David Gemmell: Lord of the Silver Bow

‘As you say, not a man to offend.’

‘I wonder why he does it.’

‘What? Kill Mykene?’

‘No, sail his ships all over the Great Green. They say he has a palace in Troy, and land in Dardania, and somewhere else way north. Don’t remember where.

Anyhow, he is already rich and powerful. So why risk himself on the sea, fighting pirates and the like?’

The young man shrugged. ‘All is never as it seems. Who knows? Maybe he is a man with a dream. I heard that he wants to sail one day beyond the Great Green, to the distant seas.’

‘That’s what I mean,’ said Spyros. ‘The edge of the world is there, with a waterfall that goes down for ever into darkness. What kind of idiot would want to sail off into the black abyss of the world?’

‘That is a good question, boatman. A man who is not content, perhaps. A man looking for something he cannot find on the Great Green.’

‘There you go! There’s nothing of worth that a man cannot find in his own village, let alone on the great sea. That’s the problem with these rich princes and kings. They don’t understand what real treasure is. They see it in gold and copper, and tin. They see it in herds of horses and cattle. They gather treasures to themselves, building great storehouses, which they guard ferociously. Then they die. What good is it then?’

‘And you know what real treasure is?’ asked the young man.

‘Of course. Most ordinary men do. I’ve been up in the hills these last few days.

A young woman almost died. Babe breeched in the womb. I got there in time, though. Poor girl. Ripped bad, she was. She’ll be fine, and the boy is healthy and strong. I watched that woman hold the babe in her arms and gaze down on it.

She was so weak she might have died at any moment. But in her eyes you could see she knew what she was holding. It was something worth more than gold. And the father was more proud and happy than any conquering king with a vault of treasure.’

‘The child is lucky to have such loving parents. Not all children do.’

‘And those that don’t get heart-scarred. You don’t see the wounds, but they never heal.’

‘What is your name, boatman?’

‘Spyros.’

‘How is it you are a rower and a midwife, Spyros? It is an unusual pairing of talents.’

The old man chuckled. ‘Brought a few children into the world during my eighty years. Developed a knack for delivering healthy babies. It began more than fifty years ago. A young shepherd’s wife had a difficult birth, and the babe was born dead. I was there, and picked up the poor little mite, to carry it away. As I lifted him he suddenly spewed blood, then started to cry. That began it, you know, the story of my skill with babies. My wife… sweet girl .. . had six children. So I knew more than a little about the difficulties of childbirth.

Over the years I was asked to attend other births. You know how it is. Word gets round. Any girl within fifty miles gets pregnant and they’ll send for old Spyros, come the time. It is strange, you know. The older I grow the more pleasure I get from bringing new life into the world.’

‘You are a good man,’ said the passenger, ‘and I am gladdened to have met you.

Now take up your oars and force your way through. It is time for me to board.’

The old man dipped his blades and rowed in between two long boats. Two sailors above saw the boat, and lowered a rope between the bank of oars. Then the passenger stood, and, from a pouch at his side, pulled out a thick ring, and handed it to Spyros. It glinted in his palm. ‘Wait!’ shouted Spyros. ‘This ring is gold!’

‘I liked your stories,’ said the man, with a smile, ‘so I will not eat your eyes.’

A loud crash from the deck above was followed by angry shouts. As Helikaon cleared the rail he saw that two men had dropped an amphora, which had smashed.

Thick, unwatered wine had drenched a section of planking, its heady fumes lying heavy in the air. The giant, Zidantas, was grappling with the men, and other sailors were standing by shouting encouragement to the fighters.

The moment they saw Helikaon all noise ceased, and the crew returned silently to their work.

Helikaon approached Zidantas. ‘We are losing time, Ox,’ he said. ‘And there is still cargo on the beach.’

As the morning wore on Helikaon remained on the high rear deck in full view of the toiling men. Tensions were still running high, and the crew remained fearful of sailing on the Death Ship. His presence calmed them, and they began to relax, the work flowing more smoothly. He knew what they were thinking. The Golden One, blessed by the gods, was sailing with them. No harm would befall them.

Such belief in him was vital to them. The greatest danger, he knew, would come if he ever started believing it himself. Men talked of his luck, and the fact that none of his ships had been lost. Yes, there was always luck involved, but, more important, at the end of every trading season those ships were checked by carpenters, drawn up on beaches and de-barnacled. Necessary repairs were undertaken. The crews were carefully chosen, and the captains men of great experience. Not one of his fifty galleys ever sailed over-laden, or took unnecessary risks in the name of greater profits.

With the storm past the sixty-mile crossing to the mainland coast would be a gentle test for the new ship, allowing the crew to grow accustomed to her – and to each other. The boatman’s comment about local sailors was correct. It had not been easy finding skilled men willing to sail on the Xanthos and they were still some twenty crew short. Zidantas had scoured the port seeking sailors to join them. Helikaon smiled. They could have filled the quota twice over, but Zidantas was a harsh judge. ‘Better to be short with good men, than full with dross,’ he argued. ‘Saw one man. A Gyppto. Already assigned to the Mirion. If I see him in Troy I’ll try again.’

‘Gypptos are not used to galley work, Ox,’ Helikaon pointed out.

‘This one would be,’ replied Zidantas. ‘Strong. Heart like an oak. No give in him.’

A light breeze drifted across the deck. Helikaon walked to the starboard rail and saw that many of the small cargo boats were making their way back to the

shore. The last of the trade items were being loaded now. By the port rail he saw the youngest member of his crew, the boy Xander, sitting quietly awaiting orders. Another child of sorrow, thought Helikaon.

Just after dawn that morning, as he had prepared to depart, Phaedra had come to him. ‘You must see this,’ she said, leading Helikaon through to the bedroom put aside for the sick woman. The child, Phia, had been given her own room, but had crept back to be with her mother. The two were fast asleep, the child’s arm laid protectively across her mother’s chest.

‘Thank you for taking them in,’ he had replied, as Phaedra quietly closed the door once more.

‘You gave me all this, Helikaon. How can you thank me?’

‘I must go. You understand that I meant what I told the child. They stay for as long as they wish.’

‘Of course. It was lucky Phia found you. The healer said the mother would probably have been dead by morning.’

‘If you need anything I have instructed Parikles to supply it.’

‘You take care. Of all my lovers you are the most dear to me.’

He had laughed then, and drawn her into an embrace, lifting her from her feet and swinging her round. ‘And your friendship is beyond price,’ he said.

‘Just as well my body isn’t,’ she responded. ‘Otherwise I might have been living like Phia’s mother in that hovel.’

Smiling at the memory he scanned the ship. The two Mykene passengers were standing on the port side. Both wore armour and had swords scabbarded at their hips. The elder of them, the chisel-bearded Argurios, stared up at him, his gaze openly malevolent.