Sword of Apollo (18 page)

“What did he shout?” asked Agrios, cocking his head to one side as if to catch a lingering voice on the wind.

“All that I heard was something about ‘the pyres,'” said Chusor, and he felt a chill despite the warm afternoon.

Agrios expertly guided the
Spear
toward the gap in the breakwater. The towers on either side were usually bristling with Skythian archers, but there were only a few Athenian archers up there today. No Skythians in sight. They were a bowshot away from the bastions when Zana climbed the stairs at the opposite end of the deck, along with Ji. Zana looked disheveled and debauched.

“Better late than never,” Chusor muttered.

“Stop oars!” Ji called to the lower decks, and the
Spear
slowed down, gliding toward the entrance to the harbor. Agrios made little adjustments with the tiller handles to prevent the trireme from turning in the strange eddies swirling here.

“What ship are you?” a guard on the left tower shouted down.

“The
Spear of Thetis
and two captured vessels,” said Zana. “Bearing grain.”

“Enter the harbor! Go to the grain docks at the Emporion.” The guard said something to a man at his side and he blew thrice on a horn to signal the arrival of the ships.

“Oars, pull!” cried Ji.

The
Spear
cruised through the breakwater gap and into Kantharos harbor.

“Gods!” exclaimed Agrios, “where are all the boats?”

Chusor looked around. Usually this area of the harbor was teeming with triremes and other ships. But it was strangely empty. And there was a foul reek in the air. There was only one small galley approaching quickly, and this vessel—like the sailing ship—was filled to the upper edges with people and their goods. The oarsmen were rowing frantically.

“I think we should turn around,” said Chusor. “Something strange is happening.”

Agrios glanced over his shoulder and said, “Too late for that.”

Chusor turned and saw that the Athenians were already at work setting up the great chain to block the gap between the towers, pulling it across in a boat made for this purpose. Zana had seen this, too, and she walked clumsily across the deck toward Chusor and Agrios, snapping at them, “What are they doing? Why are they putting up the chain?”

“Well,
I
didn't tell them to do it,” said Chusor. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

They watched as the small Athenian galley approached the breakwater towers and came to a clumsy stop, crashing into the rocks at the base of the tower on the right and breaking some of its oars.

“We have your silver!” said a man on the deck of the galley, his voice carrying across the still water of the harbor.

One of the guards leaned over and called down, “You're late! And the price has doubled!”

“They're bribing the guards to leave the harbor,” said Zana, aghast.

“So it would seem,” said Chusor.

“What is going on?”

“We'll find out soon enough,” said Agrios.

“We should go back now,” said Zana.

“And pay the guards with grain?” said Chusor. “We need to unload our shipment, take our payment, and then try our luck with those guards.”

“Chusor is right,” said Agrios. “We have only enough silver on hand to give the men their shore coins.”

Zana chewed on a nail nervously.

They soon arrived at the docks on the eastern shore of the harbor. The place was deserted.

“I don't hear any hammers or chisels,” said Chusor.

The frames of ten or so vessels could be seen like the skeletons of giant animals in the shadows of the outbuildings and boat sheds. Usually this cove was bursting with activity, for this was where the triremes were built or mended, and it was never without the noise of hammer and chisel on wood, except on great holidays or the funeral processions of important men. Chusor, who had spent his first twenty years in Athens—most of that time around the docks and shipyards—had never seen it so desolate.

They glided up to the long dock where grain ships unloaded their cargoes. But there was nobody there to greet them: no port officials or even slaves to unload the grain. Crewmen from the
Spear
and the merchant vessels jumped out and tied the ships to the dock. Zana stood looking around with a confused and owlish expression. Finally she said, “I'm going to my cabin. Bring me any news.”

She hastily made her way down the stairs.

“I'm going to go find my brother,” said Agrios as he locked the tiller handles in place. “He lives in northern Piraeus, near the gates to the Legs,” he added, using the local slang for the Long Walls. Then he dashed across the deck and leapt nimbly to the dock, sprinting toward the sheds on his bandy legs.

