Christian Cameron - The Great King

Fifteen strokes and my oarsmen were pulling like the heroes in the Argo and I could see their oars bend at the height of the stroke. We were almost at full speed — ramming speed, as fast as a galloping horse.

I’ve said this other nights, but a sea fight seems to get faster and faster as you get closer to the moment of combat. I don’t know whether this is some effect of the hand of the gods, of the spirit men carry within them, or merely a flaw in the flow of time’s stream. Once thing I know — sometimes it is merely that the rowers pull harder as the ships close.

The two closest Carthaginians were suddenly five ships’ lengths away. And closing at the converging speeds of a cavalry charge.

I had a ship that had been built for me — a crew I’d led for two wildly successful years, and trained the way a swordsmith hones a sword. And the harbour of Carthage isn’t like the open ocean — it is like a mill pond. Flat. Weatherless. With no surprises. The moment I saw that badly handled trireme launch, I hoped it was Dagon. How many mad trierarchs could Carthage have?

I had a notion.

As we shot at the two Carthaginians, both altered their helms very slightly, to widen the gap between them so that I couldn’t oar-rake the two of them.

It was a wise precaution.

But I had no intention of touching a Carthaginian that day. I had come into this harbour as an ambassador, and I had already done a great deed — I had kept an oath, and followed the bonds of hospitality. Cimon, I was sure, would praise me as a noble man. I had no intention of sacrificing all that for a moment’s satisfaction in fighting. Let the Phoenicians break the truce and be cursed by the gods.

‘Oars in!’ I roared.

Always the last order before an oar-rake.

My oars shot in — my opponents might have asked why they came in so early, but no one ever does, in a real fight. The enemy helmsmen saw my oars come in and they each cheated their helms slightly inward and ordered their own oars in, ready for the clash.

Every one of my marines and deck crewmen — and my twenty spare oarsmen — went and leaned on the port side of our trihemiola’s deck rail. And I motioned, and Megakles put the helm hard over.

And we turned. Not the sharp turn of a low-speed rowing turn, like the one we’d just executed, where you turn on a single point, like a pivot — but a high-speed turn on the arc of the ship’s length, drawing a geometrical figure in the water.

I might not have tried in the open ocean with real waves, but on the still waters of their inner harbour, I trusted to Moira and my rowers.

We shot across the westernmost ship’s bow, so close that I could have hit their ship with an apple core. We were coasting, coasting. .

Ka held up an arrow and I shook my head.

Both of the enemy ships fell astern, turning as fast as they could.

‘Oars out,’ I called.

Have you ever had the moment come to you when you can feel the favour of the gods? When you are almost with them?

I had the sun and the sparkle of the sea — the stink of their barbaric sacrifices and the warmth of Briseis’ smile.

I looked off to the west, where the four triremes were struggling to get all their rowers seated and rowing.

Sekla sighed. ‘You’re grinning,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s scared, except Brasidas, who says you are like a mad priest.’

‘Brasidas didn’t say that many words.’ I looked at Sekla, and his dark brown eyes were laughing.

‘Whatever you are planning, I think it’s my duty to point out that if you’d just turn out to sea, we’d run clear in five minutes.’ Sekla pointed to the harbour mouth.

I nodded. ‘Give me five minutes,’ I said.

Sekla shook his head. ‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Revenge,’ I said.

We went west, no faster than a fast cruise. The wind was against us, and since our mast was a standing mast, the rowers had to work hard just to maintain speed. Leukas began to use the reserves to replace men as they tired.

I motioned, and Megakles cheated our hull south, towards the beach, by slapping his oars with the palms of his hands — just a few dactyls that would move the ship’s hull south a little and then back on course before we lost way.

I needed all of my opponents to remain fixated on me.

And the gods were with me.

When the time seemed right. . It was like working a problem in mathematics, with Heraklitus watching over my shoulder, or Pythagoras’s daughter Dano making little disapproving noises — I thought of her surprise to hear that a little man like me used her great father’s theory of triangles.

But this was sheer guesswork.

I assumed it would take a certain time to turn my ship, even at this slow speed.

‘Prepare to turn north!’ I called.

‘Starboard rowers, reverse your seats!’ Leukas roared.

The ship was alive beneath me, and as soon as Leukas’s hand came up to tell me that the benches were reversed, I pumped my fist — the starboard side oars touched the water, and Megakles leaned in his harness, pushing both steering oars together, and we turned.

The enemies to the west were slower. Those to the east — those we’d outmanoeuvred — were faster. Now I turned between them.

They all went to ramming speed with a clash of cymbals that carried across the water.

They were all very slightly astern of me, running at almost right angles, aimed a little ahead of me. I wasn’t going very fast — in a ship fight, nothing loses speed like a hard turn. Every one of my rowers had his oar poised at the top of its arc, but none of them was in the water.

Bah. This is like having to explain the punchline of a joke. I confess that had they not been blinded by the gods, they would have smoked the trick or at least realised that I wasn’t rowing.

Sekla said, ‘This is insane.’ He laughed aloud.

I lifted my hand. ‘Now!’ I roared.

Leukas’s spear hit the deck.

One hundred and eighty oars bit the water.

One.

The six enemy ships swept at us like avenging falcons. No doubt that they meant me harm. No doubt they were coming for the kill. Fixated on it like predators — four from the west, two from the east. And the middle ship of the four was Dagon’s — now I could see him standing amidships with a heavy whip in his hand. He had painted his ship red above the mid-deck oarsmen and white below, and the white showed brown and black stains — an ugly ship.

Two strokes. We were moving a little faster than walking pace, and the lead western ship cheated his helm a little to keep his ram in line with us.

Without a word from me, Megakles read my mind and steered a little bit to the west. I was looking at the sloppily rowed ship. There he was.

You know how you can pick out a woman you have loved or a good friend three streets away in a crowded city street — yes? The sway of hips, the particular way a man holds his hand or cocks his head, the slant of the forehead, the droop of a shoulder. .

There was Dagon.

I knew him.

I laughed.

There are fools who do not believe in the gods, but I have seen them. And that day, in the harbour of Carthage, I felt Athena at my shoulder as if I was Odysseus reborn.

Third stroke. We were now moving as fast as a man can run.

I raised my fist and waved it at Dagon.

Fourth stroke. We shot out from between the beaks of the Carthaginians, like a hare that gybes so fast that the claws of the eagle close on empty air.

Except that there were six eagles, and they were on converging courses.

I watched Dagon as he saw the two ships to the east which had been hidden by my hull. And his own greed.

All six ships tried to change course.

One ship evaded the collision, but the other five slammed into each other — our two pursuers from the east into Dagon and the ships immediately north and south of his. They all collided — oars snapped, and men died.