He might have given in then, but the driftwood tilted and his bloodshot eyes opened. He saw a black horse floating over the sea. After a while he felt something touch his body and opened his eyes. A powerful bald-headed man with a forked beard was floating alongside him. Gershom recognized him but could not remember from where.
“He is alive!” he heard the man shout. “Throw down a rope.” Then the man spoke to him. “You can let go now. You are safe.”
Gershom clung on. No dream voices were going to lure him to his death.
The driftwood thumped against the side of a ship. Gershom looked up at the bank of oars above him. Men were leaning out of the ports. A rope was tied around his waist, and he felt himself being lifted from the water.
“Let go of the wood,” said his bearded rescuer.
Now Gershom wanted to, but he could not. There was no feeling in his hands. The swimmer gently pried his fingers open. The rope tightened, and he was lifted from the sea and pulled over the deck rail, where he flopped to the timbers. He cried out as the raw sunburn on his back scraped against the wood, the cry tearing the dry tissue of his throat. A young man with black hair and startlingly blue eyes squatted down next to him. “Fetch some water,” he said.
Gershom was helped to a sitting position, and a cup was held to his mouth. At first his parched throat was unable to swallow. Each time he tried, he gagged.
“Slowly!” advised the blue-eyed man. “Hold it in your mouth. Allow it to trickle down.”
Swirling the liquid around in his mouth, he tried again. A small amount of cool water flowed down his throat. He had never tasted anything so sweet and fulfilling.
Then he passed out.
When he awoke, he was lying under a makeshift tent erected near the prow. A freckle-faced youngster was sitting beside him. The boy saw his eyes open and stood and ran back along the deck. Moments later his rescuer ducked under the tent flap and sat beside him.
“We meet again, Gyppto. You are a lucky fellow. Had we not been delayed, we would certainly have missed you. I am Zidantas.”
“I . . . am . . . grateful. Thank . . . you.” Heaving himself to a sitting position, Gershom reached for the water jug. Only then did he see that his hands were bandaged.
“You cut yourself badly,” said Zidantas. “You’ll heal, though. Here, let me help.” So saying, he lifted the leather-covered jug. Gershom drank, this time a little more deeply. From where he sat he could see along the length of the ship and recognized it. His heart sank.
“Yes,” said the giant, reading his expression, “you are on the Xanthos. But I know the hearts of ships. This one is mighty. She is the queen of the sea—and she knows it.”
Gershom smiled, then winced as his lower lip split.
“You rest, fellow,” Zidantas told him. “Your strength will soon come back, and you can earn your passage as a crewman.”
“You . . . do . . . not know me,” said Gershom. “I am . . . no sailor.”
“Perhaps not. You have courage, though, and strength. And, by Hades, you sailed a piece of driftwood well enough.”
Gershom lay back. Zidantas spoke on, but his voice became a rhythmic murmur, and Gershom faded into a dreamless sleep.
II
Helikaon stood at the steering oar, adjusting his balance as the great ship cleaved the waves. The dolphins had returned, leaping and diving alongside the vessel, and he watched them for a while, his normally restless mind relaxed and at peace. Only at sea could he find this exhilarating sense of freedom.
On land there were so many tedious distractions. With more than fifty ships in his fleet there were constantly problems to solve: authorizations for repairs to galleys, reports to read from his captains, meetings with his senior scribes and treasurers, checking the tallies of cargo shipped against the goods or metals received in exchange. His lands needed supervision, and though he had good men marshaling his horse herds and patrolling his borders, there were still matters only he could resolve. His heart lifted as he thought of young Diomedes. His half brother was almost twelve now and within a few years would be able to take on real responsibility. The blond-haired boy had begged to be allowed to sail on the Xanthos. His mother had forbidden it.
“I am the king,” Diomedes had said. “People should obey me.”
“You will be king, and people will obey you,” Helikaon had told him. “But for now, little brother, we must both obey the queen.”
“It is not fair,” complained Diomedes. “You sailed with Odysseus on the Penelope when you were young.”
“I was three years older than you. However, the next time I see Odysseus, I will ask him if you can sail with him one day.”
“Would you do that? Oh, that would be wonderful. You would allow that, wouldn’t you, Mama?”
The slender, golden-haired queen, Halysia, gave Helikaon a look of affectionate reproach. “Yes,” she said. “If Odysseus will have you.”
“Oh, he will,” said Diomedes, “for I am just as brave as Helikaon.”
“Braver,” Helikaon told him. “When I was your age I was frightened of everything.”
“Even spiders?”
“Especially spiders.”
The boy sighed. “Oh, Helikaon, I wish I could come to Troy with you. I’d like to meet Great-Uncle Priam and Hektor. Is it true you are going to marry the beautiful Kreusa?”
“No, it is not true. And what would you know about beautiful women?”
“I know they are supposed to have big breasts and kiss men all the time. And Kreusa is beautiful, isn’t she? Pausanius says she is.”
“Yes, she is beautiful to look at. Her hair is dark and long, and she has a pretty smile.”
“Then why won’t you marry her? Great-Uncle Priam wants you to, doesn’t he? And Mother says it would be good for Dardania. And you said we both had to obey Mother.”
