His preparations had been long and thorough. He had had no sleep and until now had been drooping with weariness. The moment the first catapult spoke he came alive. He spoke softly to Ixion.
'What of the wind?'
That expert pointed out to sea, reading something in the purple haze that escaped Blade. 'Not yet,' said Ixion. 'In an hour or less we will have wind. None before.'
Blade nodded in satisfaction. 'Fair enough. They have more canvas and would soon have the gauge of us. Look - the fools are going under sail anyway.'
True. Each of Otto's, ships carried a huge square sail rigged to a single slanting spar. The sails hung limp and lifeless, impeding, doubling the work of the sweating slaves. By that stupidity alone Blade gained the edge in speed.
Blade raised his sword and made a chopping motion. Ixion began bellowing orders through his leather trumpet. The orders were picked up by a slave in the bow, with another trumpet, and passed on to each galley in turn.
He had pulled his hooks at precisely the right moment and now he watched as the four ships, looking miniscule by the side of the large craft attacking, began to fall into a single file behind the trireme. Blade smiled grimly. There was already shouting and gesticulating on the command decks of the enemy. Equebus had expected Blade to assume a broad frontal defense, to spread his ships into a smaller bow to ward off the larger attacking one. Equebus wanted a series of ship to ship battles with his the larger craft and almost double in number.
Blade raised a finger, Ixion his trumpet, and three rows of oars began to rise and dip, flinging droplets of water like a million diamonds. The big trireme leaped forward. These were galley slaves promised freedom and they would row their hearts out for it.
The drumming came up in a regular monotonous thrum from the second tier: Dum-dum-dum-Dum-dum-dum- Dum-dum-dum.
'I put Chephron on the drum,' said Pelops. 'He seemed best fitted for it and he is no better with the sword than I.'
Blade ignored him. He spoke to Ixion. 'Increase the beat - up twenty a minute.'
Ixion bellowed the order and the trireme began to throw a bow wave as the long oars flashed in unison. The slaves were putting their scarred backs into it. They began to sing. The drum increased the cadence - dum-dum- dum-dum-dum...
Blade took the helm himself. It was a side rudder, a big oar that reminded Blade of those on Viking ships. It was alive in his hand. He could feel pressure tingling in the wood. Pphira had enough way on her to answer immediately. Blade studied the battle line of Otto's ships. About three hundred yards now.
Blake called out, 'Fire buckets ready.'
Ixion relayed the order.
'Shields up.'
Crewmen scurried to secure wooden shielding along the railings. They would give some protection from arrow fire, none from the catapults.
'Archers aloft,' cried Blade and Ixion sent the order on its way.
Blade's attacking force was now in a single line, led by the trireme Pphira. The flagship of Equebus was a hundred yards ahead and coming up fast. Blade touched the tiller and took the trireme a point to starboard. The huge flagship, a quadreme, a clumsy floating palace, nevertheless had a nasty underwater ram. Blade's little fleet had not been allowed rams.
Blade put his glass squarely on Equebus for a moment. The Captain paced the command deck of his flagship, brave in scarlet cloak and silver helmet, heavily armored, waving a sword as he screamed commands. He had realized the mistake of hoisting sail in a dead calm and was trying to repair the damage. Meantime his slaves, lacking the inspiration of Blade's, fell out of rhythm and caught air instead of water and cursed and cringed at the lash. There was no whipping on Blade's ships.
Equebus had no speaking trumpets and had to transmit his orders by flag. This added to confusion - wrong flags were flown and even these misread. Blade grinned satanically as he watched Equebus lose his temper and strike out at his junior officers.
To add to the Captain's woes there came an errant gust of wind, precursor of the breeze promised by Ixion. It did not last long, but while it did it blew steadily against Equebus' ships, most of which had not yet furled their sails. The wind negated the labor of the oar slaves. The nine ships of Otto slowed, halted, and began to drift aimlessly without rudder or way.
Blade cupped his hands and screamed at Ixion. This order must not be delayed or misunderstood,
'Diverge!'
Ixion trumpeted the word through leather. The four little galleys behind Blade fell off to right and left, two in each direction, and rowed at top speed to pierce the line of enemy ships.
Blade took the Pphira another point to starboard, avoiding the ram of the flagship, then brought his ship back in close. From the corner of his eye he saw a great jagged stone, flung by a catapult, smash one of his galleys amidships. The galley, one that had diverged to the left, its back broken, fell off and began to sink. The harbor was dotted with slaves sinking or swimming as best they could. Blade could do nothing. He counted on losing his four galleys in any case - his hopes lay only in the trireme - and at least the oar slaves had not been chained to their benches.
Arrow fire was heavy now. Blade took Pphira in close to run alongside the flagship at top speed. He was within lance and javelin range. One of his archers fell screaming from the top lines and landed bloodily on the poop deck. Pelops screeched and cowered against the rail. Blade gave the little man a shove. 'Get rid of it!'
Blade brought the tiller hard over and the big trireme ran past the flagship. Ixion had ordered the port oars retracted just in time. Not so aboard the flagship. Equebus did not guess at Blade's maneuver until too late.
Pphira, propelled by her starboard oars, flashed down the side of the flagship. Scraping, sliding, bumping. The big
