III
THE SLAYING OF THE SIDONIANS
Morning broke in the East. A new day dawned upon the silent sea, and onthe world of light and sound. The sunrise topped the hill at last, andfell upon the golden raiment of the Wanderer where he slept, making itblaze like living fire. As the sun touched him, the prow of a black shipstole swiftly round the headland, for the oarsmen drove her well withthe oars. Any man who saw her would have known her to be a vessel ofthe merchants of Sidon--the most cunning people and the greediest ofgain--for on her prow were two big-headed shapes of dwarfs, with gapingmouths and knotted limbs. Such gods as those were worshipped by theSidonians. She was now returning from Albion, an isle beyond the pillarsof Heracles and the gates of the great sea, where much store of tin isfound; and she had rich merchandise on board. On the half-deck besidethe steersman was the captain, a thin, keen-eyed sailor, who lookedshoreward and saw the sun blaze on the golden armour of the Wanderer.They were so far off that he could not see clearly what it was thatglittered yellow, but all that glittered yellow was a lure for him,and gold drew him on as iron draws the hands of heroes. So he bade thehelmsman steer straight in, for the sea was deep below the rock, andthere they all saw a man lying asleep in golden armour. They whisperedtogether, laughing silently, and then sprang ashore, taking with thema rope of twisted ox-hide, a hawser of the ship, and a strong cable ofbyblus, the papyrus plant. On these ropes they cast a loop and a runningknot, a lasso for throwing, so that they might capture the man in safetyfrom a distance. With these in their hands they crept up the cliff, fortheir purpose was to noose the man in golden armour, and drag him onboard their vessel, and carry him to the mouth of the river of Egypt,and there sell him for a slave to the King. For the Sidonians, who weregreedy of everything, loved nothing better than to catch free men andwomen, who might be purchased, by mere force or guile, and then be soldagain for gold and silver and cattle. Many kings' sons had thus beencaptured by them, and had seen the day of slavery in Babylon, or Tyre,or Egyptian Thebes, and had died sadly, far from the Argive land.
So the Sidonians went round warily, and, creeping in silence over theshort grass and thyme towards the Wanderer, were soon as near to him asa child could throw a stone. Like shepherds who seek to net a sleepinglion, they came cunningly; yet not so cunningly but that the Wandererheard them through his dreams, and turned and sat up, looking around himhalf awake. But as he woke the noose fell about his neck and over hisarms and they drew it hard, and threw him on his back. Before they couldtouch him he was on his feet again, crying his war-cry terribly, the crythat shook the towers of Ilium, and he rushed upon them, clutching athis sword hilt. The men who were nearest him and had hold of the ropelet it fall from their hands and fled, but the others swung behind him,and dragged with all their force. If his arms had been free so that hemight draw his sword, it would have gone ill with them, many as theywere, for the Sidonians have no stomach for sword blades; but his armswere held in the noose. Yet they did not easily master him; but, asthose who had fled came back, and they all laid hands on the ropetogether, they overpowered him by main force at last, and hauled him,step by step, till he stumbled on a rock and fell. Then they rushed athim, and threw themselves all upon his body, and bound him with ropes incunning sailor knots. But the booty was dearly won, and they did not allreturn alive; for he crushed one man with his knees till the breath lefthim, and the thigh of another he broke with a blow of his foot.
But at last his strength was spent, and they had him like a bird in asnare; so, by might and main, they bore him to their ship, and threw himdown on the fore-deck of the vessel. There they mocked him, though theywere half afraid; for even now he was terrible. Then they hauled up thesail again and sat down to the oars. The wind blew fair for the mouthof the Nile and the slave-market of Egypt. The wind was fair, and theirhearts were light, for they had been among the first of their people todeal with the wild tribes of the island Albion, and had brought tin andgold for African sea shells and rude glass beads from Egypt. And now,near the very end of their adventure, they had caught a man whose armourand whose body were worth a king's ransom. It was a lucky voyage, theysaid, and the wind was fair!
The rest of the journey was long, but in well-known waters. They passedby Cephalonia and the rock of AEgilips, and wooded Zacynthus, and Same,and of all those isles he was the lord, whom they were now sellinginto captivity. But he lay still, breathing heavily, and he stirred butonce--that was when they neared Zacynthus. Then he strained his headround with a mighty strain, and he saw the sun go down upon the heightsof rocky Ithaca, for that last time of all.
