Sword of Apollo (10 page)

He looked down at his protruding gut and was filled with self-loathing. How had he come to this wretched state? The other night he had dreamt that he possessed the magical ring of Gyges—a golden ring that made the wearer invisible. When he put on the ring, however, it only made his prick disappear. A disconcerting dream. He almost wished that their old shipmate Barka the eunuch was here. Barka was a soothsayer who had enjoyed interpreting Chusor's dreams for him … usually casting a pall with his gloomy predictions. Annoyingly, the eunuch's prophecies often came true. But Barka was on the island of Sicily now, living at the palace of a wealthy man who was so powerful in the shaky democracy of Syrakuse that people called him the Tyrant.

Just then he heard a strange sound carrying on the wind. At first he thought it was a seabird. But there were no gulls in the sky.

“What was that sound?” asked the helmsman, Agrios, who sat nearby on his throne-like seat affixed to the top deck at the aft of the boat. The gray-bearded man—the oldest and most valued member of the crew—craned his neck to peer down the length of the deck and around the upswept prow at the other end of the long ship.

Chusor walked swiftly along the left side of the upper deck until he came to the bow, jumping down onto the little sloping foredeck. He leaned around the wooden bow-like piece jutting from the prow and saw a two-decked galley a quarter of a mile away. Even from this distance he could see that the boat was in disarray. Its main sail was rigged but askew, and the lines were tangled. A few men stood at the side railings, waving their arms frantically.

Chusor turned and shouted down into the hold, “Ji! Come here!”

Ji scrambled up the ladder.

“Ship,” said Chusor. “It's Greek.”

“A trap?” asked Ji.

“I don't see any other vessels. And none of its oars are at the ports. It's just drifting.”

Ji shouted directions to Agrios, who turned the
Spear
slightly to intercept the other boat. As they got closer Chusor saw objects floating around the ship, as though the crew had jettisoned everything on board because of a leak in the hull. But there was no sign that the ship was swamped—it sat high in the water.

Zana appeared at Chusor's side. She had thrown on a man's tunic and strapped her sword around her waist.

“What's floating around that ship?” she asked.

“I don't—”

Chusor stopped midsentence. His eyes grew wide with horror as he realized what he was looking at. Corpses in the water. And there were sharks moving round and round the ship, and they paused now and then to tear on human flesh.

The men on the deck of the other vessel pushed another lifeless body over the edge to join the floating throng of death.

“What in the name of Astarte are they doing?” asked Zana, horrified.

Chusor shook his head. He realized there must be seventy or more bodies in the water. Nearly the entire crew of the bireme.

When the ship was close enough to hail, Zana cupped a hand to her mouth and shouted, “Who are you?”

A man on the ship called back, “We need help! A sickness swept through the decks. It happened so fast. Nearly all of our slaves are dead. We don't have enough to man the oars. We're stranded. Please, help us!” he begged.

“He's a Korinthian,” said Chusor. “I can tell by his accent.”

“I know,” said Zana.

Ji ordered the oarsmen to stop rowing and the
Spear
came slowly to a stop almost parallel with the other boat on the open water.

“What kind of sickness?” Chusor called back.

“I don't know,” said the man. “A terrible fever, followed by…” The wind came up hard, drowning out his words.

“What did he say?” asked Zana.

“Black bile from the nose,” said Chusor. “I couldn't hear the rest.”

Ji said, “‘An unquenchable thirst' were his words.”

Zana shook her head violently. “We can't bring them on board. I've never heard of a sickness killing that many men so fast.”

“We must leave them,” agreed Ji. “Their ship is cursed. The eclipse.”

Zana glanced at Ji. “Put us back on course for Serifo.”

Ji nodded and shouted a command to Agrios.

“What's that?” asked Zana, pointing at the Korinthian galley.

A man was squirming through one of the lowest oar holes near the waterline. He had torn away the protective oiled leather cover that prevented water from getting in through the round opening, and had greased his skin with oarlock tallow to make himself slippery enough to squeeze through the small hole—a hole that didn't seem big enough for such a broad-shouldered man. It looked as though the Korinthian ship were giving birth. The man dropped into the water and pushed aside corpses, lashing out at a shark that got in his way. He started swimming desperately toward the
Spear
, a hundred feet away.