Chusor went below decks. The oarsmen were all stretching their limbs and rubbing their muscles after the long pull. The men were happily talking about all of the wonderful things they were going to do in Athens, most involving women or dancing boys and wine. The noise of their voices in the cramped space was deafening.

“Give us some owls!” the men demanded from him. Athenian coins were all stamped with the image of an owl on one side.

“Hold up,” said Chusor as he pushed his way to the center of the ship, where he found Phoenix standing by one of the big water jugs, splashing his face. The Athenian had sat on an oar bench for the entire voyage and his chiseled torso glistened with sweat. Diokles stood next to him. The two had become friends over the past three days. Phoenix had quickly regained his strength and seemed like a new man, unrecognizable from the half-drowned escapee whom they had dragged on board, and he was smiling happily.

“I never would have made it home without you,” he said to Chusor.

“Don't thank me yet,” Chusor replied.

Diokles took one look at Chusor's grim face and asked, “What's wrong?”

Chusor lowered his voice for their ears alone. “There's something terribly wrong in Athens.” He briefly told them what had transpired on their arrival—the ship frantically leaving Piraeus, the strange smoke, and the lack of activity at the docks.

The color drained from Phoenix's face as Chusor spoke, and the mariner looked full of dread. “Come with me to the city,” he said. “We'll find out what's going on.”

“I can't,” Chusor replied. “I have a price on my head here. I'm a wanted man in Athens. I must stay with the ships.”

“I'll go with Phoenix,” Diokles said.

Chusor put his hand on Diokles's wrist. “Find Ezekiel,” he whispered.

Diokles nodded, then he and Phoenix stole from the trireme amidst the chaos of the cheerful crew. Chusor gave each of the mariners a small advance on their pay and the oarsmen slowly dispersed from the vessel, leaving only Ji and a skeleton crew. Chusor peered out one of the oar holes, watching as the last of the men disappeared into the streets leading from the docks.

“Chusor!” Zana called out from the cabin with a high-handed tone. “Come to me!”

Chusor sighed and tossed the empty money pouch on the deck. Then he went obediently to the cabin to perform his duties.

 

TWO

Nikias and Leo stood over the corpse of General Zoticus, the leader of the Plataean cavalry. Other horsemen jostled into them, crowding around to get a better look at the body of their fallen leader.

Zoticus lay on his back with open eyes, his hawkish gray-bearded face peering skyward. He had been wounded in the chaos of the battle—cut across the back of the thigh by an enemy javelin, but despite this injury he had fought valiantly, leading the rout of the enemy and chasing them for several miles before turning back. It was only after returning to the Tower of Theseus with his men that he fainted and fell from his horse. He died minutes later.

Nikias had seen this uncanny thing happen before: warriors who'd suffered a mortal blow fought with fury, only to collapse and die the moment that the day had been won. His grandfather had explained the phenomenon as the ikor of the gods—the magical blood that flowed through a warrior's veins in the heat of battle.

“He's smiling,” said one of the riders with solemnity.

“A great victory,” said another.

Less than a score of Plataeans had perished during the battle, while thousands of the enemy lay dead upon the field in front of the tower. Unarmored and unshielded men were no match for well-aimed arrows—arrows that the skilled women archers rained down like a hailstorm from three sides. Nikias could not believe how foolish the enemy had been to rush headlong into the trap that he and Zoticus hastily devised after Nikias had found the Plataean cavalry returning from their scouting expedition.

Nikias only wished that Arkilokus had been killed or captured. He'd looked for his cousin's body amongst the dead but had not found it. The most important thing, however, was that the road to Athens was now clear, and his daughters, sister, and all of the other Plataeans were safe.

At least for a while.

“We must build a pyre for him and the other dead,” said a deep voice.

Nikias turned and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with a black beard and a scar running from his left eye to his chin. This was Sarpedon, Zoticus's second-in-command.

Sarpedon sent men to search for dry wood, then opened a pouch on his belt and poured a handful of silver Plataean coins onto the ground. He knelt down and picked up a single coin, placing it in Zoticus's open palm, curling his dead fingers over it. This was payment for Kiron the Ferryman to take his shade over the river Styx.

