The crew of the galley were lining the rails. As they came closer Argurios realized there were around fifty men roped and tied. He saw Glaukos bound at the prow.
The Xanthos began to turn, heading out into the deeper water of the bay.
‘What is he doing?’ asked Argurios. Odysseus did not reply, but the Mykene warrior saw that his expression was sorrowful, and his eyes had a haunted look.
Concerned now, Argurios swung back to watch the ships. Once into the deeper water the Xanthos let slip the towing ropes and the galley slowly settled. The Xanthos pulled away.
Then Argurios saw something dark fly up from the Xanthos to crash upon the deck of the galley. Several more arced through the sky. The bound men began to shout and cry out, and struggle at the ropes. A score of fire arrows flashed from the Xanthos.
A great whoosh of flame billowed up from the galley. Screams followed, and Argurios saw Glaukos begin to burn. Fire swept over his tunic and armour, then his hair was ablaze. Now the screams were awful to hear, as men burnt like candles all along the deck. Black smoke billowed over the sea. Argurios could not believe what he was watching. At least fifty helpless men were dying in agony. One man managed to free himself and leap into the sea. Amazingly, when he surfaced the flames were still consuming him.
All along the beach there was silence, as the stunned crowd watched the magical fires burning the galley and its crew.
‘You asked me what I feared,’ said Odysseus. Argurios saw that he was talking to Andromache. ‘Now you have seen it.’
‘This is monstrous,’ said Argurios, as agonized screams continued to echo from the stricken ship.
‘Aye, it is,’ agreed Odysseus sadly.
Black smoke was swirling now over the doomed galley, as the Xanthos slowly made her way back out to sea.
XIV
The Song of Farewell
As the long afternoon wore on the Xanthos continued to prowl the coastline towards the south, seeking the galley of Kolanos. Gershom stood at the prow, his bandaged hands still burning from the vinegar and olive oil salve Oniacus had applied. Alongside him Oniacus was staring at the southern horizon, seeking sign of the ship they were chasing. The quiet crewman, Attalus, was beside him. Twice they had caught glimpses of the galley in the far distance, but a mist had now fallen over the sea, and visibility was growing poorer by the moment. ‘We have lost him,’ said Oniacus, and Gershom believed he heard relief in his voice. He glanced back towards the helm where Helikaon stood at the steering oar. No-one was with him, and the rowers were working silently. There had been no songs that day, no laughter or idle chatter as the Xanthos powered on in search of its prey. At first Gershom had thought the sombre mood had been caused by the death of Zidantas, but as the day wore on he realized there was more to it. The crew were tense and uneasy. Gershom struggled to find reasons for their disquiet. Did they fear another battle? It seemed unlikely, for he had seen them fight, and they were not fearful men. Also they had taken very few losses in the sea battle. The steersman, Epeus, had been shot through the back, but had held the Xanthos on course until they boarded the enemy galley. Then he had collapsed and died. Three other men had been killed, but two of them were new crewmen, apparently, and had not been aboard long enough to forge deep friendships. The lack of victory joy made no sense to the powerful Egypteian.
Finally he swung towards Oniacus. ‘You Sea Peoples celebrate victory in a most strange fashion,’ he said. ‘Whenever we win a battle there is song and laughter.
Men brag of their heroic deeds. They feel good to be alive. Yet I feel I am on a ship of the dead.’
Oniacus looked at him quizzically. ‘Did the sight of those burning sailors not touch you at all, Gyppto?’
Gershom was baffled. How could anyone mourn the deaths of enemies? ‘They attacked us,’ he said. ‘We triumphed.’
‘We murdered them. Cruelly. They were men of the sea. They had families and loved ones.’
Gershom felt anger touch him. What nonsense was this? ‘Then they should have stayed home with their loving families,’ he said. ‘And not set out to torture an honest man to death. When a lion attacks you don’t stop to consider whether he has cubs to feed. You just kill him.’
‘Can’t argue with that,’ agreed Attalus.
Oniacus cast them both an angry look. ‘The man who killed Ox is Kolanos. He is the one who should have suffered burning. We should have sunk the galley and freed the crew.’
Gershom laughed. ‘Free them? So they could attack again? Had they captured the Xanthos would they have let you go?’
‘No, they would not,’ said the curly-haired oarsman. ‘They would have killed us.
But that is what separates the evil from the righteous. When we behave like them we become like them. And then what is our justification for being? By accepting their moral standards we discard our right to condemn them.’
‘Ah, we are talking philosophy then,’ said Gershom. ‘Very well. Once, a long time ago, there was a rebellion in Egypte. The pharaoh captured the ringleaders.
His advisers urged him to kill them all. Instead he listened to the grievances of the men who rose against him, and sought to address them. They were all released.
The pharaoh even lowered the taxes in the rebellious areas. He too was a man of philosophy. A few years later the rebels rose again, and this time defeated and slew the pharaoh in battle. They also slaughtered his wives and his children. He had reigned for less than five years. One of the ringleaders then became pharaoh in his place. He too suffered insurrections, but he crushed them, killing all who went against him. Not only did he kill them, but all their families too. He reigned for forty-six years.’
‘What point are you making, Gyppto? That savagery is the way forward? That the most ruthless men will always succeed and those with compassion are doomed?’
‘Of course. It is a sound historical argument. However, my point would be that the danger lies in the extremes. A man who is always cruel is evil, a man who is always compassionate will be taken advantage of. It is more a question of balance, or harmony, if you will. Strength and compassion, ruthlessness allied sometimes to mercy.’
‘Today was more than ruthless,’ said Oniacus. ‘I never thought Helikaon to be so vengeful.’
‘It was more than revenge,’ said Attalus.
‘How so?’
‘We could have burned them at sea, then set out more swiftly in search of Kolanos. Instead we towed the galley back into the bay, so that all could witness the horror. Every sailor on that beach will carry the story. Within a few weeks there will not be a port on the Great Green that has not heard the tale. That, I think, was the point of it.’
‘So that the whole world can know that Helikaon and his men are savages?’
Attalus shrugged. ‘If you were a Mykene sailor, would you want to go against Helikaon now?’
‘No,’ admitted Oniacus, ‘I wouldn’t. Equally I don’t believe many men will want to serve with him either. When we put back into Troy I think a number of the crew will choose to leave his service.’
‘Will you?’ asked Gershom.
Oniacus sighed. ‘No. I am Dardanian and Helikaon is my lord. I will remain loyal.’
It was warm, a light breeze blowing from the south. Dolphins were once more swimming alongside the ship, and Gershom watched them for a while. The mist grew thicker, and they heard Helikaon call out for the oarsmen to slow their pace.
Leaving Attalus at the prow Oniacus strode back along the deck. Gershom followed him, moving past crewmen still manning the fire throwers. The two men climbed the steps to the stern deck. Helikaon’s face was an expressionless mask.
‘We need to find a beach, Golden One,’ said Oniacus. ‘It will be dusk soon.’
