Funeral Games (50 page)

The Phoenician’s engine fired, the bolt ripping along the port oar banks with a noise like tearing linen. It hit several oar shafts, bounded about inside the loom of oars and then fell into the sea without breaking anything.

Satyrus’s hand on the steering oar was like iron. He didn’t feel fatigue, and he was not particularly aware of the missile exchange. He watched his wake and adjusted his course, cheating the bow towards the open sea and allowing the incoming waves to push his hull a little further towards the promontory.

Just so
, he thought, and held his course. He was in another place in his mind - a place where
being the helmsman
drove out room for any other fear.

Melitta slipped down the stem, followed by Timoleon. Peleus watched her with pursed lips, but when she was gone amidships, he said, ‘She bought us a ship’s length there.’

They weathered Akrotirion promontory as close as they dared, the starboard oars in the surf, with the black hulls half a dozen stades behind. Every pair of eyes on the
Lotus
that were above deck level strained for the Bay of Kition in hopes of seeing a couple of Rhodian warships riding at anchor.

The pirates lost a stade because the big Phoenician wouldn’t come in as close to the beach. They made a dog-leg out to sea and Satyrus breathed a little easier,
almost
sure that he could beat them in a dead sprint.

And then all that careful helm work was by the board, because sure enough, there
was
a Rhodian three-er riding high, her crew still at breakfast on the beach. Rhodos was a free port, independent of the wars of Alexander’s successors, but she protected Ptolemy’s trade because that suited her own interests, and the three-er in the harbour deterred the pirates instantly. Even as the Rhodian crews raced aboard, the pirates were already running for the open sea, their Ares engines silent.

The rowers on board the
Golden Lotus
cheered.

 

The Rhodian skipper came aboard with his trierarch and his helmsman, and Peleus hugged him, a handsome man with skin like old leather and hair so blond as to be almost white. His trierarch was like a reverse image of his captain, pale skin and black hair, and the helmsman was as black as a Nubian - an exotic trio, from the most famous navy in the world.

‘Peleus, I knew the
Lotus
as soon as she rounded the point. And Juba here says she’s moving mighty fast, eh? And I watched your rowers,’ he pointed at the tired men on the benches, ‘and we all yelled alarm together!’

‘And we were still too late, by Poseidon!’ the pale man said. He was the youngest of the three, and his face was burned red and he wore a purple chiton like a king’s.

‘This is my navarch. He’s Satyrus.’ Peleus motioned, and Satyrus stepped forward on the deck and smiled. ‘Leon’s nephew.’

‘Any ward of Leon is a friend of Rhodos,’ the Nubian said. He offered his hand, and Satyrus clasped it. ‘I’m Juba. The boy who can’t stand the touch of Helios is Orestes, and our fearless leader is Actis. Aren’t you a little young for a navarch?’

Peleus pursed his lips. ‘He was at the helm as we came around the point,’ he said.

Juba gave Satyrus a long look. ‘Not bad, old man. Is he serious, or another aristocrat?’

Peleus shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet,’ he said.

 

They shared dinner with the Rhodians, and breakfast, and then they were away, rowing hard along the south coast of Cyprus until the wind was fair for Rhodos. They touched at Xanthos, and all the news was bad - Antigonus One-Eye had his fleet at Miletus, and Rhodos was all but closed. The Rhodian navy was bold, but it was small.

Peleus sat across from Satyrus at a benched table in a wine shop on the waterfront in Xanthos, so close to the
Lotus
that her standing rigging cast a net of shadows in the setting sun. A slave rose on her toes to light the oil lamps along the back of the wine shop. Peleus watched her without interest.

‘The wind is fair for Rhodos,’ he said. ‘If it doesn’t change, I’d say we crew her at the first blush of dawn and have a go.
Lotus
will be faster than anything they have at sea.’ As he spoke, he touched the wood of the table and then made a sign to avert ill luck.

Melitta came down the board from the ship wearing a decent woman’s chiton. The wine shop slave shook her head. ‘No women!’ she said.

Melitta raised an eyebrow and went and sat with her brother.

The slave followed her over. ‘Please, mistress! No women. It is the law of the town. Only slave women in the brothels and wine shops. The watch will arrest us both.’

Melitta sighed. She and Satyrus exchanged a look, and Melitta rose and walked back up the plank to the stern of the
Lotus
and vanished into the hull. She reappeared as a somewhat androgynous archer in a Pylos cap, and the slave submitted for a few bronze obols.

