rowing benches and make their way to the hatches. Oniacus remained where he was. ‘Take water to the men remaining,’ he told Xander.
The boy struggled along the cramped and shifting deck, offering drinks to the sweating crewmen. Most thanked him, some joked with him. Then he came alongside a thin, older man, who was pricking blisters on his hand with a curved dagger blade. His palms were sore and bleeding. ‘They look painful,’ said Xander. The rower ignored him, but took the water sack and drank deeply.
Oniacus appeared alongside, carrying a bucket on a rope. Leaning out of the oar port he lowered the bucket into the sea, then drew it up. ‘Put your hands in this, Attalus,’ he said. ‘The salt water will dry out those blisters, and the skin will harden in no time.’ The sailor silently bathed his hands then leaned back. Oniacus dipped thin strips of cloth in the water. ‘Now I’ll bind them,’ he said.
‘They don’t need binding,’ replied the rower.
‘Then you are a tougher man than me, Attalus,’ said Oniacus amiably. ‘At the start of every new season my hands bleed, and the oar handle feels as if it’s on fire.’
‘It is unpleasant,’ agreed the man, his tone softening.
‘You can always try the straps. If they don’t work for you, then remove them.’
The rower nodded, and offered his hands. Oniacus wrapped the wet cloth round Attalus’ blistered palms, splitting the cloth and knotting it at the wrists.
‘This is Xander,’ he said, as he applied the bandages. ‘His father was my friend. He died in a battle last year. Fine man.’
‘The dead are always fine men,’ said Attalus coldly. ‘My father was a drunken wretch, who broke my mother’s bones. At his funeral men wept at the loss of his greatness.’
‘There is truth in that,’ agreed Oniacus. ‘However, on the Ithaka – as on the Xanthos – there were only fine men. Ox does not choose wretches. He has a magic eye which sees our hearts. I have to say that sometimes it is infuriating. We are sailing short-handed because of it. Ox turned away at least twenty yesterday.’ Oniacus swung to Xander. ‘Time for you to return to your duties,’ he said.
Xander hung the near-empty water sack on its hook and climbed to the upper deck.
Helikaon called him over. He lifted a wax-sealed jug, broke the seal and filled two copper cups with a golden liquid. ‘Take these to our Mykene passengers,’ he said.
Xander carried the cups carefully down the steps and across the shifting deck.
It was not easy retaining balance, and he was pleased that not a drop of the liquid was spilled. ‘The lord Helikaon asked me to bring these to you,’ he said.
The man with the cold hard face took them from him without a word of thanks.
Xander scurried away without looking him in the eye. He was the most frightening man Xander had ever seen. From the other side of the deck he watched them salute the Golden One and drink. They were standing close to the deck rail and Xander found himself hoping the ship would pitch suddenly and throw them both over the side. Then he noticed that the older warrior was looking at him. He felt a stab of fear, wondering if the evil one could read his mind. The Mykene held out the goblet, and Xander realized he was supposed to retrieve them. Swiftly he crossed the deck, collected the goblets and took them to Zidantas.
‘What should I do now?’ he asked.
‘Go and watch the dolphins, Xander,’ said Ox. ‘When you are needed you will be summoned.’
Xander returned to where he had left his small bag of possessions. Inside there was a block of cheese and some dried fruit. Hungry now, he sat and ate. The grumpy old shipwright came past at one point, and almost trod on him.
The boy found the next two hours fascinating. Helikaon and Zidantas shouted out orders and the Xanthos danced upon the waves. The port-side rowers would lean in to their oars just as the starboard men lifted theirs from the water. The Xanthos would lurch and spin, changing direction, then surge forward once more as both banks of oars bit into the waves. Xander loved every minute of it – especially when the younger Mykene warrior fell to his knees and threw up. The older one, with the hard face, looked somewhat green, but he held grimly to the deck rail, staring out at sea. At last the manoeuvres were over and Zidantas called out for the men to rest.
