Hope of Earth

by Piers Anthony

  “As you prefer.” The man moved on.

  “Point made,” Jes said when they were clear. She was impressed.

  “There are surely similar signals when two men consider combat over a nonessential matter.”

  “Yes. It is pointless to fight unless you really want to, and sometimes one man can demonstrate ability that cautions the other. It never occurred to me that men and women could fence similarly.”

  Wona tensed, and spoke without turning her head. “Oops. I did not signal this one. You will have to back him off.”

  Indeed, a hoplite was forging toward them. He had muscle, weapons, and swagger. “Haven’t we met before?” he demanded of Wona.

  “No,” she said sharply.

  “Well, then, we must remedy that forthwith.”

  “My sister is not to dally,” Jes said.

  The soldier ignored her. He reached for Wona’s arm. She neatly drew it back, clearly trying to discourage him.

  Jes tapped her club. “I said—”

  Now the man glanced at her. He tapped his own club. “Depart, stripling, before I give you reason.”

  He was too burly and experienced to handle with a club. So Jes went to the next stage: a demonstration.

  Her hand went for her dagger so swiftly that it was a blur. The point came up and the tip almost touched the man’s nose. Now she had his full attention. After the briefest pause, she flipped the knife into the air, and caught it again by the hilt, before his nose.

  “Maybe some other time,” the man said, and moved on.

  “I never saw you do that before,” Wona said, impressed by herself.

  “I never had to, before. I probably couldn’t take him in a fair fight, and he knew it, but I could have cut off his nose then, with the element of surprise, so he knew it was merely a warning. He returned a warrior’s courtesy by leaving the field to me. But if I had cut him, even slightly, or if any of his companions had seen, we would have had to fight.”

  “I’m not sure he would have taken you,” Wona said. “I have seen you kill.”

  “There is a difference between battlefield conditions and a formal encounter. I would have had to meet him formally, or a bowman would have shot me. Soldiers don’t like ambushes.”

  “What bowman?”

  “That one.” Jes indicated a man standing by a tree. As she did so, and Wona looked, the man waved.

  “Then someone did see the encounter!”

  “Not a companion. Bowmen and hoplites belong to separate clans, socially. Anyway, the bowman was behind the hoplite, so wasn’t visible to him.”

  “But you saw him. Why didn’t he call to the hoplite?”

  “Professional courtesy. I carry a bow.”

  “Which you do know how to use.” Wona took a deep breath. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Gladly.” But just as Wona had liked demonstrating her abilities, Jes had rather liked demonstrating hers. There was indeed a camaraderie of arms, and it did facilitate things when armed strangers met. She appreciated the way the bowman had given her the chance to settle her quarrel on her own. He had accepted her, in a way that counted, though they were strangers.

  They made their way without further significant event to Naupactus, which turned out to be a small but vigorous city. It had been settled by Messenians, implacable enemies of Sparta who had been exiled from their homeland by Sparta.

  They sought an apartment close to the harbor, because Wona wanted the best chance to meet any and all officers. They were able to get one close to an inn that served the personnel of the ships. There seemed to be a high turnover in both workers and clients, because this was a war zone, and Wona was able to get a job as a serving wench: exactly what she wanted.

  “But won’t they pinch your rear and make lewd remarks?” Jes asked.

  “And give me silver if they like me enough,” Wona said. “It’s a fine way to meet people, and the gossip will be first rate. In a few days I’ll know exactly who among the captains is married and who single, and will be able to chart my course.”

  “But what do I do while you’re doing that?”

  Wona considered. “We’re not destitute, thanks to Crock-son’s generosity to you, but we can always use money. This is your opportunity as much as mine: get a position on a ship. I don’t have to have you constantly at my side, now that I have a good residence and position. If things work well for me, you will soon be free to go home.”

