fell, then rose and took Gershom by the arm. Helping him to stand he led the way forward. It was almost impossible to stay upright, and they stumbled several times before reaching the mast. Xander looped a trailing rope round Gershom, tying it tight. Then he glanced around for something to tie to himself. There was nothing. The storm swept down on them, the wind howling, rain lashing the decks. Xander clung on to the rope round Gershom. The big man reached out with a bandaged hand, and drew him close. Above the howling of the wind Xander heard Zidantas bellowing orders to the oarsmen. The ship swung, then rocked wildly as a huge wave crashed against the hull. Slowly the Xanthos turned into the storm. Another massive wave struck the beam, washing over the main deck. Xander almost lost hold of the rope as his body was gripped by the wave and dragged sideways. Gershom cried out as his injured hand gripped the boy’s tunic, holding him in place.
A scream came from above. One of the sailors tying the sail had been dislodged. Xander saw him fall. His body smashed into the deck rail on the starboard side, tearing a section loose. Then he was gone. Darkness descended. Afternoon passed into evening and then into night. Xander clung to the rope as the storm lashed the great ship. He held on as tightly as he could, but after a while his fingers were numb, and his strength began to fail. Only Gershom’s powerful grip kept him from being swept away. The darkness was interspersed with brilliant flashes of lightning, followed by thunderclaps so loud Xander felt they would tear the ship apart. The deck heaved, one moment tilting up, throwing him back, then plunging down, causing him to spin forwards. Cold, wet and terrified, he prayed for life. Ever more weary, the boy clung on. The Xanthos was heading into the storm now, climbing the waves, then sliding into the troughs. Water cascaded over the prow. Suddenly the ship lurched, as the tiring port- side rowers momentarily lost their rhythm. A roaring wall of water ripped across the Xanthos. It struck Xander, lifting him and dashing his body against the mast. Half stunned, he lost hold of the rope and was torn from Gershom’s grip. The great ship pitched sharply and Xander slid across the wet deck. Lightning lit the sky. He saw he was sliding inexorably towards the hole in the ruined deck rail. His hands scrabbled for something to cling on to.
As the opening yawned before him he caught a glimpse of shining bronze. The Mykene warrior, Argurios, seeing his plight, had let go of the rail and hurled himself across the deck. His hand grabbed Xander’s tunic, then the two of them spun towards the gaping hole. At the last moment Argurios grabbed a trailing rope. Xander felt the deck slip from under him, and was now directly over the raging sea. He looked up and saw the Mykene was also off the deck, hanging on the rope, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. Xander knew that, in all his armour, Argurios could not save them both. At any moment the Mykene would just let go, and Xander would be doomed.
But he did not let go. The Xanthos leapt and pitched. Argurios was thrown against the side. Xander’s tunic started to rip.
Then the wind began to die down, the rain eased, and moonlight broke through the clouds. Two sailors left their positions of safety and braved the tilting deck.
Xander saw Oniacus grab Argurios, hauling him back to safety. Then Attalus reached down, gripping Xander’s arm, and dragging him to the deck.
Huddled against the deck rail Xander began to tremble. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The Golden One appeared alongside him, patting him on the shoulder. He moved to where Argurios was now standing, kneading his fingers. Xander saw there was blood on Argurios’ hand.
‘That was bravely done,’ said Helikaon.
‘I need no praise from you,’ replied Argurios, turning away and rejoining his companion.
Zidantas crouched down beside Xander. ‘Well, lad, did you enjoy your first storm?’
‘No.’
‘You enjoyed surviving it, though?’
‘Oh, yes.’ The trembling began to pass. ‘I thought I was going to die.’
‘You were lucky, Xander. There was only one life lost.’
‘Was it Epeus?’
‘No. A young Lykian called Hippolatos. Good lad.’
‘I don’t understand. If Poseidon was angry with Epeus, why would he kill Hippolatos?’
‘Life is full of mysteries,’ Zidantas told him.
As the seas continued to calm, a ragged cheer went up from the crew. Helikaon walked among them and they gathered round him.
‘Poseidon has blessed the Xanthos,’ he called out. ‘We swam with him and he read the courage in your hearts. Every man among you will receive double payment.’
Now the cheers rang out even louder and a mood of exultation swept the ship.
Xander did not feel exultant.
Helikaon came to him then. He crouched down alongside the trembling boy. ‘The world is full of fear, Xander,’ he said, ‘but you were a hero today.’
‘I did nothing, lord.’
‘I saw you. You first tied Gershom to the mast. Not yourself. You put his survival before your own. Your father would be proud of you. As I am. And you saw two other heroes. Gershom clung to you, though his hands were torn and bloody. Argurios risked his life so that you would not die. There is greatness in both these men, and in you.’
ii
Gershom sat in the bow of the Xanthos, knees drawn up, a ragged piece of cloth round his raw shoulders and sore arms. The storm had passed now, and, though the moon was shining in a star-filled sky, he still trembled occasionally. Sudden shivers would rack his frame. Squinting through swollen lids, his eyes were fixed on the approaching land, willing it to come closer more quickly. Never had he been so anxious to feel steady ground under his feet. Close by, Zidantas was leaning over the side, staring intently down at the clear dark water below the prow. Beside him a crewman garbed only in a black loincloth was plunging a long notched pole into the sea, and calling out the depth. And the Xanthos inched forward.
‘How long will we be ashore?’ Gershom asked, hoping Zidantas would say several days.
‘Just overnight,’ replied Zidantas shortly. Without looking to the rear of the ship, he signalled twice with his right arm to the helmsman, and Gershom felt the great ship adjust fractionally in her course. He had been told there were dangerous shoals in these waters and he stayed silent, unwilling to break the concentration of the experienced seamen. He could see most oars were held high; only six dipped regularly in and out of the water as the Xanthos crept towards the safety of the shore.
To starboard was a tall island, its top shrouded in lush vegetation, its cliffs white with seabirds and their droppings. As the ship drew abreast of the isle, Gershom could see it screened the entrance to a great bay. The sight of it made him catch his breath, and next to him he heard the boy Xander gasp.
The bay was large and almost circular. Around it grey and white cliffs towered high and jagged. At the centre of the cliffs, directly ahead of them, two tall peaks of bluish rock stood sentinel, shining in the moonlight. At their base a glittering silver waterfall ran down through a riot of greenery, then appeared as a small river. Gershom could make out a cluster of buildings rising steeply in a jumble of white walls and red roofs, and at the top a fortress looked out over the sea. The river mouth divided the wide strip of white beach neatly in half. Other ships were already drawn up on the strand, and campfires were burning on the beach.
The boy glanced at him, mouth open.
‘It’s beautiful!’ he said, his eyes alight with wonder.
Gershom smiled at him and felt his spirits lift. This child had travelled on the Great Green for only one day, had survived a violent storm, had looked certain death in the eye – yet here he was, undeterred, looking forward to his next adventure, eyes wide with anticipation.
‘Where are we? What is this place called?’ asked Xander.
Zidantas took his eyes off the water at last and stood up straight, his hands easing the small of his back. ‘We’re clear now,’ he said to the crewman, who nodded, then returned back down the ship, pole in hand. Zidantas swung to the boy. ‘The locals call it the Bay of Blue Owls,’ he said. ‘Others call it Bad Luck Bay.’
