For the next hour the Xanthos crept along the cliff line, finally angling into a deep, crescent-shaped bay. The beach beyond was deserted, and Helikaon told the Fire Hurler crews to step down, and stow the nephthar balls. Once this had been done, the Xanthos was beached, stern on.
Helikaon ordered some twenty of the crew to remain on board, just in case the Mykene galley found the same bay, though Gershom sensed he did not expect such an eventuality.
Ashore, several fires were lit, and groups of sailors moved off inland in search of extra firewood and fresh water. Gershom stayed aboard. His hands were still too sore to grip the trailing ropes and climb down to the sand. Even so, he felt his strength beginning to return. Helikaon too remained on the Xantbos. As the evening wore on, and the cookfires were lit, the atmosphere remained muted.
By the time the mist had cleared, and the stars were bright in the night sky, one or two of the sailors had fallen asleep. Most remained wakeful, however, and Gershom, who had dozed for a while on the rear deck, saw that they were gathered in a large group, and were talking in low voices.
Helikaon brought Gershom some food, a round of cheese and some salt-dried meat.
He was also carrying a water skin. ‘How are your hands?’ he asked.
‘I heal fast,’ said Gershom, taking the food gratefully. The cheese was full flavoured, the meat spiced and hot upon the tongue. Helikaon stood at the stern, gazing down on the beach and the gathered men. Gershom watched him for a while, remembering the sight of him leaping down onto the enemy deck. For the crew it would be the memory of the burning men that remained from that battle. For Gershom it was the sight of the young prince, in battle armour, cleaving his way through the Mykene ranks. His sword style had been ruthlessly efficient, his attack unstoppable. He had radiated a sense of invincibility. This, more than anything else, had cowed the Mykene into surrender.
‘I fear your crew are unhappy,’ said Gershom, breaking the silence.
‘They are good men, brave and honest. Zidantas was a fine judge. He only hired men with heart. Tonight they will be thinking of him. As I am.’
‘They will be thinking of more than that, I think.’
Helikaon nodded. ‘Yes, more than that,’ he agreed. ‘You fought well today, Gershom. Zidantas would have been proud of the way you wielded his club. If you wish to stay in my service you can.’
‘I was thinking of leaving the ship in Troy.’
‘Many will,’ said Helikaon. ‘You, however, ought to think about the wisdom of such a decision.’
‘Why would it not be wise?’
Helikaon turned away from the beach and Gershom felt the power of his gaze.
‘What crime did you commit in Egypte?’
‘What would prompt such a question?’ Gershom was evasive.
‘You are a careful man, Gyppto, and that is a virtue I admire. Now, however, is not the time to be secretive. The Fat King told me that in every port Egypteian ambassadors have sought news of a powerful, black-bearded runaway who might be calling himself Gershom. There is a great sum in gold for the man, or men, who deliver him to justice. So, I ask again, what was your crime?’
Gershom’s heart sank. He had not realized – though he should have – that his grandfather would go to such lengths to capture him. ‘I killed two Royal Guardsmen,’ he said.
‘Were they seeking to arrest you?’
‘No. I saw them attacking a woman and moved in to stop them. They drew swords.
So I killed two of them. I was drunk, and not in control of myself. I regret it now, of course.’
‘If they were attacking a woman you were right to oppose them.’
‘No, I was not. She was a slave, and if Guardsmen choose to rut with slaves that is no crime. The woman was in the wrong for resisting them.’
‘So you fled.’
‘The sentence for the crime would have been the loss of my eyes, and then to be buried alive. No embalming, no walking with Osiris in the Fabled Land, no future among the stars. Yes, I fled. But it seems there is no safe refuge on the Great Green.’
‘You will be safer among my crew in Dardania. We will winter there.’
‘I will think on your offer, Helikaon. And I thank you for making it.’
Helikaon sighed. ‘No need for thanks, Gershom. Many crew will leave when we reach Troy. I can’t afford to lose another good fighting man like you.’
‘I am sure you could convince them to stay on.’
Helikaon gave a rueful smile. ‘Only by telling them the truth, and I cannot afford that.’
‘You’ll need to explain that riddle,’ said Gershom.
‘Perhaps I will – when I come to know you better.’
‘So, what happens now?’
‘We have lost Kolanos, and the season is almost over. I will resume the hunt in the spring. Though it takes all my life I will find him one day. Or he will be delivered to me.’
‘No force under the stars is more powerful than hatred,’ said Gershom.
‘Hatred has no virtue, and yet men can never be free of it,’ replied Helikaon bitterly. ‘But even knowing that, I shall not rest until Kolanos is dead. Such evil cannot be allowed to pass unpunished.’
‘You will send out assassins?’
‘No, I will find him myself.’
Helikaon fell silent. ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Gershom.
Helikaon took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. ‘I was thinking of my father the last time I saw him. He was killed by an assassin. The killer had cut off his ear. Why, I do not know.’
‘You never found out who ordered it?’
‘No. I still have men searching. There is a reward for information. Yet nothing has surfaced. It will, though, one day. Then, like Kolanos, the man who ordered my father’s death will die. This I have sworn.’
Just then a man on the beach began to speak in a loud voice. Gershom moved to the stern rail and looked down. It was Oniacus. ‘Hear our words, O Hades, Lord of the Deepest Dark,’ he shouted, ‘for some of our friends now walk your lands in search of the Elysian Fields!’
The crew began to chant.
Helikaon climbed the rail and lowered himself to the beach. The men remaining on the ship gathered around Gershom, and they too began to chant. The sound was mournful, a song of death and farewell. When it was over Gershom saw Helikaon move to the centre of the circle of men on the sand. He began to speak of Zidantas, of his courage, of his love of family and crew, of his loyalty and the greatness of his spirit. After him came Oniacus once more. He spoke also of Zidantas, and of Epeus and the other dead men, but his stories were smaller and more personal: of the Ox’s generosity and sense of humour, of Epeus’ love of gambling. More men told stories, and at the conclusion of each the crew chanted: ‘Hear our words, O Hades . ..’
It occurred to Gershom then that somewhere along this coastline there was another crew, probably chanting the same words, and speaking of the deaths of friends who had died attacking the Xanthos.
Easing his way through the crowded men at the rail he moved to a place amidships and settled down on the deck. Lying back, he stared up at the stars.
Do the gods listen, he wondered? Do they care at all about the small lives of those who worship them? Does golden Osiris weep for our losses? Does Isis mourn with us? Or this Greek deity, Hades? Or Jehovah, the grim god of the desert slaves? Or fire-breathing Molech of the Assyrians?
Gershom doubted it.
Part Two
THE GOLDEN CITY