  “I would like nothing better than to be aboard a trieres,” Jes agreed. “Even if only for a few days. If you don’t think I’m running away—”

  “Jes,” Wona said seriously. “You have so much honor it’s spreading to me. I am a better person than I have been, because of you. I have no concern about your running away. Just don’t get yourself killed!”

  Jes was so flattered that she was in danger of blushing. “I’ll try not to.”

  So Jes went down to the harbor each day to inquire whether any ship was in need of a piper.

  “I need an oarsman,” one officer told her. “But I doubt you have the heft for that.”

  “True. I have rowed all my life, but only in small craft. I’m not muscular.”

  “That will come with time,” he said. “You’re not yet grown.”

  This was typical. Each ship needed 170 oarsmen and only one piper, so her chances were small. But there were twenty ships here, so one might be able to use her.

  On the third day Wona’s gossip mill bore fruit. “There’s a ship with a bachelor captain—and it’s in need of a piper!” she exclaimed. “You can hire aboard, and introduce me to the captain.”

  “But that isn’t the way it’s done,” Jes protested. “Captains don’t socialize with the men.”

  “Then make it a business deal: you’ll be his piper if he dates me. Play your pipe for him; he’ll want you.”

  “And if you play your body for him, he’ll want you,” Jes echoed. “Maybe it will work.”

  “This is our best chance yet; it has to work.” Then Wona frowned. “Though it does seem almost too easy. Do you think it could be a setup?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We met that captain before, and now we have been talking with many people. Word of us will have gotten around, just as we pick up word of others. Maybe someone wants to bed me, so he says he’s single. Men do that all the time. A captain of a trieres is a wealthy citizen, by definition, so has had ample opportunity to marry. By the time I verify his status, he will have had what he wants from me.”

  “But the pipeman position—what about that?”

  “That’s probably legitimate. The word is that the plague took out several crewmen, and there may be a battle soon, so he can’t wait for them to recover. But he knows he can hire you; it’s me he can’t have for hire. So that’s what he charges.”

  “Charges?”

  “A job for you—if I let him into my skirt. I’m paying for you.”

  She could be right, Jes realized. “I can look for some other ship.”

  “No, take the job. Maybe then you can find out whether he is really single. Then introduce him to me—as we thought before.”

  On reconsideration, this did seem best. “Very well.”

  Jes located the ship and approached the trierarch, or sea captain, a weathered, burly man. “I hear you are in need of a pipeman.”

  The captain squinted appraisingly at her. “One drachma a day, half payable as earned, remainder in Piraeus. Bonus when we see action, if warranted, and a share of whatever plundgr. Paid to your father if you die on duty.” This was his acknowledgment of Jes’s youth.

  And nothing said about getting into anyone’s skirt. This seemed legitimate. “It will do. Do you want to hear me play?”

  “I have a practice run this afternoon, to try out new oarsmen. You will play then.”

  “I will be there.”

  The captain nodded. “I am Ittai, of Athens.”

  “I am Jes, of Euboea.”

  Ittai wa
lked away. Their business was concluded, for now. Jes was impressed; the man wasn’t much to look at, but he spoke to the point. He surely ran a no-nonsense ship. That was the best kind.

  She returned to the apartment, then went to the dining hall where Wona worked. “I play this afternoon, tryout,” she said as Wona came to bring her bread and wine. “Trierarch Ittai is gruff but competent. He said nothing about skirts. I think he doesn’t know I have a sister.”

  “He surely does know. I like him already. But make sure you get the word on his marital state.”

  Jes brought the flute Crockson had given her to the ship. Captain Ittai spotted her immediately. “Jes! Report to the helmsman.” He turned away, attending to other business. He had the facility, useful in a leader, for recognizing a person in a group, and remembering the name. Jes was further impressed.

  The helmsman was easy to spot by his bright robe of command. All the oarsmen had to see the helmsman, who ranked next below the captain, and the boatswain, who implemented his orders. Jes would take her signals from either man, but probably the boatswain unless the helmsman stepped in directly. How well she responded, and how well she played, would determine her future with this crew.

