Shield of Thunder

CHAPTER NINE BLACK HORSE ON THE WATER

The sea was calm and the breeze a light northerly as the Penelope was floated clear of the beach. The last crewman scrambled aboard, and the oars were slid out into the bright blue water. Odysseus stood on the rear deck, watching the rowers. All the crewmen now wore leather breastplates and helms, and beside them as they rowed lay strung bows and quivers of arrows. Odysseus had also donned a breastplate. It was of no better quality than those worn by his men. Beside him stood the brilliantly armored, high-helmed Idomeneos. Nestor wore no armor at all, just a green knee-length tunic and a long cloak of startling white, but both of his sons wore breastplates and carried round shields. They stood close, ready to protect him.

The breeze was fresh with the promise of rain as the Penelope eased away from the shore. Once they were on open sea, Bias called out a quicker beat, and the rowers leaned more heavily into their oars.

“You say he had a face like a donkey?” Idomeneos asked Odysseus. “I recall no such man.”

“He recalled you,” Odysseus told him.

“You might have asked his name.”

“If you cannot recall a man whose sons you slew and whose wife you stole, I doubt the name would have helped.”

Idomeneos laughed. “I’ve stolen a lot of wives. Believe me, Odysseus, most of them were happy to be stolen.”

Odysseus shrugged. “I expect you’ll be meeting him soon. His face may be the last thing you ever see.”

Idomeneos shook his head. “I’ll not die here. A seer once told me I would die on the day the noon sky turned to midnight. Hasn’t happened yet.”

Odysseus moved away from the Kretan king, scanning the sea and the headlands. As he did so, he heard the big man Banokles complaining to Kalliades. “Not much fighting room if anyone boards. And if those pirates are also wearing leather breastplates, I won’t know who I’m killing.”

“Best only to kill those trying to slay you.”

“That is a good plan. Fight defensive. I’m better attacking, though. I’ll wager you wish you hadn’t left your armor on that pirate ship. I did tell you. That leather breastplate wouldn’t turn aside a hurled pebble.”

“I should have listened to your pessimism,” Kalliades agreed. “But then, you are the man who wears armor to a brothel.”

“A man never knows when danger will strike,” Banokles pointed out. “And I was once stabbed by a whore’s husband.”

Kalliades laughed. “In the arse. You were running away, as I recall.”

“I liked the man. Didn’t want to kill him. Anyway, it was just a nick. Needed no stitches.”

Odysseus smiled. His liking for those two was growing daily.

Piria was standing at the stern, gazing back at the land. Her shoulders were stiff, her features set. Odysseus saw Kalliades move alongside her. “She is a fine ship,” he said.

Piria’s reply was cool. “I used to wonder why men say ‘she’ when talking about their boats. When I was young, I thought it respectful. Now I know differently. The boats go where men tell them. They are merely things for men to ride upon.”

Odysseus stepped in then. “Love plays a part, Piria. Listen to the crew when they speak of the Penelope. You will hear nothing but affection and admiration.”

“Different truths,” she said, which made him smile. Kalliades looked mystified.

Odysseus caught sight of a ship appearing from behind a headland to the north, about a half mile ahead. It was a big galley, twenty oars on each side, and there were fighting men massed on the central deck. Bias also had seen the ship and leaned in to the steering oar, angling the Penelope away from them. Odysseus moved past Kalliades, dropped to one knee, and lifted a hatch before lowering himself down below the deck. When he emerged, he was carrying a huge bow crafted from wood, leather, and horn. A quiver of very long arrows was hanging from his shoulder.

“You are privileged today,” he told Piria. “This is Akilina, the greatest bow in all the world. I once shot an arrow into the moon with it.” She did not smile, and Odysseus felt the tension and fear emanating from her. Pride alone was holding her together.

“I have heard of the bow,” Kalliades said.

“Everyone has heard of that bow,” Banokles put in. The comments delighted Odysseus, but his attention remained on Piria.

“Andromache talked of her skills with a bow,” he said.

At the sound of her lover’s name Piria brightened. “Sometimes she could best me,” she said, “though not often.”

