As they walked they passed fishing boats, colorfully painted vessels with horizontal stripes of yellow, crimson, and brilliant blue. The sun had set, falling into the horizon as they’d walked, and now the sky took on a purple hue. The breeze began to strengthen, flattening clothes to bodies, but it was a warm wind; the summer promised to be hot.
Ahead, Aristocles could see the unmistakable bulk of the unpainted Ilean warship, the Nexotardis, its outline horizontal at the sides but ingeniously curved upward at both ends. The bireme occupied its own piece of shore at the bay’s far end and had been given a wide berth by the Phalesians ever since its arrival. The ship’s repairs were finished now, and it looked fit and ready to depart.
‘I don’t know,’ Aristocles said.
Sixty Phalesian hoplites stood on the beach, a careful distance from the warship, at their ease but standing close by as an additional precaution. Kargan had said he would depart with the dawn. The soldiers would stay until he left.
‘Amos and his men are already here.’ Nilus nodded in their direction. ‘Chloe, if you want to leave early, have some soldiers escort you.’
For the first time, as they approached the bireme, Aristocles found himself close enough to read the lettering on her side. ‘Nexotardis,’ he read.
‘A strange name, and a strange people,’ Nilus said. ‘They insist we give their ship a wide berth, and then they invite us on board for a farewell banquet. I will never understand them.’
‘What is important is that we understand this ship,’ one of the other consuls said. ‘This is our chance to see it up close.’
‘Everyone, keep your eyes and ears open,’ Aristocles said. ‘Ask many questions and answer few.’
‘And why invite your daughter?’ Nilus was shaking his head.
‘Kargan asked for a musician and suggested Chloe. I couldn’t deny her existence, given the fact that he has met her.’
‘Father gave me the option of refusing,’ Chloe said.
Aristocles took in the sight of the bireme as they walked to the lowered gangway, little more than a plank with steps fitted at regular intervals. He’d seen bigger merchant vessels, but this was easily the largest warship he’d ever encountered. He looked at the spike of the bronze ram, prominently visible with the warship drawn up on the beach bow first. He tried not to stare too hard, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it.
‘Aristocles,’ Nilus whispered. ‘Face front.’
Aristocles led Chloe up the gangway, their progress made easier by the fact that they wore no boots or sandals. Reaching the top deck, open to the elements, he was confronted by a long space of planks worn smooth by the passage of countless feet, cleared for the occasion. The section of decking farthest from shore, behind the big mast, had been set up for a banquet. Cushions clustered in piles beside carpets woven with strange dizzying patterns. Swarthy bare-chested men in loose loincloths held small wine jugs ready to pour. Immense iron bowls used as braziers cast warm light, tended unceasingly by dedicated slaves, for the danger of fire aboard a wooden ship was obvious.
Kargan waited to greet the consuls as they crested the gangway. He wore the same flowing yellow robe and curved dagger at his waist he had worn on his visit to the first consul’s villa. Aristocles could smell the sweet scent of oil in his black hair and curled beard.
‘First Consul,’ he addressed Aristocles, towering over the Phalesian. ‘Welcome to the Nexotardis. And your daughter is here. Welcome, lady.’
‘We are honored to have been invited,’ Aristocles said. He cast his eye over the deck, seeing dozens of Ileans, all strangers. Some were obviously slaves, but he found it difficult to ascertain if others were marines, officers, or crewmen.
‘First Consul, this is Hasha, the commander of my oarsmen. He will seat you while slaves bring refreshment.’
Aristocles followed the Ilean, a lean man with a hooked nose and curled mustaches, who led him to one of the carpets.
‘We will sit in the manner to which we are accustomed in our lands,’ Hasha said.
‘Of course, I would expect no different.’
Aristocles made himself comfortable, following Hasha’s example and arranging the cushions behind his back. Soon the other four consuls were also seated on the carpets, with Chloe reclining beside her father.
