Shadow of Athena

by Elena Douglas

  A while later Arion, yielding to a moment of weariness, lost the beat of the rowing and his oar crashed against the one in front of him. Shouts rang out. Out of nowhere Barekbaal appeared and swung a great blow that struck Arion across the face and nearly knocked him from the rowing bench.

  He caught the bench for balance and wiped the blood flowing from his lip. Barekbaal dragged him from the bench and another took his place, but only for the moments it took to regain his breath. Then Barekbaal shoved him back to his place, snarling at him.

  So that is how it is! Arion thought. Yet he dared not protest. Not only would it would be useless, it might put Marpessa in danger. Zeus, Poseidon, help me endure, he prayed. And send us a wind from the south.

  When Marpessa saw the blood on his lip that evening, she asked him about it, but he only shrugged. She handed him a rag to wipe his mouth. I can’t tell him about Hamilcar, she thought. Not that there was anything to tell. Only that Hamilcar’s easy grin had become oily and familiar. He winked at her in a way that made her shudder. His hand would swing as if accidentally and brush against her side, her hip. Had he guessed she was female? There was no suggestion, when he called her Teukros, that he knew this was a lie. She was puzzled, dismayed. He was her source of information, her ally, yet now she looked for ways to avoid him.

  Still, he gave her tidbits of knowledge, and she was able to tell Arion that evening that they were traveling through a strait the Greeks called the Hellespont.

  “The rowing will be hard, Hamilcar says.”

  “I already know that!” Arion answered ironically.

  The next day the boat rocked and swayed as it never had before. Marpessa grew queasy. The stench of the animals in the hold made it worse, as well as the smell of blood, the spill of entrails when an animal was slaughtered. Knowing that she loved the animals and had given them names, Hamilcar made her watch so that he could taunt her. Last night, grinning hugely, he’d said, “Tomorrow we kill the goat—what you call her?—Nenni. Good eating. Much meat.”

  Marpessa had turned away, refusing to be drawn. No, she would not tell Arion. Not when his lot was so much worse.

  Now Hamilcar climbed halfway down the ladder, leaned into the hold, and called, “Come up moment. Come see.”

  She dared not defy him. Staggering to keep her footing, she pulled herself up the ladder and followed him to the stern deck. The sky was gray and the ship was surrounded by waves the size of small hills. She gasped.

  He laughed. “This nothing! Wait and see.” He pointed astern. “We leave Hellespont.” Behind them the strait receded. Ahead it widened into a sea. “Now we sail—” He said a name in Phoenician, then added, “Propontis in Greek. More winds.” He gave a wicked grin. “Storm coming soon! We go out to sea to avoid wrecking. Look!” Marpessa followed his pointing finger. Along the lee shore, black rocks stuck up like jagged monster teeth. She felt sick with fear as she crawled back into the hold.

  The first blast of the storm flung Marpessa against the hull. She cried out, bruised and shaken, and crawled to her feet only to be knocked down again, her ears filled with the din of waves crashing on the hull, shouts from the men, their feet pounding on the gangway as they ran to pull down the sail, turn the ship, lash everything down. Suddenly Hamilcar’s head appeared above the ladder.

  “Come help, boy!” he shouted urgently. As she climbed halfway up the ladder, he reached down to haul her the rest of the way. He pulled her along the gangway toward the stern.

  The canvas that covered the aft deck was loose and flapping in the wind, about to blow away. “Quick!” Hamilcar yelled. “Grab! Hold!” She leapt up in the dark of the storm, gripping a rope for balance, and seized the billowing canvas. Under the canvas she saw a bunch of mysterious objects that Hamilcar fought to keep from rolling away and falling into the bilge. There were coils of rope, indistinct bulky shapes, stacks of clay tablets, and several large baskets. One of these fell over, and as Hamilcar flung his body over it to catch what spilled out, she caught a sudden glimpse of—gold! Many ingots of gold, several fortunes worth in this basket alone. Then a great wave struck the stern, drenching her. She fought to keep her footing and lost her grip on the canvas. For several moments she was busy catching it, pulling it down to secure it. When she glanced at Hamilcar, all the gold was hidden from sight. As they secured the covering, he shot her a sudden, hard glare.