“Could you use a bow like this? Are your arms strong enough to draw the string?” he asked, handing her the weapon.

Piria took Akilina from him, stretched out her arm, curled three fingers around the string, then drew back. She managed a three-quarter pull before her arm started to tremble. “That is good,” said Odysseus, “believe me.” Retrieving the bow, he leaned toward her. “If they get close enough to board, I will leave Akilina with you. At that range even a three-quarter pull will punch a shaft through a skull.” He swung to the two Mykene. “You lads will stay close to me and follow where I go.”

The Penelope surged on, her prow cutting the water. The pirate vessel, with its greater oar power, was closing slowly.

“Another one!” a seaman yelled.

A second pirate vessel was coming from the south, some way back. “If the wind wasn’t against us,” Odysseus said, “the Penelope would outsail them easily. As it is, with more oarsmen, they’ll come on swiftly. Best you keep your heads down. It will be raining arrows before long.”

Kalliades glanced at the oarsmen on the Penelope. They were rowing steadily but with no real urgency. Their movements were smooth and rhythmic, and they did not bother to stare at the two enemy ships. Bias called out an order. The right bank of oars lifted from the water, remaining motionless. The left powered on. The Penelope swung sharply toward the first galley. Odysseus ran down the central aisle and clambered up onto the curved rail of the prow. Straddling the rail and bracing himself with his legs, he notched an arrow to his massive bow. As the two ships closed, enemy archers crowded along the deck of the pirate vessel. Odysseus drew back on Akilina and let fly. The shaft soared through the air, punching into the back of a rower, who cried out and slumped forward. Pirate bowmen let loose a volley of shafts, but they all fell short, splashing into the water off the port bow. Odysseus sent two more arrows into the pirates. One struck a man on the helm, bouncing clear. The other plunged through the shoulder of a bowman. Odysseus threw up his arm, signaling Bias, who yelled out an order, then thrust his weight against the steering oar. The Penelope changed course instantly, almost dancing away from the attacking galley. The maneuver was accomplished with great skill and timing, but even so, for a few heartbeats they were in range of the pirate archers. Banokles, Kalliades, and Piria dropped to crouch behind the stern rail. A ragged volley of arrows slashed across the rear deck, hitting no one but coming close to Bias, who was standing tall at the steering oar. One shaft thudded into the deck rail beside him. Another hit the steering oar and ricocheted up past the black man’s face.

Odysseus ran back along the deck and shot three more arrows from the stern. Only one scored a hit, slicing through the forearm of an archer. Odysseus took a deep breath, then loosed a fourth shaft.

“Ha!” he cried triumphantly as the arrow took a man through the throat. “Come at the Penelope, will you?” he bellowed. “By Ares, you’ll regret it, you cowsons!” Several arrows flashed by him, but he stood statue-still, shooting back into the massed pirates. “A little more distance would be pleasant,” he yelled at Bias as another enemy arrow flew past his head.

Now the men of the Penelope fully leaned on their oars, sweat streaming from them as they heaved and pulled. The ship picked up speed. Kalliades lifted his head above the stern rail and watched as the distance between the ships began to increase. He saw Odysseus shoot another pirate, the arrow lancing into the man’s face. Then the king changed the direction of his shafts, sending them over the heads of the bowmen and into the rowers. Two oars on the port side of the enemy vessel crashed together, and the pirate galley veered. The Penelope sped on.

“Hey, donkey face!” Odysseus shouted. “Don’t give up now. Nothing worth having ever comes easy!”

The second galley was closing fast. Bias altered course to keep the distance between them, but that allowed the first pirate vessel to move back into range.

Odysseus swore softly. If they continued in this way, the men of the Penelope would exhaust themselves and the pirates would still catch them. He glanced at Bias.

The black man understood this also. “Which one, my king?” he asked.

“I think we need to kill donkey face,” Odysseus replied.

Bias yelled out orders. The left bank of oars lifted from the water, the men on the right powering their oars at speed. The Penelope swung sharply. Meriones, carrying a powerful black bow, ran to join Odysseus.

“Thought you might be bored,” the Ugly King said, “so I have decided to attack.”

