Gary Corby - The Ionia Sanction

Sitting was easy. There was a covered deck running down the center, an unheard-of luxury on any other ship. Both sides of the deck were open so light and air could filter down to the three rows of oarsmen. I wanted to look down and watch, but manners prevented me. They might be poor-surely the only reason a man would volunteer for this duty-but these were citizens of Athens.

I asked the trierarch-the captain-quietly, why slaves were not used to pull the oars, particularly on the lowest level.

He smiled and said, “You’re not the first person to ask that question. Let me ask you one back. What do you think would happen if we put slaves in a position to take control of a warship?”

“Oh. Good point.”

“So we never allow slaves to row, only free men. On Salaminia and Paralos we restrict it further to citizens, no mercenaries or hired laborers, but that’s only because we also have sacred duties.”

He rubbed his jaw. “Mind you, I take your point. It’s tough, nasty work, better suited to slaves. Smelly too. The thranites on the top row are all right, but they practically sit against the faces of the zygios on the middle row, and the thalamios on the bottom have legs and bums dangling all over them. More than one deadly fight has broken out over a man who farts too much. The veterans fart on new recruits on purpose.”

“How do they decide who’s at the bottom and top?”

“It’s decided on seniority and reward for excellent service. A man starts in thalamio, progresses to zygio and if he’s good is promoted to thranite. There are strict rules for promotion, or there’d be mutiny.”

“Have you been a sailor all your life, sir?”

The trierarch laughed. “Me? A sailor? Poseidon protect me, no.”

“Then, why are you … that is, what-”

“What am I doing here? I paid for the ship, young man; every board, every rope, every fitting, every plank. It’s my gift to the state, because I am wealthy, part of my obligations under the liturgy, the convention that says wealthy men must spend their wealth to the benefit of the state. So I get to call myself trierarch, and strut about the deck as if I know what I’m doing. The truth is, the best sailor on this ship is him.” The trierarch pointed to the helmsman; a grizzled, burned, unsmiling man. “I’m the one who gets the glory of command; he’s the one who gives the orders when it really matters.”

The trierarch wandered off to do some more strutting and glorying.

“ Salaminia, ” Asia said thoughtfully. “That means the Girl From Salamis . Is that where she was built?”

“So are you from Salamis, girlie?” one of the nearby rowers called out. The men around him laughed.

“Shut your mouth!” the portside chief shouted at the caller before I could intervene. Everyone knows a girl from Salamis will spread her legs for any man.

The proreus, who is the officer in charge of the foredeck and therefore in charge of looking where we were going, said to Asia, “No, the ship is named in honor of our greatest victory at sea, over those scum the Persians in the straits of Salamis.”

Asia bristled. “You don’t like Persians?” she said.

“Does anyone?” the proreus replied.

Asia was a living, breathing, walking clue. I was sure I could get important information from her before I returned her to her father, if only she wasn’t drowned first by irritated naval officers. I pulled her away from the proreus and sat her down in the middle of the deck.

“Tell me how you were kidnapped,” I ordered. “And don’t even think about lying to me.”

Asia hesitated, and already I could imagine the lies assembling within her mind.

“It was in a dark alley,” she began.

“You walked down a dark alley?”

“The main streets were bright and sunny. They were boring.”

“Did you have a slave with you?”

She looked up at me with big, innocent eyes.

“What sort of an idiot would walk down a dark alley on their own?” I asked, incredulous.

“Master, I liked to explore the city. Some days I would wander about. It wasn’t that dangerous. What could go wrong?”

“You could be captured by slavers and sold to a brothel in foreign city, to pick a random example. Did your father let you walk about the city on your own? No wonder he lost you.”

Asia blushed. “He … er … didn’t always know I was gone.”

“Ah. He beat you when you returned?”

“No.”

Themistocles, it seemed, was one of those weak, indulgent fathers who lets his children run riot. I had no trouble imagining Asia wrapping him around her little finger.

“Very well. Go on.”

“The alley ran off the main road, which ran off the agora. It was narrow, lots of shadow, and there were boxes and things you had to walk around. It looked interesting, so I decided to see what was there. A man appeared at the other end. He walked toward me, watching. I got scared and decided to turn and run. A hand from behind went over my mouth, a big man’s hand. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. I almost couldn’t breathe because he covered my nose too. He was big and I was small and, well, it was useless. I got my mouth open and one of the fingers covering my mouth slipped in and I bit down hard before I could think about it.”

“What happened then?”

“He swore and let go. A huge blow to my head threw me to the ground, and that’s the last I remember. When I woke up, I was a slave, and Araxes had me.”

I gave her a hard look. There was a certain consistency to Asia’s tale, it sounded like the sort of child capture that happened every day, to some child somewhere in the world, but it didn’t explain her abandonment in Athens, unless it was merely a way to earn some extra coins.

Asia seemed oblivious to my study of her. She did her own musing, staring across the sea in the direction we traveled, to Ephesus.

We drifted into Ephesus port with the sun at our backs. The boat touched lightly, a sailor jumped onto the wharf to wind a rope, and our journey came to a gentle end. I called farewell to the trierarch and stepped off, hauling Asia after me. Salaminia would touch only long enough to take on more water. Pericles had given orders the ship was not to call attention to my mission by tarrying.

Merchant ships were being loaded and unloaded all about me. Next to us was a crew of Phoenicians, a people famed for their seagoing prowess. They were bare-chested and barefoot, wearing bronze armbands, bronze bracelets, and loincloths. Their skins were as burned and weather-beaten as the ships they served. All had beards, dark, layered, and ringleted.

On the other side of us was an Egyptian ship. Her sailors had hung about them necklaces full of charms. They chattered away to one another in their own language in between much shouting and confusion. Among the crew were men who were black. I knew at once they were Ethiopians. I had heard the Ethiopians sung of by the bards in Athens. They were impressive men, tall and thin and strong and seemingly oblivious to the heat. They seemed always to smile.

Behind the wharves were warehouses and shops, different but similar to the ones I knew so well at Piraeus. Everywhere, men were in motion. Pedestrians walked past in a stream, talking with each other or engrossed in their own business. Beggars sat by the side with palms outstretched. No one paid attention to anyone in their way, and I was pushed about twice. A hand tugged at my chiton.

“What are you staring at?” said Asia. “The road into the city is this way.”

She walked off, leaving our bags behind. I stayed where I was and called, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”