The men were building a pile of sandbags atop the raft set now where the stern structure had stood. Xin directed the work as the men placed the sacks in rows across one another. They were making a roughly square stack that had to weigh at least a ton by now with more sand coming.
Caroline looked away from the laboring men and back across their wake. The two ships were closer now, their sails continuously visible above the swell of the sea. She could make out the motion of their oars. Like the Lion, they had both raised sails. The spars tilted back and forth atop the masts. The sun was high and, now and again, points of light flashed from on board the ships. Spear points, she imagined with an involuntary shudder.
The boy atop the mast shouted down from his perch. He was stabbing a finger out and shrieking to Ahinadab who roared back at him. The boy was pointing at something ahead of them, not behind. The men stopped their labor and stood looking at one another with a new tension. Caroline feared it was another ship athwart their course. She stood on her toes and raised herself up on the freeboard. She could see nothing.
“It is land,” Praxus said, beside her now. “He says he sees land.”
44
The Narrow Passage
The prow lifted from the water, powered both by the increased pace of the oarsmen and levered by the sand-weighted raft positioned at the stern.
Caroline balanced on her bare feet atop the port freeboard, held steady by a hand wrapped in a spar line and Dwayne’s grip on her leg.
“What can you see?” he said.
“It’s either an island or a point off of some mainland,” she said. “We’ve been on a northerly course generally. There’s no way we reached any major islands or the Greek mainland so soon.”
Ahinadab was at the bow perched high on the prow structure. He was staring at the coastline ahead. He turned and bawled a command to Xin, who repeated it in a scream to Yada who adjusted the tiller. The captain called back again and again, making fine adjustments to their course with gestures and curses. The helmsman pushed and pulled the tiller in direct response.
“Ask him what the skipper is up to.” Dwayne nodded toward Praxus. The boy was shifting his gaze anxiously from the growing shapes in their wake to the shadow on the horizon before them.
Caroline climbed down to the deck with Dwayne’s help and entered an exchange with Praxus who shrugged and raised his hands. Dwayne didn’t need a translation. The little bastard knew shit.
“He says Ahinadab is a clever seaman,” Caroline said. “He assures me that the captain has something up his sleeve, so to speak.”
“Yeah, a real admiral,” Dwayne said. “He’s probably going to beach this tub and try to hide from the guys who are after us.”
“Well, that’s a plan. But what about the sandbagging?” She looked sternward.
Crewmen were tying netting down over the six-foot-high pile of sand sacks atop the raft. They were securing the bags to the raft structure with thick lines.
“Damned if I know.” Dwayne shook his head. Any of the crew not occupied with rowing or dogging down the raft were busy tossing stuff overboard, anything not essential to the operation of the Lion was heaved into the water. Amphora, crates, baskets, spare lumber—all floated behind the bireme toward the pair of dreadnaughts bearing down on them. The sail and spars were tipped over the freeboard behind the last row of oars so as not to foul them. Even live pigs went over the side to paddle squealing over the waves.
Whether because of the lightened load or a renewed enthusiasm among the oarsmen, the Lion felt as though it was enjoying a new burst of speed. The coastline grew to stretch across more and more of the horizon before them even as the Carthaginians inexorably closed the distance behind. They were suspended between certain death and uncertain salvation.
Ahinadab called orders that were echoed by Xin and others. The fighting crew rushed over the boards to retrieve weapons. Men armed themselves with swords and spears. Some tied on leather skullcaps over which they secured helmets. With grim purpose, men strapped on leather corsets studded with iron bucklers. They tied on metal greaves backed with sheepskins to protect shins and forearms. Fighters retrieved round shields decorated with symbols of gods and animals from hooks along the port and starboard rails. Two boys placed embers in the brazier amidships and placed within irons to heat so that wounds could be cauterized to prevent men bleeding to death.
Sea birds from the coastline swarmed above them and found perches along the freeboards only to flap away when the fighting men pulled shields from where they hung.
Echephron, the elderly seer, stumbled between the men hustling to arm themselves. He called out for Praxus who came running. The old man waved a hand at the birds gliding over the deck and landing to peck at the boards for scraps. Praxus picked up a length of discarded hemp line and fashioned a knot in one end while the old man barked at him. Swinging the line like a flail, Praxus brought down one of the birds with a blow to the head. The knot crushed the gull’s skull and it dropped, twitching feebly, to the deck.
The old man hobbled to the dying creature, and with Praxus’ help, lowered himself to his knees by the bird. Working with a hook-bladed knife, Echephron deftly sliced the bird’s torso down the center and worked his fingers among the guts.
All activity ceased but for the steady rumble of the oar stems in their locks. All eyes were on the
