Funeral Games (54 page)

Satyrus stared up at the towering sides of the great ship. ‘I see your point. Won’t he report us?’

‘Only as a friendly merchant ship that paid him a ship visit. And he gave me a chestful of information.’ Peleus stripped his chiton over his head and pulled another from the leather bag he kept under the sternpost.

Satyrus waited, as did Kyros and Karpos. The marine captain had his cuirass open to catch any air that happened to brush past him, and his Attic helmet was tilted back on his head.

‘Demetrios, One-Eye’s golden son, has two hundred ships of war on the beaches south of here. He’s got half his father’s army, and they’re on the march, heading east into Nabataea.’ Peleus nodded into the silence. ‘It’s a money raid. He’s going to rape the Nabataeans for gold and use it to finance the war in the west against Cassander. See?’

Satyrus waited patiently - not an easy feat for a sixteen-year-old. But he wanted to let the grown men speak first. In case he was wrong.

‘So we’re done,’ Karpos said. ‘Slip away to seaward and we can be in the Bay of Kyrios tomorrow afternoon and find the Rhodian cruiser. Make our report.’ He slapped his hands together and sailed one away over the horizon of the other. ‘And home.’

Kyros shook his head. ‘It’s clear you’re not a Rhodian, Karpos my lad. No Rhodian captain will take a report like that. We need to see this fleet.’

Peleus nodded. ‘’Fraid so, Karpos.’

Karpos shrugged. ‘Let’s get at it, then.’

Satyrus stepped forward. ‘They’re not raising the money for the war on Cassander,’ he said.

The other three turned to look at him.

‘It’s all a deception. Listen - I grew up with this. Stratokles came to get troops out of Ptolemy. Now there’s an army in Nabataea and the
whole
of One-Eye’s fleet is two days’ sail from Aegypt. The target is Aegypt. Cassander has made a deal with One-Eye.’ Satyrus looked around at them, conscious that he had pounded his fist into his palm in his eagerness to convey his conviction.

Peleus rubbed his beard. ‘Not saying I believe you, lad - but not saying I don’t. It could be that way - aye, and that makes the risk all the worse if we’re wrong.’

Karpos pursed his lips, spat and then said, ‘I may not be a fucking Rhodian, but I can tell you that what we need is a prisoner. A good one - somebody who knows this crap.’

‘How do you propose we get one?’ Peleus asked.

Karpos glanced at the towering sides of the grain ship. Due to the fitful wind, the grain ship was still less than a rope’s length away.

Peleus rubbed his chin. ‘I gave my word,’ he said.

‘We’re not pirates,’ Satyrus said, ‘and we’re no worse off than we were this morning. Down the coast, on the lookout. If we can find a prisoner, fine. Otherwise, the moment we see the ships on the beach, we’re away for Cyprus. And then straight across the great blue to Alexandria. I’m happy to help Rhodos - but it’s Ptolemy who needs this information.’

‘I think—’ Peleus began.

Satyrus nodded pleasantly and cut the older man off. ‘Happy to listen to your council, helmsman. In private.’

Peleus looked stung, but only for a moment. Then he gave a grim smile. ‘Well - you’re the navarch, right enough.’

As if to confirm their decision, the wind came up - first two strong gusts that laid them over, and then a long, hard blow from the north that swept the Athenian away. He had bigger yards and a stronger hull.
Golden Lotus
had to brail her boatsail, strike the mainsail and row to keep her direction, and the merchant ship was gone over the horizon in an hour.

‘Storm coming,’ Peleus said. He had the steering oar. ‘And wind change.’

True to his word, half an hour later and their sails were hanging limp again. It was all Satyrus could do to stay awake. He was trying to decide how long he could sweep this hostile coast before he had to turn back north or out to sea just to find a beach for the night that would be safe.

Mid-afternoon, and they were cruising the coast of Lebanon north of Tyre - a coast so empty of shipping that it was as if the gods had swept the seas clean. They were coasting on their boatsail, the oarsmen resting under awnings, the water gurgling down the side with just enough way on the
Lotus
to give the steering oar a bite on the water.

Peleus was cursing, almost without ceasing. Every new headland and every bay they passed without seeing a merchant ship or even a fishing smack brought new invective.

‘As soon as we open Laodikea,’ Satyrus said, finally forcing himself to decide, ‘we turn west into the open sea.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Melitta asked, as they ate new bread and goat’s cheese at midday.

