Hope of Earth (42 page)

And suddenly there was the pursuing ship—exposed in profile. The boatswain gave the Straight Ahead signal, followed immediately by the Ram signal. Jes played the tunes, and the oarsmen evened their strokes and propelled the ship ahead. The Leucadians were unable to move out of the way; they could only watch in amazed dismay as their doom closed on them.

Just before the strike, the boatswain signaled Lift Oars. Jes played the tune, and the ship completed the maneuver on inertia. They all braced for the impact.

It came. Jes would have been thrown from her seat, if she had not braced herself. The collision holed the enemy ship, immediately disabling it. Ittai’s crew cheered.

Then the Withdraw signal. Jes played, and the oarsmen reversed their stroke and hauled the ram back out of the hole, leaving the other ship floundering and filling with water. It would not sink, but it was useless for combat. The crew could not even desert it, because this was Athenian water, and any swimmers would be easy targets. So they just sat and waited in evident despair. How quickly then-fortune had reversed!

The following Peloponnesian ships were similarly dismayed. Their line had become ragged in the close pursuit. So their leading ships backed their oars and halted, waiting for more ships to catch up. However, some did not halt in time, and ran aground in the unfamiliar harbor. Their enthusiasm for pursuit had blinded them to common sense.

Now Phormio made a single shout. The ten remaining ships of the Athenian fleet surged forward in attack. The distance was small; in a moment they were on the stalled enemies. The Spartans were in a poor position to defend themselves. The integrity of their fleet had been lost, and they had little room to maneuver. They had foolishly surrendered their momentum, close to the Athenian line. Because of all the mistakes they had made, and their state of disorder, the advantage of their superior numbers had been forfeited.

Ittai’s ship turned and rejoined the Athenian formation. It was no longer the laggard. Jes played the Forward tune, and they closed on the enemy in proper style. She felt exhilarated by the elixir of battle, not at all afraid. This was glorious!

The Peloponnesians fought only briefly, before turning to flee. That was yet another mistake on their part. The Athenians had easy pickings, choosing their targets. They went after the easiest ones and let the others go. Their discipline, maneuverability, tactics, and courage in adversity had enabled them to win the day despite the enormous odds against them.

All that remained was mopping up. Their ship went after one of the grounded ships, taking advantage of its inability to maneuver. Troops on the ground were wading out to capture it, but it seemed about to free itself and escape.

Instead of ramming a ship they could capture and salvage, they cut off its escape and crowded against it from the sea side. They grappled it, holding it firm. That prevented it from avoiding the Messenians, who came on, waving their spears and shouting.

But the ship did not surrender quietly. Their hoplites made a desperate lunge, leaping aboard Ittai’s craft and engaging its hoplites. For a moment there was fierce fighting.

An Athenian hoplite fell in front of Jes, wounded in the leg. The enemy hoplite stood over him, raising his spear for the finishing thrust.

Jes acted without thinking. She drew her knife and hurled it at the enemy soldier’s face. The blade penetrated his left eye. He screamed and fell backward off the ship.

But another was coming. Jes dived for the Athenian hoplite’s shield. She hauled it up and held it over the man’s body, protecting him from further injury.

Then Kettle appeared. He intercepted the enemy hoplite and dispatched him with a single thrust of his spear.

The Messenians arrived, and the remaining crew of the captured ship surrendered rather than be slaughtered. The fight was over.

The commander of the hoplites turned to Jes. “You have lost your knife,” he said. “Take mine.” He drew his dagger and offered the hilt to her.

She accepted it, realizing that by this token he had finally accepted her position on the ship. He must have seen her defend the wounded soldier.

There was a pause while the other ship was secured. Jes looked around—and saw that Captain Ittai was down. The helmsman and boatswain were attending to him, while the bowmen looked crestfallen; they had not succeeded in protecting him. Yet how could they? He had been struck by an arrow.

Something tore apart within her breast. Before she knew it, Jes was there, throwing herself down by the captain even as the helmsman pulled out the arrow in his shoulder. “Oh my love, don’t die! Don’t die!” she cried, her tears flowing. She kissed his pale, still face. “I love you! Don’t die!”

Ittai’s eyes opened. “Does this mean you will marry me?” he asked with a weak smile.

“Yes! Yes!” All her doubts had dissipated. She no longer cared where or how she lived, as long as it was with him. He was an honorable, valorous, decent man, and fully worthy of love.