The black-garbed bowman chuckled. “Let us have a wager first.” He pointed to the first pirate ship. An archer had climbed to the prow rail and was waiting, arrow notched, ready to shoot as soon as they came into range. “A gold ring says I can knock him from his perch before you do.”

“Agreed!” Odysseus said.

Both men moved along the central deck to the prow, then drew back on their bows, letting fly together. Two shafts slammed into the chest of the enemy archer. His body crumpled, then tipped forward to plunge into the sea and vanish beneath the keel of the pirate vessel.

Meriones continued to shoot as the distance closed between the ships. Odysseus left him there, running swiftly back to the rear deck. Handing his quiver and bow to Piria, he summoned Kalliades and Banokles to him.

“Bias will swing the Penelope at the last moment, and we’ll try to shear away their starboard oars. Likely, though, that they’ll haul us to them with grappling hooks. When that happens, they’ll expect to board us. What they won’t expect, because of their greater numbers, is that we’ll board them.”

Banokles glanced at the oncoming pirate galley. “Must be around sixty men on that ship.”

“At least.”

“And another sixty on the second ship.”

“You have a point to make, or are you merely bragging about your ability to count?” Banokles fell silent. “Stay close to me,” said Odysseus. “I’m not as nimble as I used to be—and I wasn’t the greatest sword fighter then.”

The Penelope swung hard to port as if seeking to avoid a collision, then, just as swiftly, moved back to starboard. The two vessels crashed together, but the angle of impact meant the ram on the pirate galley merely slid along the starboard side. The Penelope’s rowers tried to drag their oars back across the deck to prevent them from being splintered, but the collision had come so swiftly that only six of the fifteen oars were saved. Even greater damage was done to the pirate oars as the Penelope slid along the galley’s hull. Grappling hooks were hurled from the pirate vessel, biting into the Penelope’s rail.

This close, Odysseus could see the faces of the pirates. Many of them were men who had cheered him the night before, begging him for more tales. They were garbed now for war, some in leather breastplates, others in makeshift shirts of thick knotted rope. There were helms of all kinds, some in the high, curved Phrygian style, some of wood, some of leather. Several of the men wore headgear crafted from copper. Most of them were carrying daggers, though many held clubs of wood.

“Follow me,” Odysseus said. He glanced at Banokles and grinned. “If you have the balls for it.” Drawing his sword, he ran down to the central deck and hurled himself across the narrow gap and into the mass of fighting men on the pirate ship.

He slammed into the first rank shoulder first, his weight scattering them. Several men fell heavily; others tried to make room to stab at him. Odysseus grabbed a man by his rope shirt, hauling him in to a savage head butt. Blood exploded from the man’s ruined nose. Odysseus hurled him aside, then slashed his sword in a wide arc. It struck a pirate in the forearm, slicing through flesh and spraying blood through the air.

“Come at Odysseus, would you?” he raged, his sword hacking and slashing left and right. For a moment the pirates fell back from the fury of his assault. Then they surged at him. The huge form of Banokles clattered into them, spilling men to the deck. Then came Kalliades, his sword stabbing out like a serpent’s tongue, lancing into throats, chests, and bellies. “You are all dead men now!” Odysseus bellowed. A pirate darted at him, stabbing for the throat. Odysseus threw up his left arm, blocking the blow, hammering his sword against the pirate’s skull and shearing away his ear. The man screamed and fell back.

Other warriors from the Penelope joined in the attack. Banokles shoulder charged a man, sending him flying. Odysseus continued to rage at the pirates, shouting battle cries and insults as he powered forward. Kalliades had forced his way to the right of Odysseus and was fighting defensively, protecting the Ugly King. Banokles was on the left. Even in the midst of the action Odysseus noted the skill they showed. The three had now formed a wedge with Odysseus as the point. At first they forced the pirates back, but then the weight of numbers began to tell, and the advance slowed.