‘I hate Asia,’ Melitta said.

Peleus raised an eyebrow. ‘Athens would be worse, despoina,’ he said.

‘What’s the verdict?’ Melitta asked.

‘Peleus thinks we should try for Rhodos,’ Satyrus said.

Melitta drank some of his wine. ‘I knew you weren’t a coward,’ she said. The comment was tossed off, not meant to wound, but Satyrus felt his temper flare. He turned away.

Peleus sighed. ‘Ladybird, fleeing pirates is not cowardice, and frankly your whoring after a little glory is going to get people killed. You act like a boy - a particularly stupid boy. This is the sea. We have different rules here. We follow Poseidon, not Athena and not Ares. The sea can kill you any time it wants. You think a battle is a wonderful thing? A test of your courage? Try a storm at sea, despoina. I’ve seen a hundred - aye, and another hundred fights.’

Melitta nodded. ‘So much of your store of courage is used up,’ she said with half a smile. ‘Mine isn’t.’

Peleus’s face drained of blood. ‘You risk angering me,’ he said slowly.

‘That’s a risk I can stand,’ Melitta said.

Satyrus sighed. ‘Shut up, Melitta. You’re being a fool. Last time I looked, it’s
me
who’s the young man - I should be the hothead and you should be the voice of reason.’ He made her smile, and turned to Peleus. ‘Ignore her - my sister has to be braver than Achilles all the time. It’s the problem of having to represent all of the female half of the race.’

Xenophon appeared at the bow and sprang ashore in a fresh chiton and a light chlamys. ‘Well?’ he asked.

‘Rhodos,’ Satyrus said. ‘First light. Any objection?’

‘You’re touchy tonight,’ Xenophon said and shook his head. ‘May I sit next to your sister?’

‘You mean that archer there? Be my guest. Give him a good hard shove as you sit down. That’s from me.’ Xenophon obeyed, Melitta yelped and Satyrus laughed.

Peleus wasn’t mollified. ‘I don’t like being made fun of by children,’ he said directly across the table to Melitta. ‘Leon says you ship with us - it’s a mistake. You have no discipline and no obedience and you’ll let us down. If I see you get a man killed, I’ll throw you over the side. Understood,
girl
?’ Then he turned back. ‘I’ll sleep aboard and have orders for the men to come aboard with the sun. Anything else?’

‘No, Peleus,’ Satyrus said. He rose with the Rhodian and followed him out of the wine shop into the dark. ‘She means no harm. She wants your respect.’

‘If she were a man - a
boy
- I’d have spanked her bloody, the ignorant pup.’ Peleus shrugged. ‘She’s a fine shot. That doesn’t make her special. Women have no business at sea. I’ll have a hold on my temper tomorrow. But I want her sent home from Rhodos. Not on my ship.’

He stomped off.

Satyrus sighed. He went back through the bead curtain to the wine shop, just in time to see Xenophon’s head jerk away from Melitta’s.

He jumped as if he’d been stung.

They both looked guilty - his sister’s skin was red as the setting sun. He sat across from them, framing his comment, but he wasn’t sure. Had they been kissing?

Was it his business?

Satyrus was used to his sister being the calm one, the steady one and the brave one. Something had changed - suddenly he was the calm one.

She leaned forward, eyes bright. ‘Well?’ she asked. Her tone was aggressive.

Satyrus made himself smile. ‘I’m for my cloak and whatever insects share it with me,’ he said. ‘At least I’m not lying by a smoky fire on an open beach. Peleus intends to sail with the first brush of dawn’s fingers.’

They’re holding hands under the table. Apollo, is this my buisness?
Satyrus sat back, his head against the greasy wooden partition that separated this shack from the next one, and suddenly swung his sandalled foot up between his sister and his best friend, so that his foot caught - hands.

‘Melitta, go to your bed,’ he said.

She shrugged, her face suddenly splotchy with anger. ‘Why? You can’t make me.’

‘If I reveal you as a woman, I can have you held at a temple - for the rest of your life, you stupid
fool
. What’s got into you? And Xenophon - you going to marry my sister? Eh? Better talk to me about it,
friend
. Because if I see either of you touch the other again before Rhodos, blood will flow. My promise on it.’

‘I am
not
your chattel!’ Melitta spat.