Aristocles saw that despite the presence of so many men on deck, Kargan had them in careful order, with the Phalesians in a section with the men he presumed were the senior officers and crewmen, while the rougher-looking Ileans were placed near the bow. The ship’s crew displayed an astonishing variety of builds, from lean to squat, and skin tones from the darkest brown to a light olive color little different from the Phalesians. Some of the men had hooked noses while others had wide mouths and deep-set eyes. Aristocles guessed that they weren’t all Ileans; the crew was likely drawn from across the Salesian continent.
The last glow of twilight had faded from the sky and a million pinpricks now shone in night’s curtain above. Though the warship was drawn up on the beach, her stern, where Aristocles’ group sat high on the upper deck, was in the water, and rocked gently from side to side. He glanced up when he heard a soft patter that became a rumble and saw a man with a drum between his knees, tapping a rhythm with his fingers that caused the heart to beat a little faster.
Remembering that he needed to learn about the warship’s construction while he was here, Aristocles ignored the men and instead scanned the deck, running his eyes over the timbers and mast. But he realized swiftly that with the lower decks sealed by boxlike coverings placed over the hatches there was only so much he could learn. The mast was tall and as thick as a man’s waist; it would have been a mighty tree in life. The oars were all down below. Kargan had risked little by inviting the consuls to this departure feast, for this beast’s skeleton and muscles were all hidden from view.
Aristocles made a quick count and saw that while the top deck appeared crowded, with one hundred and twenty oarsmen alone – slaves, all of them, knowing the Ileans – only a small proportion of the crew was present. The ship would be crowded below decks.
He nodded as a slave handed him a wooden cup filled with wine, but Aristocles felt unsettled. It was strange to be feasting, while just a few feet below this very deck, over a hundred miserable souls huddled on their rowing benches, resting before their work began with the dawn.
‘Now it is my turn to serve you wine,’ Kargan’s voice boomed as he seated himself near Aristocles, pushing aside one of the other consuls in the process.
And with those words, the banquet began.
The drum’s rhythm and volume increased. Conversation became loud and laughter more frequent. The only light was the dim crimson glow of the coals in the iron bowls, illuminating faces with reddish tones, lending an eerie feeling to the festive mood.
Food came after the wine. Aristocles ate his fill – it would be rude to do otherwise – but then his heart sank as more slaves brought yet more food. It was Phalesian fare, sourced from the agora, and as good as anything Aristocles ate at his own table. Well-trained slaves handed out a cold assortment of olives, nuts, fresh and dried cheeses, flat bread, figs, roasted goat, pig ears, and smoked fish. Some unfamiliar spices had been liberally sprinkled over the meats, but Aristocles found the flavors surprisingly pleasant.
Kargan ate everything, and insisted Aristocles do the same. He drained his cup with every mouthful and waited expectantly, watching and scowling, his glare becoming ever more fierce until the first consul’s wine cup was empty. It would then be refilled immediately.
Checking on his daughter, Aristocles saw that an Ilean officer was regaling Chloe and Nilus with a bawdy tale. Some of the humor appeared to be lost on the Phalesians, and when the Ilean laughed uproariously Chloe merely smiled, while Nilus looked bemused.
Kargan and Aristocles spoke of Phalesian cooking and Sarsican wine – the warship’s commander said that for the banquet he’d gone to the market and asked the wine sellers to supply him with the sam
e wine they sold to the first consul. They talked about the weather in Ilea and the places the wealthy went to escape the heat of summer. Aristocles tried to discuss music, but the mind-numbing repetition of the drums appeared to be enough for Kargan’s senses.
‘More food!’ Kargan shouted.
The wine was taking its toll, and Aristocles was wondering whether the time was before midnight or after when Nilus leaned forward. ‘How long will this go on?’
Kargan overheard him. He grabbed Nilus’s upper arm and pulled him over, so that Nilus tumbled on top of the swarthy master of the Nexotardis in a tangle of white cloth.
‘This is a real banquet,’ Kargan roared into Nilus’s ear. ‘It will go on until the last star vanishes, of course. More wine for the consul!’
Nilus righted himself and rearranged his tunic as well he could given his unfocused eyes and the way his fingers kept grasping on empty air. His round face was bright red.
Still the wine kept coming.