So the swift ship ran along the coast, slipping by forgotten towns. Pastthe Echinean isles, and the Elian shore, and pleasant Eirene they sped,and it was dusk ere they reached Dorion. Deep night had fallen when theyran by Pylos; and the light of the fires in the hall of Pisistratus, theson of Nestor the Old, shone out across the sandy sea-coast and thesea. But when they were come near Malea, the southernmost point of land,where two seas meet, there the storm snatched them, and drove them eversouthwards, beyond Crete, towards the mouth of the Nile. They scuddedlong before the storm-wind, losing their reckoning, and rushing byisland temples that showed like ghosts through the mist, and past havenswhich they could not win. On they fled, and the men would gladly havelightened the ship by casting the cargo overboard; but the captainwatched the hatches with a sword and two bronze-tipped spears in hishand. He would sink or swim with the ship; he would go down with histreasure, or reach Sidon, the City of Flowers, and build a white houseamong the palms by the waters of Bostren, and never try the sea again.
So he swore; and he would not let them cast the Wanderer overboard, asthey desired, because he had brought bad luck. "He shall bring a goodprice in Tanis," cried the captain. And at last the storm abated, andthe Sidonians took heart, and were glad like men escaped from death; sothey sacrificed and poured forth wine before the dwarf-gods on the prowof their vessel, and burned incense on their little altar. In theirmirth, and to mock the Wanderer, they hung his sword and his shieldagainst the mast, and his quiver and his bow they arrayed in the fashionof a trophy; and they mocked him, believing that he knew no word oftheir speech. But he knew it well, as he knew the speech of the peopleof Egypt; for he had seen the cities of many men, and had spoken withcaptains and mercenaries from many a land in the great wars.
The Sidonians, however, jibed and spoke freely before him, saying howthey were bound for the rich city of Tanis, on the banks of the Riverof Egypt, and how the captain was minded to pay his toll to Pharaohwith the body and the armour of the Wanderer. That he might seem thecomelier, and a gift more fit for a king, the sailors slackened hisbonds a little, and brought him dried meat and wine, and he ate till hisstrength returned to him. Then he entreated them by signs to loosen thecord that bound his legs; for indeed his limbs were dead through thestrength of the bonds, and his armour was eating into his flesh. At hisprayer they took some pity of him and loosened his bonds again, and helay upon his back, moving his legs to and fro till his strength cameback.
So they sailed southward ever, through smooth waters and past theislands that lie like water-lilies in the midland sea. Many a strangesight they saw: vessels bearing slaves, whose sighing might be heardabove the sighing of wind and water--young men and maidens of Ionia andAchaia, stolen by slave-traders into bondage; now they would touch atthe white havens of a peaceful city; and again they would watch a smokeon the sea-line all day, rising black into the heavens; but by nightfallthe smoke would change to a great roaring fire from the beacons of abeleaguered island town; the fire would blaze on the masts of the shipsof the besiegers, and show blood-red on their sails, and glitter on thegilded shields that lined the bulwarks of their ships. But the Sidonianssped on till, one night, they anchored off a little isle that lies overagainst the mouth of the Nile. Beneath this isle they moored the ship,and slept, most of them, ashore.
Then the Wanderer began to plot a way to escape, though the enterpriseseemed desperate enou
gh. He was lying in the darkness of the hold,sleepless and sore with his bonds, while his guard watched under anawning in the moonlight on the deck. They dreamed so little of hisescaping that they visited him only by watches, now and again; and,as it chanced, the man whose turn it was to see that all was well fellasleep. Many a thought went through the prisoner's mind, and now itseemed to him that the vision of the Goddess was only a vision of sleep,which came, as they said, through the false Gates of Ivory, and notthrough the Gates of Horn. So he was to live in slavery after all, aking no longer, but a captive, toiling in the Egyptian mines of Sinai,or a soldier at a palace gate, till he died. Thus he brooded, till outof the stillness came a thin, faint, thrilling sound from the bow thathung against the mast over his head, the bow that he never thoughtto string again. There was a noise of a singing of the bow and of thestring, and the wordless song shaped itself thus in the heart of theWanderer:
Lo! the hour is nigh And the time to smite, When the foe shall fly From the arrow's flight! Let the bronze bite deep! Let the war-birds fly Upon them that sleep And are ripe to die! Shrill and low Do the grey shafts sing The Song of the Bow, The sound of the string!