“Here comes another Plataean hero,” chanted all of the warriors in unison.

Before Sarpedon moved on to the next body to place a coin, he glanced up at Nikias. “Get everyone back on the road,” he ordered. “We leave as soon as the funeral fires are lit.”

Nikias nodded and pushed his way through the circle of men, followed by Leo.

“The Skythians want to talk to you,” said Leo.

Nikias looked over to where the Skythians sat apart from everyone else astride their stock-still horses. They all wore their long hair in topknots like Kolax, and their bare arms were covered in tattoos. He spotted Osyrus, Kolax's evil-looking father, staring back at him. He strode over to the Skythians with Leo at his side and raised his hand in greeting.

“Nikias,” said Osyrus in halting Greek. “To Plataea we return now.”

“Very dangerous,” said Nikias. “Thebans control the other side of the pass.”

“Athens is shut to us,” replied Osyrus. “The only Skythians in Athens now are the enemies of our tribe.”

“Please tell my grandfather what happened here,” said Nikias. “Tell him the Sword of Apollo will return to Plataea with help. He will understand what I mean.” “The Sword of Apollo” was the code that he and his grandfather had chosen to use in case Nikias had to send a message.

“The Arkon will learn,” said Osyrus.

“Kolax became separated from us on the mountain and—”

“Leo already told us what happened to my son,” interrupted Osyrus gruffly. “When he came to the fort to warn us.”

“We did not see Kolax captured by the Dog Raiders,” said Nikias.

“But my heart tells me he is in great danger,” replied Osyrus. “Good-bye. May Papaeus guide you to the city of the Athenians.” He turned his horse and rode off, followed by his men, galloping up the road back toward the Three Heads. Then they left the road and vanished into the ancient olive grove.

“What do you think will happen to them?” asked Leo.

“I don't know,” said Nikias. “They're like a swift-riding plague bringing death. If only we had another thousand of them we'd win this war.”

Nikias walked over to where Saeed and Phile sat in the wagon. Saeed's face and tunic were splattered with enemy blood, and Phile's hands trembled uncontrollably as she tried to take a drink of wine from a skin. The girls lay asleep on a pile of clothes. Nestor, utterly worn-out from the day's events, lay curled up on the ground with his head on Teleos's lap. Ajax was using the dog's bony haunch as a pillow.

“Where did you get this dog?” asked Teleos.

“I stole him from a Megarian,” said Nikias.

“Can we name him?” asked Ajax. “He's the best dog ever.”

“He's got a name,” said Nikias. “It's Nestor.”

“That's a stupid name for a dog,” said Teleos. “We were thinking Hellhound. We love him.”

“He's Nestor,” said Nikias impatiently. “We're heading out. We need to get everyone back on the road.” Teleos jumped to his feet and the tired dog groaned.

Saeed shot a concerned look at Phile. “Your sister—”

“I'm fine,” Phile said, and smiled wanly. She held up a hand to show that it was shaking. “Only I can't control my hands.”

Nikias leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Your hands did not tremble when you shot that bow,” he said. “That's all that matters.”

She dropped her eyes and bowed her head. Then took her brother's hand quickly in her own and kissed it. “Thank you,” she said in a choking voice.

Nikias, Leo, and Saeed went up and down the line of refugees on horseback, calling for everyone to get back on the road. Within an hour the men, women, and children of Plataea were on the march again, with Sarpedon at the lead and the rest of the cavalry spread out all along the line. Nikias, Leo, and Saeed were at the rear, riding behind the carts.

It was slow going with so many thousands of women, children, and elderly. Every time a cart wheel broke, Nikias encouraged the owner to leave the thing behind; but the men were stubborn and couldn't bear to give up their belongings, so Nikias found all of the smiths and woodworkers and organized them into crews to make quick repairs. He made Teleos and Ajax his runners, and they dashed about with the loyal dog, Nestor the Hellhound, who had decided that the boys were much more amiable companions than Nikias … and much more likely to supply him with food.