Kargan started to dance with his men, performing a strange jig with arms spread and fingers clicking together in time to the drums. Hopping from foot to foot, shifting around a circle formed with four others, he started to sing with such gusto that Aristocles wondered if the entire city behind the harbor could hear him. The four other dancers knew the words and formed a humming chorus like the chant of a priest.
Chloe was now seated on Aristocles’ left, and as the drums finally faded away Kargan again sat down heavily on his other side. Across from them Nilus’s head was nodding as he struggled to keep awake. The symposiums the consuls and merchants hosted often went late, but never was such a quantity of wine consumed.
‘Now,’ Kargan said. He turned his dark eyes on Aristocles. ‘I am asking you seriously. The sun king desires gold above all else. We have silver. How much do you want for the ark? Name your price.’
Aristocles stiffened and saw that Nilus was suddenly awake and scowling. He reminded himself that he was Phalesia’s first consul and tried not to appear offended.
‘It is not – and will never be – for sale,’ Aristocles said. ‘But if it’s gold you want, we have many fine jewelers—’
Kargan barked a laugh and clapped Aristocles so hard on the back that he spilled wine over his tunic. ‘I had to try.’ He turned his head from side to side and frowned. ‘Music! Where is the musician?’
‘He fell asleep, lord.’
‘Throw him overboard! The stars are still out!’
Kargan lurched as he stood up and then walked three steps to the rail, facing outward, then began to urinate noisily over the side.
‘Perhaps we should make our way—’ Nilus said.
‘This banquet is not over!’ Kargan rasped as he returned. He sank down again beside Aristocles. ‘I nearly forgot! Your daughter plays the flute, does she not? Did she bring her instrument as I asked?’
When Aristocles hesitated, Kargan barked at Chloe, ‘Play, girl.’ He waved his arms to the people nearby. ‘Quiet, all of you!’
Chloe unwrapped her flute and placed it to her lips. She commenced a bright melody often performed at feast days.
She had played for only a short while when Kargan put his hands over his ears and grimaced. ‘Enough! Save my senses!’
Chloe winced and stopped playing. She wrapped her copper flute once more in cloth and stood.
‘Girl, why don’t you dance instead?’
Chloe gave Kargan a look that he barely seemed to notice. She walked away from the carpets and cushions, heading for the ramp and the shore.
‘Chloe.’ Aristocles tried to stand. His head was throbbing from the wine. ‘Lord Kargan, I must protest—’
‘Not so fast, First Consul.’ Kargan clapped a hand firmly around Aristocles’ shoulder. ‘Not while the stars still shine. More wine! More food!’
Finally, the last star left the sky and the horizon began to glow. Aristocles, Nilus, and the other two consuls lumbered across a deck filled with lolling Ileans and made their way to the gangway at the bow.
Kargan saw them to the ramp and then clapped Aristocles on the back. ‘I foresee good relations between our peoples, First Consul.’
‘I wish you safe travels.’ Aristocles struggled to make the words. ‘And I must apologize for my daughter’s hasty departure—’
‘Bah,’ he said. ‘It is nothing. Girls her age are often headstrong, which is why they need husbands.’
‘Well . . . It has been a pleasure . . .’ Aristocles mumbled.
‘Your soldiers will escort you back to the city. I saw a pair with your daughter earlier. She will be home and safe.’
Aristocles nodded, his attention consumed with the prospect of making it safely down the gangway. As he reached the pebbled shore where his fellow consuls waited, he turned back and ran his eyes over the warship one last time.
The Phalesian soldiers came to join the group and together they followed the shore back to the steps below the agora. Aristocles heard one of his stumbling companions cough as he was violently sick and his own stomach writhed in response.
When they finally reached the embankment they heard the blast of a horn and gazed back at the Ilean ship; the Nexotardis was already moving.
A multitude of oars hauled at the water, tossing it into foam with synchronized motions, sending the ship forward with astonishing speed. The sail went up.
‘They’re gone now,’ Nilus said. ‘Thank the gods.’
