Sometime in the late forenoon the wind started to back around to the south. They trimmed the sail, and gradually the trireme regained her mastery of the sea. They had removed enough of the shipped water for the trireme to be lighter; and while oarsmen slept, collapsed on one another, they set sail.
By afternoon, although there were still notable seas running, the captain was confident enough to put about and head back in the direction they’d come to search for their charges. The oars were run out, and two lookouts were sent aloft to scan the distant horizon in all directions.
They found one and then a pair of triremes, and then one of the penteconters. Lighter laden, the warships had generally outrun the merchantmen. It was late afternoon before they found the first of the grain carriers and then another six, all lashed together. By nightfall they had reestablished contact with the Vengeance, two penteconters, and nine triremes herding another dozen merchantmen. This meant that altogether they had found twenty-nine merchantmen, three penteconters, and fourteen of the triremes. The Vengeance signaled for ten of the triremes, including the Liberty, to stay with the merchantmen and get them to the next friendly shore for a rest and a meal, while the Vengeance and the other triremes sprinted off under oar to find the remaining merchantmen.
The triremes and penteconters with the convoy resumed their station around the reduced fleet and proceeded until they found a good harbor on Skyros. Here they replenished their water supplies and gave everyone a chance to sleep and eat. The Corinthians and perioikoi went in a crowd to the nearest village to purchase fresh fish and bread. The Spartiate marines sent one man from each ship to buy provisions for all and kept watch over their triremes.
The next morning, the Vengeance returned with six triremes and eleven merchantmen. After the men from these ships had been given a chance to eat and rest, Kyranios and Archilochos called Erxander and Leonidas to a command conference.
“Two of the merchantmen went down in the storm, but we found six more lame ducks—all have been damaged but are still afloat. They cannot keep up with the rest of the fleet, and we will have to leave them behind,” Kyranios explained bluntly. But they didn’t need a conference to explain this decision. Leonidas looked at Archilochos. The Orcelle had not yet rejoined the fleet.
“Two of the damaged ships are mine,” Archilochos answered his look. “Although the Orcelle is undamaged, Lychos is keeping station with them, ready to take the crews off.”
“Lame ducks are bait for pirates, and the islands east of here are full of them—more than ever since the revolt started,” Erxander pointed out, expressing what they were all thinking.
“Can’t we spare two triremes to stay with the crippled ships?” Leonidas asked, looking at Kyranios and then Archilochos. “Or at least the penteconters?”
“We’re still missing one trireme and two penteconters at the moment,” Kyranios reminded him.
“But we can’t just abandon six ships, seven including the Orcelle,” Erxander supported Archilochos unspoken wishes. “We’ve got to get as much grain as possible back to Corinth.”
“The most we can spare is two triremes,” Kyranios insisted.
“Then shouldn’t we reinforce the marines aboard the merchantmen?” Leonidas asked.
Kyranios raised his eyebrows at Leonidas, but the Corinthians were enthusiastic. “Yes, that would be very helpful. Indeed, it’s the only way. With two triremes we can’t count on deterring pirates, but they generally withdraw if the fighting gets too intense. The mere sight of Spartan scarlet might discourage them altogether—if there is enough of it,” Archilochos enthused.
“Sir, give me two men from each of the other triremes. I’ll distribute them among the merchantmen. We can outfit our attendants with scarlet himations, and make it look like we are double the number of Spartiates. Word will have spread that we’re with this fleet, but no one knows how many we are or on which ships.”
“All right,” Kyranios agreed. “Which two triremes?” he asked Archilochos.
Leonidas could see how much the older man was torn between the desire to stay with his son and his duty to the larger fleet. Erxander came to his aid. “I’ll take the Liberty and the Harmony.”
Archilochos nodded.
Prokles was on deck with Leonidas as they took station beside the tiny convoy of seven merchantmen. From the deck of the Orcelle, Lychos recognized the Liberty and waved at them.
“How did you ever become so friendly with that cripple?” Prokles wanted to know.