“He's mad!” declared Zana.

The mariners on the top deck of the Korinthian ship spotted the swimmer and reached for weapons, throwing spears and shooting arrows that whizzed past his head, but the man dove under the water and vanished from sight.

“Where did he go?” asked Zana.

“Maybe a shark got him,” said Ji.

The swimmer didn't come up for such a long time that Chusor thought he was most likely drowned or taken by one of the giant rapacious fish. But suddenly the man burst from the water right next to the
Spear
, gasping for air and clawing at the hull.

“Let me on board!” he screamed in Greek. “Let me on board! I'm not sick! I didn't have the fever! Help me! I'm Athenian! My friends will pay you a great reward—”

He tried to grab onto one of the poles sticking out from the lowest level, but an oarsman jerked it hard, cracking the escaped slave on the side of the head. He fell back and slumped down with his face in the water.

Chusor didn't hesitate. He jumped over the side. The plunge into the cold water was a shock. But he swam quickly to the escaped slave, grabbing him around the chest from behind and pulling the man's head up, treading water with his powerful legs.

“What are you doing?” Zana screamed down at him, her face twisted in wrath.

“I'm not going to let an Athenian drown,” Chusor yelled back. “If he didn't catch the fever that killed the others, then he has been blessed by the gods.”

An arrow slammed into the hull above Chusor's head. Zana reached down and grabbed a bow, nocked an arrow, and sent it flying at the enemy ship. One of the Korinthian archers fell over the side with an arrow in his neck, and the others scattered.

Zana glared down at Chusor, shouting, “I should leave you both in the sea.”

“So be it!” Chusor spat back, choking on a mouthful of water.

“Bring them on board,” Zana said to Ji. “But Chusor and the other are to stay on the top deck until we get to the island.” Then she stormed off in the direction of her cabin.

Ji called for help and mariners ran up to the rail—led by Diokles—and lowered down a rope, quickly pulling Chusor and the Athenian to the upper deck. Then Ji barked out commands to the men at the benches and Agrios at the helm. The
Spear
's oars dipped into the water and the ship started moving quickly away from the stranded Korinthian vessel.

Chusor knelt by the Athenian. The man's back was covered with hundreds of scars—years of whip marks. He had obviously suffered many abuses while a prisoner of the Korinthians, but he was attractive and well built. The skin on his shoulders was scraped raw where he had squeezed through the oar hole. Suddenly he coughed and spat up water, then rolled onto his side and glanced up at the curious mariners staring down at him.

“Are you a … friend or foe of Athens?” the stranger asked with ragged breaths.

Diokles offered him a wineskin and he drank from it greedily.

“We have a license to raid for the Athenians,” said Diokles. “But we are no man's servant.”

“Thank … the gods,” the stranger replied. He got slowly to his knees. “I need a knife,” he said.

Diokles looked at Chusor and he nodded back. Diokles slipped a boat knife from his belt and gave it, handle first, to the stranger. The man clutched the knife, and held out his left hand where the letter
K
had been tattooed between his thumb and pointer finger. With a quick stroke he sliced off a hunk of skin, removing the flesh with the tattoo; it landed on the deck with a sickening slap. The man made a fist and raised it at the other ship, which was now far behind them. “Die!” he screamed. “I have escaped from your prison! I am your slave no more! The eclipse foretold your doom! Go to Poseidon's house and join all of my brothers who died by your hands!”

He turned and stared at Chusor, breathing hard. His shoulders slumped and he started to sob, covering his face with his hands. Blood trickled down his arm and dripped onto the deck. He dropped the knife.

“Who are you?” asked Diokles, reaching down and taking his blade.

“My name is Phoenix.”

Chusor said, “Welcome aboard the
Spear of Thetis
, Phoenix the Athenian.”

