Long War 04 - The Great King Page 5

  I spent an hour listening, and then I had them distributed among my own rowers. They’d been bled of their most dangerous men, twice – there were fewer than forty of them left, and I was almost twenty rowers short. They brought me to full complement. In fact, with Briseis and her women, with Artapherenes and his soldiers and his four servants, we were as crowded as a trireme can possibly be, but on the positive side, with twenty extra rowers, I had reliefs, and because my Lydia was a hemiola and not a true trireme, I had the deck space to ship them all – aye, and sleep at sea if required. So we coasted to a small inlet and took on water, and then we started west, into the afternoon sun, for Carthage.

  Carthage, on whom I had made war for years.

  Dagon’s home.

  The masters of the tin trade.

  Laugh if you like. Sometimes, when you make a decision, you know it is right before you feel the consequence.

  2

  Carthage enjoys one of the finest natural harbours in all the great aspis of the world, improved by the genius of man. The breakwater is longer and stronger than that of Syracusa, and the two beaches that flank the promontory like the guard on a xiphos’s hilt each have berthing for a hundred ships, and there are ship-sheds – the largest and best in all the Middle Sea – all along the promontory coast, an incredible fortune in quarried stone, and every shed holds a hull, dry, well stored, ready for sea.

  The last time I entered that harbour, I’d been a half-dead victim of a month of the most extreme humiliations and tortures at the hands of Dagon, the mad or cursed helmsman. This was the first time I’d entered the magnificent harbour in command of my own vessel, and the view was better.

  On the other hand, I could smell the roast-pork smell of human sacrifice rising to the gods. Down in the urine-soaked hull of a slave-rowed trireme, I’d never smelled it.

  Listen, friends. The Greeks have been known to sacrifice men. I watched Themistocles do it once, and frankly, it sickened me, like a lot of the other crap that half-mad demagogue did. But it is scarcely the norm, for all that power-mad Agamemnon sacrificed his own daughter for a fair wind to Troy. I say again – Greeks can do such things, but most Greeks think them barbarous.

  The whole trip to Carthage, I had Briseis on my deck. She would walk the catwalk like a queen, or settle on the short bench by the helm. We talked as we had not talked in many years.

  At any rate, she sniffed the air and looked at me. ‘What is that, love?’ she said. ‘Pigs instead of sheep?’

  I shook my head. ‘The Great King’s allies sacrifice children to Ba’al for fair weather and good sailing,’ I said.

  In the face she made, I read the utter disgust of the mother. I seldom thought of Briseis in those days as anything but a lover, but in that moment I had to see that she had children whom she loved – perhaps loved far more than she loved Artapherenes. Or me.

  ‘How are your own children?’ I asked. ‘And dare I ask how you come to be here?’

  She leaned back and let the fold of her shawl fall away from her face. ‘My children are wonderful,’ she said. ‘My two sons are tall and strong, and will be fine men.’

  I laughed to see her pleasure in thinking of her sons. ‘Better men than their father, I hope?’ I asked. Her first husband had been, in my eyes, a coward and a fool – for all that he was, for a while, one of the most powerful men in the Greek world. I’d killed him, of course.

  ‘I hope that Heraklitus, at least, will not be the fool his father is,’ she said. ‘And Dionysus will be a scholar.’

  ‘You called your first after the teacher?’ I asked. ‘My teacher?’

  She looked at the growing crescent of the Carthaginian harbour. ‘You have never asked his name before,’ she said. ‘You know that he is fourteen years old? He goes to the gymnasium of Sardis with the Greek boys, and throws his spears. He wishes to compete in the boys’ pankration.’ She raised her eyes and met mine. ‘He looks like you.’

  That struck me like a sword-blow – like being hit with another man’s shield, right in the face, or like the blow of another ship hitting your own ship, so that you are knocked flat.

  ‘He’s . . . what?’ I asked.

  Briseis shook her head. ‘Why do I love you so?’ she asked. ‘You are sometimes the merest brute.’

  Megakles was beginning the landing routine. A pair of pilot boats were pulling out from the main wharf, and two warships were being put into the water.

  Someone had recognised my ship.

