“More than that. They are closer than brothers. For a year Helikaon lived in Troy, building his fleet. He stayed with Hektor, even rode with the Trojan Horse once, so I’m told. They are a sight to see. Best horsemen anywhere. You like horses?”
“I love to ride.”
“Then you will adore living with Hektor. No one knows more about horses or breeds finer mounts. Horses are his passion.”
“Now, that is a disquieting thought,” she said drily.
Odysseus laughed. “And following on from your comment last night: Hektor doesn’t get drunk, and only belches to be polite. As to rushing off to wars, I never met a man who likes war less or does it better. Left to himself, Hektor would stay on his horse farm and never ride to battle.”
“You like him.”
“Aye, I do, Andromache. In a violent world he is the bright morning after a storm. He will do his best to make you happy.”
“My happiness is not in the gift of others. I will be happy or I will not be happy. No man will supply it or deprive me of it.”
“You live by a hard philosophy, Andromache. You are right, though, in that not one of us is responsible for the happiness of others. Ironically, we can be responsible for another’s unhappiness.” He glanced out to the bay to see the Xanthos moving out onto open sea.
“I think they will rue what they did to Zidantas,” he said. Then he sighed. “We may all come to rue it.”
XIII
THE SHIP OF FLAMES
I
On the deck of the Xanthos the crew was working feverishly. Four more of Khalkeus’ new weapons had been carried from the hold in sections and were now, under the watchful eye of Oniacus, being bolted to the deck. Men not working on construction were donning leather breastplates and helmets and gathering up bow, quiver, and sword. Helikaon buckled on his bronze armor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a powerful black-bearded figure approach. His heart lifted, and for a moment he thought it was Zidantas. Then, as the harsh realization of Ox’s death struck him anew, his stomach twisted. The Egypteian Gershom moved alongside him.
“You should have stayed ashore,” Helikaon said, more harshly than he intended. “Only fighting men are needed here.”
The man’s dark eyes flashed with anger. “I am no sailor, Helikaon, but you will find I know how to fight.”
“Show me your hands.”
Gershom held them out. Both were bandaged, and there was blood seeping through the linen.
“You couldn’t grip a sword.”
“No,” admitted Gershom. “But by your leave I will carry the club of Zidantas. I knew him only a day, but he came into the sea for me, and I owe him. And Oniacus tells me that Zidantas always stood by you in a fight.”
Helikaon nodded. “Yes, he did.” He took a deep breath. “It will be as you say, Gershom. Remain close to me.” Then he called out to Oniacus. The black-haired oarsman ran to the rear deck. “You know what to expect outside the bay?” Helikaon asked.
“Poseidon’s trident, I would think,” answered Oniacus.
“That would be my guess also,” Helikaon agreed. “Kolanos will have the command ship, so he will be the first prong and farthest from us. As soon as we are in sight of him I want oars at six. We will close on him at maximum speed.”
Oniacus looked worried. “That will leave both of the other galleys with sight of our beams,” he observed. “If they come at us fast, we could be breached.”
Helikaon ignored the comment. “I want men with ropes and hooks at prow and stern, along with ten of our best fighters, ready to grapple.”
Oniacus nodded. “You think the crippled swan will work against three enemies?”
“No. We’ll need to take out at least one with the fire hurlers. Concentrate on the command ship. It must be forced back; otherwise we could be rammed on two sides. I think the Xanthos could withstand it, but each of those galleys carries more than fifty fighting men. If they all close with us, we’ll be outnumbered more than two to one.”
“I’ll be on the prow weapon myself. I won’t miss, Golden One.”
Oniacus had been the most proficient of the men trained secretly in Kypros on the new weapons. The men chosen had been the steadiest and least excitable. It was vital, Helikaon knew, that no careless sailor be put in charge of nephthar. The acrid, foul-smelling liquid was highly flammable and almost impossible to douse once lit. It burned even more brightly when water was added to it. The Xanthos carried eighty clay balls, wax-sealed and filled with the precious liquid. Each ball, the size of a man’s head, cost the equivalent of five good horses, eight oxen, or twenty untrained slaves. And an accident could turn the Xanthos into a ship of flame.