 

THIRTEEN

It was midnight and Nikias sat in a chair holding his sleeping daughter Agathe on his lap, cradling her in his arms, singing in a quiet voice to lull her back to sleep. Her heavy eyelids sagged, but she was trying desperately to stay awake. She was a fighter, Nikias mused, just like her father. She battled Morpheus every night. But the god of sleep always won.

“How come a sculptor has never made a statue of a man holding his child?” Kallisto asked from the other side of the darkened bedchamber. Her voice was somber and distant.

Nikias peered across the dim lamplit room. His wife sat propped up in bed nursing their other daughter, Penelope. Kallisto looked so lovely now, with her long black hair unloosed from its braid and pouring over her shoulders. The single oil lamp cast the room in a pale glow that made Kallisto's striking face appear to be carved from marble. She lovingly stroked the top of Penelope's head, and Nikias felt a pressure in his throat … as though the vast love he felt for his little family was swelling his heart and leaving no more room in his breast.

He said, “Men only carve what they see as important—warriors and athletes, gods and monsters. And sometimes horses,” he added wryly, and stood up very carefully, rocking the child as he walked to the shuttered window. He stepped on something hard and a sharp pain shot through his heel. He cursed under his breath. Looking down, he saw a wooden doll sprawled on the floor, and he pushed it aside with his foot in annoyance. He went to the window and opened the shutter, peering down into the courtyard below where a torch burned in a sconce, illuminating his grandmother and sister as they knelt by some travel bags—checking over everything that they would need for the long journey to Athens.

Kallisto switched Penelope to her other breast. “This one needs so much more milk.” She spoke out loud, but she was talking to herself. After a pause she asked, “What would you carve a statue of, husband?”

“I prefer statues of goddesses,” said Nikias. “So I would sculpt you.”

Kallisto frowned and sniffed, a sign that she was not in the mood for honeyed words. “I don't want to go to Athens,” she said flatly.

“We must,” Nikias replied.

“I'm afraid.”

“Grandmother said—”

“She lied to you,” said Kallisto with abrupt ferocity, causing Penelope to start. Kallisto made a shushing sound and rocked Penelope for a little while, soothing her back to complacency, then said in a softer voice, “She said that to make you feel better. I fear that if I am forced to travel tonight I will lose the child. The bleeding is getting heavier.”

“You will ride in a covered cart with the girls,” said Nikias. “I've padded it with blankets and pillows. Don't worry. Artemis loves you. She will protect you and the baby.”

Kallisto shook her head. “But you are worried. I heard you praying to
Zeus
, not Artemis. You know how dangerous it will be for us to cross the mountains. Four days on the road to Athens. We might be attacked. The girls—”

“We can't stay here,” insisted Nikias. “Imagine you and the girls and the baby behind the walls of Plataea when it's surrounded by the enemy. The siege might last years.”

“I would rather die at home than on the road to Athens,” said Kallisto.

“And what of our children?” asked Nikias. “Where would you rather have them die?” The moment the words had left his mouth he regretted saying them, for Kallisto's eyes welled with tears and she stifled a sob. Nikias looked at Agathe—the child who had been named after his beloved mother. She was sound asleep, so he set her down in her little bed and went to Kallisto's side and knelt. “I'm sorry,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “I'm sorry for what I said. But we don't have any choice.”

Kallisto turned her face away as tears rolled down her cheeks. “What will we do when we get to Athens?” she asked. “How will we survive?”

“The women can weave,” said Nikias. “And the men and I will join the triremes and fight for Athens.”

“Weaving and rowing,” said Kallisto. “While Plataea stands alone.”

“Enough warriors will remain behind to protect the walls,” said Nikias.

“You wish you were staying, don't you?” she said.

“Grandfather has entrusted me with helping to bring everyone safely to Athens. I would not let my family make the journey without me.” But it killed him to be leaving his grandfather and friends behind, Leo and Hesiod among them.

“The eclipse has filled me with fear,” she said. “The gods are angry.”

“At whom?”

“Nobody ever knows,” replied Kallisto. “And that's why men always stumble their way blindly to their dooms.”