Heads were turning.

Satyrus took a deep breath. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You are not. But neither am I yours, Lita. I have the responsibility - not you. For the ship, for the cargo and for your virginity. When you have the responsibility, do as you please. When you have taken charge, have I obeyed you?’

Xenophon sat silently while the siblings glared. Melitta put her hand in her mouth and bit her palm until it bled. It was an ugly thing to watch.

Then Melitta shook her head. ‘You obeyed,’ she said sullenly. Then she burst into tears and fled to the ship.

‘I’m sorry, Satyrus,’ Xeno said. ‘I - I love her. I think I always have.’

Satyrus shook his head. ‘Not on this boat, understand me? There is no love on this boat. She’s a passenger, and you are a marine.’

‘I’ll try.’ Xenophon’s tone carried no conviction.

Satyrus summoned up his best imitation of Philokles. ‘Don’t try,’ he said, rather enjoying using the line he dreaded most from his tutor. ‘Just do it.’

Then, alone, he sipped the last of his wine and watched the waterfront. His best friend, his helmsman and his sister were all equally angry.

Alone in the dark, he grinned and finished his wine.

 

When the red ball of the sun was fully above the eastern horizon, they were well out from Xanthos, running almost due west as if fleeing the chariot of Apollo. Sunset found them on the same heading, running straight into the sun. The headland of Rhodos, the city itself, shone like a beacon in the sun, and the head of the statue of Apollo on the headland burned as if the very god was crowned in sacred fire.

Behind them, in the gathering murk of evening, a pair of shadows were visible, hull-up and almost hidden by the coast of Asia, but revealed by their sails.

Peleus watched them under his hand. ‘Same two bastards,’ he said. ‘That’s not right. We’re not worth that much effort. That big fuck is down from Tyre - he ought to have stayed on the east coast of Cyprus.’

Satyrus was trying to keep the wake as straight as an arrow’s flight, so he answered with a grunt.

‘Ships on the port bow,’ came a cry from forward - a high-pitched cry. Melitta.

Peleus looked around and then ran down the central decking, ducked under the mainsail and vanished from Satyrus’s view. Satyrus saw a flash, and then another. The pirates were starting to row as the breeze lessoned. They’d be making distance.

Peleus came back, moving so fast that his bare feet slapped on the smooth deck. ‘Not Rhodian,’ he said tersely. ‘Give me the helm.’

‘I’m giving you the helm,’ Satyrus said formally, and he waited until Peleus’s hands were on the steering oar before he let go. ‘You have the helm.’

‘I have the helm,’ Peleus said.

‘There’s a Lesbian freighter just clear of the headland,’ Peleus said, swinging them a few points to the north. ‘I’m going to turn away from those ships I don’t know - who may be blockading Macedonians, or may not - and offer the pirates behind us, if they are pirates, a nice fat Lesbian merchant.’

Satyrus ran forward to watch. The ships off to the south and west were just a line of marks against the sea - black hulls and no sails - but the flash of their oars as they rowed was rhythmic and predatory. Four - five - six ships. A column of ships.

To the north, a big round-hulled merchant under sail made to cross their path, broad-reaching on the wind and trying to hold a course as far west of south as he could get out of his sails. Satyrus watched him for a moment and then ducked back under the mainsail and ran back along the deck.

‘Those are warships to the south,’ he said.

‘Aye,’ Peleus said. ‘That they are.’

The two dark shapes behind them began to gain in resolution as they rowed harder.

Peleus watched them as the distance closed. ‘Poseidon’s mighty dick, those
are
our friends with the machines,’ he said, his voice now certain. ‘How can that
be
?’

Satyrus didn’t have an answer for him. ‘What should I do?’ he asked.

Peleus swung his lips from side to side, pursed and unpursed them, and looked aft again. ‘Pray?’ he said. He smiled, and swung the tiller a fraction more. ‘Man the top-deck oars,’ he called.

The oar master sounded a bronze drum once, and then called ‘Ready!’ Most of the rowers were in position. On a ship with fewer than two hundred men, news travelled fast.

‘Ten stades and we’re safe,’ Peleus said out loud. He cheated his helm another fraction to the north. ‘Oar master, give us a touch of speed.’

The oar master started to call the beat, and the upper-deck oarsmen gave way with a will, rowing carefully so that the drag of their oars wouldn’t fight the last push of the breeze.