Sword of Apollo (33 page)

The Korinthians had already stepped their masts, and as soon as they were around the triangle-shaped promontory, Nikias knew, they would raise sails and catch the powerful wind. And then they would sail off with their human cargo, and Nikias would never see Helena again.

“What do we do?” asked Konon in despair.

Nikias looked to the left. He could see the
Spear
moving toward the promontory from the opposite direction, straining against the wind a quarter of a mile away, the waves breaking against the prow and exploding so high that the battle deck was covered with water. The Korinthian trireme was already rounding the little headland. The two sails unfurled and the trireme leapt forward and sailed straight out to the open sea.

“What do we do?” repeated Konon.

Nikias, frustration boiling up inside him, screamed in rage, “I don't know!” Every second counted. They couldn't wait for the
Spear
to make it to the cove. The wind was so strong now, it might take them a quarter of an hour or more to get here. If the Korinthian trireme was lost from sight, they would never find the ship.

“Here! Help me!” shouted Melitta. She had run down to the cove on the left-hand side of the isthmus—the side nearest the
Spear
—and was trying to push a little beached fishing boat into the water.

Nikias scrambled down the rocks and over to the boat, shoving it off the shore with a mighty heave. Melitta sprang into the craft and he jumped in beside her. The boat bobbed precariously. The girl went to work stepping the mast and sorting out the sail and rigging as though she'd done it a hundred times before.

“Chusor—my father—taught me to sail,” she said.

Konon came running up, plunging into the water, and stopped short when Nikias held up his hand.

“You have to stay,” said Nikias. “There's not enough room in this boat. We have to get to the
Spear
before that Korinthian ship is out of sight.”

Konon looked crestfallen but he replied, “I understand.”

Melitta dropped the sail and the boat sprang forward like a colt.

Nikias looked back over his shoulder and said, “Go back to the camp and wait, Konon! Find anybody else left alive from the stronghold! We'll come back for you!”

“Luck be with you!” called Konon, looking very forlorn.

The fishing boat raced out of the cove with Melitta holding on to the tiller with one hand and the sail rope with the other, propelled by the ever-increasing wind. Nikias could see the Korinthian ship heading north—it was already well past the
Spear
. The enemy trireme's battle deck was crowded with men. Nikias could tell they were staring in wonder at the burning ships of their fleet. He saw a man signaling to the helmsman and the ship turned sharply away from the shore. The Korinthians were not going to make an effort to rescue any of their men. They were running.

Melitta guided the fishing boat straight at the
Spear
, and when they got close enough to hail the ship, Nikias cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, “Chusor! Chusor!” But no one was at the prow. The trireme, its upper decks smashed in on either side, plowed on into the waves like a wounded and insensate beast.

“They can't hear us!” shouted Melitta.

She turned the fishing boat straight into the path of the
Spear
as if to ram it.

“What are you doing?” Nikias yelled. “They'll run us down! They can't see us!”

“I know what I'm doing!” she shouted back.

The trireme was almost on them when she pushed the rudder hard to the right and the fishing boat careened to the left, nearly dumping Nikias into the water. He clung to the side of the boat as it drove into the banks of oars, then it slammed straight into the side of the
Spear
. The fishing boat flipped over and something struck Nikias on the back of the head. He went under the water—the bitter cold water. His eyes were filled with stars. He reached up with both hands, grabbing blindly, and came to the surface gasping for air, clutching something thin and hard, like a wooden arm.

“Hey! It's Nikias! Hanging on my oar!” It was a Plataean voice calling with astonishment from the middle deck.

Confusion. Cold water. A rush of sounds. Hands seizing hold of him, pulling him from the sea and onto the ruined outrigger deck as all of the paddles ceased and the trireme slowed.

“By Zeus's bloated balls, what are you playing at?”

It was Chusor, staring down at him, face twisted in wrath. But his features were all blurry, and there was a mighty ringing in Nikias's ears. He tried to lift his head and a blinding pain flashed in his brain.

