I kept my eye on the Persians – though there probably wasn’t
a Persian among them, except for a dozen noble archers on
twenty or so of their command ships. Somewhere was Datis
himself. He’d have a deck ful of them. But the rest of their fleet’s
people were vassals and slaves – and Cilician pirates, of course.
Men just like us.
As I watched, there was a flash and a ripple al along the
front of the Persians as their oars came out. It wasn’t neat, or
wel driled, but the mass of their great half moon began to move.
It was a terrifying sight, truth to tel – they outnumbered us so
badly, and their line filed your eye, almost horizon to horizon.
They must have taken up fifty stades of ocean – more than five
hundred ships. Until then, no one had ever seen such a fleet.
I refused to be terrified. Today was the day Apolo would
smile on the Greeks, the day I would win Briseis, fulfil my destiny
and go to glory. I had half a notion that I might die in the victory
– it would suit al I had heard of fates that I die achieving my
ambition, and my curse to Briseis.
Death held little fear for me.
I was stil young then.
Heads up, sailors!’ I caled from the bow. ‘Attention to orders!’
Miltiades was turning out of the line, and he had a square torn
from his big red awning flapping at his stern.
‘Hoist the boatsail,’ I caled, and Black echoed it in his
‘Hoist the boatsail,’ I caled, and Black echoed it in his
curious singsong accent.
We turned with the steering oars, the rowing oars held clear
of the water but ready to engage – al to save the rowers’
strength. I looked back along our line, and I saw them come
from line abreast pointed north to line ahead pointed east in fine
style – one of the very manoeuvres that Dionysius had made us
practise, in fact. Nearchos folowed us, and eight of the Chians
came out of their line and folowed us – Neoptolemus and his
contingent, I later learned. That made me grin – twenty-five ships
were shorter odds, and now the Phoenicians couldn’t just ignore
us or we’d wreck them. I wondered what the Samians were
doing to avoid envelopment at their end of the line, but fifty
stades is a long way to see on a hazy morning.
We sailed due east with a strengthening breeze at our backs,
and the water tore down our huls, and we sang hymns and
drinking songs. Miltiades sent an oarsman over the side, and he
caled out to each ship as it passed, ordering us to prepare to
turn to port and form line ahead facing north when the red square
flew again. I understood wel enough, and I expect that al the
other captains did, too – again, Dionysius’s training paid off.
Opposite us, the Phoenicians and the Aegyptians didn’t react
to our manoeuvre, but carried straight forward under oars. The
Aegyptians were in a mix of heavy ships and pentekonters, light
ships that we Greeks would no longer put in the line of battle.
We got three stades to the east before they reacted, and by
that time Miltiades’ Ajax was even with the eastmost ships in the
Phoenician division, so that we were actualy threatening to
Phoenician division, so that we were actualy threatening to
outflank their fleet. For those of you who have never fought ship
to ship, and I think that’s every one of you, a rowing ship is most
vulnerable to a ram in the flank, or the long side of the ship,
where the bronze beak can rol you over or split the planks of
your side and leave you to swim in the deep dark sea. Or sink in
your armour and feed the fish.
We watched them with the avidity of men watching a sporting
event. Late – very late – the tip of their crescent began to turn
east to face us, but they were rowing and we were sailing, and
although they were able to keep pace, their squadron began to
string out over the sea, losing al hope of formation. We were
strung out too, but the wind moves at the same speed for al, I
suppose, and we stil held our line. And they were rowing flat out
to race against us.
Miltiades was the best fighting sailor I served under. Later,
every man would praise Themistocles. He was a rabble-rouser
and a politician, and he made Athens the greatest sea power in
history, but Miltiades – like Dionysius of Phocaea – was a pirate
and a seaman.
We raced two more stades to windward, and the breeze
continued to grow behind us – the hand of the gods, we said to
each other. Miltiades began to wave, and I sent a runner to
signal Stephanos, astern of me. We were about to turn.
Miltiades stood on the helmsman’s bench of Ajax, the red
square bundled under one arm, his other arm hooked in the bent
wood of the trireme’s stern, watching the ships behind me. On
mine, Black had the bow ful of sailors standing about the
boatsail mast, and Mal had the oars out and peaked, ready to
stroke. Galas had a grin from ear to ear, the oars steady under
his arms, ready to turn.
‘Prepare for a hard turn to port,’ I roared. ‘On my
command!’
By the gods, I thought, this is going to be glorious, win or
lose. I had seldom gone so fast in a trireme – the wind directly
astern had such power. I wondered if we could carry any of it
through the turn.
I also noted that Miltiades was stiffening his ship by sending
his marines and extra deck crew to the windward side, and I
folowed suit. Anything to get that railing down as we turned – or
rather, anything to keep the leeward rail out of the water. I’d
never heard of a trireme roling over in a turn, but I didn’t want
to be the first one to do it, either.