Helikaon shrugged and spread his hands. “All this is true, little brother. But your mother and I have an understanding. I will serve her loyally in all matters, but I have decided to marry only when I meet a woman I love.”
“Why can’t you do both?” asked the boy. “Pausanius has a wife and two mistresses. He says he loves them all.”
“Pausanius is a rascal,” said Helikaon.
Queen Halysia stepped in to rescue him from the boy’s questioning. “Helikaon can marry for love because he is not a king and does not have to consider the needs of the realm. But you, little man, will be a king, and if you are not a good boy, I shall choose a wife for you who is dull and cross-eyed and buck-toothed and bandy-legged.”
Diomedes laughed, the sound rich and full of life. “I shall choose my own wife,” he said, “and she will be beautiful. And she will adore me.”
Yes, she will, thought Helikaon. Diomedes would be a good-looking man, and his nature was sweet and considerate.
The wind was picking up, and Helikaon leaned in to the steering oar. His thoughts turned to Priam’s favorite daughter. Kreusa was, as he had told Diomedes, very beautiful. But she was also greedy and grasping, with eyes that shone only when they were reflecting gold.
But then, could she have been any different, he wondered, raised as she had been in a loveless palace by a father who considered nothing of worth except that which could be placed upon his scales?
Helikaon had no doubt that it was Priam who had ordered Kreusa to flatter and woo him. The lands of Dardania, directly north of Troy, had never been rich. There were no mines supplying mineral wealth in gold, copper, silver, or tin. But Dardania was fertile, and its grasslands fed horses of surprising strength and endurance. Corn was also plentiful. Helikaon’s growing wealth as a merchant prince also had financed the building of ports, allowing access to the trade goods of Egypte and all the lands to the south and west. Dardania was growing in wealth and therefore power. Of course Priam would seek an alliance with his northern neighbor. No doubt in a few years Priam would seek to marry one of his daughters to Diomedes. Helikaon smiled. Perhaps strange little Kassandra or g
entle Laodike. The smile faded. Or even Kreusa. The thought of his little brother wed to such a creature was dispiriting.
Perhaps I am being unfair to her, he thought.
Priam had little time for most of the fifty children he had sired on his three wives and thirty concubines. Those he drew close had been forced to prove their value to him. His daughters were sold carelessly to foreign princes in exchange for alliances; his sons labored either in his treasuries or in the priesthood or the army. Of them all he lavished what passed for affection on only two: Kreusa and Hektor. His daughter understood the secrets of gathering wealth; Hektor was unbeatable on the battlefield. Both were assets that needed to be maintained.
It even seemed to amuse the old man that many of his children plotted his death, seeking to overthrow him. His spies would report on their movements, and then, just before they could act on their plans, he would have them arrested. In the last three years Priam had ordered the deaths of five of his sons.
Pushing aside thoughts of Priam, Helikaon gazed up at the sky. It was a cloudless brilliant blue, and the southerly breeze remained strong and true. Mostly, as summer ended, the prevailing winds were from the northwest, making the crossing a hard day’s work for the oarsmen. Not today. The Xanthos, sail billowing, cut through the waves, rising and falling with grace and power.
Helikaon saw Khalkeus pacing up and down the main deck, one hand holding his straw hat in place. Occasionally the pitch of the ship would cause him to stumble and grab for a deck rail. He was a landsman and completely out of place at sea. That made it all the more strange that he should have designed and built a ship of such beauty.
Up at the prow Zidantas left the makeshift tent where the shipwrecked man had been carried and made his way to the rear deck.
“Will he live?” Helikaon asked.
“Yes. Tough man. He’ll survive, but it’s not him I’m worried about.”
Helikaon looked the giant in the eye. “You are always worried about something, Ox. You are never happy unless there is a problem to grind your teeth over.”
“Probably true,” Zidantas admitted, “but there’s a storm coming.”
Helikaon swung to gaze back toward the south. Zidantas’ ability to read the weather bordered on the mystical. The southern sky was still clear, and at first Helikaon thought the Ox might at last be wrong. Then he concentrated on the line of the horizon behind them. It was no longer clean and sharp, signaling rough water. He glanced at the black horse sail. The wind was still fresh and favorable, but it was beginning to gust. “How long?” he asked.
Zidantas shrugged. “We’ll see it before we see land, and it will be upon us before we beach.”
The stocky figure of Khalkeus came marching toward them, head down. He climbed the three steps to the rear deck. “I have been thinking about what you said,” he told Helikaon. “I think the fins may be the answer. As you know—”
“Fins?” queried Zidantas.
The shipwright stared at him coldly. “Interruptions are irritating. They disturb the flow of my thoughts. Kindly wait until I have finished.” He leaned forward for extra emphasis, but his hat flopped down over his eyes. Angrily he wrenched it from his head and swung back toward Helikaon. “As I was saying, you know I had deep planking bolted to the hull, fore and aft, to help keep the ship upright when beached.”
“A sound idea,” said Helikaon.