“Melitta?” gasped Nikias. “Where is she?”

“Melitta?” replied Chusor, confused.

“She was in the boat,” said Nikias, struggling to get to his feet, but his knees buckled and he dropped back to the deck. Then he swooned and the world turned gray and strange. “The ship—” he said, but his mouth stopped working and the deck and Chusor seemed to tilt slowly to one side. He felt nothing when he hit the deck, and he closed his eyes.…

He was on Photine, riding across the Kithaerons, chasing a boar as big as a bull. As the boar ran, it shat out gold darics with a sound that went
apop
! The darics turned into Spartan warriors who smiled at him and begged him to stop, for apparently they wanted to be friends. He tried to cut off their heads as he rode past, but his sword had turned into a thistle stalk that bounced off their helms. The boar finally morphed into Eurymakus the Theban, who knocked Nikias from his horse with a wave of his hand. Nikias fell to the ground and was surrounded by snakes.

“The name of my angel dies with you,” said Euryamakus. “And now I must wrap your head in linens.”

And then everything was peaceful and calm.

 

SEVENTEEN

When Nikias awoke he was lying on his back on the outrigger deck with Ezekiel leaning over him, wrapping something around his head. He could hear the rowers chanting rhythmically, an old oarsman song that mimicked the sound of the blade striking the water:

“Apop, apop, apop, apop!”

He could sense that the
Spear
was moving fast. Much faster than it could under oars alone.

“The girl!” said Nikias.

“She's safe,” said Ezekiel. “They found her clinging to the bottom of the fishing boat where it was pinned against the hull of the
Spear
. She's unharmed.”

Nikias struggled to a sitting position, peering down the gangway. The light hurt his eyes and he squinted. He could see masts rising from the floor of the hull and the spider's work of the rigging. They were under sail.

“How long was I out?”

“Two hours. This is the second time I've changed your bandage. Your head bleeds profusely. Good veins.”

“Where's Chusor?”

“At the prow. But you shouldn't move. You've sustained a proper skull rattle. Your pupils are still wide-open. You had a nasty gash on the back of your head. Lost a lot of blood. I sewed it up but still it leaks and—”

“I'm fine,” said Nikias, who had suffered more concussions than he could count on his fingers and toes. He tried to get up but he was too dizzy. He leaned over and vomited unexpectedly, spraying the men below.

“Hey, watch it!” one of them called up angrily.

“Help me to the prow,” said Nikias, touching his linen-wrapped head.

Ezekiel helped him get to the little deck at the front of the ship where Chusor stood as still as a statue, hands gripping the rail, staring into the distance, his frowning and lined face resembling a graven god of the sea. Nikias squinted in the same direction and saw the Korinthian ship no more than half a mile ahead.

“Zeus,” he said under his breath, a quiet prayer of thanks.

He glanced behind him, down the length of the ship to where the helmsman sat. The island of Serifos was long gone and the sky between them was roiling with dark and dangerous-looking clouds. The sea had turned from blue to dirty gray.

“Will we catch the Korinthian ship?” asked Nikias. He wondered what Helena was thinking now. She had no idea that the
Spear
was behind her. Were the Korinthians already raping her in the filthy hold?

“We will catch them,” said Chusor. “The
Spear
's crew is breaking their backs to save their kin. And the Plataean and Athenian rowers on this crew lust for more enemy blood. Besides, we carry three sails to their two.”

Nikias had never heard of a trireme putting up three sails. He looked behind him again and noticed there was a smaller sail in front of the mainmast. Another of Chusor's innovations, no doubt.

An hour went by and during that time the wind continued to howl, the sails were stretched taut, and ever so slowly the space between the Korinthian ship and the
Spear
grew less. Nikias could see men at the back of the ship, staring at the
Spear
and pointing, as if they were debating what to do about the approaching ship.

“They can't turn and face us on this rough sea,” said Chusor. “If they get sideways to the waves they might capsize. That's what they're talking about.”