Then the low music died into the silence, and the Wanderer knew that thenext sun would not set on the day of slavery, and that his revenge wasnear. His bonds would be no barrier to his vengeance; they would breaklike burnt tow, he knew, in the fire of his anger. Long since, in hisold days of wandering, Calypso, his love, had taught him in the summerleisure of her sea-girt isle how to tie the knots that no man coulduntie, and to undo all the knots that men can bind. He remembered thislesson in the night when the bow sang of war. So he thought no moreof sleeping, but cunningly and swiftly unknotted all the cords andthe bonds which bound him to a bar of iron in the hold. He might haveescaped now, perhaps, if he had stolen on deck without waking theguards, dived thence and swam under water towards the island, where hemight have hidden himself in the bush. But he desired revenge no lessthan freedom, and had set his heart on coming in a ship of his own, andwith all the great treasure of the Sidonians, before the Egyptian King.
With this in his mind, he did not throw off the cords, but let themlie on his arms and legs and about his body, as if they were still tiedfast. But he fought against sleep, lest in moving when he woke he mightreveal the trick, and be bound again. So he lay and waited, and in themorning the sailors came on board, and mocked at him again. In his mirthone of the men took a dish of meat and of lentils, and set it a littleout of the Wanderer's reach as he lay bound, and said in the Phoeniciantongue:
"Mighty lord, art thou some god of Javan" (for so the Sidonians calledthe Achaeans), "and wilt thou deign to taste our sacrifice? Is not thesavour sweet in the nostrils of my lord? Why will he not put forth hishand to touch our offering?"
Then the heart of Odysseus muttered sullenly within him, in wrath at theinsolence of the man. But he constrained himself and smiled, and said:
"Wilt thou not bring the mess a very little nearer, my friend, that Imay smell the sweet incense of the sacrifice?"
They were amazed when they heard him speak in their own tongue; but hewho held the dish brought it nearer, like a man that angers a dog, nowoffering the meat, and now taking it away.
So soon as the man was within reach, the Wanderer sprang out, theloosened bonds falling at his feet, and smote the sailor beneath the earwith his clenched fist. The blow was so fierce, for all his anger wentinto it, that it crushed the bone, and drove the man against the mast ofthe ship so that the strong mast shook. Where he fell, there he lay, hisfeet kicking the floor of the hold in his death-pain.
Then the Wanderer snatched from the mast his bow and his short sword,slung the quiver about his shoulders, and ran on to the raised deckingof the prow.
The bulwarks of the deck were high, and the vessel was narrow, andbefore the sailors could stir for amazement the Wanderer had taken hisstand behind the little altar and the dwarf-gods. Here he stood withan arrow on the string, and the bow drawn to his ear, looking about himterribly.
Now panic and dread came on the Sidonians when they saw him standingthus, and one of the sailors cried:
"Alas! what god have we taken and bound? Our ship may not contain him.Surely he is Resef Mikal, the God of the Bow, whom they of Javan callApollo. Nay, let us land him on the isle and come not to blows with him,but entreat his mercy, lest he rouse the waves and the winds againstus."
But the captain of the ship of the Sidonians cried:
"Not so, ye knaves! Have at him, for he is no god, but a mortal man; andhis armour is worth many a yoke of oxen!"
Then he bade some of them climb the decking at the further end of theship, and throw spears at him thence; and he called others to bring upone of the long spears and charge him with that. Now these were hugepikes, that were wielded by five or six men at once, and no armour couldwithstand them; they were used in the fights to drive back boarders, andto ward off attacks on ships which were beached on shore in the siegesof towns.
The men whom the captain appointed little liked the task, for the longspears were laid on tressels along the bulwarks, and to reach them andunship them it was needful to come within range of the bow. But thesailors on the further deck threw all their spears at once, while fivemen leaped on the deck where the Wanderer stood. He loosed the bowstringand the shaft sped on its way; again he drew and loosed, and now two ofthem had fallen beneath his arrows, and one was struck by a chance blowfrom a spear thrown from the further deck, and the other two leaped backinto the hold.
