Dwayne stood at a gunwale below the helm and followed the captain’s gaze. The gap was growing narrow again. The visible strip of stars grew thinner and thinner as they moved forward. They were coming to the end of the channel. The bastard had led them into a trap. Leaning out to look past the stern, Dwayne could hear the relayed orders and the creaking oars of one of the triremes echoing off the rocks as it entered the channel to close behind them. They were in the part of the channel where the walls grew further apart. There was just enough sea room here for both Carthaginian warships to draw up alongside one another and block any hope of escape.
The cliff wall rose ahead, blocking the light of the stars, but still the oars cut the water at a faster and faster pace, following the cadence set by the rowing boss shouting the count. Dwayne looked for Caroline in the gloom but could not see her. He braced himself for the inevitable impact. Ahinadab roared and joined Yada to shove the tiller hard to port. The oars on the port side were drawn in as the starboard bank kept to their punishing pace.
The Lion heeled to starboard and the deck canted. The fighting crew grabbed for handholds. Those who failed to do so tumbled to crash against the starboard gunwale. The prow was gliding from port in a dizzying turn. The cliff wall rushed past close enough that Dwayne thought he could reach out and touch it. The deck righted itself, and the oars to port rumbled out again. The rowers soon matched the rhythm of their brothers on the opposite benches.
Dwayne looked up. A strip of stars shone above them. The narrow shores were so close on either side that he could hear the hiss of surf against the rocks. The canny Ahinadab had shifted the Lion around a turn in the channel by memory, or a sailor’s sense, or plain dumb luck. They powered now along a flow made strong by the natural funnel in the black walls rising on either side. The oars rose and fell, rose, and fell. The cool night air rushed over them.
Ahinadab bawled and every available hand ran sternward. Dwayne was swept along with them and carried up to the helm deck past the tiller to a precarious perch against the raft piled with sacks. The rear of the Lion was crowded with men, and the aft section settled deeper into the water with the increase in weight. The prow lifted higher as the deck tilted sharply astern.
The strait broadened again ahead. The walls of the cliffs dropped away like a curtain from the night sky. The glow of a waxing crescent moon shone over the ridgeline. The gibbous light revealed a dappled silver surface before them, a bay walled all around in a near perfect circle.
It was the bowl of a long extinct volcano, Dwayne realized. The crazy skipper raced them into a cul-de-sac after all. The warships pursuing them would not even need to risk the narrow passage and that treacherous turn to reach them. All the Carthaginians had to do was wait them out. And that wouldn’t take long. They’d thrown most of their food and water overboard during the chase. Despite that, the hull would probably ground when the tide went out. They’d be scuttled and left to starve.
Still, the Lion was gliding over the water with the oars going all out for the far wall of the crater lake. They were moments from driving the ram into the cliffs.
Ahinadab called from the tiller, and the men around Dwayne put hands to the stacked bags of sand atop the raft. They shouldered past the Ranger and heaved hard against the pile. Dwayne turned and joined them. He braced his feet and pushed away using the power of his legs. The men grunted and wheezed. The captain repeated the same command again and again in a stentorian bellow.
“Ee-pah! Ee-pah! Ee-pah!”
Dwayne and the mass of sweating men ee-pahed their asses off. The timbers of the weighted raft ground an inch across the deck. Another inch. Another.
The mass broke free and surrendered to gravity, sending it sliding across the boards tilted aft by the weight of sand and force of men toward the white wake churning below. It fell clear with a splash that raised a tower of water forty feet in the air.
A hand shoved Dwayne back and away from the thick hemp line that looped over the decking with a hissing sound. If he’d caught a leg in one of those loops, Dwayne would have been carried under the water in seconds.
The voice of Ahinadab roared loud enough to rebound from the surrounded walls of the bowl that enclosed them. The oars leaped from the water on either side. The improvised anchor line thrummed taut as the full weight of the sand-packed raft took hold.
The Lion shuddered violently as it jerked to a sudden stop. The timbers popped and cracked like rifle shots. The iron ring securing the anchor line to the deck rang like a bell against the hasp. The truss line sounded a long wavering bass note as it strained to hold the keel true.
Men fell hard to the deck. Dwayne crashed against the backs of the captain and helmsman who were fighting to hold the tiller braced to starboard. The Ranger joined them with his hands covering theirs and pressing hard enough to feel the iron-banded tiller bend under their weight. Burdened with the sudden downward pull of two tons of sand, the ship spun about with force enough to create a wave that washed over the port side.
Xin leaped forward between hands and swung his ax down on the shuddering anchor line. Three blows and the hemp parted with a snap, and the sudden slack raced over the stern like a serpent and was gone.
Ahinadab elbowed Dwayne away with