After a while the Korinthians started throwing things overboard—amphoras, barrels, and sacks that were no doubt filled with booty pillaged from the island stronghold.

“Will the storm catch us?”

“Yes. And soon.”

They were silent. The sound of the wind roared in their ears along with the ceaseless “
Apop, apop, apop
” chant of the crew and the endless drone of the pipe and Ji's encouraging voice:

“Those are your women! Those are your children! Fight for them now!”

After a long silence Chusor said, “Melitta told me that you saved her from the Korinthians.” He turned and looked at Nikias—his dark brown eyes were welled up with tears. “I owe you a great debt, Nikias. A
great
debt.”

“We are friends,” said Nikias. “There is no debt between us. I love you like a brother.”

“And I you.”

“Where is Melitta?”

“In my cabin,” said Chusor. “She's exhausted. A brave girl.”

“And clever,” said Nikias. “Like her father.”

Chusor smiled wryly. “Let us hope she has better
judgment
than her father.”

“We all make mistakes,” said Nikias.

“I have made more than most men,” said Chusor. “And I have much blood on my hands. I killed hundreds of men today. Burned them alive.”

“You did it to protect Melitta,” said Nikias.

“How many men must we slay to protect the ones we love?” Chusor asked.

Nikias had no reply to this question. He knew that he would kill ten thousand men or more to protect his wife, daughters, and sister. His head and neck ached and he had to steady himself against the rail.

“You should go below,” said Chusor.

Nikias didn't budge.

“So be it.”

Chusor went to work on the bolt shooter, turning the wood crank that pulled back the powerful bowstring. His arms bulged as he worked the big wooden crank. The skeins that pulled back the taut string, Diokles had told Nikias on the journey from Athens, were woven with hair from the women of Serifos—much stronger than any rope. Chusor locked the string into place with a hook, then reached down and took hold of a three-foot-long bronze dart as thick as a child's arm and an arrowhead three times the size of the head of a battle spear. At the butt end of the projectile was an eyelet, as on a needle, and through this Chusor stuck a length of rope and tied it off.

“What is that for?” asked Nikias.

“We're going to catch ourselves a ship,” said Chusor. “And then pull it in like a fish on a hook.”

“And then?”

“We fight to the death. It will be a terrible battle, for we are evenly matched in numbers. We'll have to storm the enemy ship and fight them on the decks.”

“Do you have any pandoras?”

“We cannot risk burning the enemy ship. The women and children—”

“Of course.”

They got closer and closer. It started to rain and lightning flashed behind them, followed by a peal of thunder. Chusor called down to Ji and announced that soon they would be in range of the Korinthian ship. “When I fire the bolt, send me fifty men to pull the line!” he shouted down the gangway. Ji nodded and went back to exhorting the men. Nikias saw Diokles glance back over his shoulder. The Helot looked nervous but he kept pulling hard on his oar.

“What are they doing?” hissed Chusor.

Nikias turned and looked at the Korinthian ship. The warriors on the battle deck were throwing things off into the swelling waves—things that were moving.

“Gods, no!” blurted Nikias as he saw a little screaming boy hurled overboard, followed by a shrieking woman.

“They're jettisoning the prisoners!” Chusor shouted to Ji, and the exhorter relayed this message to the crew.

Bodies flew into the water, one after the other—fifty or more. Some sunk straight into the churning waves and did not come back up. But others shot to the surface, flailing desperately, their heads bobbing above the waves. Soon there were a hundred or more in the water, floating quickly toward the
Spear
. Nikias's heart pounded. For a split second he saw a young woman's face bobbing past, mouth open in silent terror, and he reacted without thinking—he jumped to the rail and dove in the water. The instant he came up he started swimming hard.

“Helena!” he cried, taking in a mouthful of water. “Helena!”

The
Spear
raced past. He looked back and saw something shoot from its prow—the bolt trailing its line of rope. It hit the Korinthian ship's rudder with a thud.

Nikias saw a little girl floating toward him, desperately trying to stay afloat. He reached out and grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him.