“Good.” His eyes closed, and he sank back into unconsciousness.

“It is a flesh wound, painful but not lethal,” the helmsman said. “We will take care of him.” Indeed, he held a bandage in his hands.

Then Jes realized where she was. She looked up at the boatswain and bowmen, all of whom were staring. “It’s a woman!” one of the bowmen said.

“A woman!” the nearest oarsman echoed, amazed. “Bad luck!”

She had given herself away. Now she was in trouble.

The helmsman stood up straight. “On the ship, the captain makes the rules. I serve the captain.”

“We all serve the trierarch,” the boatswain said, and the four bowmen nodded agreement. But the oarsmen were scowling rebelliously.

Kettle was close. “I see no woman,” he said. “I see our pipeman, who has served the ship well in two hard battles’.” He glared at the thranites, his hand on his blood-soiled spear. “And will continue to serve. As will the rest of us.”

The oarsmen looked away, not daring to challenge him.

The helmsman smiled. “Pipeman, return to your station.”

Jes got up and went back to her chair. The boatswain gave her a signal, and she began to play her flute. The oarsmen, encouraged by the glares of the hoplites, bent to then-task. The ship moved out.

B
RY WAS HELPING LIN TEND
their terraced garden. It was little, but it was vitally important, and every day they had to carry crocks of water up to irrigate it so it wouldn’t burn away in the hot sun. Without it, they would soon be hungry, because they had almost no reserves of grain or meat. They existed largely by the tolerance of the king of Nabataea, who accepted them as immigrants from the north but had not yet seen fit to grant them citizenship. At such time as they had citizenship, and the right to graze sheep and goats on a section of Nabataean pasture land, they would be much better off.

They carefully poured out the water so that it ran between the rows, none of it being wasted. Then they stood, straightening their tired backs. Water was heavy, especially when hauled uphill.

Bry straightened and looked around. He saw something in the distance.“Lin! A caravan!”

She was as excited as he was. Caravans passed regularly through Khirbet Tannur on their way between the capital city of Petra and points north, but that did not mean they were a daily occurrence. They always stopped to make an offering—it was not nice to call it a toll—at the Shrine of Atargatis, the goddess of love, beauty, fruitfulness, vegetation and much else. Also of war, and the underworld. It would be very bad form to incur her ire.

“Maybe it’s Jes,” Lin said.

But Jes had been gone more than a year. She had left with Wona, and would not return until that faithless wife had been placed, preferably far away. Maybe in Jerusalem, in Judaea, or maybe in Gaza. Maybe even somewhere in Phoenica, really far away. So it was bound to take time. But Bry worried secretly, as the months passed without her return. There were so many dangers along the way!

Lin glanced sharply at him. “Don’t say it.”

That brought him out of his morbid reverie. “Right. Maybe it’s Jes. She’s due.”

Without further word, they left the garden, scrambled down the steep path, and ran for the shrine.

The shrine stood alone inside the juncture of two canyons that branched out from the Dead Sea, seven leagues to the northwest. It was on an isolated stone rise, visible from the primary caravan route through the area, though still below the rim of the canyon. It was a singularly impressive structure, facing east and dominating that region of the canyon. It was left open to the sky, with a broad flat stone platform for worshippers and supplicants to stand on, flanked by two stone obelisks triple the height of a man; carved from the native rock of the ridge. One pillar represented the god Dushara, ruler of the mountains, and of all this land, and the other Al-Uzza, goddess of springs and water, so vital in this dry land. But the Shrine Tannur was for the goddess Atargatis; the others were merely guests at this site. The altar was for offerings to her.

The caravan made good time, because it was arriving at the base of the shrine the same time Bry and Lin did. Lin gave a scream of sheer joy. “Jes!” she cried, running to fling herself into her big sister’s arms.

Bry was just a bit more cautious. He had no doubt of Lin’s identification, for he recognized Jes too, despite her male attire. But she was in the company of strangers. If she was concealing her identity or gender, they could be causing her real mischief.

But his concern turned out to be unwarranted. Jes set Lin down and strode forward to hug him too. “You look wonderful! Both of you! How are—?”

“They’re all fine!” Lin said. “Sam brought home a new wife, Snow. She’s nice. He thought she would marry Ned, but Ho said—”

“Of course,” Jes agreed, probably not grasping all of that but satisfied that it was all right. “Wona has remarried. And I am married too.”