

I considered for a moment before answering. "Captaining a pirate ship."

"Ya arrogant sod!" he pushed my arm. "Makin' up stories." Roderigo was running a hand through his dark curls again and looking out to sea. Gonzalo left me, and I tore my eyes away from our beautiful passenger.

I didn't set eyes on Roderigo again until a storm drove our ship onto the rocks off the coast of Illyria, the ones keeping all sensible folk out, or something sinister in.

Nearly two days after the ship shattered to bits, the storm started up again. Winter was coming on strong, and four of us huddled close on a small raft.

"We are in the Mediterranean," Lorenzo clutched a prayerbook to his chest. I couldn't think how he'd swum to safety holding it. "How is this cold possible?"

"Happens in Illyria and near it. Cold winds come from the north and gather over the sea," I spoke quickly from memory. "There is nothing to stop them above the country, just small hills. The winds cool the water, making storms here more deadly." I stared ahead blankly and saw something bobbing in the waves behind us.

"Marvelous." Gianni only ever spoke in single, dolorous words. Now was no exception.

"Then let us pray to the Lord for our deliverance," Lorenzo said, his lips shaking with cold.

I didn't point out that we were headed safely to shore and if we'd all survived two days without food or water, we would survive another hour easily. I didn't point out that we had delivered ourselves with no help from God. I just pointed.

"I'm all for praying," Gonzalo stroked his beard and rested his hands. He had been rowing us towards shore for the past hour.

"Look," I said. At my words, Lorenzo stared at the Heavens. I didn't know whether to laugh or strike him with his own prayers. "Look. Someone is there." All eyes turned to the waves. Nothing but water, then a wave lifted up the figure of a man floating on a shard of the ship. He wasn't moving.

"Dead," Gianni said.

"You don't know that." My voice grew heavy and earnest, beyond my own understanding. "You can't know that."

"Who is it?" Gonzalo asked.

"I don't see him," said Lorenzo. "Neither do I, Claudio."

"He's right there. Clinging to a piece of the ship, just like us. Look at him." And they all tried in earnest, straining their eyes to the horizon.

Gonzalo gave me a smile. "If he is indeed dead, we should offer him our prayers."

"If he is indeed dead, I doubt he needs our prayers!"

"Everyone needs a prayer, Claudio," Gonzalo said. I rubbed my hands together until they stung with the sensation and watched the man fade into the distance as the waves grew higher and the wind whistled past.

"What if it's..."

"What if it's gorgeous Roderigo?" Gonzalo rolled his eyes at me.

Gianni treated us to a rare two sentences. "Then he's a foolish rich boy who's gone and gotten himself killed. Thought ya hated rich boys."

The rain was turning the air gray, and I couldn't see him clearly anymore. My heart leapt into my throat. "We can turn around."

"We can't, Claudio." Gonzalo picked up our makeshift oars and continued rowing to shore.

"We can't leave a man behind."

Roderigo had hollered the same when Lorenzo went overboard our first day out. The captain had noticed and turned around, but Roderigo, so worried that we'd not arrive in time, paced the deck, calling for help. He'd picked up a coil of rope and threw it overboard. It did no good, and you could say nothing he did did any good, but when we pulled Lorenzo up from the water, Roderigo smiled brilliantly and wrapped his arms around the sodden man. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. Surprised you came back so quickly, sir."

"Why would you think we wouldn't come back for you?" No one had gone back for the men we lost in Illyria. Watching them toss water this way and that put knots inside me that would never come undone.

"Some wouldn't, sir." At those words, Roderigo's face fell and his lips opened, unable to form words. His breaths came shallow. He walked back to his cabin in silence. I had walked towards him without thinking, until the first mate stepped in my way. "Ain't ya got somewhere to be, sailor?"

I took one more step. He grabbed hold of my wrist. "What ya think yer doin'? Get back in your place."

"What ya think yer doin?" But this time the voice didn't come from a memory. The cold came up to my neck as I pushed the water away in front of me and Gonzalo hollered through the rain.

"Leave the soddin' nobleman, Claudio! We won't come back for you."

The old man's voice grew comically faint as I swam into the storm. I heard only one more dolorous word from the raft.

"Dead."