“I fear,” said Lord Nishida, “the difficulty the commander has in mind is quite different.”
“You may speak,” said Lord Okimoto.
“I take it,” said Cabot, “that we are not, as far as you know, near to land.”
“No,” said Lord Nishida, “we are only days from the Vine Sea.”
“The small boats are not seagoing vessels, certainly not in their numbers, no more than our ship’s boats.”
“Ah!” said Lord Okimoto.
At this moment there was a cry from the platform and ring, high above us. “Sails, ho! Ships! Ships!”
“How many?” called Cabot.
Aeacus, who was above, scanned the horizon with the Builder’s glass.
“Ten, twelve!” he called down to the deck.
“It is the fleet of Lord Yamada,” said Lord Okimoto.
“I feared so,” said Lord Nishida.
“They will be warships,” said Lord Okimoto. “We cannot match them, ship to ship.”
“No,” said Lord Nishida.
Lord Okimoto turned to Tyrtaios, regretfully. “Inform the deck watch,” he said. “Sound the recall.”
“No!” said Cabot.
“No?” said Lord Nishida.
“Not yet!” he said. “Tajima!” he called.
“Captain san,” said Tajima.
Cabot then spoke hurriedly to Tajima, the tarnsman, in a language I did not recognize. It was not Gorean. And Tajima, to my astonishment, responded in what I took to be the same language.
Within a handful of Ehn forty riders of the tarn cavalry were at the rail, each armed with the small Tuchuk bow, used by the tarn cavalry, a weapon of considerable power, which may be swept easily from one side of a saddle to the other.
“Now,” said Cabot, “sound the recall.”
The ship’s bar rang the recall.
Our men backed to the moving hull of the great ship, turning, grasping the rope rungs of the boarding nets. The enemy rushed forward, but only some yards, before turning back, stumbling over falling bodies, riddled by arrows.
The retreat of our armsmen had been satisfactorily covered.
“Hard to port! All canvas!” called Aetius from the stern castle.
Some of the enemy managed to reach the nets, as well, and began to climb, but, after a few yards, they dropped back in the water and swam to the wreckage of the galley, and that of some small boats, from which they were drawn to the deck of the warning ship, now falling back.
“It is regrettable,” said Lord Okimoto, “that we have left living enemies behind us.”
“It is the fortunes of war,” said Lord Nishida.
“Our presence is now known,” said Lord Okimoto.
“It was known before,” said Lord Nishida.
“But,” said Lord Okimoto, “perhaps not its nature, the ship, our numbers.”
“No,” said Lord Nishida.
“The enemy now knows much,” said Lord Okimoto.
“But our greatest secret may not be known,” said Lord Nishida.
“At least,” said Lord Okimoto, “its size, its appearance, its stamina, its range of flight, its terribleness.”
“They will think we have enlisted dragons,” said Lord Nishida.
I took them to be speaking of tarns.
The deck watch set men to the ropes and buckets, and, as the great ship, its sails filled, took its way west, streaming water ran with the wind across her sides. Most of what might have been hundreds of small fires had died out of their own accord against the Tur wood. The greatest marking, if not damage, had been done forward on the starboard side, where the flaming galley had been moved against the hull. Over the next four days, men, with small files and vessels of caulking, were fastened in the boarding nets, which were moved from port to starboard, and along the hull, and these fellows cleaned and repaired the timbers, removing hundreds of blackened arrow shafts, and sealing fissures and clefts in the wood. The arrow points, worked free, were saved, in small bags, worn at the belt.
The pursuing fleet of Lord Yamada had soon fallen behind. The ship of Tersites was no warship, no agile, many-oared knife in the water. But she had good lines, six masts, and an enormous spread of canvas. I thought there was little at sea that could overtake her with a fair wind. Tersites, with his small, crooked body, may have been half-blind and more than half-mad, but he had built a ship which, I think, will be remembered in a hundred songs.
Our losses had not been considerable.
Amongst those who were lost were two oarsmen, Thoas and Andros. They had been struck from behind.
I will report one part of a conversation heard the evening of the day of the altercation in the vicinity of the warning ship, which altercation took place on the second day of the second week past the fourth passage hand, as it has some bearing on what occurred later.
“What course has been given to Aetius,” inquired Lord Nishida.
“We are continuing on, directly,” replied Lord Okimoto.
“You know our location,” said Lord Nishida. “Surely it is time to veer north. You know what lies ahead.”
“We shall move north later,” said Lord Okimoto.
“You know the season,” said Lord Nishida, “and what lies ahead.”
“Yes,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Why then do you continue on?” inquired Lord Nishida.
“Because,” said he, “I think the fleet of Lord Yamada will fear to follow.”
Chapter Seventeen
Many of the crew, and certainly myself, were fascinated by the floating stones which appeared occasionally in the water, as we sailed west. More than one had been drawn aboard. They were rock, but light. One could crumble it in the hands, crush it against the deck. When we broke such stones open, we found the interior spongy, and porous, riddled with tiny apertures. We did not know the origin of these anomalous substances. If any knew, the information was withheld from us. Through familiarity, we soon lost interest in these strange stones, which, as we moved on, were occasionally encountered in drifts or shoals.
Oddly enough, by command of Lords Okimoto and Nishida, ropes were strung about the open deck, this though the weather was clear. Two days after this it was ordered, despite the heat of the day, that hatches were to be secured, save when used for ingress or egress. A day after that, access to the open deck was primarily restricted to officers and the duty crew. It was close below decks. There was much grumbling amongst the men. It was doubtless particularly unpleasant for the some two hundred
