Salamis (41 page)

‘Fight,’ he said. ‘But don’t forget what you are here for.’

‘Sometimes you sound like an oracle,’ I said.

He shrugged.

Seckla merely winked. ‘Do the thing,’ he said.

I went aft and armoured, keeping my own council. I nodded to Seckla, who pointed our bow at the Red King, and we sailed after them in a file, with
Lydia
still in the lead and
Black Raven
tailing, but the trierarchs closed up on me. I never even flashed a signal.

Even with
Lydia
in hand like a restive mare, we were coming down on them rapidly. The Ionians had choices, but they were all bad. They clearly wanted to weather the southern tip of Chios and run for the coast of Samos and an easy reach into the delta of the Kaystros and up to Ephesus, now only half a day’s sail or a full day’s rowing away. But to weather the headland of Chios at Dotia, they had to come south and east, a little too much into the wind for sailing in a trireme, and that meant rowing. Not quite straight at me, but close as it made little difference.

Or they could run north with the wind on their quarters, but of course then they’d be coming off the beach with their masts in.

In fact, that’s the choice they made.

But as we raced forward into the sparkling waves they didn’t make much of a job of getting their masts up.

Now we could see them all quite clearly and I no longer thought they had any chance of escape. Nor did my lookout report any other sails.

All of them turned their bows towards me. One ship threw his mast and sail over the side.

Then another.

They were going to fight.

At about six stades, when I could see Artemisia’s ship and was
almost
sure that I could see Archilogos’s ship hard by the Red King, I reached around my own stern and flashed my aspis in the sun three times. I wished I had a trumpet and a trumpeter, but in those days the skill was almost unknown among Greeks. We used smaller horns to signal, but the sound didn’t carry well at sea.

Ships make noise – do you know that, thugater? The oars strike the water – splash! – no matter how well trained the oarsmen.
Pitylos
we call it. The word is the sound. And then the surge of motion as the oarsmen pull the water with the mighty stroke that hurtles the ship forward – we call that
rothios
. These two sounds are like the beating heart of a warship. And then, over all, the sound the bow makes cutting the water – the curl of waves, the sound of the wind over the hull, and the voices of the oarsmen singing, chanting, or merely grunting, depending on the exhaustion of the crew and the needs of the ship.

We took in our sails. My friends – my brothers – folded theirs away even as they came alongside. Our adversaries’ hearts must have died within them as our sails came down and we formed line, because training shows.

So does heart.

They came on, but their hearts already weren’t in it. The Red King’s rowers were good, and so were Artemisia’s, and as they came on I became more sure that the third good ship was Archilogos’s. But off to the eastern end of their line were two ships with ragged oar strokes and unwilling men.

We were less than five stades apart when the two easternmost ships broke out of the line and ran. East.

Nothing is perfect. On a perfect day, Moire or Harpagos – I missed him already, and his honey-covered corpse was wrapped in linen on my lower catwalk, waiting delivery to his sister – or one of the other old pirates would have left our line and gone for them. But Giannis and Hector had different loyalties. They let the two ships flee, to make sure that we could win the fight.

Good reason, but with their eyes on the wrong prizes, so to speak.

I watched Diomedes run, and my heart filled my throat and I almost vomited.

Choices.

We were two stades from combat. To turn and run east was suicide for all my crew, and yet I considered it. He would run free while we fought. He would have hours of head start, if the fight went as I expected.

After all, the Red King and Artemisia were their best, and Archilogos was no slouch.

I spared the gods my curses.

Instead, I ran into my own bow. With an olive branch. And my line continued forward, rowing a normal stroke, as they bore down on us.

I waved the olive branch like mad, and prayed to Aphrodite, goddess of love, and Poseidon who rules the sea.

Artemisia accepted my olive branch. Diomedes wasn’t six stades to the east when I leaped onto her deck, unarmed. Her ships had backed away a stade and I had rowed up alone. It was six to four – no one was fooled, and she must have wanted my offer of peace with all her heart.

Certainly she welcomed me to her deck. She was in armour, and yet she kissed my cheek like Jocasta rising from her loom.

‘I confess, I never expected a Greek squadron this far east,’ she said. She smiled without flirtation. ‘You have the better of me. But I will fight to the death, I’m afraid.’

