was in my hand.
I cut the lashings in two sweeps as accurate as any sword cuts I'd ever made in combat, and the whole sail blew free of the lashings as if Poseidon's fist had struck it. I thought that the mast would snap, it bent so far, and the bronze-clad bow plunged into the sea, so that I thought we might dive to the bottom like a cormorant. Fear took me, but I got my arms around that mast and held on as the water drove aft. And then the bow began to rise. I felt the change under my feet even as I choked on the water in my mouth.
The bow came up, sluggish at first, and then the first stay rope gave with a crack like a thunderbolt, killing the man it hit, one of the Aeolians. He didn't even get to scream.
The new mast gave a grunt and moved the width of a man's arm – and held.
The whole ship seemed to groan and the bow rose again, clear of the sea. The waves were at our stern, and we'd put more blood into the water – the Aeolian was our last sacrifice.
I had a chance to see the cliffs of Chelidon, and I don't think that I have ever moved faster across the surface of the earth than I did in those heartbeats, as the full weight of the storm blew into our tiny sail and we raced across the sea like a mare run wild.
And then, as fast as it takes to tell it, we were through the strait. First the force of the gale diminished by half, because the cliffs were no longer funnelling the whole storm into our little sail. And then Paramanos, grinning like a titan, was turning us – oh, so gradually – to starboard.
It took us longer than we could have imagined – I think that if I'd told the men, back in the teeth of the storm, that we were still half a watch from safety, we'd all have died.
But the moment came when every man aboard knew we were not going to die. Hard to define, but between one breath and the next, the wind had dropped so far – broken by the weight of Asian Olympus to our north and east, now – that if we'd all slumped on our oars, we'd have floated the rest of the night and come to no harm. And in the contrary way of the human heart, that gave us strength – we were all one animal by then, and we were going to rise and fall together, no mistake.
My Cretan oar master was gone – swept over the side by the wave when the bow went down – and I beat the deck with my good spear and chanted the Iliad at the sea, and men laughed. It was as dark as Tartarus under the lee of the mountain, but the beach rolled on for ever, and we turned the ship in water as calm as any harbour and the stern grated on the gravel, the kiss of life, and the ship stopped, all our oars out over the side as if we were a dead water bug.
We lay in a huddle on the beach, a hundred exhausted men who didn't even try to start a fire. It was hot in the midst of the pile of men and cold and wet on the fringes, and no man slept, but no man died.
In the morning, the sun rose late over the mountain and we rose slowly, like men who have survived a hard fight – which we were. We caught some goats, sacrificed them to Poseidon and ate them half-cooked. We drank wine from the hold, poured more libations than an assembly of priests and swore that we were brothers until the sun died in the sky.
The next morning, I got them back aboard and, with the bow pointed at Lesbos, we sailed away with our toy boatsail. And as luck would have it, twenty stades up the bay, we found our own boatsail mast with the sail still lashed to it, floating with the wrack of the storm, and further downwind we found the mainsail floating below the surface like a dead creature.
'Truly, the gods love you,' Paramanos said.
I shrugged. 'I have some luck,' I said.
He nodded. I was at the steering oars, and he was drinking fresh water from a little horn cup, a Phoenician habit. 'I've never seen that trick with the boatsail before,' he said. It was a peace offering, if I wanted it. He was a better sailor than I and he'd taken command when he had to, and he expected me to resent it.
He had me wrong. I waited until he'd finished his water, then I put my arms around his neck. 'You fucking saved us,' I said. 'I'm not so mad as you think.'
He nodded, and finally he couldn't restrain his grin. 'I did, didn't I?' he said.
'You did,' I answered. The next afternoon, I summoned the Phoenicians aft. I nodded at the helmsman. 'Paramanos has requested your lives,' I said. 'For myself, I bear no grudge against you – we are at war. But I will only free you for a ransom. Choose among yourselves who will go, and who will stay as surety.'
The eldest nodded. First he embraced Paramanos and then he came back to me. 'I am the richest of these men, and I will stay,' he said.
I could see the hatred in his eyes, but who loves a man who has killed thirty countrymen in cold blood? I didn't need his love.
'Set a price,' I said.
He named a figure in talents of silver. Paramanos approved and Herakleides, the eldest of the Aeolians, gave a curt nod. Herakleides was already serving as an officer, and training with Paramanos to be a helmsman.
'On the beach at Methymna,' I said to the youngest, who was chosen to go. 'Thirty days.' I turned to Idomeneus. 'See to it that he has arms and ten silver owls.'
The eldest Syrian shrugged. 'Land him at Xanthus,' he said. 'We have a factor there.'
And so we did.
When I promised all the rest of the crew shares in the ransom, my status rose again. The four Phoenicians were worth ten times my whole fortune, and I had accounted myself well-off before we fought the battle. Boeotians aren't good at wealth.
The gods were kind. Dolphins sported at our bow and we had the mainsail up by noon of the second day. A kinder east wind stayed at our stern-quarter all the way up the coast of Asia, until we had to turn and row into the magnificent bay at Mytilene. The beach was not as full of ships as it should have been. Indeed, it was as if only a portion of the fleet that had broken the Phoenicians at Amathus had come to the rendezvous. More than a third of the ships had gone home, and at first glance it looked worse. The Cretans were not the only ones to take their loot and go.
I recognized the Athenian cut of the ships on the south end of the beach but not any of the ships themselves – none of them were Aristides', but I saw a black hull that might be Herk's unlovely Nemesis, and I turned my ship at the south end of the beach and put the stern in the sand two oar's lengths from the man himself, who stood in the gentle surf laughing and shouting rude suggestions at my oarsmen.
He was the first man to embrace me as I put my feet on the beach.
Miltiades was the second.
18
Of course it had been Miltiades advising that rascal Aristagoras – he was the 'Samothracian navarch'. I heard a lot of that story later, and if I have time, I'll answer all your questions about it. But at that point I was simply happy to see someone I knew. I was happy to have someone to be in command. And I was delighted to receive his flattery, which came thick, fast and accurately.
That short sail from south of Cyprus to Lesbos was my first command, and it had taken its toll. I was bone- weary, and the broken ribs hadn't begun to knit, so that every weather change and every jostle caused spikes of pain. I had discovered that commanding men is the very opposite of fighting man to man – what I mean is that when I am fighting, the world falls away and everything is right there – the whole circle of the world revealed in a single heartbeat, as Heraclitus used to say. But when you are in command, you have to face the infinite consequences of each action – forward, on and on, until the gods strip the roots of the world away. Is there water? Is there food? Where will you beach tonight? Does that oarsman have a fever? Have you passed three headlands or four?
And it never ends. No sooner were my bare feet in the sand of Lesbos, Miltiades' arms around me, than my men were asking whether we would need the boatsail brought ashore and a hundred more questions.
Miltiades laughed, released my arms and stood back. 'The bronze-smith's son is a trierarch. No surprise to me, allow me to add. You've come right in among my ships – why not camp with me?'
I might have done better, waited for the best offer, but I was so happy to see someone from home – to be honest, when I saw Miltiades, I assumed that the Ionians would win. He always had that effect on me. 'Show me