‘The longer we don’t see anything, the worse it looks all the way around,’ Satyrus translated. ‘The bigger the sweep was, the bigger the fleet that’s here. And the longer it endures, the longer ago it got here, and that’s bad too.’ He looked out to sea. ‘If we could find a ship to take, we’d get a prisoner and be
gone
. Right? We don’t want to find One-Eye’s fleet ourselves. We want to
hear about it
.’

She nodded, obviously craving some excitement and not in complete agreement.

‘Melitta, listen to me. Alexandria may already be blockaded - perhaps under siege. There may have been a battle. See? It’s that bad.’ Satyrus shook his head.

‘Why don’t we run down the coast and help? Tell them what’s happening? ’ she asked.

‘Because we don’t
know
,’ Satyrus said. ‘We can guess. But until we see a hundred triremes, or find someone who has, we’re just making stuff up to scare ourselves.’

Melitta nodded while she watched the water. ‘Mama used to talk about scouting just this way,’ she said.

‘I was listening,’ Satyrus said. He was watching Laodikea Head. Beyond, the great beach ran for a hundred stades, but he wouldn’t see it for half an hour, and the light was changing as afternoon gave way to golden evening. He needed sea room if there was to be a blow - better yet, he needed a safe beach. He rubbed his chin in unconscious imitation of Peleus. The breeze was dying to nothing. Time to have the oars out.

‘Ships! Ships on the horizon to starboard!’ came the call from the mast, where the sail hung almost still.

Satyrus came awake without being aware that he’d been napping. He looked aft, and then over the side to the west and saw one on the horizon - and then another.

He nudged Peleus and pointed.

Peleus grunted. He opened his mouth to speak and the bow lookout gave a cry like a man drowning.

‘Poseidon - the beach is full of ships!’ he shouted after a sputter.

Peleus had the oar, so Satyrus ran forward, past his sister still wrapped in her cloak, to where he could see. Once there he didn’t wait for advice from his helmsman. ‘Kalos, get the mainmast
down
. Rig for fighting.’

He ran back the length of the ship. ‘Fleet. Fills the beach. You’ll see yourself in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

Peleus nodded. ‘Look west,’ he said.

The two nicks in the horizon were defining themselves - a heavy trireme and a lighter one.

‘Ares and Aphrodite,’ Satyrus swore.

Just then the north wind gave a gust and then backed.

‘Good order, getting the mainmast down,’ Peleus went on, ‘because the north wind is about to be a south wind, and then we’re going to have to fight. At least, we’ll fight until all those Macedonian cruisers see us, and then we’re all fish bait.’ He leaned close. ‘Don’t let your sister be captured, lad. Do it yourself it you have to.’

Satyrus swallowed. But his eyes were on the hundreds of hulls on the golden beach - unmoving.

Peleus shook his head. ‘With your permission, Satyrus, I’m going to release the lower decks and row with just the top deck until the pirates are firm on our wake.’

Satyrus nodded. ‘Look who’s standing off the bay,’ he said. He pointed at the big Athenian grain freighter off riding out in the deep water of the bay, just fifteen stades down the coast.

‘No difference to us, boy,’ Peleus said.

‘Does Laodikea have a harbour?’ Satyrus asked.

‘Open beach,’ Peleus answered. ‘If we’re going to lighten ship, now’s the time.’

With a rattle and thump that Satyrus had come to dread, the engine fired. But the two pirates were well astern and the changing wind was blowing across their path. The bolt never became visible.

They rowed two stades, Peleus taking them as close in to the headland as possible in a belated attempt to remain invisible to the Macedonians on the beach.

Satyrus nodded. ‘Straight across the beach,’ he said. ‘If they can’t get a boat in the water, we’re clear.’

He spoke as much to hearten the deck crew in earshot as anything else. The changing wind favoured the deep hull of the heavier Phoenician galley, who was pulling away from his lighter brother ship.

The second bolt flew as if it came from the hand of Zeus and struck their sternpost square on, an impact that could be felt throughout the ship.

‘Poseidon, we’re sunk!’ the oar master said.

Peleus punched the man hard enough to make him writhe in pain. ‘Don’t be an ass!’ he said. ‘A hundred of those spears won’t hurt us, as long as they hit the works. It’s rowers they can kill!’ He went astern and climbed the rail with an axe and cut the lance free. ‘Nice piece of bronze,’ he said. ‘Now, about dumping some weight?’