  Sekla came to stand by me. Brasidas was fully armed, and so were all of his marines, and Ka had all his non-wounded archers in the bow, bows strung. Cyrus and his two friends were amidships, fully dressed in rather formal Persian robes over trousers and tucked into their beautiful red-leather boots, and Artapherenes reclined on a pallet of their cloaks, his beard neatly trimmed.

  Sekla bowed to Briseis and turned to me. ‘Time to pay the ferryman,’ he said. ‘Or whatever you Greeks say when you are about to die. May I just say . . .’ he pointed at the onrushing shapes of the two Carthaginian warships ‘. . . that I told you so? I’d like you to accept that I told you this would happen before we died.’

  I was still looking open mouthed at Briseis. She pulled a fold of her shawl over her face.

  In the time it took the rowers to pull five strokes, everything about my life had changed.

  Because I had a son. By Briseis. Named Heraklitus.

  The pilot boats put an elder on my deck, and the two Carthaginians lay off, with burning fire pots prepared on their marine decks and bows strung. As soon as the old man came aboard, he faced me without a bow.

  ‘I am old and have grown sons,’ he announced. ‘No one will ransom me, and if I raise my right hand, this ship will be rammed and sunk with all hands, and no one will account me a loss. Understand, pirate?’

  I nodded. ‘Sir, I am merely the tool of the gods, in this instance. My ship bears the tokens of an embassy, and I carry the Lord Artapherenes, who comes from the Great King of Persia to speak to the council of Carthage.’

  I think his face must have worn the look I had when Briseis told me that her son was also mine.

  I motioned to him, and led him forward to where Artapherenes lay among his attendants.

  ‘This is the Lord Artapherenes, Satrap of Phrygia, relative of the Great King,’ I said. ‘And his wife Briseis and men of his bodyguard.’

  I suppose it might have been possible to impersonate such rank, but not in such numbers. The Carthaginian bowed deeply. ‘I’m sure that the tale of your presence here will bear some telling,’ he snapped at me. ‘But I will see to it your tokens of embassy are respected, at least until you clear the harbour.’

  I nodded. I had my own plan, now that my duty was done. I went and knelt by Artapherenes, and I motioned Cyrus to attend. He knelt by my side.

  ‘My lord,’ I said.

  His eyes were open and his face was stronger. I have known many men recover at sea and in deserts who might have perished on land. The sea is clean.

  So he smiled. ‘Arimnestos. I knew you would get me here.’

  I nodded. ‘Lord, these men are my enemies, and I don’t intend to give them the chance to betray their oaths to the gods.’

  Cyrus smiled at me. He put a hand on mine, right hand to right hand. ‘You are a good man,’ he said. ‘Why must we fight?’

  ‘Change is the only constant,’ I said. ‘Some day, perhaps, we will be allies.’ I stood up. ‘I will have you swayed gently over the side, my lord, but the very moment you come to rest on that wharf, my men will back oars, and I will fly.’

  Artapherenes nodded. ‘My heart advises that what you do, you must do,’ he admitted. ‘That man’s face held much hate. What have you done?’

  I smiled. ‘They made me a slave. I paid them back.’ I rose to my feet and walked back to the helmsman’s station. I took the oars from Sekla and said, ‘Give me a moment here,’ and he smiled and walked away.

  Briseis watched it all.

  I put
my ship on a long, slow curve towards the pier to which the Carthaginian harbour officer pointed from his pilot boat.

  I made a hand sign to Leukas, and the oar-rate picked up. The Carthaginian ships had come to a full stop to watch our talk with their elder, and they were slower and heavier, and we shot away.

  ‘I am about to put your husband ashore,’ I said.

  She nodded.

  ‘You could always come with me,’ I said. ‘I know you won’t, but I’ll curse myself for the next ten years if I do not ask.’

  Briseis stood. Very softly, she said, ‘Some day, I will live as your wife. But you do not want to humiliate Artapherenes any more than I do.’ She smiled into my eyes. ‘I do not love him with fire, but I love him none the less, Achilles. He is a worthy man.’

  ‘He lay with your mother!’ I said. See, the adolescent is never far beneath the surface, and I was suddenly angry.

  She recoiled, looked away, and flushed. Then she said, ‘You once swore to protect our family.’