  I wasn’t supposed to see that, she realized. Pray Zeus he didn’t notice me looking!

  But he didn’t seem to have. Once the canvas was secured, his mood changed abruptly. “Thank you, my boy! You very quick—very good!” He grinned at her. “And very wet! Come. I have blanket.” Before she could escape his touch, he swept her along the gangway, both of them swaying like drunks. He pulled her down the ladder.

  “Come. My boy.” His voice caressed the word. His eyes gleamed moistly. Shudders snaked down Marpessa’s spine. This was even more ominous than if he had found out she was a girl. He grabbed a blanket, wrapped it tightly about her wet shoulders. “You spend night with me, little lad. I keep you warm.” He reached for the hem of her garment. “Now take off wet clothes.”

  “No!” Marpessa managed to jerk away. “I must see my brother!” Heart pounding like a drum, she bolted for the ladder before he could move.

  When the storm struck the ship head on, Arion was nearly knocked into the bilge. He let go of his oar to grip the bench. Icy rain poured down his chest and back. At shouted orders from the helmsman, the rowers on the left side shipped their oars, and the ship swung in a great arc. They were heading out to open sea. The wind was a steady roar. It was impossible to gain a purchase with the oars in the seething waves. The helmsman bellowed again. All the men lifted their oars and pulled them inboard as far as they could.

  A wall of water washed over them. The men hunkered on their rowing benches. Several were sick. A brigade was handing bucket after bucket up from the bilges, the buckets pitifully small. Another wall of water struck. The ship lurched. The clouds were so dark Arion could not say if night had come. Soaked to the bone, he lay on the short plank, knees pulled up to his chest, muscles so stiff and aching he feared they would snap. He was surrounded on all sides by oarsmen on their own benches, probably as miserable as he. He gripped the wet, slippery wood with icy fingers. His head plunged downward with each wave and up again. His stomach heaved; he spewed sickness. We’re going under, he thought, almost past caring. I’ll die without seeing Marpessa again.

  Suddenly a warm body was squirming onto the bench next to him. His arms shot out to catch her just as a wave nearly knocked them off their perch. She gave a breathy little gasp. Quickly, before she could speak, he covered her mouth with his. The darkness was now complete. So long as they made no noise, the Phoenicians all around them would know nothing of her presence. Joy flooded him. How she had dared come here? They clung together barely moving, kissing in silence. The danger, the unseen men around them breathing in the dark, only added to their excitement. When at last the storm diminished, they drifted into sleep. And when he awoke near dawn, she was gone, leaving only the taste of her kisses.

  The first daylight showed a sullen world of gray skies and roiling, angry seas. There was no sight of land. The oarsmen brought the ship about. Without the sun it was hard to gauge direction, but Arion guessed the storm had blown them north, far from the shore, and they were now heading southeast. The Phoenicians raised a tattered sail, and as the ship limped forward, men made repairs to the loose ropes and damaged gear. When night fell and stars appeared through the clouds, Arion expected they would ship the oars and drop the sail. But instead the helmsman raised a curious instrument made up of a long beam of wood and a shorter piece. He pointed it to a bright star and appeared to take some kind of measurement. By the light of a lamp he consulted a clay tablet. Then he shouted orders. The ship changed heading.

  Arion, leaning his back against the rail, looked closely at the st
ar. It was near a constellation the Greeks called the Great Bear. It must give them a clue as to direction, he thought. That must be how they navigate at night so far from land. Unlike Greek ships. It was not just the size of their ships, but their superior knowledge, that gave the Phoenicians mastery of the seas.

  Suddenly the helmsman turned his way, and even in the dark Arion could feel the man’s hostile eyes boring into him. Raising his free hand, the helmsman jerked it in a slashing motion across his own throat. There was no mistaking the threat. When the man barked a harsh command at him, Arion went hastily back to his oar bench.