“Make sure the men know exactly what we plan,” Helikaon warned. “We won’t know until the last moment which galley we’ll swan. I don’t want to see our oars splintered as we turn or a nephthar ball dropped.”
“Yes, lord,” answered Oniacus.
Helikaon walked back to where the nail-studded club of Zidantas had been laid by the steering oar. Hefting it, he passed it to Gershom.
“Find yourself a breastplate and helmet,” he said, “and then return here.”
Gershom moved away, and Helikaon turned to the steersman, the straggly-bearded Epeus. “Where is your shield?”
“I forgot it, lord.”
“Fetch it now,” ordered Helikaon, stepping in and laying his arm over the oar. “You’ll be the man every Mykene bowman will try to bring down.”
“They’ll not hit me,” Epeus replied with a wide smile. “A seer told me last night that I’d live to be eighty years old, with ten sons and thirty grandchildren.”
“May he be proved right,” said Helikaon. “Now get your shield.”
As the steersman ran down to the main deck, Helikaon stared out over the bay and the open sea beyond. The sky was blue and clear, the sea calm, the winds light. The Mykene galleys were not in sight yet. He guessed that one would be just beyond the headland to the south and the other two behind the outer island, one to the west and the other to the north. They would come at the Xanthos in a trident formation, knowing that no matter how maneuverable the ship might be, she could not protect her beams from a three-pronged attack. The object would be for one, perhaps two, of the galleys to ram the Xanthos amidships, breaching the hull. Once she was caught and taking on water, the other galleys could close in and their warriors would swarm aboard. Kolanos knew his ships would be faster than the heavier Xanthos, but he would not know of the fire hurlers or the supply of nephthar they could hurl.
Epeus returned, a tall curved shield strapped to his left arm. It was of black and white cowhide, edged with bronze, and would stop most shafts. Behind him came Gershom. The man was heavily muscled; though not as large as Zidantas, he looked as if he would have little difficulty wielding the heavy club. Thoughts of Zidantas weighed heavily on Helikaon’s heart as the ship moved across the bay.
Argurios had been right. Had it not been for the mutilation of Alektruon’s corpse, Zidantas probably would have been alive now. Guilt tore at him. In all his life he had known three true friends: Odysseus, Hektor, and Zidantas. Now one of them was gone.
Gershom’s voice cut through the darkness of his thoughts. “What is the crippled swan?” he asked.
“A maneuver to swing the ship. Imagine a swan with a broken wing trying to take off from a lake. It spins around and around. With a well-trained crew a galley can do the same. If it works, follow me, for I will be boarding one of their vessels, and the fighting will be fierce.”
“I will be alongside you, Golden One.”
Helikaon glanced back toward the beach. He could see the now tiny figure of Odysseus standing at the water’s edge, the beautiful Andromache beside him. Andromache’s face appeared in his mind. Odysseus often told stories of men who fell in love in an instant, as he eventually had with Penelope. Helikaon had not believed in such miracles. Love surely had to grow through understanding and fellowship, mutual trust, and the arrival of
children. Now he was not so sure.
Last night the sight of her had struck him like a thunderbolt. Today, even while suffering the loss of his friend, he had gazed upon her and felt a longing he had never before experienced. A sudden and embarrassing thought came to him. He looked at Gershom.
“Were you close enough on the beach to hear my conversation with the Fat King?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recall what I called the woman with him?”
“You called her ‘goddess.’”
Helikaon swore.
“She had a hard face,” said Gershom.
“Not hard. Strong. She is a woman of passion and also compassion. Intelligent, courageous, and fiercely loyal.”
“You know her, then? I thought she was a stranger to you.”
“My soul knows her.”
Slowly the Xanthos slid past the island at the mouth of the bay. Ahead, about half a mile to the west, Helikaon saw the Mykene command ship of Kolanos, the painted red eyes on the prow seeming to stare malevolently at the Xanthos.
“You see him, Oniacus?” Helikaon called out.
“I do, lord,” Oniacus shouted back.