  Now it was my turn to look away.

  She nodded. ‘If the world were a simple place, none of us would have to make the choices that define who we are. Even when our choices are folly and hubris.’ She shrugged. ‘And would you have me abandon our children?’

  ‘Children?’ I asked.

  She laughed. ‘You are a fool, my Achilles.’ She rose on her toes and kissed me, to the scandal of all the Persians. ‘It is war,’ she said. ‘And in war, there is change. Didn’t Heraklitus say so? Not this summer or next – but soon.’

  ‘I will come for you,’ I said, as rash as an ephebe.

  She smiled. ‘Good.’

  We were three ships’ lengths from the wharf. And as usual, I had put Briseis ahead of all my other concerns. Thankfully . . .

  In many ways, despite everything that follows, it was Lydia’s finest hour.

  First, because we rowed to within a ship’s length of the pier – and suddenly, without warning or orders, at a single whistle, the port-side rowers reversed their cushions and we turned in our own length, slowing in the process to a stop and then continuing sternward at a walking pace. It is a wonderful manoeuvre – try training men to it, and you will find that it can take a summer to get it right once. Only a crew that has been together for years can get it just right, without broaching the ship or capsizing or breaking oars or wallowing.

  All the starboard-side oars for the first six benches from the stern came in, and our starboard side sternward bulwark came to rest against the stone of the pier as if we were a child accepting the gentle embrace of a loving mother.

  Before we touched, every marine was ashore. And Briseis – bless her – her voice barked like a fishwife’s, and the women climbed the side and made the short jump while the lines were held. I clasped Cyrus’s hand while Arayanam and Darius lifted Artapherenes on a bed made of spears and cloaks, and they stepped from the rail to the shore like sailors.

  The three Persians saluted with their hands in the Persian way.

  Briseis smiled at me.

  I broke free of her gaze and made a single hand gesture to Megakles at the helm, and then at Leukas amidships. Leukas roared, ‘Pull!’

  Now, I don’t know that the men of Carthage meant to betray their oaths. But I saw no reason to linger and test them.

  The two heavy triremes were two cables astern, just getting up to speed. Three more triremes were launching from the sheds, and there was a great deal of commotion along the shoreline, and my heavy crew – with all the best men in their seats – knew the drill.

  In five strokes we were at cruising speed.

  There was a shout from the ship-sheds.

  A sixth ship got off the beach under the sheds. I watched him – Phoenicians’ ships are often male – and his oar-stroke was disgustingly ragged, and that made me watch him another few heartbeats. Only a certain kind of trierarch would have such a ragged crew. Phoenicians are generally superb sailors, but they have a few right fools and at least one evil madman.

  Fifteen strokes and my oarsmen were pulling like the heroes in the Argo and I could see their oars bend at the height of the stroke. We were almost at full speed – ramming speed, as fast as a galloping horse.

  I’ve said this other nights, but a sea fight seems to get faster and faster as you get closer to the moment of combat. I don’t know whether this is some effect of the hand of the gods, of the spirit men carry within them, or merely a flaw in the flow of time’s stream. Once thing I know – sometimes it is merely that the rowers pull harder as the ships close.

  The two closest Carthaginians were suddenly five ships’ lengths away. And closing at the converging speeds of a cavalry charge.

  I had a ship that had been built for me – a crew I’d led for two wildly successful years, and trained the way a swordsmith hones a sword. And the harbour of Carthage isn’t like the open ocean – it is like a mill pond. Flat. Weatherless. With no surprises. The moment I saw that badly handled trireme launch, I hoped it was Dagon. How many mad trierarchs could Carthage have?

  I had a notion.

  As we shot at the two Carthaginians, both altered their helms very slightly, to widen the gap between them so that I couldn’t oar-rake the two of them.

  It was a wise precaution.

  But I had no intention of touching a Carthaginian that day. I had come into this harbour as an ambassador, and I had already done a great deed – I had kept an oath, and followed the bonds of hospitality. Cimon, I was sure, would praise me as a noble man. I had no intention of sacrificing all that for a moment’s satisfaction in fighting. Let the Phoenicians break the truce and be cursed by the gods.

