Over the Wine Dark Sea

'Well, see that you remember,' Menedemos said. 'Don't let your wits go wandering, the way you . . . do when you start thinking about history.' He'd started to say, The way you did when the peahen jumped into the sea, but checked himself. If he hadn't thrown that in Sostratos' face when it happened, doing so now hardly seemed fair. By the sour look his cousin sent him, Sostratos had a pretty good notion of what he hadn't said.   To starboard, the Italian coast baked brown under the summer sun. Menedemos wore a broad-brimmed hat to help keep himself from baking likewise. Even so, sweat ran down his face. More sweat trickled down his torso, and down his arms to leave wet, dark patches where he gripped the steering-oar tillers.   He steered the Aphrodite farther out to sea, till the coastline receded to a brown blur low on the horizon. That would make him harder to spot. Some of the fishing boats bobbing in the chop between the merchant galley and the shore didn't notice him: his sail was brailed up tight against the yard as the galley traveled north under oars. If I were a pirate and I wanted you, you'd be mine, he thought. A few boats did spot the Aphrodite and got away from what they thought to be danger as fast as they could.   He was swinging northeast toward the harbor of Hipponion -  not a splendid anchorage, but the best he could hope to find -  when Aristeidas called out, 'Sail ho! Sail ho to port!'   Shading his eyes against the late-afternoon sun, Menedemos peered out to sea. With more and more sailors pointing, he soon spotted the sail. It was of a good size, which warned him it might belong to a pirate. And it was of a color somewhere between sky blue and sea green, which argued that the captain of the ship to whom it belonged did not much want it seen.   'I'll show him, the son of a whore,' Menedemos muttered to himself. He raised his voice to a shout: 'All hands, grab your weapons and then to your oars!' As soon as the rowers had swords and knives and clubs ready to hand, he swung the Aphrodite toward the strange ship and told Diokles, 'Up the stroke.'   'Right you are, skipper,' the keleustes replied. 'You going to try and run him off, the way you did with that pirate back in the Aegean?'   'That's just what I'm going to do,' Menedemos said. 'And if he wants a fight, well, by the gods, we'll give him one.'   Before long, he could see the pirate's hull as well as his sail. That the sail always came into sight before the hull made some people think the world was round. Menedemos had his doubts about that. If it were round, wouldn't all the water run off? He'd never found an answer to satisfy him there.   The question didn't worry him for long. Taking the measure of the enemy was much more urgent. 'He's a pentekonter!' Sostratos called from the waist.   Menedemos dipped his head. 'I see,' he answered. The pirate had fifty rowers, then, to his own forty, and a hull shark-long and wolf-lean. The other ship sliced through the water like a knife. Menedemos saw at once that it had a better turn of speed than the Aphrodite.   But does he have the stones for a fight? Menedemos was betting his ship, his cargo, his freedom, his life, that the pirate didn't. Most sea raiders wanted nothing more than to rob victims who couldn't resist. What was better than profit without risk? If this pirate turned out to be an exception, though, he might end up naked and chained in a slave market in Carthage . . . or down at the bottom of the sea, with little crabs crawling in through the eyeholes of his skull to feast on whatever they could find inside.   Over in the pirate ship,