Helikaon scanned the Xanthos. Four men stood by each of the five fire hurlers. Archers knelt close by. Small copper braziers full of burning coals had been set near the deck rails, and the bowmen were busy tying oil-soaked rags around their shafts.
“Ready the nephthar!” Helikaon ordered. Each crewman sprang to action, two men drawing back the weapons and hooking trigger ropes over jutting release bars. Then they carefully eased the large wax-sealed clay pots into the firing baskets.
The Xanthos moved out onto open sea. From the south another galley emerged from behind the headland, oars cutting into the water as it surged toward them. Helikaon glanced to his right. The third galley came into sight from the north, sunlight gleaming on the bronze ram beneath its prow.
“Ready oars!” bellowed Helikaon, transferring his gaze west to the Mykene command ship. It was beating toward them at speed some quarter mile ahead. “Oars six!”
The Xanthos leapt forward as the sixty oars cut into the still blue water. Picking up speed, the ship headed directly for Kolanos and his blood-eyed command galley. The enemy vessel from the south was closing, but the Xanthos moved beyond it.
Fire arrows sailed overhead. Several burning shafts struck the deck. Crewmen covered them with wet cloths, beating out the flames. The galley from the north was being rowed hard, hurtling toward the starboard beam. It would strike like a spear through the heart, the bronze ram splintering the hull. Helikaon stood grimly, watching the advancing ship.
All depended now on the skill of the nephthar crews.
In that moment a great calm descended on the Dardanian prince. It seemed that time slowed. Beside him, armed with the nail-studded club of Zidantas, stood the powerful form of Gershom. There was no fear apparent in the man.
Oniacus shouted out a command, and a hurler on the starboard side was released, the wooden throwing arm snapping upright. The nephthar ball sailed through the air, shattering on the deck of the advancing Mykene vessel. Another ball followed it. It struck true, breaking into shards and spraying acrid liquid over the port-side oarsmen. Archers on the Xanthos dipped their shafts into the fire braziers, then loosed flaming arrows, which arched across the sky to the galley’s deck.
A fire began, spreading along the planks with impossible speed. Flames erupted everywhere. One of the rowers, who had been doused with nephthar, was beating at his blazing tunic, but then his hands began to burn. Two enemy crewmen hurled buckets of water on the flames. The result was devastating. With a great whoosh the fire billowed higher. Men ran back in panic from the oars, and the galley slid to port.
As the Xanthos glided by, archers sent bronze-tipped shafts into the panicked crew of the enemy ship. The Mykene, many of them with their clothes aflame, leapt into the sea. Even there the fires continued to burn. Two more clay balls struck the center of the galley’s deck. Nephthar had flowed down to the hold, and the deserted ship wallowed on the sea, fire burning through its timbers.
The other four hurlers let fly, this time at the command ship of Kolanos. Three of the balls flopped into the sea, but one hit the port side, spraying its contents over the rowers. More fire arrows flew through the sky. One shaft landed on the deck, and Helikaon could see crewmen beating at the flames with blankets and cloaks. These, too, began to blaze.
Then the command ship veered away, and fled from the fight.
Helikaon was about to order his rowers to give chase when an arrow flew past him, thudding into the deck rail. Glancing back, he saw the last of the galleys closing from behind. Anger ripped through him. There was no time to pursue the fleeing Kolanos.
“Crippled swan starboard!” he yelled.
The rowers on the port side plunged their oars deep into the water, then lifted them clear, while to starboard the crewmen rowed with all their might. The Xanthos lurched and then swung swiftly. The pursuing galley powered on, seeking to use its ram as the Xanthos showed her beam. But the galley’s captain misjudged the speed of the turn, and as the two ships came together they were almost head on. The starboard Xanthos rowers dragged in their oars. The Mykene were not quick enough, and many of their oars were snapped and shattered as the ships ground together. Several men at the prow of the Xanthos hurled grappling lines down, the hooks biting into the deck rails of the galley below. Other men toward the stern did the same thing. Hauling on the ropes, they drew the ships together.