Odysseus was tiring, for he had fought with no economy of effort, slashing his sword about him with all his might. A pirate hurled himself at him, his club thudding against Odysseus’ leather breastplate. The king stumbled and fell back, hitting the deck hard. Kalliades turned swiftly, plunging his sword through the back of the pirate’s neck. The dead man fell across Odysseus. Kalliades took up a defensive position in front of Odysseus to block any further attacks. Odysseus pushed the dead man away from him and slowly climbed to his feet, sucking in great breaths. The noise of battle was all around him now, the deck slick with blood. His sword arm felt as if it were weighed down with rocks, but his strength was returning.

“Make way, Kalliades!” he thundered. “Odysseus has more enemies to kill.”

Then he hurled himself once more into the fray.

Piria stood on the rear deck, the great bow forgotten in her hand. She saw Odysseus jump onto the pirate ship, followed by Banokles and Kalliades and a dozen men from the Penelope’s crew. Then Bias drew two fighting knives and climbed to the rail, leaping down to join the fight. The air was filled with battle cries and screams and the sound of swords clashing. The Kretan, Idomeneos, rushed to join them, as did the two sons of King Nestor. The fighting was fierce, and she saw Odysseus hacking and slashing his way toward the stern of the vessel, Kalliades and Banokles beside him.

A hand touched her arm. Meriones pointed to port, where the second pirate vessel was closing. Notching an arrow to his bow, he sent the shaft winging across the narrowing gap. It struck the high prow. Meriones swore. “Don’t you be telling Odysseus about that shot,” he said.

The remaining sailors on the Penelope were all armed with bows now and sent a ragged volley toward the oncoming vessel. Several arrows found their targets. Then came a fierce response. Some forty shafts slashed through the air. Many punched into the deck rail, others skidding across the deck itself. Five crewmen were hit. Piria notched a shaft to the great bow and let fly. The arrow slammed into the chest of an archer. He fell back.

“Good shot,” Meriones cried, loosing a shaft. Piria did not see it strike home, for she was already drawing another arrow from the quiver and notching it to Akilina. All fear had gone now, and she continued to shoot, ignoring the shafts that hissed by her.

Suddenly the pirate vessel veered sharply away. Enemy bowmen continued to shoot, but swiftly the ship moved out of range, heading south.

“They are going to turn and ram us,” Meriones said grimly.

But the galley did not turn. Its rowers were laboring hard to put distance between the two ships.

The men on the Penelope dropped their bows, drew swords and knives, and ran to join their comrades fighting on the first pirate vessel. Piria turned to watch them and saw a massive ship coming from the north. It was bigger than any vessel she had ever seen: forty oars on either side, in two banks, and a mast as tall as a tree. From the mast a huge sail billowed, and upon it was painted a rearing black horse.

“Ah, we are blessed today by all the gods,” Meriones said. “That is the Xanthos.”

“It is… colossal,” Piria said.

“Indeed it is—and the bane of all pirates. There are fire hurlers on the decks and a crew of more than a hundred fighting men. And for honest folk like us there is no better sight than that monster.”

Moving to the starboard rail, Piria saw that the battle had turned. There were far fewer pirates now, but the fighting was still fierce. She looked for Kalliades but could not see him. Fear gripped her then, for she saw Banokles still battling alongside Odysseus. Then she caught sight of Kalliades, and relief flowed through her. He had been hidden by the mast. She watched him cut down an enemy, then force his way to stand beside Odysseus.

Some of the pirates threw down their weapons, but there was no quarter, and they were hacked to death. Others threw themselves over the side and into the sea. An ugly man with an unnaturally long face screamed at Idomeneos and threw himself at the Kretan king. Before he could come close, he was knocked from his feet by Banokles. Swords plunged down into the man. Piria heard his gurgling death cries.

And the battle was over.

Odysseus sat slumped by the mast, exhausted, watching as the mighty Xanthos glided close by. A familiar voice called out. “Ho, Odysseus! Where are you, sea uncle?”

Wearily he pushed himself to his feet and walked to the starboard rail and leaned upon it. Looking up, he saw a tall, wide-shouldered man with golden hair standing at the prow of the giant ship.

“By the tits of Thetis,” he cried, “what fool put you in charge of a ship?”