“Indeed so. However, it is serving a separate and wholly beneficial purpose while at sea. The jut of the fins is countering the shallow draft. I should have realized it when I was designing them. I might have extended them farther. They should also make it easier for the steersman. It is my understanding you have to aim the boat at a point above—or below, depending on the current and the wind—the point at which you wish to beach. My feeling is the boat will sail straighter with less drift. Very pleasing.”
“Well, let’s hope they also add some speed,” said Zidantas. “There is a storm coming up behind us. It would be nice to beach before it hits.”
“Oh, you can’t do that,” said Khalkeus.
“We can’t beach?”
“Of course you could. But then the storm you speak of would wreck the Xanthos.”
“It can’t wreck us on land!”
Helikaon cut in. “What Khalkeus is saying, Ox, is that we cannot fully beach the Xanthos. She is too large. We don’t have the men to haul her completely out of the sea, and if we did, we couldn’t float her again.”
“Exactly!” said the shipwright.
“Surely we can get enough of her on the sand,” insisted Zidantas.
“If the storm is a violent one, the ship would break up,” said Helikaon. “Half on solid ground, half being thrashed around on the water. The stresses would crack the hull.”
“Then what do we do?” asked Zidantas.
“You need to ride the storm—or find a sheltered edge of land,” Khalkeus told him.
“Ride it! Are you mad?”
“Apparently I am,” Khalkeus answered. “Ask anyone. Even so, I have better things to do than swap insults with an imbecile.” With that he strode from the rear deck.
The giant took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “There are times when I imagine myself taking my club to that man.” He sighed. “We could make for Bad Luck Bay, drop anchor offshore, and use the oars to stop us from being driven onto the beach.”
“No, Ox. Even with a full crew that would be nigh impossible,” said Helikaon. “Fighting a storm for an hour would exhaust them. What if it lasts all night? We’d be hurled onto the beach and wrecked.”
“I know, but then we’d survive, at least. There aren’t any other choices.”
Helikaon shook his head. “There is one. As Khalkeus said, we will ride it.”
“No, no no!” said Zidantas, leaning in close and dropping his voice. “The Xanthos is untried in heavy weather. She is a good ship, right enough, but my back is already aching. This is going to be heavy, Helikaon. Like a hammer.” He paused. “And the crew won’t stand for it. They are already frightened. Running for the beach may break up the ship, but they know they’ll live. There’s no way even you could convince them to turn into the storm.”
Helikaon looked at his friend and saw the fear in his large, honest face. Zidantas adored his six daughters and had spoken often in the last year of leaving the sea and watching them grow. Helikaon had given him a share in all profits, and Zidantas was now a rich man. There was no longer any need to risk his life on the Great Green. It was a difficult moment. Zidantas was too proud to speak the truth from his heart, but Helikaon could read it in his eyes. The big Hittite was as terrified as the crew would be.
Helikaon could not look at Zidantas as he spoke. “I must ride this storm, Ox,” he said at last, his voice gentle. “I need to know if the Xanthos has a great heart. So I am asking you to stand beside me.” He glanced back at the giant.
“I’ll always be there when you need me, Golden One,” Zidantas said, his shoulders sagging.
“Then let us rest the crew for a while. Then we’ll put them through some gentle maneuvers. By the time the storm is apparent to them we will be too far from land for them to do anything but follow orders and ride it out.”
“We have a lot of new men aboard,” said Zidantas. “You are taking a huge risk. A clash of oars as we turn or panic among the oarsmen, and we’ll be swamped.”
“You chose this crew, Ox. You never hire cowards.” He gave a broad grin. “It’ll be something to tell your grandchilden. We swam with Poseidon on the greatest ship ever built.”
The forced humor was wasted on Zidantas. “I’ll look forward to that,” he muttered despondently.
Helikaon glanced along the lines of the Xanthos.
And hoped the Madman from Miletos was right.
VI
POSEIDON SWIMS
I
Xander had begun to doze in the sunshine. A sailor tripped over him and cursed. Xander muttered an embarrassed apology and climbed to hi
s feet. Then he realized someone was calling his name. He spun around and almost fell as the ship pitched. He saw it was Zidantas summoning him and ran to the rear deck.
“Take water to the rowers,” said the big man. “It’ll be damn hot down there. Tell Oniacus to rest the men and allow them on deck in sections of twenty.”
“Sections of twenty,” Xander repeated.
“Well, go on, then, boy.”
“Yes, Zidantas.” He paused. “Where will I find water?”
“There are full skins on hooks at the center of both oar decks.”
Xander moved down to the hatch, opened it, and clambered down the vertical steps. It was gloomy and hot there. With the ship under sail now he saw that the rowers had lifted their oars, locking the handles into leather loops. Finding the water skins, he unhooked one and carried it to the first rower on the port side, a broad-shouldered young man with thickly curled black hair. “Where is Oniacus?” he asked as the sailor pulled out the wooden plug and hefted the water sack.
He drank deeply. “That would be me.”
“Zidantas says to rest the men and allow them on deck in twenty sections.”
“Sections of twenty,” Oniacus corrected.
“Yes.”
“You are sure of the orders? We don’t normally rest this close to land.”
“I am sure.”