  She brought out the flute and held it before her as she approached the busy officer. He was directing new oarsmen to their seats, but oriented on her immediately. “You are of course familiar with the essential tunes?”

  “Yes. But I need to know the signals for them.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, but he demonstrated the signals for each one, and she fixed them in her mind. She had not anticipated this awkwardness; of course an experienced pipeman would know the signals. “The boatswain will indicate the cadence, so,” he continued briskly, making a circular gesture in the air with one forefinger. “Pick it up and keep it until he changes it. This means accelerate it.” He elevated one palm slowly. “And diminish it.” His hand turned over and moved slowly down. “During distance travel at constant velocity, the melody can be your own, but vary it occasionally so the grunts don’t get bored. Take your place.”

  He assumed that she knew where her place was, as any experienced pipeman would. Fortunately she did. She walked the gangplank to the gangway along the center of the ship, and made her way to the main mast. There was a built-in stool just behind it. She sat on this and rested.

  Her heart was pounding. She was actually on a trieres, as a crewman! She knew what to do, but the reality of actually doing it was fantastic. She gazed at the backs of the oarsmen, sitting at three levels. Those on the lowest tier of oars were farthest into the center of the ship, and those on the highest tier were almost against the hull. They were fitting in so close together that they almost touched, but each had free play for his oar.

  The ten hoplites boarded together. Each was well armed with knives and spears, and all looked tough. They were, of course, the most privileged class aboard, aside from the officers. They spread out along the length of the gangway, glowering at the oarsmen and sailors. They were there to protect the ship—and not just from external enemies. Any oarsman who got rebellious would find himself skewered.

  The commander of this guard took a central position, which meant he stood close to Jes. He looked down at her and grimaced. It was clear that he did not like her. That made her nervous, because he was a large, powerful, and possibly dull man.

  When all the oarsmen were seated, the seamen hoisted the two sails and took the ship out to deep water. Sails were normally used when there was no hurry, and evidently the captain did not want to risk a foul-up in the harbor. So he was taking the ship out to where he had some privacy, to work out the kinks. Once the new crew members were functioning properly, he would take it under power back into the harbor.

  Sure enough, when they were well clear of the harbor, the helmsman strode to the center of the ship, right near Jes. He raised his hand so that both the bow officer and the boatswain could see it. Then he brought it down. The boatswain made a loop with his hand. Jes started playing the Prepare melody on her flute, as loudly as she could without distorting the notes. It was not the strong beat of traveling, just a preliminary. The oarsmen could not see the boatswain well, but they could all hear the music. They unhooked their oars and lowered them to the water.

  Then, in time to the beat of the boatswain’s fist, Jes went into the Forward rowing beat. “Go!” the boatswain yelled, and the oarsmen pulled together. Now it was her flute that governed them; she suspected that many had their eyes closed, depending on it alone.

  The ship moved forward, which meant in the direction of the backs of the oarsmen, and Jes’s back too. It was not their business to see where they were going, but to propel the ship as efficiently as possible.

  The helmsman let them row for a while, as he walked up and down the central gangway, looking at individual oars. ‘Tick it up!” he snapped at one whose oar was lagging a trifle. “Shorten your stroke!” at another.

  The boatswain lifted his palm, slowly. Jes accelerated the cadence, slowly. She continued her slow increase until the boatswain put his hand out again, level. Then she leveled it at that pace.

  The boatswain lifted his hand, not in a signal, but in a warning of a coming signal. He made sure he had Jes’s eye. Then, suddenly, he rammed his fist down.

  She played extra loud, slowing the beat precipitously. The oarsmen followed.

  The commander of the hoplites turned to sneer at her. What was the matter?

  The helmsman was right beside her. “Wrong,” he said, calmly. “That was a ‘Dead Halt’ signal he gave you. Try it again.”

  Oops. She had indeed misunderstood.