Hektor, prince of Troy, laughed. “Ah, that would be a mighty fool indeed. No, my friend, I am merely a passenger, albeit a passenger with a sword. Are you not a little old to be fighting pirates?”

“Old? I am in my prime, you impudent wretch!”

“I believe you, sea uncle. Looks like you’ll need a little help with that galley. I can loan you twenty men.”

“They would be welcome, Hektor, my friend.”

“We’ll maneuver alongside and send them down to you.”

Odysseus called out his thanks and wandered back to the mast. His hands were trembling now, and he felt nauseous. Bias joined him, kneeling alongside.

“How many did we lose?” Odysseus asked him.

“Eight dead, eleven more with deep wounds, and almost everyone else has been cut or pierced save for me and Leukon. Even then, we got off lightly, Odysseus. What of you? You are covered in blood. Any of it your own?”

Odysseus shook his head. “Who are the dead?”

Bias named them, and a deep sorrow was added to the burden of weariness. Odysseus leaned his head back against the mast. All around him men were stripping the dead pirates and throwing their bodies over the side. The Xanthos eased alongside, throwing a deep shadow over the deck. Ropes were lowered, and twenty men shinnied down them.

“Damn, but I never used to feel this tired after a battle,” Odysseus said. “Especially not after winning one.”

“I know,” Bias said. “I feel it, too.”

“You will not tell me we are getting older,” Odysseus warned him.

Bias smiled. “No, Odysseus. Perhaps we are just getting wiser. The thought of all the men who were alive this morning and walking the Dark Road now is dispiriting. And what was achieved? We gained an old galley, a few weapons for trade, and maybe some plunder. None of it was worth the loss of those eight men. Especially young Demetrios.”

Odysseus closed his eyes. “Go and give the new men tasks,” he told Bias. “Transfer any plunder to the Penelope.”

“Yes, my king,” Bias said. “How do you want to proceed?”

“Hektor’s men can maneuver the galley back to Titan’s Rock,” Odysseus said. “They can pick up the wounded we left behind. We will push on. With a favorable wind we can reach Apollo’s Bow by dusk, and if not we’ll beach at Humpback Bay.”

Bright sunshine shone across the deck as the shadow of the Xanthos moved away. Odysseus heard Hektor call out to him.

“We’re going after those pirates, Odysseus. Where are you bound?”

“Apollo’s Bow,” Odysseus shouted as the huge ship glided on toward the south.

Bias moved off to where the twenty new crew members were standing, and the Ugly King sat quietly, gazing down at his blood-covered arms and hands. The fingers had stopped trembling now, but he still felt sick. Young Demetrios had been a good lad, quiet, hardworking, and so proud to have been chosen to replace Portheos. The faces of the other dead men floated across his mind. He had sailed for close to twenty seasons with Abderos, the only man on the crew never to have taken a wife. During winter he lived alone, carving wood and making rope, rarely speaking to anyone. Once back aboard in the spring, he would grin widely and embrace his comrades. All he had was the Penelope. And now he had died to protect her.

Wearily Odysseus climbed back to his ship.

Banokles strolled over to him and squatted down. He, too, was blood-spattered, his face and beard bright with red spots and streaks.

“I was wondering,” he said cheerfully, “if Kalliades and I could become Ithakans. For the games at Troy, I mean. After all, we can’t take part as Mykene.”

Odysseus had no wish for conversation. His mind was still reeling from the loss of his comrades. But this man had saved his life several times that day, so he drew in a deep breath and considered the question. “What is your skill?” he asked at last.

“I’m a fistfighter.”

“And Kalliades?”

“Swordsman.”

“There are no sword events in the wedding games. Only the Mykene have death bouts.”

“Ah. He’s also a fine runner.”

“Leukon is our fistfighter, Banokles. And you may recall that the last time I saw you in a fistfight, you were lying on your back with your arms over your head.”

“True,” Banokles said. “But there were five of your lads, and I told you I was only catching my breath.”

Odysseus smiled. “There will be some great fighters in Troy. Truly great. I couldn’t enter a man who might shame Ithaka.”

“I wouldn’t do that! I’m a terrific fighter.”