Heartbeats – my heart thudding against my chest, as if it
would pulse right through the new Persian armour I wore. The
hushed expectancy – the sound of the wind, and a gul
screaming.
Miltiades let fly the red cloth, and I raised my fist.
‘Hard to port,’ I caled.
Galas caled his orders, and long training and good discipline
told. Every port oar dipped together, and touched water – held.
The starboard oars gave way. The ship heeled like a chariot on a
turn – over, over farther – until my heart was in my throat and
every man on deck had to hold the rail, and the port-side rowers
every man on deck had to hold the rail, and the port-side rowers
had their oars so deep in the water they couldn’t withdraw them.
Somewhere amidships there was a scream as an oar broke and
a man took the shaft in his guts.
And then we were around, and the sun was shining, and our
ram was pointed at the Phoenicians, and we were racing like a
spear thrown by Poseidon for the flank of the enemy line.
Miltiades was around in style, and Stephanos was at my side like
an eager dog – our line filed out even as I watched. The Cretans
were no slower, and the Chians trailed away in some confusion,
but that only served to make our line look longer.
&nbs
p; As soon as the Phoenicians saw us turn, they began to turn to
meet us, but they were fifty or so individual ships, not a
squadron. And their rowers were tired.
The wind was so strong that it was pushing us even with our
turn, even with our sails down. I began to eye the beach and the
rocks at the foot of the bay – the east end – with a professional
eye.
Then I ran amidships to the command platform.
‘Diekplous,’ I caled to the helmsman. ‘Oar-rake and right
through. Then turn upwind – west.’ Miltiades and I were facing
four or five of the fastest Phoenician vessels, but they were the
very eastmost. And if we oar-raked them, there was no point in
lingering – they’d never come back to the battle. Right?
Understand, lad? Because if we broke their oars, they couldn’t
row, and Poseidon would take them to the bottom of the bay
and wreck them. Got it, my blushing beauty? I’l make a navarch
of you yet, my dear.
of you yet, my dear.
Galas tapped his oars – a little to the west, and a little more,
to compensate for that wind. Our rowers were puling perfectly.
My ship was half a length ahead of Miltiades when we engaged
the first Phoenician. I can’t be certain, but I think we were the
first to engage that day.
Galas overcompensated for the wind, and we crossed the
bow of our target fifty feet out – a deadly error had we been
moving at the same speed, but we weren’t. We were faster, and
he leaned hard, having learned his lesson, and Mal caled for
extra effort from the port-side oars, and we heeled over again
and slammed home into the Phoenician’s cathead, shattering his
row-galery with the reinforced beam at the top of our ram. The
whole starboard side of his ship seemed to explode as our beak
ripped down the benches, and his seams opened and he was
gone under the waves. That’s what speed does for you in a fight.
‘West!’ I roared, elated. It was the cleanest sea kil I’d ever
seen. Apolo was at my side and the liberation of Greece was at
hand.
Miltiades’ men were cheering as they rammed the second
Phoenician and went straight at the third, roling him over, two
kils in the time it takes to tel the story. Stephanos’s helmsman
made the same error as Galas, overcompensating for the wind,
and he missed his diekplous and swept past, but as luck would
have it his bow caught the enemy ship’s oars at the end of a
sweep and broke them, kiling as many oarsmen as our more
spectacular strike.
Some ships missed their attacks altogether, and after our
Some ships missed their attacks altogether, and after our
initial success, the Phoenicians ralied and struck back, but their
rowers were tired and the only ship they kiled was one of
Nearchos’s, rammed amidships with its beak stuck in its prey, as
can happen when a ship strikes too hard.
At least ten of their ships died in that first strike. We had lost
our god-sent speed now, but I had led the turn west, and other
ships had falen in with me. Miltiades was behind me, gathering
up our stragglers, and the Chians were just engaging to the south
– that is, on my left.
The bulk of the Phoenician squadron was ahead of me, and
they were in confusion, because they couldn’t choose whether to
turn south and face the Chians or east and face me.
I was back in the bow, looking for their navarch. Somewhere
in that huddle of ships was the command ship, and there lay the
most glory, the most fame and a chance to kil the head of the
Hydra.
But I couldn’t make him out in the time I had. The ships
closest to us had chosen to fight us as the most immediate threat,
and we obliged, hurtling towards a wel-manned ship at ful
speed. He had good rowers, and the colision threw me flat to
the deck. We must have struck bow to bow, but his bow gave
way – Tenedos worm, or dry rot – and his ship settled like a
rock, even as his marines came over our bow like hungry
wolves, and died, spitted on the massed spears of our marines.
