‘Why do you come here if it’s bad luck?’ Gershom asked, thinking, I’ve seen enough bad luck without seeking it out.
Zidantas smiled without humour. ‘It’s never been bad luck for us, Gyppto. Just for other ships.’
Gershom could see the shore quite clearly now. Most of the ships were beached together to the right side of the river, but three black ships lay to the left, far from the others. He saw Zidantas’ expression grow darker as he gazed at the black galleys. ‘You know them?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I know them.’
‘Rival traders?’
Leaning in close so that the boy could not hear, Zidantas whispered, ‘They trade in blood, Gyppto. They are pirates.’
Xander had climbed to the topmost point of the high, curved prow. ‘Look at all those people,’ he shouted, pointing to the beach.
There was a crowd around a score of stalls set up on the sand; small fires had been lit and more were sparking to life even as he watched. Gershom almost believed he could smell roasting meats. His shrunken stomach gripped him painfully for a moment.
‘Yes,’ said Zidantas, ‘it’s a busy little place. This kingdom grows rich on the tolls the Fat King levies. But he keeps the bay safe for all ships, and – mostly – for sailors from every land. Good and bad. You’ll meet all sorts here. They come to do a little trading, a little whoring.’ He dropped a wink at Xander, who blushed. ‘But mostly they come for safe anchorage for the night. The storm will have washed all sorts of flotsam into Bad Luck Bay tonight.’
At a call from Helikaon the bald-headed giant hurried back along the deck to the helm. Seconds later the ship started to turn sharply, until her nose was pointed once more towards the open sea.
‘What’s happening? Why aren’t we beaching?’ Xander asked anxiously, returning to stand beside Gershom.
Gershom could not answer him.
‘Reverse oars,’ came the booming command from Zidantas.
The Xanthos, uncertainly at first, began to back towards the beach. Zidantas and two crewmen lifted the steering oar clear of the water, sliding it back along a groove fashioned in the rear deck rail.
Thirty oars dipped into the wine-dark water, the men began to chant lustily, and the stern of the Xanthos surged towards a wide stretch of sand. Close by was a single galley, with huge crimson eyes painted on the bow. Men were stretched out on the sand around it, but many of them stood as the Xanthos approached.
The water was almost still near the shore and the pointed stern of the ship clove the gentle swell like an axe. Gershom grabbed on to the side. The thirty oars dipped in and out of the water relentlessly, the pace and volume of the men’s chanting increasing, the white line of beach hurtling towards them…
Gershom held on tight and closed his eyes.
‘Hold!’
There was a moment of silence as the chanting stopped, the oars poised in the air, then the stern of the Xantbos slid onto the beach, hurling sand and pebbles up on either side with a gritty roar as its timbers scraped over the stony waterline. It ground to a halt. There was a moment’s pause, the ship shifted a little to one side, then settled.
A great cheer arose, both from the crew and from the men on the beach. Xander and Gershom had both been thrown to the deck but Xander jumped straight up again and joined in the cheering.
He turned to Gershom, his eyes alight. ‘Wasn’t that exciting?’
Gershom decided to stay where he was for a bit. Much as he wanted firm ground under his feet, he feared his legs would not carry him there just yet.
‘Yes,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Exciting is the very word.’
There was a bustle of movement on board as men hurried to disembark, laughing and joking with one another as the fears of the day drifted away like ocean spray. The oarsmen were shipping their blades, quickly drying them and stowing them before snatching up their belongings from under the rowers’ benches.
Helikaon was the first over the side and Gershom could see him inspecting the planking on the hull. The hold doors were raised in the centre of the deck and Zidantas and the grumpy shipwright Khalkeus both quickly disappeared into the bowels of the ship, no doubt checking for damage.
The crewman were streaming off the Xanthos, shinning down ropes onto dry land.
‘Come on, Gershom!’ Xander had collected his own small leather bag. The boy was dancing impatiently from foot to foot. ‘We’ve got to go ashore!’ Gershom knew he was in agony lest he miss something.
‘You go. I’ll be a moment.’
Xander stood in line behind several sailors waiting to disembark.
When his turn came, he climbed over the deck rail, took hold of the rope and, hand over hand, lowered himself to the beach. He ran off without a backward glance to where the men of the Xanthos were already building a fire. The great ship was quiet and Gershom was alone on the deck. He closed his eyes and relished the moment of peace.
A shout disturbed him, and he opened his eyes with a jolt.
‘Ho, Helikaon! You can always tell a man of Troy because he presents his arse to you first! Never seen it done with a ship, though.’
A ruddy-faced man in a saffron-coloured tunic was striding down the beach to the Xanthos. He was not tall, but wide and muscular, and his curly beard and long hair were tawny and unkempt. His tunic was dirty and his leather sandals old and worn, yet he wore an elaborately crafted belt decorated with gold and gems, from which hung a curved dagger. Helikaon’s face lit up at the sight of him.
‘You ugly old pirate,’ he called out in greeting and, patting the hull of the Xanthos with evident satisfaction, Helikaon waded to the shore and threw his arms round the newcomer.
‘You’re lucky I’m here,’ said the man. ‘You’ll need all my crew as well as your own to get this fat cow off the beach come daybreak.’
Helikaon laughed, then turned to gaze with pride at the great ship. ‘She rode the storm, my friend. Fearless and defiant. She is everything I dreamt of.’
‘I remember. To sail beyond Scylla and Charybdis, across uncharted oceans all the way to the end of the world. I’m proud of you.’
Helikaon fell silent for a moment. ‘None of it would have come to pass without you, Odysseus.’
VII
The Lost Hero
Odysseus looked at the young man, and was amazed to find he was at a loss for words. His sudden embarrassment was covered by the arrival of several members of his crew, who rushed forward and gathered around Helikaon. They clapped him on the back or embraced him, then drew him back to where other men waited to greet him.
Odysseus gazed back at the great ship, and remembered the little raven-haired child who had once told him, ‘I will build the biggest ship. And I will kill sea monsters, and sail to the end of the world, where all the gods live.’
‘They are said to live on Mount Olympos.’
‘Do any of them live at the end of the world?’
‘A terrible woman, with eyes of fire. One glance at her face and men burn like candles.’
The child had looked concerned. Then his expression hardened. ‘I won’t look at her face,’ he said.
Time flew faster than the wings of Pegasus, thought Odysseus. He suddenly felt old. At year’s end he would be forty-five. He drew in a deep breath, his mood becoming melancholy. Then he saw a young lad running from the Xanthos. He was looking around, awestruck, at the fires and the stalls and the throngs of people.
‘Where do you think you are going, little man?’ asked Odysseus sternly.
The tawny-haired youngster looked at him. ‘Is this your beach, sir?’ he asked.
