rebels. 'The Ionian Revolt is only dangerous to the fools who play at it,' he said, and his bitterness was obvious. He was a man who sought constantly for greatness, and greatness kept passing him by.
Cimon was there. He had a lovely girl on his couch, I remember, because she had bright red hair and we all teased him about what her children would look like. Miltiades had red hair, too, remember.
He rose. 'So what will we do to win honour this summer?' he asked.
Miltiades shook his head, and he sounded both bitter and old. 'Win honour? There is no honour in this world. But we'll fill the treasury while old Artaphernes is busy with his rebellion.'
He had a grand plan for a raid down the Asian coast, all the way past Tyre to the harbour of Naucratis. I frowned when I heard it, because I knew the idea must have come from Paramanos.
We sailed after the spring storms seemed to have blown themselves out. We sailed right past the beach at Mytilene. They must have thought we were on our way to join them, but we didn't so much as spend the night. We stayed on Chios instead, and Stephanos gave money to his mother and impressed all his friends with his riches and then sailed away, and I was a little jealous of the ease with which he returned home and left. His sister was married now and had three sons, and I held one on my knee and thought about how quickly the world was changing. And I wondered if Miltiades was right, that there was no more honour to be had.
We fell on the Aegyptian merchants like foxes on geese. All the cities of Cyprus had fallen by then, and they didn't think there was a Greek within a thousand stades. We came out of a grey dawn, five warships, our rowers hard and strong from the trip south, and they didn't have a single trireme to protect them. I didn't even get blood on my sword. Greeks have a name for when a wrestler wins a match without getting his back dirty – we call it a 'dustless' victory. We took those poor bastards and we were dustless.
I took three merchants myself.
When a squadron came out of the port, too late to save their merchants, we scattered.
I ran south, at the advice of Paramanos. I dumped the rowers from the ships we'd taken on the low dunes of Aegypt and kept the gold and bronze and the gigantic eggs of some fabulous animal – Africa is full of monsters, or so I'm told. There was a slave girl, too – ill-use all over her, and a flinch reflex like a beaten dog. I kept her and treated her well, and she brought me luck.
We picked up another pair of Aegyptian merchants just north of Naucratis the day after the raid, ships inbound with no idea of what had happened. More silver and gold, and Cyprian copper. The bilge of Storm Cutter was filled so deep that we had a hard time beaching the ship, and rowing was a horror.
I beached again, carefully, fed my crew on stolen goat meat and sent the newly captured crewmen to walk back to Naucratis. Then I went west, to Cyrene. That was for Paramanos. He'd found a girl he fancied in the Chersonese, a free Thracian woman, and he'd decided to pick up his children, which filled me with joy – because that meant that he was committed to me. It was touch and go in Cyrene – the authorities knew us for what we were, but Paramanos was a citizen, and they chose not to tangle with my marines. His sister brought his daughters to the boat, clutching their rag dolls, the poor little things – they wept and wept to be put on a boat full of men, and hard men at that. But some things earn the smiles of the gods, and my Aegyptian slave girl turned out to be a fine dry-nurse. She was ridiculously thankful, now that she found she wasn't to be raped every night. And I have noticed this, honey – animals and people repay good treatment. And the gods see.
We put to sea with a strong south wind coming hot and hard off Africa. We hadn't dared to sell even an ostrich egg out of the hold in Cyrene – they didn't like us, and Paramanos feared that the council would seize the ship. I spent the whole night afraid that he would change his spots and betray us. Which shows that I had something to learn about men.
The wind was fair for Crete. We had a hold full of copper and gold and I knew a good buyer. Besides, I wanted to know how Lekthes was doing, the bastard.
I'm laughing, because most Greek captains thought that it was a great thing just to go down the coast of Asia, or across the deep blue from Cyprus to Crete, but thanks to Paramanos, I sailed the wine-dark as if I owned it, and every night he showed me the stars and how to read them the way the Phoenicians read them.
Good times.