“Lychos is a first-rate sailor. Don’t underestimate him,” Leonidas answered.
“Are you really here to defend these ships?”
“Why else would I be here?”
“Look, Leo: That ship over there is all but foundering; if you slow down to its pace, we’re all sitting ducks. If you want to save the others, you’d better cast that ship adrift. Then you’d better face up to the fact that those two ships, there and there, are in almost as bad shape. If pirates attack, they’ll go for them first—but only to try to distract the triremes. The ship they’ll really be after is your friend’s ship. She’s a prize worth taking—large, new, and loaded to the gills. What’s more, even without sail set, the mast gives her away as a fleet ship. If they can, they’ll try to lure the triremes away from her and then attack.”
That made sense to Leonidas, so he called Erxander over and had Prokles repeat what he had said.
“They’d have to have three ships to do that,” the Corinthian pointed out. “Still, it is a good point. We should order the Harmony to stay with the Orcelle regardless of what happens, while we retain freedom of maneuver. As for the slowest ship, we’re not going to abandon it until we have cause. But we should tell the crew to be prepared to transfer to the nearest ship at the first sign of trouble.”
“We should get the marines off her at once. If we know we’re not going to defend her, then they should be stationed aboard ships we intend to defend—the other two slow ships, for example,” Leonidas suggested.
“Good. But in a fight only the Orcelle has a chance of escaping; the others will have to fight. The best way to do that is if they form a single float. That way they help keep one another afloat, and marines can work together reinforcing whichever ship is attacked.”
Leonidas glanced at Prokles. He shrugged. “That means you could lose them all.”
“All or none,” Erxander agreed. “Which is why it would be best if you transferred all marines to the merchantmen. I will be fighting both triremes as ramming vessels. I have no interest in boarding a pirate ship to take control of it, and unless I am trapped by several vessels at once I won’t let another vessel close enough to board the Liberty, either. I need to retain my mobility; and marines, frankly, will just get in my way and add weight. It is the merchantmen who, if we are outnumbered, will be fighting hand to hand. They can’t outrun anything and aren’t maneuverable.”
Although what Erxander said made sense, Leonidas hesitated to move all of his sixty Spartiates aboard the merchantmen, because the Council of Elders had specifically decided against this. Kyranios, too, had ordered that all Spartiates remain aboard the triremes. Was he being naive to take the Corinthian vice admiral’s advice?
“What the triremes could use is archers. Are any of your men good with the bow?”
Leonidas nodded. “Our attendants fight as our auxiliaries and are well trained in both bow and javelin. I’ll leave the twenty best archers with you, ten per trireme. That will put one hundred Lacedaemonians aboard the merchantmen. With the Corinthian marines already on board, we’ll have close to two hundred men to defend the float.”
“Agreed. If attacked, we abandon the lame duck and form a float made up of the others—except for the Orcelle. She must abandon the convoy and run for it.”
Leaving the eldest of the attendants in command of the ten helots remaining aboard the Liberty, Leonidas redeployed his men as soon as the conference of captains was over. Leonidas himself went aboard the Golden Dawn, one
of the two ships that had been partially dismasted in the storm. He kept Prokles and the salpinx player with him, so that he could give orders across greater distances.
The Golden Dawn was, except for the broken mast, in good condition. There were five Corinthian marines already on board, and the Spartiates were housed with them aft, in a low but dry and well-ventilated ’tweendeck space on which they could roll out their bedding and stow their panoply. The wind had died down, and the sea was settling.
Leonidas was woken by a boy violently shaking his shoulder. “Spartan! Spartan! Come quick!”
Leonidas rolled out of the bunk and crawled out of the ’tweendeck space to follow the boy up the ladder to the afterdeck. It was the middle of the night and the moon had set. On deck the air was fresh, and the sound of the escort’s oars dipping and rising off their port quarter was like a whisper. Both the master and the chief mate were on deck, their attention focused to windward and away from the shore, where Leonidas had been told to expect the pirates.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Shhh! Sound carries better across water! Look!” They pointed to the west, across their starboard bows. Leonidas concentrated, and after a bit he decided that there might be a string of objects out there.