  Days later the ship sailed into a small harbor. As the oars were shipped and the anchors dropped, the Phoenicians began loading goods and clambering into the shore boats. A rest stop to replenish food and water, and perhaps also a trading stop. Arion got to his feet and stretched with an enormous sigh, flexing his cramped hands. He felt as if he had been rowing his whole life. He wanted nothing more than to set foot on solid ground. Looking around for Marpessa, he saw her head emerging from the hold.

  “Teukros!” he called joyously. “Let’s go ashore.”

  Together they approached the rear of the ship where Phoenician sailors were forming into a line as the shore boats were being lowered. But an abrupt gesture from one of the sailors stopped them. Holding a short javelin, which he shook menacingly, he shouted, and Arion understood the harsh Phoenician “No!”

  He froze. He dropped his eyes. As he fought to control himself, he could not look at Marpessa.

  She touched his arm. Her hand was trembling. “Arion, we’re prisoners,” she whispered.

  XLI

  THE STRAITS

  U

  Arion smashed the railing with his fist—two, three, four times, until Marpessa cried, “Stop! They’re watching us!”

  Two men had stayed on board to guard the ship—and keep an eye on the prisoners. He felt their flat black eyes staring at him. “By Zeus, what a fool I was to have trusted these accursed foreigners!” he whispered fiercely. But he was furious at himself. I did this, he thought. I put us at their mercy. The full force of their plight struck him like a blow in the gut. They’re going to kill us.

  The knowledge came to him with certainty. He remembered the helmsman’s threatening gesture when Arion saw him charting the ship’s course from a star. He remembered Hamilcar saying that the captain never took Greeks on board. Then the captain had changed his mind because one of his sailors was injured. They took us on because they had a use for us, Arion thought. Lucky for us, we’re still useful—but for how long? We know too much about their ship, their navigation secrets. From the beginning they never intended to let us live.

  Next to him Marpessa said with a quiver in her voice, “Arion, we must escape them.” He turned to her. I can’t let her know, he thought. She’s already afraid enough. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her that he would protect her. But at the moment he was as powerless as she.

  His fist struck the rail again, this time with determination.

  “We’ll find a way,” he said. “I’ll think of a plan.”

  He would begin right now. He would devote all his thoughts to it. He glanced covertly at the two Phoenicians left behind to watch them. If they always leave no more than guards on board, we might be able to fool them or elude them. The ship was anchored not far from a small cove surrounded by a cluster of huts. One of the shore boats had been pulled up on the beach. The other was moored to the side of the ship, in plain sight of the guards. But we can both swim, Arion thought. Next time they make port, I’ll have a plan.

  “Marpessa,” he said, “you must find out from Hamilcar when we’ll be stopping next. And if it’s a Greek settlement. Then we can—” A small, sharp indrawn breath drew his eyes to her face, and he saw a fleeting look of fear, a mere shifting of her gaze. It melted him with helpless tenderness. “What is it, my love?” he asked, barely moving his lips yet caressing her with the word.

  “Nothing, Arion. I—I will do my best.”

  Arion, you don’t know what you’re asking! Marpessa thought. But she shoved aside her memory of that terrible moment in the hold when Hamilcar had almost stripped off her tunic and taken her to his bed. At all costs Arion mustn’t find out. He would kill Hamilcar. And get himself killed. Only she could gain the information they needed from Hamilcar. And only if she kept her secret.

  She would worry about that later. Now she basked in the pure happiness of being with Arion on a nearly empty ship. Never mind the danger. They could speak freely, for the two guards understood no Greek. She savored the caress of Arion’s words, the more guarded caress of his eyes.

  As soon as the ship was underway again, Marpessa’s dread returned. During the day she avoided Hamilcar as much as possible and answered tersely when he spoke to her. Strangely he seemed unaffected by her rudeness and distance. After the storm, she had moved her bedding to a far corner of the animal pen, hoping that if Hamilcar came in the night, the sheep and goats would give warning. But surprisingly, he never came near. As before, he often sought her out to chat or assign her chores. Only now he was almost diffident, all too eager to please. He started bringing her gifts—a small jar of olive oil, a warm blanket, a half-filled wine skin. “To help you sleep better,” he said. He even stopped taunting her and forcing her to be present for the butchering of animals.