Paramanos was showing off for his daughters and they reciprocated, turning into a pair of little sailors. Ten days at sea and they could climb masts. The elder girl, Niobe, had a trick that scared me spitless every time I saw her do it – when we were under way, rowing full out, she would run along the oar looms, a foot on each oar.
The oarsmen loved her. Every ship needs a brave, funny, athletic eleven-year-old girl.
Probably as part of his showing-off for his girls, Paramanos made a disgustingly accurate landfall on Crete, and was insufferable as a result. We walked up the beach at Gortyn's little port and were welcomed like Homeric heroes – better, in that quite a few of them were murdered. Nearchos embraced me as if he'd forgotten that we weren't lovers, and his father was decidedly warmer than I feared.
'Tell me everything!' Nearchos said. 'Nothing has happened here, of course,' he said, glowering at his father.
So I bragged a little of the raid and I talked of the sea. I was falling in love again – with Poseidon's daughters, as the fisherfolk say. But the sea bored Nearchos – boats were a tool for glory, not an end in themselves.
'You raided Aegypt?' Lord Achilles asked. 'Your Miltiades is a bold rascal. You must be a bold rascal yourself.'
I raised my cup to him and we pledged each other until I stumbled out of the hall into the rose garden and puked up an amphora of good wine. But I gave each of them a cup of beaten gold – half the wages they'd given me, returned in a guest-gift, and then they were my friends for life.
In the morning, I had a hard head, but I went to visit the bronze-smith. He wanted to buy all my copper, as I expected he would. I gave him a good price and we parted with a dozen embraces.
'Any time you want to give up piracy,' he said, 'I could make you a decent smith.'
I waved to him and went down to the fishermen's village and found Troas. He was sitting by his Lesbian boat, mending a net.
'I heard you was back,' he said. He didn't look up. 'She's wed and well wed, and it's your boy she calved first. So don't go making trouble.' Then he looked at me. 'She called him Hipponax,' he said. 'And we all thank you for the boat.'
I'd sold a pair of the eggs and all the copper. I put a bag on the upturned boat hull. 'For the boy, when he's a man,' I said. I had planned a long speech – or perhaps just a blow. I hadn't forgotten how he'd given me a boatload of fools.
But standing there on the beach, by his upturned boat, I had to acknowledge to the gods that his boatload of fools had made me the trierach I was. His hands and the gods had helped make me. Still, I glared at him.
'You nigh on killed me with your cast-off men,' I said.
'I had no reason to send my neighbours and friends with you, boyo,' he said, calmly enough.
'I got them home – even the fools,' I said.
'Aye, you're a better man than some,' Troas said. He nodded, and that was my apology.
'I'd like to see my boy,' I said.
'Nope,' Troas answered. 'My fool of a daughter took quite a shine to you, my young Achilles. She's just about over it now, and settling down to be a prosperous fisherwoman. She almost loves her husband, who's a good man and not a fucking killer.' His eyes held mine, as tough in his way as Eualcidas or Nearchos or Miltiades. Then he nodded. 'On your way, hero,' he said. 'No hard feelings. Come back in five years, if you're alive, and I'll see to it that you and your boy are friends.'
I felt a rush of – sadness? Rage? And a lump in my throat as big as one of the ostrich eggs.
'Can I give you a piece of advice, lad?' Troas asked.
I slumped against the boat hull. 'I'm listening,' I said.
He nodded. 'You think you're happy as a hero, but you ain't. You're a farm boy. It's not too late to go back to the farm. I saw you play house with my daughter and I didn't figure you'd ever come back. But the fact that you did come back tells a whole different story.' He went back to his net. 'That's all I have for you, son.'
It is odd how quickly you go from the killer of men to the bereft boy. 'I have no home,' I said. I still remember the taste of those words, which slipped past the fence of my teeth against my will.
Troas looked at me then. Really looked at me. 'Don't give me that shit,' he said, but his tone was kind. 'Go and make one.' And he got up and embraced me – Troas, giving me a hug for comfort.