‘You have the Great King’s boys,’ I said.

She coloured in shock.

‘I don’t want them,’ I said. ‘I will allow you and your ships to sail away – north. If you will give me free passage east, after Diomedes.’

She leaned into the tabernacle where her swan stern overhung the steering oars. ‘It seems to me that I could just take you and use you as a hostage,’ she said. ‘After all, you must be worth a pretty ransom. And I will not be taken, Plataean.’

I nodded, and pointed over my shoulder at my own mid-deck, where Brasidas stood with a tall, thin boy. ‘Your son, I believe.’

She stared, and for a moment, I thought I’d misplayed and she was going to gut me on the spot, the very lioness deprived of her young that Sappho describes.

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I love Briseis, daughter of Hipponax, sister to your ally Archilogos. Diomedes means her harm – terrible harm. I appeal to you as a mother and a lover – I will do no harm to Ephesus. I swear it by all the gods. But if I have to fight you, by the same gods I will kill every one of you for delaying me.’

We rocked in the bosom of the ocean and all the Fates and Furies held their breath.

‘I want my son!’ she said.

‘I will release him, and Phayllos, and their ship, unharmed, when I row out of Ephesus.’ I confess it – I was making this up as I went. But her alliance would be far more powerful than her avoidance.

She watched me. Her eyes narrowed, and I think perhaps she hated me only for having over-mastered her. She was a great warrior – and none of us likes to lose.

So I decided to treat her the way I’d have treated any other noble foe – to ease her mind.

‘There is no surrender involved,’ I said quietly. ‘I will hold your son as surety, but in the harbour of Ephesus you’ll have every hoplite at your beck and call. And you will know – none better – if I take Briseis alive. And I give my word.’

‘Greeks lie,’ she said.

‘Damn it!’ I said. My temper was flaring, Diomedes was running east to kill my love and this woman was considering fighting a hopeless sea fight against terrible odds because that’s who she was.

Brasidas was too much of a gentleman to actually threaten the boy. But I saw him move, and his helmeted head turned. And I followed his eyes and saw another ship coming up under easy oars – Archilogos, my almost-brother, was coming to talk.

‘You will take my son, raid Ephesus, and then run, leaving me a laughing stock,’ she said. ‘And then you will hold him to ransom half his life. I’d rather just fight and die. And who knows? Perhaps I’ll triumph,’ she said, and her eyes flared.

I was suddenly tired. All my injuries pained me, and all the fatigue of a four-day chase came down to this moment, and I wanted it to end. This is where men make bad choices. Aye, and women, too.

My beautiful plan was coming to pieces. The threat to kill them all had been foolish, because they could not understand the stakes.

‘Do you know what it is like to be a woman and command men?’ she asked. ‘It means you must win every time.’

‘It’s not so very different as a man,’ I said.

‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘If
you
free a man, it is mercy. If I do, I’m a soft woman or a whore who pined for him. I cannot afford to be humiliated at all, Plataean.’

Through this exchange the friend of my boyhood was coming aboard, his ship coming alongside, and he stepping from ship to ship as they didn’t quite touch. He had good steady oarsmen.

Black Raven
began to come forward. My trierarchs were growing restive.

‘I will
not
humiliate you,’ I said. ‘I swear before the gods.’

And then my friend – my enemy – came up the catwalk. His bare feet made no noise and his only greeting was to remove his helmet.

‘He swore to save my family,’ Archilogos said. His voice was deeper and more beautiful than mine. ‘Then he slept with my sister and killed my father.’

‘I’m here to
save
your sister, Archilogos! Even as Diomedes sails away to kill her.’ I all but spat the words. I wanted his friendship, but his ignorance was about to kill
everything.

Artemisia looked at Archilogos. He was handsome – beautiful, even – and he had scars on his face and lines at the corner of his mouth. I hadn’t seen him from this close in years.

‘Does this man love your sister?’ she asked.

Archilogos shook his head. ‘Oh, I suppose he does,’ he said wearily. ‘And she him, or so she never ceases to tell me. But I no longer bear the responsibility for her.’

Artemisia was looking at me. ‘Give me a hostage,’ she said.