  Marpessa was puzzled. At times she could see a greedy desire lurking in his eyes, but he seemed to be holding back. Then she realized. He knows he frightened me. He’s trying to win back my trust.

  However long this lasted, it could be put to good use. She plied him with questions. “Hamilcar, where are we going? Is it far?”

  He seemed gratified by her curiosity. “We go to great sea. Greeks call Euxine. But first must go through long, narrow strait. Big current. Bigger than last one. Very difficult for rowers.”

  Marpessa felt a pang for Arion, but said brightly, “When are we stopping next? I’m so tired of sailing!”

  “Ah! Next trading stop after straits. In Euxine Sea.”

  Marpessa tried to make her voice casual. “Does it have a Greek name?”

  “Aye. Greek settlement. Heracléa Pontica.”

  Since he seemed so willing to answer questions, she asked, “How far?”

  He shrugged. “After we leave strait? Maybe five days sail.”

  When Marpessa reported all this to Arion, he smiled grimly. “Good! By the time we reach Heracléa Pontica, we’ll have an escape plan ready. One that won’t fail.”

  Or they’ll kill us, Marpessa added silently. She suppressed a shiver. “At least it’s a Greek settlement. We might eventually find a ship to Hellas.”

  “But this strait we must go through first—” He broke off with a sigh.

  Marpessa asked, “What is it?”

  He gave her a slight smile. “Nothing—just that the rowing is already very hard.”

  When they reached the strait that Hamilcar spoke of, Marpessa knew it at once. The huge ship bucked. She struggled to the deck and saw great swells striking the hull, all but stopping their progress. The ship was heading north, and a northerly wind was beating it back, a wind so strong that Marpessa could barely stand against it. Churning, hurtling, white-capped waters surrounded them, flinging salt spray in her face. The land was close on both sides. The helmsman shouted furiously, a word that sounded like “Hup! Hup! Hup!” Pull! Pull! Pull! He loosed a stream of Phoenician curses, then resumed his exhorting chant. The oarsmen were rowing with all their might, faces contorted, sweat rolling off their bodies. She ached for Arion at his hidden oar.

  With progress at a standstill, the helmsman shouted orders that sent the ship heading toward the farther shore instead of up the strait. Though the low-lying hills across the water seemed close, the rowers fought many hours to reach it. At last the ship lurched to the right. They had caught a counter-current
carrying them northward. The tired men slumped at the oars and let the water bear them forward.

  All day the ship followed a zigzag course from one side of the strait to the other to catch what eddies and counter-currents it could, for it was impossible to row directly into the surging current and the north wind.

  When evening fell, the ship pulled in close to the lee shore and dropped anchor. Marpessa hastened up to the spot where she met Arion and found him slumped over the rail. His face, resting on a limp arm, was sweaty, deathly pale. His eyes were open, but he did not seem to see her. His left hand lay in a smear of blood. She lifted it gently and saw a mass of fresh, oozing blisters torn into his callused palm. His right hand was the same. Her stomach turned over. She felt his pain flash all the way down her spine.

  She left him and ran down to the hold, where she sheared clumps of wool off one of the cleaner sheep. She collected strips of cloth, a jar of water, her vial of olive oil. Going back to Arion, she took each hand tenderly in hers, cleaned it and rubbed oil into the skin to keep it from drying. Then she made pads with the wool. She wound the cloth around them, bandaging each hand gently yet securely. Through it all, Arion lay unmoving, his eyes closed. She thought he was unconscious, but when she finished, he gave a small smile without opening his eyes and whispered, “Thank you!”

  She wiped his brow, then lifted his head to give him water. Eyes were watching her, but she didn’t have a thought to spare on whether she was being brotherly or something more. “I’ll get you some food, my love.” She fetched meat and bread from the galley. When she returned, he revived enough to open his eyes and eat.

  “What happened?” she asked.