The Tomb of Atlantis
Christopher David Petersen
Copyright 2012 Christopher David Petersen
Atlantis – Chapter 1
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN: 10,000 B.C.
His hand was moist with sweat as he nervously grasped the tiller. Shaking it out, he wiped the offending moisture on his sleeve, then quickly returned his hand to the rudder. Looking over his shoulder, fear and apprehension broke free of their restraints and began to escape from their exile. His eyes shifted and his posture softened as his mind toyed and deceived his logic. Like a ravaging cancer, desperation flooded his conscious and he now began to consider defeat. “Blast!” he called out in disgust, and he banished the offending emotions to their asylum.
Narrowing his eyes, he summoned his courage deep from within. Like a Greek god, he stood bold and statuesque as he returned his stare to the expansive seas in front of him.
Sophocles, captain of his vessel and admiral of his fleet, scanned the horizon. A warrior by trade and a sailor by passion, he spent most of his forty-seven years at sea. Tall and muscular, yet weathered and gray, he was considered an enigma to most warriors half his age. Having survived tragedies, battles and storms, he was called upon once more to push the limits of his courage and skill as he attempted to cross the Atlantic.
Sophocles searched the horizon and surrounding waters for signs of land. There were none: no distant gray shadows on the horizon that distinguished land, no birds flying to their nearby destinations, and no floating plant or human debris that signaled a civilization just beyond their line of sight.
Disappointment spread through him as he realized there was no safe haven to be found.
Sophocles turned around and stared at the Egyptian armada that trailed only a few hundred yards behind him. Spread out over a quarter mile to each side, there were more than a hundred ships in his hot pursuit. Over the course of two weeks, Sophocles’ slower, less skilled ships were picked off one by one, and now his fleet consisted of only a handful of his most skilled and fastest sailors.
Sophocles squinted hard at the lead ship, trailing directly behind him. Standing triumphantly on its bow was Lempithius, captain of all the Egyptian fleet. The two admirals locked stares upon each other and for a moment, no one else in the world existed. Even with the distance between them, Sophocles could see the deep hatred and anger that seethed from Lempithius as he stood with clenched fists. Lempithius’ time had come and he would fully enjoy his revenge.
“He’s gaining on us, sir,” called a voice from behind Sophocles.
“Indeed,” Sophocles replied without breaking his stare.
“The men are rowing at maximum capacity. I fear they cannot keep up this pace much longer,” called the familiar voice once more.
Sophocles turned to face his first mate. His eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to intimidate his first officer, Zotikos. Realizing his unintentional action, he reached out and placed his hand on Zotikos’ shoulder.
“Zotikos, you are my finest. I am confident you have done your best. We are now in the hands of fate and destiny,” Sophocles said.
“Lempithius chases us alone. All other ships he has cast aside. Surely, he has reserved the harshest of executions for us,” Zotikos replied, his face betraying his fears.
Sophocles’ face reddened and his eyes furrowed.
“We are descendants of the mighty Zeus. He will pay for his insolence,” Sophocles spat.
“Sir?” Zotikos asked.
“I trust you have finished your accounting?” Sophocles asked.
“Yes, sir, all provisions accounted for,” Zotikos replied, still confused, “enough for three more days, then we’ll need to turn back for home.”
Sophocles eyes turned cold and black as he stared back at Zotikos.
“Our home is gone, devastated by the great wall of water. Our people are dead and we are all that is left. There will be no turning back for home,” Sophocles stated bluntly.
Zotikos gazed back at Sophocles, reading his face for further clues. Slowly, almost imperceptivity, his eyes became preoccupied. Zotikos now appeared to be looking through Sophocles.
“What is it Zotikos? I see distraction in your eyes,” Sophocles asked.
Suddenly, Zotikos lunged at Sophocles, wrapping his arms around his commander’s waist and knocking them both to the deck. Moments later, a flaming arrow embedded into the wood where they both had just stood. Shock and surprise were quickly replaced by instinct.
