“Infidelity burns like lava.  When it burns too hot it utterly destroys what it can consume, and when it cools it turns to stone.  My heart is a stone. It was on the day that I found my wife with another man that the lava burned within me.”

“For when I saw it I drew my blade and challenged the young man to a duel, as is our tradition of honor. I do not second guess my rage nor my honor but I have paid a hefty price for allowing hate, and with it rage, to burn so deeply within my heart.”

“Handily I killed the youth, only later to discover that I’d killed the son of Baron Hadrianus.  This Baron, not mine, was a close friend of my own liege. And so my act of rage led to this grim slave galleon to sit beside you, my lovely friend, that is all there is to it, all the rest is details.”

“What about you?”

The curious and overly talkative Zamorian salve woman remained uncharacteristically silent, and then only stared at the former Knight of Poitain as her arms moved with the rhythm of the oars– but not doing much, rather merely riding along… until the dignified Sir Fons gave the lady a gracious exit from the topic by adding, “But so many tales are not as neat as I have it my privilege.”

The slave then continued to ramble on until their shifts at the oars were long over and when they dragged themselves to shared bunks just previously occupied, they shared one and made love in that dirty place in a bid to lustfully numb their longing for some kind of comfort inside of a deep and abiding misery.

When they finished their lovemaking Sir Fons asked the woman, “What is your name?”, but she had already fallen asleep.