through the town in the first light and boarded, Kylix carrying our gear. For all we knew, Diomedes was still tied to his pillar. I wondered if by putting him there, I had made sacrifice to Aphrodite, so that she granted me – Briseis.
As the sea wind blew my hair, I let myself think that I had kissed Briseis in the bath, and – what word suffices? Did I 'possess' her? Never. If anyone was the owner, it was she. Did I 'take' her? No. Men's words for sex are often foolish, you'll find, honey. Briseis was more like a goddess than a woman.
And then, as the good salt wind blew over me and the rain squalls danced to the north, towards where Miltiades might be rising from his bed, it suddenly struck me.
I was free.
Archi was next to me at the bow-rail, over the box where marines might ride in a fight. Today it was full of bull hides for aspides. Every item between our benches had to do with war. The world was going to war, and I was free.
'I'm free!' I said.
Archi punched me in the back. 'You are,' he said. 'Will you – leave me at Methymna?'
It is odd, looking back across the years at that boy – oh, aye, I'd have put my fist in a man's face for calling me a boy then, but I was, and my actions shout it. But in that moment, I knew that I was free – and I had no idea who I was or what I wanted.
No, that's not right, either. What I wanted was Briseis. Hah. More wine. That's all I wanted, and all I could keep in front of my eyes. And then there was the little matter of my oath to Artemis. To defend Hipponax and Archilogos. For all that home – Plataea – had begun to seem sweeter, the sudden, heady unwatered wine of freedom washed that dream away.
I shook my head. I couldn't tell Archi that I loved his sister. 'No,' I said. 'I promised your father I'd watch you for a while.'
Archi smiled. 'Well, that's not so bad, I guess,' he said, but his smile said it was anything but bad.
I bent and started to look at the armour we were carrying. The breastplates were bronze and they were unfinished, but they had fancy decoration worked in, the waist and closure left undone so that the final fitting could be made by a local smith. I shook my head.
'Mediocre work,' I said. 'I want better. I want a panoply. I assume we're going to fight the Persians!'
Archi grinned. We embraced.
It sounded like fun. We were young.
11
I've already said that I think Lesbos is the prettiest island in Ionia, and I still think Methymna is the handsomest town in Hellas. I always swore that if Plataea sent me into exile, I'd go and be a citizen in Methymna.
She's no Ephesus. Methymna sits high above the sea, yet the sea is at her doorstep. Methymna is where Achilles landed and took the first Briseis as his war bride. The beach is black and the town rises to a high citadel on the acropolis that has foundation stones laid by the old people – or giants. The town itself climbs the hills and sits below the fortress where the lord lives. That fortress is the only reason the men of Methymna are not serfs of Mytilene. It is almost impregnable. Indeed, only Achilles has ever taken it.
We beached on the black gravel and kissed the first good ground. The beach was full of hulls – twenty, stretching along to the east, each black ship with its own fire and two hundred men, so that the beach itself was like a city.
I went to a shrine to Aphrodite and said a prayer that Briseis would not quicken. Archi found the customers who had ordered his goods and began putting things ashore. It was early afternoon before we had the benches clear. We sold every hide we brought and every ingot of copper that hadn't been ordered. I saw that Archi had kept a full ingot back.
I raised an eyebrow and pointed.
'Your armour,' he said. 'You can pay an armourer and have your metal, too.'
I clasped his hand. 'Thanks,' I said. I couldn't think of a jibe worth giving. Then we climbed into the town, up the steep streets, some with more steps than a temple, and explored, leaving flowers at the shrines. Later we went back to the beach to meet the other shipowners.
The men on the beach were Athenian. When they learned we were from Ephesus, one of their helmsmen came up to us and joined us where we'd started a fire to feed our rowers. Heraklides was a short, powerful man with sandy blond hair and a no-nonsense manner. He looked at our helmsman and spoke to him, and our man sent him to Archi. They clasped hands and Archi had me fetch a cup of wine. Slavery doesn't just fall away from you.
By the time I'd returned, they'd exchanged all the formulas of guest-friendship. Captains were always careful that way. When you meet a man on a beach, you want to be sure of him.
I handed them both wine, and then defiantly poured my own. Archi smiled.
'Doru, this is Heraklides of Athens, senior helmsman of Aristides or Athens. He commands three ships.' Archi was excited.
'Arimnestos of Plataea,' I said. 'Son of Technes.'
'Technes the war-captain of Plataea?' the older man asked. His clasp tightened. 'Aye, you have the look, lad. Every man who stood his ground against the fucking Euboeans knows your father.'
I wept. On the spot, without preamble, as if I'd been struck. I was free, and on the first beach I landed as a free man, I met men who knew my home and honoured my father. Heracles was with me – even in the name of our new friend.
'I was there,' I said, perhaps more coldly than was warranted. 'I saw him fall.' Suddenly I was chilled on the beach. And afraid, as if it was all happening again.
Archi looked at me as if he'd never seen me before.
'You were there?' Heraklides asked. He wasn't exactly suspicious, but he gave me a queer look. 'He died. There was a fight over his body. Aye,' he said, peering at me. 'I remember you. You took a blow, eh? We sent you home in a wagon. My uncle, Miltiades, said you were to get special treatment. We sent you home with your cousin. Cimon? Simon?'
'Simonalkes?' I said, and a terrible suspicion came to me. 'I fell at the bridge when they tried to strip Pater's armour,' I said. 'When I awoke, I was a slave in a pit.'
That took him aback. He looked at Archi. Archi shook his head. 'I've never even heard this story,' he said. 'We just freed him, the day before yesterday.' He looked at me. 'Why didn't you tell me?'
I drank some wine. I knew Pater was dead – but there is knowing and knowing.
Heraklides shrugged. 'Aye, I too was a slave for a year when pirates took my ship. What's to tell? Masters don't give a rat's shit, eh?' He nodded at me. 'Thing is, you're free now. Miltiades will want to know. He was – an admirer of your father, eh?'
'I've met Lord Miltiades,' I said. But I had to sit. My knees grew weak, and down I sat on the sand, unmanned.
It's all very well to say I never mourned Pater. In a way, that's all crap. Cold bastard that he was, he was my father. And the next thought that came unbidden – unworthy – was that the farm was mine, and the forge. Mine, not anyone else's.
I needed to get my arse home and see what was what. Because if they'd sent me home with Cousin Simonalkes – why, then, what if the bastard had sold me into slavery himself? That thought came to me from a dark fog, as if the furies were signalling my duty through a cloud of raven feathers. What if he was sitting on my farm, eating my barley?
I stood up so quickly that I bumped my head against Archi's chin where he'd leaned down to comfort me.
I think I'd have gone for home that very night – that hour – if I could have walked. Or – and the gods were there – if there hadn't been war. But war was all around me, and Ares was king and lord of events. I took to