Rising to his feet, Sophocles quickly called out the order, “All men to their stations!”
As Zotikos jumped to his feet, Sophocles continued his orders, “Take six oarsmen and load the provisions on deck as quickly as you can. And bring me your finest archer.”
“Yes sir,” Zotikos acknowledged.
“And Zotikos…” Sophocles started.
Reaching out, he grabbed Zotikos’ shoulder as he brushed passed him. “I owe you a life.”
Zotikos smiled and said simply, “Yes sir.”
----- ----- ----- -----
Anxious and excited, Lempithius watched over his best archer as he attempted to repeat the near impossible shot far out in front of them. Heron dipped his arrow into the cask of oil and mounted it in his bow as another soldier lit the mixture of fabric and oil. With great strength and skill, he drew back the arrow and pointed it toward the sky, his muscles straining against the force of the bow string. Quickly, he mentally calculated the distance, wind direction and speed, then released the flaming arrow.
The glowing projectile flew through the air with great speed, traveling in an arc trajectory toward its target. Lempithius held his breath momentarily as he watched the arrow close on Sophocles’ boat. As seconds passed, the winds aloft acted on the arrow and pushed it from its course. Lempithius’ heart sank as he once again watched the arrow miss its mark, splashing into the ocean several feet behind the boat.
“Again, quickly,” Lempithius ordered. “We’re getting closer.”
Nervously, Heron restrung another arrow and waited for it to be lit.
“Don’t keep me waiting, if you value your life,” Lempithius spat out to both men.
Heron’s next arrow was lit and released within seconds. Moments later, the flaming arrow plunged into the sea several yards off course and far behind.
Lempithius pulled his knife from his scabbard and blurted loudly, “If you cannot keep a simple arrow on course, then you are of no use to me.”
He glanced to Sophocles’ boat, then back to Heron. Anger welled deep inside him. Years of living in oppression fueled his frustration. With vengeance so close, those in his way paid dearly. In a moment of rage, he plunged his knife into Heron’s neck, severing his carotid artery and killing him almost instantly.
“Now, bring me your next best archer. Don’t disappoint me,” Lempithius scowled to his first officer. “And remove this waste from my sight,” he added.
With a savage kick, he pushed the lifeless body from his path and stood at the bow, his eyes focused on his prey.
----- ----- ----- -----
“Zotikos, we don’t have much time. Lempithius will be within striking distance shortly. Position your archers and wait for my signal,” Sophocles ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Zotikos responded simply.
Moments later, the deck flooded with archers at the ready. Positioned in pairs along each side of the boat, they crouched low to present a smaller target. Sophocles stood in the middle of the boat and called out his orders.
“Momentarily, Lempithius will be within full archer range. He will unleash volleys of arrows in an attempt to burn our ship. Next, he will expect return volleys from our own archers in retaliation. He will expect to see us figh
t a brave fight, all the while allowing our ship to burn to the water line. We will not be following the plan as he expects.”
Sophocles paused for effect, then continued, “Each man holds a shield. This will be your weapon for the time being. When Captain Lempithius launches his attack, you must hold firm. Do not return volley. Use your shield to protect yourself. This will be your most important asset. As the arrows penetrate the deck, extinguish the fires. This is our best defense. If we can keep our ship from burning, we stand a fair chance at survival. Without the ship, we will all surely suffer capture and an agonizing death at the hands of Lempithius.”
Sophocles turned toward the enemy and calculated the distance between them. With Lempithius’ boat nearly within range, he quickly finished his orders.
“Without return fire, Lempithius’ archers will launch volleys freely. They will be frenzied in the belief that they are defeating us. Only too late will they realize that they have run out of arrows. It is at this time, that we will launch our own attack. You will fire your arrows, but only at the targets I designate. With fewer arrows from the enemy, you will be able to fire freely and accurately.”