  They got the ship moving rapidly forward again, while the helmsman cautioned individual oarsmen on their errors. Then the boatswain gave her the warning, and the dead halt. This time she blew a single loud note and stopped.

  The oars froze in place, rapidly braking the ship.

  The cadence resumed, slower than before. Then there was another maneuver. “Starboard,” the boatswain shouted. “Double cadence!” And he signaled Jes with a short, sharp jerk of the hand.

  This time she wasn’t sure what to do. She hesitated, while still playing. Again the hoplite commander grimaced, as if in the presence of an utter fool. “Mark and keep the beat,” the helmsman murmured.

  She played one beat loud and high, and kept the existing beat. At that, the oarsmen to her left, the ship’s right, suddenly increased their pace, while those on the other side maintained theirs. The ship swerved. They were making a turn.

  She saw the helmsman signal the boatswain. “Port—half cadence reverse!” Now he was describing the orders, instead of depending on Jes to play the right tune. The helmsman was standing right by her, murmuring instructions. That was not the best sign. They had all too quickly caught on to her inexperience.

  The boatswain gave Jes the Mark gesture. This time she was on it immediately, playing her pipe loud and low, following with the correct tune. The oarsmen to her right abruptly lifted and reversed their oars, stroking backward.

  The ship, propelled at double speed forward on its right, and half speed backward on its left, fairly whirled around, turning almost in place.

  The boatswain brought his fist sharply down. Jes played a loud note and stopped. The oars stopped in place, dragging against the water, and the ship halted its turn.

  The helmsman nodded with satisfaction. The maneuvers were falling into place. He walked away, to her immense relief, because that meant he did not expect to have to instruct her further. She had more than enough black marks already.

  They practiced for the rest of the afternoon. Jes made other mistakes, and each time she did was rewarded with a glare from the hoplite commander, but made sure-never to repeat one. She was gaining confidence. She could handle this job.

  At last they stroked back to port. The men were given leave to disembark, but the helmsman spoke briefly to Jes. “Wait.” So she waited, hoping she was not in trouble. She had made several mista
kes, but surely they allowed for that, on the first day out. She hoped. She watched the men file past the ship’s purser, who gave each a small coin: the day’s half-pay.

  After a time the captain came down. “I am told you lack experience, but play well.” Actually he had heard her himself, but was going through channels, taking the helmsman’s report.

  “I missed several signals, sir,” she confessed, embarrassed. Was he going to fire her?

  “You have an excellent sense of the ship. Have you had other experience?”

  “None on a trieres. I have rowed my own little boat all my life. I like the sea.”

  “That explains it,” Ittai said. “Your position is confirmed. Go to the purser.”

  Relief flooded through her. She had not realized how worried she had been, until that acceptance came. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I feared I would have to settle for incompetence,” he said gruffly. “In that I was disappointed.” He walked away.

  She got up and went to where the purser sat. He glanced up at her. “Name and post?” Of course he already knew her post, but was also following the forms. That was the way of a well run ship.

  “Jes. Pipeman.”

  He handed her three silver coins.

  She looked at them, startled. “This is too much! I was told half a drachma.”

  He checked his list. “That is the correct amount. One drachma. None is held back pending completion of the tour, because you have joined it halfway along. Plus two obols, for maintenance of your equipment. You are not actually being paid more.” Then he smiled, briefly, becoming human. “But you evidently have the trierarch’s favor, if not the hoplite’s. You piped well.”

  “But I made mistakes!”

  “Perhaps he expects you to live up to his expectation.”

  “I—I will try,” She was amazed by this development. The fact that they were paying her full wage now meant that they had no hold on her; she could leave at any time without penalty. So though the pay was standard, this was indeed a sign of the captain’s favor.

  Back at the apartment, she told Wona about it. The woman nodded. “I told you that your playing would impress him, You are good, Jes—very good. You must have made the crew row unusually well.”