“You are a great warrior, Banokles. I’ve seen that today. But fistfighting is different.”

“I could beat Leukon,” Banokles said confidently.

Odysseus looked into his eyes. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “Tonight we will be having a funeral feast for our friends who died today. We will speak their praises and offer libations for their safe journey to the Elysian Fields. There are not enough men without wounds to stage any funeral games. But if Leukon agrees, you and he can fight in honor of the departed.”

“Wonderful,” Banokles said happily. “And if I win, we can be Ithakans in Troy?”

“You can,” Odysseus said.

He watched the big man amble away. More heart than sense, he thought. Glancing around the deck, he caught sight of Leukon and called him over. Swiftly he told the giant of Banokles’ request.

Leukon shrugged. “You want me to fight him?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will.”

“He says he can beat you.”

Leukon stared across at Banokles. “His reach is shorter than mine, which means he’ll take more blows. He’s got a good neck, strong arms. Chin looks solid. He has the makings of a fighter. Yes, it will be good practice.”

After Leukon had gone, Odysseus felt a fresh wave of weariness. He wanted to lie down on the deck and sleep, but his conscience pricked him. What kind of example will it set if you are seen sleeping as others labor?

A pox on examples, he told himself. I am the king. I do as I please. With that he stretched himself out, laid his head on his arm, and slept.

Toward midafternoon, the last of the clouds disappeared and the sky blazed with a brilliant blue. There was no breeze, and the heat increased. A section of old sail was raised to create a canopy over the port side of the Penelope’s stern deck. Nestor, his sons, and Idomeneos rested there.

Piria wandered to the prow and gazed out over the blue water. Sharp pain spasmed through her lower body, the agony so great that she almost cried out. Instead she closed her eyes, seeking to steady her breathing and ride the pain, blend with it, absorb it. It did not pass completely; it never had since the savagery of the attack on her. It merely ebbed and flowed, sapping her strength.

It has only been a few days, she told herself. I will heal. They will not break me. I am Kalliope, and I am stronger than any man’s hate. Yet the pain was worse than before, and it frightened her.

Opening her eyes, she tried to concentrate on the brilliance of the blue sea, sparkling with sunlight. It was so peaceful now that the events of the morning seemed almost a dream. She had killed men this day, sending sharp arrows to pierce their flesh, just as they had pierced hers. She would have thought that the slaying of pirates by her own hand would have been somehow fulfilling—like a just punishment. Yet where was the satisfaction? Where was the joy in revenge? Piria even felt a little sadness for the death of the young man Demetrios. He had not spoken to her, but she had observed him with his fellows, seeing his shyness and sensing that he felt inadequate in the company of such veterans. She had not seen him die but had watched as they laid his body alongside his seven dead comrades. In death he seemed little more than a child, and the expression on his face was one of utter shock.

Do not pity him, cried the dark voice of her fears. He was a man, and the evil of his gender would have shown itself as he grew older. Do not feel sympathy for any of them! They are all vile.

Not all of them, she thought. There is Kalliades.

He is no different! You will see! His kind words mask the same savage soul, the same need to dominate and possess. Do not trust him, stupid girl.

She saw him walking toward her, and the twin curses of her need and her fear clashed inside her. He is my friend.

He will betray you.

Kalliades smiled a greeting, then looked out over the water, as if seeking for something. She turned to lean on the rail, and the pain subsided a little. The relief almost brought tears to her eyes. Kalliades continued to scan the water. His expression was serious, yet again she thought that he did not give the impression of a man of violence. There was no suggestion of cruelty in him.

“You do not look like a warrior,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Merely an observation.”

“Meriones was impressed with your bow skills. I would guess he didn’t expect you to be a warrior, either. Though obviously Odysseus did.”

“An astute man,” she said.

Kalliades laughed. “Astute he may be, but he’s terrifying to fight alongside. Twice he nearly took my ear off. I think I spent more time avoiding his wild slashes than I did fighting the pirates.” He fell silent for a moment, and she glanced at him. “It made me proud when Meriones praised you,” he said.

The dark voice in her head cried out triumphantly, You see! His pride. Already he seeks to own you. Anger flared. “What right do you have to be proud of me?” she stormed. “I am not like a horse of yours that has won a race.”