“What is it?” he asked again softly.
“It’s a squadron of triremes—but we can’t be sure whose—and we don’t know if they’ve sighted us yet, either.”
Leonidas looked across the convoy of cripples. Both Corinthian triremes were keeping station to eastward, because they had expected the danger to come from that direction. Maybe it still would. Who was to say these weren’t Ionian rebels or neutral ships heading north for some legitimate reason? But he didn’t like it. There were too many of them. All warships, from what he could see. He went back to the ’tweendeck “cabin” and woke Prokles. “Come on deck.”
Prokles didn’t ask questions. He came on deck. The Corinthians again pointed out the fleet. Prokles glanced at the stump of the mast left by the storm and then back at the fleet moving north. After a moment he he grabbed the secured but useless halyards and scrambled as high as he dared go. Given the and loose tackle, that was risky enough. He hung precariously in the rigging, one foot hooked around the lines, and focused his attention on the distant ships. When he returned to deck he announced, “Phoenicians. You can tell by the formation.”
“Signal the Liberty and call all hands,” Leonidas ordered, and went below deck to wake the other marines.
They took their panoply on deck and, lacking attendants, helped one another into it. Meanwhile, a signal flashed to the Liberty from a lantern shielded on three sides. It took longer than Leonidas liked to get her attention, but eventually the Liberty spun about and raced around the tail of the crippled convoy to surge up on the westward side of the Golden Dawn. By now, however, four of the Phoenician triremes had swung about and were making straight toward them. There was no need for silence anymore. The salpinx howled “alarm,” and the captain of the Golden Dawn shouted across the water as the Liberty came alongside: “Phoenicians to windward! Phoenician triremes!”
They could see Erxander run to the far side of the deck and heard him start to shout orders furiously. All across the little convoy, they were calling “all hands” and the marines on all the ships were stumbling onto their respective decks, responding to the Spartan salpinx. Meanwhile, the Harmony pivoted sharply in place and shot through the convoy in a masterful display of seamanship. She fell in on the Liberty’s flank as the flagship swung her bows toward the Persian ships and surged forward with impressive determination.
The Corinthians were boiling through the water, leaving clean wakes in the starlight. All three banks of oars were working in unison with the precision of a Spartan phalanx. Not one oar was out of alignment or missed the timing by so much as a heartbeat. The oars swept forward and then dipped down into the water with an audible hiss. The two Corinthian triremes had set a course to intercept the Phoenicians and cut them off from the merchantmen—and they were rapidly closing the distance.
Leonidas wanted to watch the encounter. He longed to see these ships go into action, but he had to drag his eyes away and concentrate on his own task. The other merchant ships were closing on the Golden Dawn, while her own crew was handing sail and preparing to throw grapples to the others. Meanwhile, the foundering ship was abandoned altogether. Contrary to orders, the Orcelle bore down on them, too, only to swing into the wind, her sail slack, as she came within hailing distance. “What are your orders?” Lychos shouted across the water.
“Flee!” Leonidas answered.
Leonidas could see Lychos turn to look over their flank, and he followed the gaze. The Phoenicians were shifting course, trying to slip past the Corinthian triremes, but Erxander adjusted for each movement perfectly. If the Persians turned to starboard they were headed away from the quarry, and if the turned to port they exposed their more vulnerable broadsides to the vicious rams of the Corinthian triremes. The sound of distant shouting and a faint clatter reached them. “Persian arrows,” Prokles murmured into Leonidas’ ear.
Lychos was calling, “I’ll send my marines over!”
“No! You may need them! Set sail and flee!”