The wind was gusting a little now, rippling the black horse sail. Xander glanced towards the south. The sky was darker there. Many of the oarsmen had climbed to the upper deck. Most, like him, also stared towards the south. Some of them gathered together and Xander heard someone say: ‘Poseidon swims. We’ll be lucky to make land before the storm hits.’
‘It’s that cursed Gyppto,’ said someone else. Xander stared at him. The speaker was a wide-shouldered man, with thinning blond hair and a straggly beard.
‘Poseidon took him once, and we thwarted him.’
This was a disquieting thought, and it frightened Xander. Everyone knew Poseidon
could be an angry god, but it had not occurred to him that an immortal might have wanted this stranger to be swallowed by the sea. The conversation continued. Other men joined in. Xander could feel their fear as they discussed how best to placate the god. ‘Need to throw him back,’ said the man with the straggly beard. ‘It’s the only way. Otherwise we’ll all be dead.’ There were some grunts of agreement, but most of the men stayed silent. Only one spoke against the plan. It was the curly-haired lead oarsman, Oniacus.
‘A little early to be talking about murder, Epeus, don’t you think?’
‘He is marked by Poseidon,’ replied Epeus. ‘I don’t want to kill anyone, but the man is beyond saving. If the god wants him he will take him. You want us to be dragged down with him?’
Xander saw that the two Mykene warriors were also listening to the men, but they kept their own counsel. As the wind picked up, and the ship began to pitch more violently, Xander moved away from the crew and made his way to the rear deck.
The man with the straw hat was there, talking to Zidantas and the Golden One.
Xander waited at the foot of the steps, unsure now of what to do. He didn’t want to see the injured man thrown over the side, but, equally, he did not want to incur the wrath of Poseidon. He tried to think of what his father might have done. Would he have thrown the man back into the sea? Xander didn’t think so.
His father was a hero. The Golden One had said so. Heroes did not murder helpless men.
Xander climbed to the stern deck. The Golden One saw him. ‘Do not fear a little breeze, Xander,’ he said.
‘I am not frightened of the wind, lord,’ said Xander, and told him what he had heard from the oarsmen. Before the lord could reply, a group of sailors began to gather below them. Xander turned and saw two seamen half dragging the shipwrecked man through the throng.
‘Poseidon is angry!’ shouted the burly Epeus. ‘We must give back what we stole from him, Golden One.’
Helikaon moved past Xander and stared down at the sailors. He raised his hand and there was instant silence, save for the howling of the wind. For a moment Helikaon did not speak, merely stood. ‘You are a fool, Epeus,’ he said finally.
‘Poseidon was not angry. But he is angry nowV He pointed at the troublemaker.
‘You have brought his fury down upon us.’
‘I have done nothing, lord!’ answered Epeus, his voice suddenly fearful.
‘Oh, but you have!’ roared Helikaon. ‘You think Poseidon is such a weak god that he could not kill a single man who has been in the sea for two days? You think he could not have dragged him down in a heartbeat, as he did with others of his crew? No. The great God of the Sea did not want him dead. He wanted him alive.
He wanted the Xanthos to rescue him. And now you have assaulted him, and are threatening to kill him. You may have doomed us all. For now, as all can see, Poseidon swims!’ Even as he spoke the sky grew darker. Thunder boomed.
‘What can we do, lord?’ shouted another man.
‘We cannot run,’ Helikaon told them. ‘Poseidon hates cowards. We must turn and face the great god like men, and show that we are worthy of his blessing. Take in the sail! All oarsmen to the lower deck, and await command. Do it now! And swiftly.’
The men scattered to obey him, leaving Gershom sitting, bewildered, on the deck. Zidantas leaned in to Xander. ‘Help him back to the midships. There will be less heave and pitch there. Tie yourselves to the mast. We are in for a wild ride.’ Xander scrambled down to the deck, which was now pitching and twisting under his feet. He