16
Dion picked up a bulging water skin, his muscles groaning as he carried it from the sandy shore to the large vessel rocking on the waves. He plunged into water up to his knees and handed the skin up to bald-headed Cob, who carried it to the bow and nestled it in the sheltered section with the other supplies.
His jaw cracked as he stifled a yawn; it was just after dawn; they were leaving early to catch the outgoing tide and give them plenty of time to sail to Phalesia. The water was warm on his legs and a sea breeze blew gently on his face, cooling his tanned skin from the already radiant sun. He wore a well-made white tunic suitable to both sailing and trading.
Dion made way for a wiry man twenty years his senior to get past and nodded. Sal, a longtime friend of Cob, nodded back, handing up still more supplies to the old man. As Dion headed back to the beach for more provisions he saw the last two men who would be crewing the twenty-foot sailing galley – his father’s biggest ship – newly arrived.
‘What orders?’ a slim youth with his first growth of beard asked. Dion saw he had a scabbarded sword in one hand and a stuffed satchel in the other.
‘Riko,’ Dion said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Glad you could make it. Get your things into the boat, and then help us load her up.’
‘Not much in the way of provisions,’ said the second man, Otus, a tall brawler with a broken nose.
‘We’re only going to Phalesia. If we’re traveling further we can get supplies there.’
‘Will we be there tonight?’ Riko asked.
‘No,’ Dion said. ‘The wind’s against us. We’ll have to beach tonight on the far side of the narrows.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Otus. ‘Come on, lad.’ He inclined his head to Riko.
Shielding his eyes, Dion saw his mother waiting on the grassy bank higher up. He looked for more figures but felt a surge of disappointment when he saw that she was the only member of his family who had come to say goodbye.
As he climbed the beach he felt sad. He hadn’t expected much more from the king, but it was unlike Nikolas to let him go without a word of farewell.
‘Mother,’ he said, ‘it’s time to go.’
With her typical lithe grace, she came forward to embrace her son. ‘I don’t know if you are departing on a long journey or not. I wish I knew.’
She continued to hold him by the shoulders as he scanned the area, trying to hide his emotions but failing.
‘Father . . . Nikolas . . . They’re both busy?’
The queen nodded. Her manner was strangely distracted. ‘You know ho
w they are; it’s always soldiers and fighting with them. They’ve had an early start at the bowyer’s workshop.’
‘Well, I’d best be going.’
‘Wait . . .’ Dion’s mother continued to hold his shoulders.
‘Why—?’
‘Ah, there’s Helena!’ Thea said, finally letting him go. ‘She must have come to say goodbye.’
Nikolas’s tall blonde wife wore a silk chiton of deepest blue hemmed with gold. She was walking quickly, with a forced smile displaying even white teeth.
‘Dion,’ she said, ‘you wouldn’t leave without saying farewell to me?’
‘Well, I—’
She pulled him close and kissed him on both cheeks, so that her soft hair tickled his face and he smelled her floral scent.
Dion saw Helena pass his mother a meaningful look, leaving him feeling puzzled.
‘Have you loaded your supplies?’ she asked.
He glanced back at the boat, seeing that the last of the sacks were nearly aboard – something that Helena could see for herself.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Well, my men are waiting. Thank you both for coming down. Tell Nikolas and Father that I—’
‘You can’t go this instant,’ Dion’s mother interrupted. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
Dion frowned. ‘What is it?’
‘I . . .’ Thea began uncertainly.
Then Helena visibly relaxed. ‘They’re here,’ she murmured to Thea.
Following her gaze, Dion saw the big burly form of his brother approaching as he followed a path through the nearby trees, all dark hair and bristling beard. A moment later his father came into view beside him. Both men were walking with swift steps, their progress made slow by the king’s limp.
‘Thank the gods,’ Nikolas panted, grinning as he neared. ‘We had to twist a few arms, but we got here in time.’
‘Nikolas, Father,’ Dion said, smiling as a surge of emotion threatened to bring tears to his eyes. ‘You came.’
The king halted beside his wife as Nikolas and Dion embraced, but then Dion realized his brother was holding something behind his back. ‘What are you hiding?’
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