  ‘Oars in!’ I roared.

  Always the last order before an oar-rake.

  My oars shot in – my opponents might have asked why they came in so early, but no one ever does, in a real fight. The enemy helmsmen saw my oars come in and they each cheated their helms slightly inward and ordered their own oars in, ready for the clash.

  Every one of my marines and deck crewmen – and my twenty spare oarsmen – went and leaned on the port side of our trihemiola’s deck rail. And I motioned, and Megakles put the helm hard over.

  And we turned. Not the sharp turn of a low-speed rowing turn, like the one we’d just executed, where you turn on a single point, like a pivot – but a high-speed turn on the arc of the ship’s length, drawing a geometrical figure in the water.

  I might not have tried in the open ocean with real waves, but on the still waters of their inner harbour, I trusted to Moira and my rowers.

  We shot across the westernmost ship’s bow, so close that I could have hit their ship with an apple core. We were coasting, coasting . . .

  Ka held up an arrow and I shook my head.

  Both of the enemy ships fell astern, turning as fast as they could.

  ‘Oars out,’ I called.

  Have you ever had the moment come to you when you can feel the favour of the gods? When you are almost with them?

  I had the sun and the sparkle of the sea – the stink of their barbaric sacrifices and the warmth of Briseis’ smile.

  I looked off to the west, where the four triremes were struggling to get all their rowers seated and rowing.

  Sekla sighed. ‘You’re grinning,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s scared, except Brasidas, who says you are like a mad priest.’

  ‘Brasidas didn’t say that many words.’ I looked at Sekla, and his dark brown eyes were laughing.

  ‘Whatever you are planning, I think it’s my duty to point out that if you’d just turn out to sea, we’d run clear in five minutes.’ Sekla pointed to the harbour mouth.

  I nodded. ‘Give me five minutes,’ I said.

  Sekla shook his head. ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Revenge,’ I said.

  We went west, no faster than a fast cruise. The wind was against us, and since our mast was a standing mast, the rowers had to work hard just to maintain speed. Leukas began to use the reserves to replace men as they tir
ed.

  I motioned, and Megakles cheated our hull south, towards the beach, by slapping his oars with the palms of his hands – just a few dactyls that would move the ship’s hull south a little and then back on course before we lost way.

  I needed all of my opponents to remain fixated on me.

  And the gods were with me.

  When the time seemed right . . . It was like working a problem in mathematics, with Heraklitus watching over my shoulder, or Pythagoras’s daughter Dano making little disapproving noises – I thought of her surprise to hear that a little man like me used her great father’s theory of triangles.

  But this was sheer guesswork.

  I assumed it would take a certain time to turn my ship, even at this slow speed.

  ‘Prepare to turn north!’ I called.

  ‘Starboard rowers, reverse your seats!’ Leukas roared.

  The ship was alive beneath me, and as soon as Leukas’s hand came up to tell me that the benches were reversed, I pumped my fist – the starboard side oars touched the water, and Megakles leaned in his harness, pushing both steering oars together, and we turned.

  The enemies to the west were slower. Those to the east – those we’d outmanoeuvred – were faster. Now I turned between them.

  They all went to ramming speed with a clash of cymbals that carried across the water.

  They were all very slightly astern of me, running at almost right angles, aimed a little ahead of me. I wasn’t going very fast – in a ship fight, nothing loses speed like a hard turn. Every one of my rowers had his oar poised at the top of its arc, but none of them was in the water.

  Bah. This is like having to explain the punchline of a joke. I confess that had they not been blinded by the gods, they would have smoked the trick or at least realised that I wasn’t rowing.

  Sekla said, ‘This is insane.’ He laughed aloud.

  I lifted my hand. ‘Now!’ I roared.

  Leukas’s spear hit the deck.

  One hundred and eighty oars bit the water.

  One.

  The six enemy ships swept at us like avenging falcons. No doubt that they meant me harm. No doubt they were coming for the kill. Fixated on it like predators – four from the west, two from the east. And the middle ship of the four was Dagon’s – now I could see him standing amidships with a heavy whip in his hand. He had painted his ship red above the mid-deck oarsmen and white below, and the white showed brown and black stains – an ugly ship.