Then the Wanderer shouted from the high decking of the prow in thespeech of the Sidonians:
"Ye dogs, ye have sailed on your latest seafaring, and never again shallye bring the hour of slavery on any man."
So he cried, and the sailors gathered together in the hold, and tookcounsel how they should deal with him. But meanwhile the bow was silent,and of those on the hinder deck who were casting spears, one dropped andthe others quickly fled to their fellows below, for on the deck they hadno cover.
The sun was now well risen, and shone on the Wanderer's golden mail, ashe stood alone on the decking, with his bow drawn. The sun shone, therewas silence, the ship swung to her anchor; and still he waited, lookingdown, his arrow pointing at the level of the deck to shoot at the firsthead which rose above the planking. Suddenly there was a rush of men onto the further decking, and certain of them tore the shields that linedthe bulwarks from their pins, and threw them down to those who werebelow, while others cast a shower of spears at the Wanderer. Some of thespears he avoided; others leaped back from his mail; others stood fastin the altar and in the bodies of the dwarf-gods; while he answered withan arrow that did not miss its aim. But his eyes were always watchingmost keenly the hatches nearest him, whence a gangway ran down to thelower part of the ship, where the oarsmen sat; for only thence couldthey make a rush on him. As he watched and drew an arrow from the quiveron his shoulder, he felt, as it were, a shadow between him and the deck.He glanced up quickly, and there, on the yard above his head, a man, whohad climbed the mast from behind, was creeping down to drop on him fromabove. Then the Wanderer snatched a short spear and cast it at the man.The spear sped quicker than a thought, and pinned his two hands to theyard so that he hung there helpless, shrieking to his friends. But thearrows of the Wanderer kept raining on the men who stood on the furtherdeck, and presently some of them, too, leaped down in terror, cryingthat he was a god and not a man, while others threw themselves into thesea, and swam for the island.
Then the Wanderer himself waited no longer, seeing them all amazed, buthe drew his sword and leaped down among them with a cry like a sea-eagleswooping on seamews in the crevice of a rock. To right and left he smotewith the short sword, making a havoc and sparing none, for the swordravened in his hand. And some fell over the benches and oars, but suchof the sailors as could flee rushed up the gangway into the furtherdeck, and thence sprang overboard, while those who had not the
luck toflee fell where they stood, and scarcely struck a blow. Only the captainof the ship, knowing that all was lost, turned and threw a spear in theWanderer's face. But he watched the flash of the bronze and stoopedhis head, so that the spear struck only the golden helm and pierced itthrough, but scarcely grazed his head. Now the Wanderer sprang on theSidonian captain, and smote him with the flat of his sword so that hefell senseless on the deck, and then he bound him hand and foot withcords as he himself had been bound, and made him fast to the iron bar inthe hold. Next he gathered up the dead in his mighty arms, and set themagainst the bulwarks of the fore-deck--harvesting the fruits of War.Above the deck the man who had crept along the yard was hanging by histwo hands which the spear had pinned together to the yard.
"Art thou there, friend?" cried the Wanderer, mocking him. "Hast thouchosen to stay with me rather than go with thy friends, or seek newservice? Nay, then, as thou art so staunch, abide there and keep a goodlook-out for the river mouth and the market where thou shalt sell me fora great price." So he spoke, but the man was already dead of pain andfear. Then the Wanderer unbuckled his golden armour, which clanged uponthe deck, and drew fresh water from the hold to cleanse himself, forhe was stained like a lion that has devoured an ox. Next, with a goldencomb he combed his long dark curls, and he gathered his arrows out ofthe bodies of the dead, and out of the thwarts and the sides of theship, cleansed them, and laid them back in the quiver. When all thiswas ended he put on his armour again; but strong as he was, he could nottear the spear from the helm without breaking the gold; so he snappedthe shaft and put on the helmet with the point of the javelin stillfixed firm in the crest, as Fate would have it so, and this was thebeginning of his sorrows. Next he ate meat and bread, and drank wine,and poured forth some of the wine before his gods. Lastly he draggedup the heavy stone with which the ship was moored, a stone heavier far,they say, than two other men could lift. He took the tiller in his hand;the steady north wind, the Etesian wind, kept blowing in the sails, andhe steered straight southward for the mouths of the Nile.