I never saw Byzantium that trip. The storm hit us four days out of Cyprus with a hull full of copper. We ran before it, because we were crossing the deep blue between Cyprus and Crete and we had nowhere to land and we didn't dare show the low sides of our trireme to the wind.
It hadn't been a good trip. We'd had weather out of Ephesus, weather all the way to Cyprus, weather while we collected copper and weather while we rowed – all rowing, no sailing – to Crete.
Men looked at me. I was the foreigner, and the gods of the sea were angry. Well they might. I was an oath- breaker, fleeing from my oath to Hipponax, and the sea had no love for me.
I took turns with Herk at the steering oars. We'd been trained well, Archi and I, when we made the runs up to the Euxine and across the wine-dark sea to Italy. I could handle a ship, even a long killer like Herk's light trireme. I marvelled at the Athenian build style. They really were pirates – the hulls were thin as papyrus, and the ship itself was narrower and lighter, and the rowers were packed even closer than rowers in Ephesian ships – free men every one, with a sword and a couple of javelins, the richer men with a spolas or a thorax.
South and east of Crete, the weather seemed to abate and we made a good landfall, and the first night that we slept on a beach, every man kissed the sand. I speak no blasphemy when I say that the furies must have had a lot of law-breaking and oath-breaking to pursue. Perhaps some other bastard took up their attention.
Cretans aren't like other Greeks. The men of Crete are war-worshippers, and they have aristocrats and serfs – most of the farmers are not free men at all, but something like slaves. Only the aristocrats fight, and some of them still use chariots. I didn't think much of their primitive agriculture. It is a curse of youth that you cannot keep your mouth shut and so, on our third night in the 'great hall' of the local lord, Sarpedon of Aenis, I found myself arguing with local men about how best to grow wheat and barley. I used an unfortunate phrase in the heat of my anger at the fool's intransigence – we don't call them Cretans for nothing – and this fool called me out, demanding blood.
'You must be joking?' I asked. I'd had some wine.
He slapped me like a woman. 'Coward,' he said. 'Woman.'
Idomeneus came and told me that I had to fight or be ashamed. I laughed. I wasn't ashamed and I had little interest in fighting. But the lord glowered and the other men hooted at my apparent cowardice.
His name was Goras, and I killed him. He was a good fighter, but half drunk and no match for me. The only danger was from the darkness and the drink – I vowed never to fight under such conditions again. His first blows were wild and thus dangerous, but I set my feet and put my spear into his throat and down he went, and the hall fell silent. Herk shook his head. He gathered me with his other men, paid an indemnity and took us away. In the morning we sailed, heading west along the south coast of Crete.
'That cost me the whole value of my trading there,' he said to me in the morning. 'Can't you keep that sword in its sheath?'
I wasn't surly. In those days, killing often brought me a black cloud – I would sit alone and mope. But I heard his words, and they were just words.
We had good weather as we coasted Crete, and we sold our Athenian olive oil and beautiful red-figured and black-figured vases at enormous profit in the market of Hierapytna, and the mood of the crew improved. But not for long.
Herk took me aside after we were invited to the lord's hall. 'Could you refrain from killing anyone until our business here is done?' he asked.
I nodded. 'Silent as the grave.'
But of course, I wasn't.
In truth, there's little I could have done about it. Word of my fight up the coast had made it here. And word of the Ionian Revolt was everywhere, and men behaved like men – like warriors. As they had taken no part, they had to belittle those who had. As we had lost, we were to be humbled.
I have watched this pattern play out too many times. More wine, here.
We were in the lord's hall, and Herk had sent Idomeneus to watch over me. I was quiet, listening and not talking, striving to be the sort of man – well, the sort of man that Eualcidas had been, silent and cheerful. Grown men always tell you that this is the way of excellence, but they neglect to tell you that it is easier to be silent and dignified and cheerful when you are forty and have won ten battles. It's like getting women – much easier when you are too old to enjoy them.
Hah, I'm a foul old man. Too true.
I listened to them demean the Ephesians and the Athenians, and I said nothing. I said nothing when they laughed at Aristides' youth. But I suspect my attempts at dignity weren't much better than stubborn glowering. I was easy meat. Finally, an older man, a leader, came over to where I stood, and he grinned.
I grinned back – glad that someone, at least, was interested in being my friend.
'I heard that you killed a man down the coast,' he said. 'But I have to assume you stabbed him in the back. I mean – look at you. No intestines. No reply to the insults we heap on you. Or are you some sort of woman?' He laughed, showing all his teeth.
I sputtered. This is where heroes are supposed to make a good speech, but I was taken by surprise and I failed. Blood rushed to my head and when Idomeneus tried to hold my arm, I punched him in the mouth. Then I turned.
'You want to die?' I asked. I don't remember what else I said – just that.
He laughed. And threw a punch, a fast punch, right through my defences, and knocked me flat, dislocated my jaw.
I lay there in a rage of pain, and he laughed again.
'This is their great killer?' he asked his friends. When I got to my feet, he didn't even take a stance. He feinted, and then I was on my back again, and my right temple felt as if his knuckle had gone through it.
They all laughed – all except the Athenians. They didn't laugh – but they did nothing to help. My friends – the men I'd fought beside – they weren't all on Herk's ship. And Herk himself shifted uneasily, but he stayed put.
Not cowardice. Just being practical men of business.
I got to my feet slowly. I wasn't thinking too well. And I was filled – suffused – with the purest spirit of Ares. Ares, the hateful god. I was glowing with hate. I felt betrayed.
I was young.
My tormentor came forward again and I stumbled towards him, and he laughed. They all laughed. That's what I remember best – the laughter.
The rage and the hate were all through me, and with them came a plan, and I followed my plan.
I let him chase me around the hall. I fell over benches. I accepted the humiliation, backing, always backing – running, even. Oh, yes. I was the coward he thought me, step by step, and men roared with laughter to see my antics.
Except Herk. He knew me, and his eyes grew big, and when I was close to him he yelled something at me, pleading.
Then my head cleared. Two heavy blows to the head do not leave you with much, in a fight. But if you are used to taking blows – and I was – you can get your own back, if you stay alive and keep your blood pumping. I'd run around the hall for five minutes by then, and I'd taken blows – to my abdomen, but it was thick with muscle, and to my thighs, where the other tormentors rained their fists on me as I hopped past.
When my head was clear, I jumped a bench and a kline in one bound and stood in the open space in the middle of all the men. He came at me, and he was still laughing.
He threw his punch, and I caught his fist in the air and broke his arm. The sound of his arm breaking was like a limb snapping from a good, old olive tree.
Then I broke his neck.
And they all stopped laughing. I said nothing. I watched them lie on their couches frozen in the act of fondling their boys.
Now they had the rage and I was calm. I watched the rage flow out of me and into them. He'd been someone they liked – someone they fancied. Now he was meat.
They were warriors. They had elaborate codes of honour, and they did not rush me like a pack.
Herk shook his head and all the Athenians gathered together. Knives began to appear around the hall, and swords.
I let my eyes rove over the Cretans, looking for a leader. I'd like to say I was like a ravening wolf, or a lion