Sophocles was about to speak, but suddenly spotted an arrow streaming in. It penetrated an open space on the deck and he quickly grabbed a small bucket of water and doused the fire.
Turning to his men again, he called out loudly, “Lempithius is within range. Prepare your shields.”
Quiet fell over the length of the ship as they waited for the rain of arrows to ensue. With great intensity, each man scanned the sky for any signs of movement. Several re-gripped their shields as the sweat from their hands made the leather straps more difficult to hold. Others repositioned their shields above them, trying to second- guess the trajectory of the impending volley.
“Arrows!” Sophocles announced.
High in the mid-day sky, tiny dots of light seemed to float innocently toward them. As the arrows neared, their plumes of fire became brighter and more menacing. Sophocles stood behind several large wooden casks and watched the rain of death descend upon his crew.
In an instant, the deck of the ship became a cacophony of screams and confusion. Flaming arrows poured in and struck the open deck, penetrating the wood and erupting in balls of flames as the oil-soaked cloth separated from the arrow and spread out over the wooden surface. Several unlucky crewmen felt the agony of their fate as the flaming arrows penetrated flesh, broke bones, and caused severe burns. Through their screams, others leapt to their feet and raced for buckets of water, only to be struck down by the next volley of arrows.
Sophocles watched as his ship began to burn. Ignoring danger, he grabbed a shield from a dead soldier and raced toward a cask of water. Immediately, he saw a flaming arrow heading for him. Instinctively, he reacted and deflected it with his shield.
“Put out the fires,” Sophocles yelled to his men.
Leading by example, he grabbed a bucket of water and threw it on a small fire, just feet away from him. As the next volley of arrows sailed in, he crouched with his shield, deflected an arrow, then stood up to fight the fires. Seeing their commander in harm’s way, others followed his lead.
The fight to save their ship was intense. Each man fought the fiery death from above and raging flames from below. With great courage and determination, they soon had the fires under control.
----- ----- ----- -----
From mid ship, Lempithius watched with great anticipation as the archers unleashed their flaming volleys of death. A great smile crossed his face as he observed the first of many plumes of smoke rise up in the sky. He felt great satisfaction as he envisioned the violent deaths of his enemy, as well as the terrible suffering from those who were only wounded.
“Now they will pay. Now they will realize their folly. The great Lempithius is not a man to trifle with. They will learn their lesson in blood,” Lempithius boasted.
He watched the thick black smoke rise from the distant ship and mocked their circumstance.
“Ha! Do you all see what becomes of those who cross the great Lempithius? Let this be a lesson for all!” he shouted loudly.
As he basked in his triumph, he spat out orders with indifference.
“Oh, the terrible punishment they must be suffering on that miserable ship. Just look at them attempting to extinguish the fires. They’re like old women, too scared to ever return fire,” Lempithius mocked with great joy, then added, “Increase your firing or I’ll cut off your heads and feed them to the sharks.”
Lempithius closely monitored his men. He kept the pressure on for both archer and oarsman alike. An hour after the fighting began, his ship had moved within two hundred yards of the enemy and he was now delirious with revenge. Every arrow and every stroke of an oar only served to increase the intensity of his rage.
Suddenly, Lempithius began to notice something disturbing. The great plume of smoke from the ship had grown smaller and lighter in color.
How could this be? Lempithius thought to himself. Surely, by now, most of them must be dead or wounded. How could the fires be receding?
The sight of the surviving ship sent rage throughout his body. He would have his revenge.
“Increase firing, you lousy dogs!” Lempithius commanded. “Any man caught slowing his pace will find himself on the wrong end of his own arrow!”
“Sir, we’re running out of arrows,” Lempithius heard an archer reply.
Instantly, Lempithius pulled his knife and lunged at the archer, embedding the stone blade all the way to the handle. With several more savage blows, the archer slumped to the ground, his eyes glazed over as death overtook him.
“Not another word from you mangy camels,” Lempithius scowled.