“That is not how I meant it. I was just…” He glanced down, and his face changed. “You are bleeding,” he said. “Are you wounded?”

Piria felt the trickle of blood running down the inside of her thigh. The sea breeze had flicked open her torn gown, exposing the scarlet stain. Pain tore through her, almost beyond bearing. Am I wounded? Stupid, stupid man! My body has been ripped and torn, my flesh pounded and bruised. My heart and soul have been assaulted and defiled.

Are you wounded?

Outrage spilled from her like floodwater bursting through a riverbank. Her eyes filled with tears, and her vision misted. The figure before her was no longer Kalliades. In that moment he became the father she had loved, who had betrayed her, the brother she had adored, who had spurned her. Hatred and despair vied for control.

Angry words poured from her in a torrent. “You think I don’t know what you really are?” she cried. “Your soft words are lies! Your friendship is a lie. You want what all men want. I see it in your eyes. Come on, then. Beat upon me with your fists, bite my flesh, curl your fingers around my throat and choke off my breath. Then you can step away from me and say: ‘Look what you made me do, slut!’” Her breathing ragged, she backed away from him. In the silence that followed she became aware that her outburst had been shrill and that crewmen were staring at her. Kalliades remained where he was, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, his tone conciliatory.

“I am sorry, Piria. I—I will… leave you for a while. We can… talk later, if you like. Or not.”

Once more the pain subsided. She saw him turn away. Suddenly terrified to be left alone at the prow with all the men’s eyes on her, she called out to him. “There is no need to go,” she said, her voice breaking. “I… am sorry.”

He hesitated, and she saw him glance toward the crew, noting their interest. Then he walked back to stand between her and their curious gaze. “It is I who am sorry—sorry for all that you have suffered,” he said gently. “I will never harm you, Piria. Never cause you pain. Try to hold to that thought.”

She looked up at him. “Are you in love with me, Kalliades?” The question was out before she could stop it, and she silently cursed herself for her stupidity. Either way she did not want to hear the answer.

He looked into her eyes, and she felt the power of his gray gaze. “My feelings are my own,” he said at last. “All I know is that you are sailing for Troy to be with someone you love. If you will allow me, I will see you safely there.”

“I could never love a man in the way that he would desire. You understand that?”

“Have I asked you to love me?” he countered.

“No.”

“Then the problem does not arise.” Movement out on the waves caught his eye, and he turned. “Look there!” he said, pointing to starboard. Three dolphins, sleek and gray-blue, were leaping and diving through the waves. “I have always loved watching them,” he said. It was a clumsy change of subject, but she was grateful for it.

“They are very beautiful,” she told him, then glanced up at him, wanting to offer him some indication of her trust. “My true name is Kalliope,” she said at last.

He smiled. “We are well named,” he said. “Beautiful Voice and Beauty Hidden. Your voice is good on the ear. And my name becomes increasingly true with every new scar.” He paused then. “I take it that this name should remain secret?”

“Yes.”

“I thank you for trusting me. I will not betray you.”

“I know that, Kalliades. You are the first man I ever met I could say that about.” They stood in easy silence now, watching the dolphins, listening to the oars striking the water and the slow, lazy creaking of the timbers. Banokles joined them. He was still wearing his heavy breastplate, and his face was smeared with blood.

“Are we all friends again?” he asked.

“We are friends,” Piria said.

“Good, for I have news!” Banokles grinned at Kalliades. “We can enter the games to be held in Troy for Hektor’s wedding. There will be wrestling, fistfighting, races—foot, horse, and chariot. There will be an archery tourney and a javelin competition. I’m going to enter the fistfighting, and with the gold made on wagers we can live well for a good while. Maybe even buy some… some…” He glanced at Piria and cleared his throat. “Some horses. Anyway, what do you think?”

“A good plan.” Kalliades nodded. “With a few flaws. First, we represent no nation or city. Second, we were last in Troy as invaders and might just be considered unwelcome if we make ourselves known. Third—and this, I think, is the most important—you are a brawler who did not reach the final of the contest to find the best boxer in our company of fifty. As I recall, Eruthros defeated you.”