Archilogos looked at her, and then at me. His bronze armour was magnificent – but not as fine as mine. It was a stupid thing to think in the moment, but there it was.

I turned to him. ‘Artaphernes, son of Artaphernes, is even now riding
Royal Post
to Sardis and then Ephesus to order her death. Diomedes is his ally in this – that’s why he received two of the Great King’s sons to carry on his ship.’ I could see, further down the catwalk, two well-dressed Persian youths. ‘The other two, no doubt. They mean to kill her.’

‘I have disowned her,’ Archilogos said. ‘She is no sister of mine.’

‘That must have been a magnificently empty gesture,’ I shot back, ‘given whose wife she was.’

Oh, I’m a fool. Always antagonise those you hope to sway by argument. But Archilogos smiled as he had when we were boys, and he acknowledged a fair hit.

‘I mean to have her as my wife, Archilogos,’ I said. ‘By Heracles, my ancestor! The Great King is beaten! The next fleet to come here will come from the west, and it will be Greek. The world is changing, brother!’

I don’t know where that came from. We used to call each other ‘brother’ when we were boys.

He turned his head and looked away.

Artemisia suddenly nodded decisively. ‘Well, call me a fool or a fatuous woman, but I believe you. No one could make this up. Give me a hostage.’

‘I will give you my own son,’ I said.

Seckla met me coming back aboard after I’d seen Hipponax and two marines – all allowed arms – over the side. I returned Phayllos and his companion their arms.

‘I will return you to your ship when we leave Ephesus,’ I said.

Phayllos smiled. ‘She is very persuasive, is she not?’

I wasn’t paying attention. Diomedes had a parasang head start.

I had a very good ship, and now, with two signals to my friends, I ran for Ephesus.

From the south end of Chios, it’s not a complex voyage into Ephesus, but it has challenges. The coast of Chios runs from the southern point at an angle, from south-west to north-east. My ship was well placed and had the right rig. We raised our sail – indeed, it was laid to the brails – and we were away.

An hour passed and none of us could tell if we were gaining. I was beyond mere spirit. My whole being was in the bow and in the sails.

More to distract myself than to help my friend, I walked back out of the bows and knelt by Leukas. I found myself telling all this – explaining my decisions.

My Briton’s eyes opened. I hadn’t really been paying enough attention, but he had been breathing fairly well and now his eyes opened. ‘Sixth day,’ he said. ‘I may yet equal Seckla.’

I hadn’t even hoped. So much of my spirit was seeking after Briseis that I had wasted no hope and too few prayers on my friend and helmsman. But now my hope soared.

Brasidas came and knelt beside me.

He took Leukas’s hand, ran another hand down his side and over his gut.

‘No fever,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘Sometimes the spear point never goes into the gut.’ He shrugged.

‘Sometimes the gods are kind,’ I said.

Brasidas looked at me, rubbed the closed wound on his shoulder, and I think what I read in his eyes was pity. ‘Sometimes,’ he said.

The sun was three fingers higher in the sky when one of the fleeing ships turned end for end. We were coming up on them rapidly enough to see with the naked eye – our sailing rig was so much better than theirs. Just having the mast permanently anchored into the hull is a powerful tool and the rake of our forward boat-sail mast, which raised the bow very slightly against the downward pressure of the mainmast, gave us a lighter entry and made us faster.

I wondered what Diomedes had promised this poor bastard. His tactics were obvious – if I lowered my mast to face him, I’d lose an hour. No question.

Of course, I didn’t have to lower my mast. But Diomedes had never been in the western ocean, and didn’t know this rig.

‘Seckla?’ I asked quietly.

Let me add that half a parasang astern the rest of my friends – aye, and the Red King – were spread over the ocean. Artemisia was close behind me, but Archilogos was closest of all. Moire was just behind him. I had a little concern about betrayal, but more about the loss of time. And ever I had the spectre of Artaphernes riding, riding, and losing no time for adverse winds or grey days or enemies. A good man could ride twenty-four parasangs a day on the Royal Road and he was a renowned horseman and a relative of the king. Athens to the Hellespont was fifty parasangs. From the Hellespont to Ephesus was much less. On the one hand, much of that distance was very rough ground, but on the other, we knew the Great King had built roads as he came.