Leonidas could see how reluctant Lychos was, but he didn’t have any more time for him. To starboard the first of the other ships had had been made fast, and another was nestling her prow between the two sterns and making fast in this position, with the fourth ship beside her. Further away, with a resounding, deep-timbered thud followed by a wrenching and whining as if the wood itself were alive and screaming in pain, the Liberty smashed into one of the Phoenician triremes. Moments later the Harmony struck a second. Yet already the Liberty had extricated herself from the damaged Phoenician, pivoted, and turned her dangerous ram on a third Phoenician. The latter, however, took flight. Liberty gave chase. The fourth Phoenician was making straight for the float of merchantmen at a terrifying speed.
Leonidas called for his marines to line up along the exposed side of the ship nearest the Phoenicians, but Prokles grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back. “Draw your line of defense here!” He indicated the Golden Dawn. “Now that we’re lashed together, the other ship’s not going down regardless. She’s low in the water anyway. Whatever damage the ram does, you can repair it just by dumping some of the cargo. Fight here, and you increase the range for the Persian archers and make the Persian marines come to you! They’ll either have to stop their archers or be killed by them!”
Leonidas had no time to argue. He changed his own orders and deployed his marines, Spartan and Corinthian together, along the side of the Golden Dawn, with the sailors behind them.
The Harmony was completely entangled with the Phoenician ship she had attacked; both ships appeared to be drifting, slowly spinning around like lovers locked together, while hand-to-hand combat flowed and ebbed across both decks. The Liberty was still chasing the third Phoenician, preventing it from engaging; while the first of the Phoenician ships, down by the bows and listing to starboard, was advancing at a slow but steady pace toward the float of merchantmen.
The fourth Phoenician smashed into the outer ship of the float with the distinctive thump, squeal, and crunch that Leonidas had heard for the first time only a few minutes earlier. This time it was much louder, and the impact sent all the men on the deck of the Golden Dawn crashing to their knees or backsides.
Barrages of arrows fell onto the deck ahead of them, but only occasionally did one fall among them. Then the first of the Persian soldiers scaled up over the side of the far deck, expecting immediate resistance, and hesitated at the sight of the empty deck. For a moment the Persians seemed to think the ship had been abandoned. Possibly they did not realize, given the darkness, that there were five ships lashed together in a giant float. In triumph, one of the leaders raised his arms over his head and shouted. From behind Leonidas one of the Corinthian marines released a single, well-aimed arrow. It went straight into the man�
�s heart, and he crumpled onto the deck.
His dramatic death alerted his comrades, and they saw the line of marines defending the next ship in the float. They howled and rushed forward. Their approach took Leonidas by surprise. He had never fought Persians before, and he had no idea from which of the many nations that made up the vast Persian Empire these particular men came. They were not any of the subject Greeks, nor were they Egyptians; but they might be Medes or Babylonians, Lydians or Phrygians, or peoples from the eastern edges of the Empire whose race and country he had never heard of.
What struck him was that they rushed forward as individuals rather than forming into a unit. They were shouting rather than silent, but the Argives had been vocal, and the Corinthians all around him were whipping up their courage with shouted insults and taunts. The clothing of the attacking men was, however, incomprehensible. They had covered their legs in cloth—which made no sense to Leonidas, since cloth provided no protection, but could get in one’s way, or soak with sea water, sweat, or blood to weigh one down. The tunics they wore over their trousers were long-sleeved, and on their heads was a strange, close-fitting cloth hood. Except for their shields—odd-shaped and apparently lightweight—they had no protection for their vital body organs. Since their clothing was light, they advanced rapidly; but without any protection, they fell beneath the Greek spears like fish in a barrel.
In just minutes, a heap of corpses was piled so high on the deck of the other ship that the men coming after had to climb over the bodies of their comrades to reach the unbroken line of hoplites. Meanwhile, the archers had left the deck of the Phoenician trireme and started advancing, firing volley after volley almost on the level. The arrows generally stuck in the massive aspis, but here and there came clear through. Leonidas felt the prick of an arrowhead and the sticky flow of his own blood from the back of his left forearm. To his left, one of his men went down with a horrible involuntary cry when an arrow found its way into his eye. It was madness to just stand here and take this. Leonidas ordered the advance.
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