“All right,” Banokles said grudgingly, “I might not become champion, but I’ll win a few bouts. So we could still earn gold. And what about the footraces? Was there anyone faster than you in our company?”

“No, but again, there were only fifty men in it.” Kalliades sighed. “Let us say I agreed that we could take part. Whom would we represent?”

“Aha! I have dealt with that,” Banokles said triumphantly. “I asked Odysseus if we could be Ithakans.”

“And he agreed?” Kalliades asked, surprised.

“Not entirely. He pointed out that Leukon was representing Ithaka in the boxing and that he was the best fistfighter on the crew. He said I could be an Ithakan if I beat Leukon tonight at the funeral feast.”

“And how does Leukon feel about that?”

Banokles grinned broadly. “Happy as a pig in shit. He says it will be good to have a practice bout. Apparently no one else on the crew will practice with him.”

“Have you considered why that might be?”

“Of course. I imagine it’s because he hits like a kicking horse.”

“And that doesn’t worry you?” Piria put in.

“I’ve been kicked by a horse before. I got up. I always get up. When I win, will you agree to join me for the games?”

Kalliades glanced at Piria, who was smiling. “What do you think?” he asked her.

Piria looked toward where Leukon was rowing, then back at Banokles. “I think that horse you spoke of must have kicked you in the head,” she said.

Odysseus watched his three passengers talking together at the prow. The woman, Piria, was calmer and smiling now. A rare sight. He recalled his visits to her father’s palace. She had been younger then and withdrawn, her face always serious, her blue eyes full of suspicion and mistrust.

“Who is she?” Idomeneos asked.

Odysseus shrugged. “Just a girl taken by pirates. They raped her. Kalliades and his friend stole her from them.”

“They’ll not get much of a price for her. Too loud. Any slave spoke like that to me and I’d have her thrashed.”

“They are not intending to sell her or keep her.”

“Then why steal her?”

“Why indeed?” Odysseus said.

Moving to the starboard rail, he leaned out and gauged their progress. The wind had picked up, and Humpback Bay was close by off the port bow. The long crescent beach of Apollo’s Bow could be seen in the distance. Several ships already had beached there.

Kalliades left the prow and made his way along the central deck to join him. “May we speak, Odysseus King?” he asked.

“Words cost nothing,” Odysseus replied.

“Your man Leukon is a skilled fistfighter?”

“That he is.”

“Banokles is not,” Kalliades said. “He has a great heart and courage like a mountain.”

“Then Leukon will fell him like a tree.”

“No, Odysseus King. Leukon will drop him, and Banokles will rise to be struck again. He will continue to rise as long as his heart is beating. He will fight on until he is crippled or dead. That is the nature of the man.”

“I take it you are telling me this for a reason.”

“I tell you because it may have seemed an amusement to allow Banokles to believe he could become an Ithakan. This fight will not be an amusement unless your joy is derived from blood and suffering.”

“Your man requested this,” Odysseus said. “His fate is in his own hands. Should he wish to withdraw, I will think no worse of him.”

Idomeneos, who had been listening, stepped from beneath the tent canopy and joined them. “That is a fine sword you are wearing,” he said to Kalliades. “Might I see it?”

Kalliades drew the weapon, reversed it, and handed it to the Kretan king. The pommel was a lion head of bronze, the hilt leather-bound, the blade sharp and true. “Good balance,” said Idomeneos. “Made by a master smith. Not a blade to let a man down in battle.”

“It was the sword of Argurios,” Kalliades told him. “A weapon to cherish.”

“Would you consider trading it?”

“No.”

“For the sword of a hero I would pay well in gold.”

“I will never trade it,” Kalliades said.

“A pity,” Idomeneos said, returning the weapon. The offer made Odysseus uneasy, for he saw the hungry look in Idomeneos’ eyes.

“The fight,” he said, “will be conducted under Olympian rules. Once a fighter has been knocked from his feet five times, I will declare his opponent the victor.”

“I thank you, Odysseus King,” Kalliades said.