‘Do pirates read Thucydides, do you think?’ Satyrus asked. His eyes were on the merchant ahead.

‘I doubt there’s a man in those ships who can read a word, lad,’ Peleus said. ‘Something on your mind?’

‘Have
you
read Thucydides?’ Satyrus said.

Peleus shook his head. ‘Ancient history. Can’t say as I have. What’d he do?’

Satyrus felt his stomach turn over in fear, and he made himself smile. ‘I have an idea,’ he said.

 

There were hordes of Macedonians on the shore and as Satyrus watched he saw oarsmen forming in long lines by the sterns of a dozen triremes - and worse, a heavy quinquereme, the biggest warship on the beach.

Satyrus prayed to Herakles.

God of heroes,
he prayed,
now I will roll the bones with fate. Stand by me.

The Athenian merchants were also watching, standing on the high stern of their ship. Some of their crewmen were already ashore, and others were lying on pallets of straw on the deck, cheering as if they were watching a race.

From their shouts, Satyrus could tell that they thought the end was near. The
Lotus
was dumping what little cargo he had in the outer road-stead, and he shot ahead, but throwing his cargo overboard took time and effort and men off the benches and he couldn’t keep the pace. The
Lotus
began to labour, his rowers apparently exhausted and ill-trained - or perhaps their morale had collapsed. The pirates increased their efforts, sure of their prey. And their engine of war fired bolts the size of a sarissa. Two of them stuck in the stern of the fleeing galley.

Satyrus was up on the half-deck with the sailors, while Peleus steered as close as he could.

‘I want it to come down in one go,’ he said for the third time, because sailors could be stubborn. ‘Make it look like the boatsail mast went.
Can you do it?
’

His sister was right behind him, trying to get his attention. He ignored her.

‘Like enough,’ said an Aegyptian mate with a thick accent. ‘Like we was winged, eh?’

Satyrus nodded. ‘Just so,’ he said. He glanced aft, prayed to Poseidon and tried not to flinch as the next bolt sank four inches into the planking of the stern. He looked forward, judging the distance, and aft.

‘Next one. Can you do it?’

The sailors all shrugged and looked uninterested, and Satyrus couldn’t decide whether to scream or cry. To starboard, the Athenian merchant ship, a giant tub with high sides and a towering mainmast, stood alone in the deep water just half a stade off the beach. He rode so high out of the water, even with a full load of grain, that his bulk screened three-quarters of the beach from sight.

Now that Satyrus’s orders were given, the whole idea seemed absurd. His throat was so tight that he didn’t think he could speak. But he smelled the damp lion skin, and suddenly he felt as if he’d been filled with ambrosia.

‘What the hell are we doing, brother?’ Melitta asked.

Peleus was ordering the archers and marines into the bow, which seemed to be against all reason, as they were almost at long bow shot over the stern.

‘Let me take some long shots,’ Melitta said. ‘Maybe I can kill some crewmen on that machine.’ She had her bow in her hand.

‘We’re going about, Lita,’ Satyrus said. ‘We’re going to fight, the way you wanted.’ He couldn’t manage to be angry, and he hugged her briefly. ‘Get your armour on and join the archers.’

Peleus glared.

Satyrus shrugged. ‘Wait until you see her shoot,’ he said, by way of apology.

She hugged him back fiercely. ‘Don’t be captured,’ she said.

‘Nor you,’ he said, and then he could see the men on the enemy bow cranking at their machine, the arms of the bow coming back.

Melitta was leaping down from the half-deck into the bow.

‘Ready!’ Satyrus called out. His nerves receded - mostly. Another part of him said they had enough of a lead to run the bow up the beach and leap clear - and surrender to the Macedonians.

He couldn’t imagine going back to his uncle without the
Golden Lotus
. Was that cowardice, too?

‘Steady!’ Peleus called. ‘Every man on deck - hard in on the port rail.
Now, you whores!’

At Peleus’s command, all the men on deck without other orders ran to the port-side rail, tilting the ship an awkward angle to port.

Less than a stade aft, the engine fired and the bolt, aimed high, ripped across the deck at head height. The oar master died instantly; his head exploded like a ripe melon so that his brains showered the half-deck rowers and one of his eyes smacked Satyrus in the cheek and splatted on the deck at his feet. Satyrus gave a squeak of pure fear and stumbled back.