As commanded, each archer continued to launch his few remaining arrows.
----- ----- ----- -----
“Sir, they’re slowing. The arrows seem to be slowing,” Zitokos yelled to Sophocles.
Sophocles peered over the top of his shield. With a knowing smile, he ran to the front of the ship where all the provisions had been stacked earlier.
“Zitokos, your six best archers. Ready them at the stern,” Sophocles shouted.
“Yes sir,” Zitokos replied.
Quickly, Sophocles ordered a dozen of his men to the side.
“Men, we have more than two dozen casks of oil. I want you to pull their corks and pour a quarter of it into the water, then dump the casks after it. We must do this nearly simultaneously. After that, we’ll be jettisoning the rest of these provisions. Is that clear?” Sophocles ordered.
“Sir, if we throw our provisions overboard, how will we get home?” said a voice from within the small band of soldiers.
“We won’t,” Sophocles said bluntly, “Now, start tossing them overboard.”
--- --- --- --- --- ---
Lempithius looked on as Sophocles jettisoned his cargo. He found great satisfaction in this act and considered it the last effort from the desperate leader. Soon, his revenge would be complete.
“Fools! They think they can outrun the great Lempithius? I think not!” Lempithius shouted out triumphantly. “More arrows! Increase speed!”
“Sir, begging your pardon, we have the strongest slaves in the fleet. They are working at their greatest capacity. I fear any further demands will cause injury to their hands and shoulders, an event that will most certainly reduce our speed. May I suggest we also jettison some of our supplies?” the first officer reasoned.
Lempithius’ anger raged inside. He was the supreme naval leader of all Egypt and his word was not to be challenged. He drew his knife and lunged for his first officer…
“Sir, I am sorry, but we have run out of arrows,” announced an archer to Lempithius’ first officer.
Lempithius broke off his attack on his first officer and advanced toward the archer. With a quick swipe of his knife, he sliced through the throat of the unsuspecting man. The archer recoiled in shock, not yet comprehending the extent of his injury. As blood began to
flow from his neck, Lempithius grabbed his shoulders and unceremoniously shoved him overboard.
Lempithius turned to his now-frightened first officer. In a low deliberate voice, he growled, “More speed, now, and prepare the men to board.”
----- ----- ----- -----
Sophocles watched as the barrels of oil floated toward Lempithius’ ship. He could see the sheen from the oil slick as the barrels continued to leak their contents. Closer in, he watched the last of his food and water slowly disappearing below the surface. A wave of fear broke over him as he realized this act marked the almost certain death of his crew. Without food or water, they would all certainly perish.
“Better to die of hunger and thirst as free men, than to die from torture as captives,” he reasoned quietly to himself.
With his finest archers standing at the stern of the ship, he stood with them and readied his orders.
“On my signal, you will shoot those barrels. All your practice, all your experience was for these next few minutes. You must succeed. We are all counting on your accuracy,” Sophocles announced.
With a simple nod of their heads, the archers acknowledged their orders and turned to face their destiny.
Sophocles watched the debris field float ever closer to Lempithius’ ship. The first of three barrels went wide, missing the path of the ship by a hundred feet. Nervously, he watched two more barrels slip past the ship on the opposite side. Sophocles looked on and saw Lempithius’ crew lining the deck, preparing for battle. The arrows had ceased just moments before and now they stood ready with knives, clubs, and spears.
Sophocles’ plan had worked. Without archers, Lempithius’ men were at a disadvantage. When they attacked, they would be overrun by greater weaponry. Sophocles breathed a small sigh of relief. His chances for survival had just dramatically increased.
----- ----- ----- -----
Lempithius stood proudly at the bow of his ship and watched the debris float by. He thought about snaring a few of the barrels as they passed, but thought better of it, realizing they would only slow him down. He noted the open barrels and the oil that seeped out of them, mocking futility of Sophocles’ actions. He noticed the oil as it clung to the hull of his ship and the mess it caused angered him.
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