Helikaon donned his bronze helmet and ran down the center deck to where the toughest of his crew waited, swords in hand. Clambering over the rail, Helikaon shouted: “For Zidantas!” Then he leapt down to the Mykene deck below. Enemy crewmen armed with swords, axes, and clubs rushed to meet the invaders. Helikaon hammered his blade across the face of the first, shoulder charged another man to the deck, then leapt forward to drive his sword through the chest of a third. A fourth attacker aimed a blow at his head, but a huge club swept him from his feet. Gershom surged into the melee, the club of Zidantas thundering against bronze armor and hurling men to the deck. More Xanthos warriors clambered down to the galley, and the fighting was brutal and bloody. Helikaon killed another crewman. The battle was fierce now. Three warriors rushed at him. He parried a sword thrust from the first, and his foot slipped on the blood-smeared deck. As he fell, he threw himself forward, rolling into the legs of another attacker, knocking the man from his feet. Twisting onto his back, he blocked a plunging sword and hacked a blow at the man’s legs.
A slim crewman from the Xanthos, carrying two curved daggers, charged in, slicing a blade through the attacker’s throat. Helikaon surged to his feet. Gershom was to his right, the crewman to his left. Mykene warriors rushed at the three.
Helikaon charged to meet the new threat. Gershom and the crewman leapt forward with him, and together they cleaved the Mykene ranks, cutting and killing.
Helikaon saw the Mykene Glaukos, sword in hand. Fury swept through him, and he cut down the opponent facing him and ran at the Mykene warrior. Arrows began to rain down from the decks above.
As Helikaon reached Glaukos, he heard someone shout: “We surrender! Throw down your weapons, lads! For pity’s sake! We surrender!” From all around came the clatter of weapons hitting the deck.
Glaukos stared hard at Helikaon for a moment. Then, seeing that the men all around him had ceased to fight, he dropped his sword to the deck.
Helikaon looked at the young man and saw the hatred in his eyes. “You sailed with Zidantas,” said Helikaon. “You knew what they had done to him. Yet you joined them. I should gut you like a pig. But I will not. I will take you to where Argurios waits.”
Glaukos did not reply. Helikaon swung away from him. The slim crewman who had come to his rescue was cleaning his dagger blades. Helikaon approached him. The man was not young, in his forties at least.
“My thanks to you. What is your name?”
The ma
n’s eyes were dark, his expression calm. “I am Attalus.”
“You fought bravely, and I am in your debt, Attalus.”
Turning away from the man, Helikaon shouted instructions to the crew. “Fetch rope! I want all prisoners tied to the deck rails. And throw out lines for any of the other crew who are still in the water.”
Crewmen swarmed down from the Xanthos, and the Mykene were herded along the deck, their wrists roped to the rails. Then Helikaon ordered the body of Zidantas to be lowered to the galley. Wrapped in a blood-stained blanket, it was laid at the center of the deck. Helikaon removed the mutilated head from the sack and placed it at the severed neck. Then he took a golden ring from the pouch at his side and placed it in Zidantas’ mouth, a gift for the Ferryman of Hades to carry him across the dark river.
There was silence as he knelt by the body. After a moment he rose and ran his eyes over the prisoners.
“This was Zidantas,” he said. “Some of you knew him for a brief time. Some of you may even have been the men who overpowered him and dragged him to your camp. He was a good man, father to six daughters. He sailed the Great Green for longer than most of you have lived. He was a Hittite, and we shall send him to his gods in the Hittite manner. All of you will attend the ceremony, and during it you will have time to consider your part in his murder.”
II
Argurios sat alone on the beach for a while, lost in thought. The actions of Kolanos were yet another stain on the honor of the Mykene. The torture and murder of Zidantas had been sadistic and unnecessary, yet it would not be Kolanos alone who suffered for the events at the Fat King’s bay. When Agamemnon learned that Argurios had saved the Golden One, he would be furious. Argurios found himself wishing he had never agreed to walk with Helikaon. Had he remained on the beach, the assassination might have succeeded, and that good man Zidantas would even now be preparing to sail home to his wife and daughters.
And how could young Glaukos have made such a decision, aligning himself with savage murderers?