Menedemos kept stealing glances back over his shoulder at the beach as the Aphrodite covered the last couple of plethra. Plovers scurrying along the sand took to the air when the merchant galley drew too close to suit them. “That's fine,” Menedemos said, “just fine. Keep it going and—” A grinding, scraping noise interrupted him. “What's that?” Sostratos asked at the same time as his cousin exclaimed in surprise and dismay. “Have we struck a rock?” It didn't feel like that, and the akatos still moved backwards through the water. “We haven't,” Menedemos answered. “But our starboard steering oar just did. Almost tore my arm out of the socket when it hit, too.” Sure enough, the steering oar was torn out of the housing that secured it to the ship. And another crackle of splintering timber said the narrow length of the tiller hadn't come through undamaged, either. The rock missed impaling the Aphrodite 's flank. A moment later, soft sand scrunched under her false keel as she beached herself as prettily as anyone could have wanted. “Well, that's a nuisance,” Sostratos said. “It certainly is,” Menedemos said, “I can guide the ship well enough with only one steering oar, but it's not something I want to do. If you've only got one and something goes wrong ...” He's a sensible and cautious seaman, Sostratos thought, most of the time, anyway. Why doesn't his mind work the same way when he's on dry land? One more crackle and the steering oar fell away from the tiller and onto the sand, leaving Menedemos holding what was left of the tiller. With an oath, he threw it down onto the poop deck, narrowly missing Sostratos’ toes. “What a miserable piece of luck,” he said. “It was only a year old, and part of the best pair we ever had.” “You want to make repairs here, skipper, or go on up to Kos and have the shipwrights there do a proper job of it?” Diokles asked. “I'm going to have to think about that,” Menedemos answered. “For now, let's push her farther out of the water. I'll be able to take a better look at the damage then, too.” “Makes sense,” the oarmaster agreed. He angled the gangplank down from the deck to the beach and descended. Sostratos and Menedemos followed. Sailors in the undecked waist of the ship simply scrambled over the side and dropped to the sand. Sostratos, Menedemos, and Diokles added their weight and strength to those of the sailors. Sostratos' hands gripped the thin lead sheathing that helped hold shipworms at bay; his toes dug into the sand. Digit by digit, the Aphrodite moved up the beach. Euxentdes of Phaselis helped, too, and had plainly done such work before. After they'd shifted the ship far enough to suit Menedemos, the passenger asked, “Have you got woodworking tools aboard?” “Of course we do,” Sostratos answered. “If we end up in trouble, we may not find a kind-hearted nymph like Kalypso to lend us axe and adze and drill, as resourceful Odysseus did.”
Вы читаете The Gryphon's Skull