I turned to Black, who stood behind my shield as if he was
my hypaspist. Arrows had started to fly, and he was a target as
my hypaspist. Arrows had started to fly, and he was a target as
much as me.
‘If every Greek kils two Persians, we’l win,’ I said happily.
He shrugged. ‘The biggest fight I ever saw,’ he said. He
rubbed his jaw. ‘But I’ve seen a few, sir. This luck can’t last.’
Nor could it. By then, we were like an arrow in the guts of an
animal. We’d wounded the Phoenicians, but we hadn’t kiled
them. My ship was scarcely moving and now my rowers were
tiring. The first flush was over and there was still a sea of
Phoenicians to fight.
‘Boys need a rest, lord!’ Mal shouted in my ear.
I caught Idomeneus’s eye. ‘We board,’ I said. I ran back
along the catwalk. ‘Wel rowed,’ I caled down into the thranites
as I went past overhead. ‘Rest in two minutes!’ Down in the
lower decks, they have little idea what is passing overhead –
victory, defeat, death – hard to tel when al you see is the arse of
the man above you and the length of his oar.
I got to the helmsman’s station with a shower of arrows from
a long ship ahead. I caught one on my shield.
‘Lay me alongside that bastard,’ I said. ‘We’l board him and
give our boys a rest.’
In fact, I was aiming at the northernmost ship in the
Phoenician squadron – a ship at the ‘back’ of their now utterly
confused pack. I hoped that by coming up the north side of this
vessel, I’d get a few minutes’ respite from the arrows of the rest.
He was having none of it, and he manoeuvred, and we
manoeuvred, like two cats fighting in the dust – and we swept
past each other at close range. There was a tal man in a Greek
past each other at close range. There was a tal man in a Greek
helm on the deck, and Idomeneus shot him in the throat – a
wonderful shot, and he fel straight over the side.
Then we were past, and there was another Phoenician close
behind – a heavy ship like ours.
He was apparently taken by surprise that we were so close,
and our ram struck just aft of his bow, but he had his oars in and
our momentum was too little and the angle too steep for a kil.
That was fine with me, and my rowers. We coasted down his
side with a keening screech.
‘Marines!’ I caled. ‘Deck crew!’
Black had an axe in each hand – long-handled axes of the
kind that horsemen carry. Axemen die like lambs in a sea-fight –
no shield, no defence. I feared for him and my investment, but I
needn’t have worried.
As we slowed, I stepped up on the rail and took an arrow on
my shield. I didn’t wait for our grapples to go home. I leaped.
I had done this twenty times, yet I missed my footing and fel
over the top bench. An enemy oarsmen kicked me, but his kick
hit a l
ot of armour and I was getting up when the enemy marines
came for me. I should have died, but an axe – a ful-weight axe –
flew right through the hide face of the first marine’s shield and
into his arm. Blood blew out through the shield, and I resolved
on the spot never to go to war with the Libyans. Before then I
had never seen a man throw an axe.
Black threw his second axe into the next man, and it hit pol
first – not with the blade – but the pol hit the man in the temple
and down he went.
and down he went.
Then I was up, and kiling. I only remember Black and his
axes – the rest is a blur – and then I was on their command deck
with Idomeneus under my shield, shooting their officers at the
distance a man could spit while I covered him and kiled anyone
who came for me. There were two Persian noblemen, and some
Mede guards, and a noble Phoenician in scale armour from head
to knee. He had a beard as long as his scale shirt, and
Idomeneus shot him in his unarmoured face while the remnants of
his marines tried to cover him – ineptly – with their shields.
The rowers were al Phoenicians, and they fought, as if to
disprove everything I said earlier, but that was the navarch’s
ship, honey, and he had the best of everything, and Apolo had
given him to my spear. So my own rowers had to arm and come
over the rail. It was ugly and went on far too long. If I had to
guess, I’d say that the only enemy rowers who lived through the
slaughter were those who leaped the rail and swam. Maybe six,
out of two hundred men.
That’s the hard way to take a ship. And when the rowers
fight – Poseidon, that’s ugly. I have no idea how long it took, but
it didn’t get my rowers the rest I had intended against a nice
effeminate enemy.
At Lade, there were no easy enemies.
There was cheering from the west. The haze over there was
burning off, but not enough to give me a clue what was
happening.
I went back aboard the Storm Cutter and found Galas in the
I went back aboard the Storm Cutter and found Galas in the
bow with a handful of oarsmen. Water was coming in just
forward of the first rowing bench. It wasn’t coming fast, but it
was coming in al along the seams.
To the north, a smaler Phoenician was angling out of their
mob, looking for a fight. Our ‘rest’ was over. He spotted us and
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