started towards us from about a stade away.
I looked back at the leak. It was a hard moment for me, in a
day that was ful of them.
‘He’s finished,’ I said.
Storm Cutter’s bow must have been damaged when he
crushed the lighter Phoenician. My first ship. He was sinking
under my feet. On a calm day, I’d have run him up a beach and
saved him, rebuilt the bow, retimbered him – anything to save
him. But in the middle of the greatest naval battle we’d ever
seen, I had only one choice.
‘Into the Phoenician,’ I said.
By then, we’d wiped out their rowers, and men were hanging
listlessly by the benches, but Galas and Mal and Black got the
sailors and the oarsmen to their places – bodies flung over the
side, oars coming out through the ports.
We were too slow. The lighter Phoenician was coming at us
from the north, already up to ramming speed and turning to get
the best possible angle. But he was lining up on an abandoned,
sinking ship. He had no way of knowing that we were al in his
own command ship, or that it was already taken and the bodies
gone.
It stank of blood and shit, but we had some life in us yet. We
It stank of blood and shit, but we had some life in us yet. We
poled off with anything we could get our hands on – broken
oars, spears, boat-pikes. Our first five strokes were so ragged
that I was ready to despair, and Mal cracked his voice
screaming, but the new ship was a spear-length longer, and half
our oarsmen were in unfamiliar benches, a few on the wrong side
altogether.
We had just enough way on us to row clear of the
abandoned Storm Cutter. He served us one more time, taking
one more victim with him into the deep. Wounded as he was, the
Phoenician was over-eager and rammed home amidships at ful
speed. His ram cracked timbers and the water poured in, and
Storm Cutter quickly filed and sank – stil stuck to the
Phoenician’s ram. His rowers backed water like heroes, seeking
to withdraw their ram, but their bow went down and down, as if
Poseidon’s mighty hand had them by the bronze.
They might yet have made it, but Nearchos of Crete shot
from under our stern and huled them neatly amidships while they
were utterly defenceless, and they were dead men.
The cheering from the west was louder now.
We could feel it. The Phoenicians – their best – were shying
off. Their navarch was dead, and no one was giving them orders,
and the northernmost ships turned for the beach and ran.
We lay on our oars and panted, and some men laughed, and
others wept. We had been close to death. I could feel the scythe
on my cheek.
Behind us, while we did nothing, the handful of Chians under
Neoptolemus harried the last Phoenicians to withdraw, and we
Neoptolemus harried the last Phoenicians to withdraw, and we
had eighteen ships when Miltiades came past us and ordered us
to form on his right. Ajax had a scar on her port-side timbers
where a Phoenician ram had only just failed to get a kil, but
otherwise he stil looked like the mightiest ship on the Bay of
Lade.
Just south of me, a pair of Chians carried the last Phoenician
ship in our part of the battle, by boarding.
None of us, to be honest, could believe it. I suppose we
expected that we’d get stuck in and the Lesbians would have to
come and rescue us after they broke the Aegyptians, but we’d
done it ourselves.
Miltiades harried us into line. The Phoenicians were re-
forming on the Mycale shore in front of their camp. Forty ships
or more – against eighteen – and we’d routed them.
I drank off a canteen of water and passed around another of
wine.
As it came back to me, Black made a noise of disgust. He
was looking over the sea to the west. He spat in the sea, drank
from the wine and handed the canteen to Idomeneus.
‘We’re fucked,’ he said.
I turned around. I can remember that moment as if it was
today, this morning’s breakfast beer. Until I turned, I was a hero
in a victorious fleet, and we had just broken Persia’s sea power,
and I was going to be a prince in Boeotia with Briseis at my side.
The rising sun had finaly burned of the haze.
We were alone.
Strictly speaking, we weren’t alone, and I’l leap ahead and tel
what happened, because from my deck it was hideously
confusing. Just accept my word, children – we spent the rest of
the day in an exhausted rage of fear and betrayal and confusion.
The Samians had changed sides.
Not al of them, of course. Some remained loyal to the
rebelion, and more fled the treachery, although some men would
say they were the worst cowards of al, taking no side. Of a
hundred ships, eleven stayed with us and fought to the end.
Those eleven tried to fight a hundred Phoenicians and every man
aboard died trying, and the men of Samos stil have a stele to
them and their captains in the agora of their city.
But Aeaces, the former tyrant of Samos, had bought the
aristocrats among them, and Dionysius of Samos (not to be
confused with our mad navarch, Dionysius of Phocaea) changed
sides, the bastard.
The treachery of the Samians left the Lesbians to the fates.
Epaphroditos chose to die, and he led his own men – the men of
Methymna and Eresus – into the enemy, and they took many of
the Cilicians down with them. But the Mytilenians chose another
path, hoisted their sails and ran for it – twenty ships that we
needed desperately.
In the centre, the Chians saw they were being deserted and
did the noblest thing of al. They stayed together and resolved to
cut their way out. They had no idea we had won on the right –
who would have expected it of us? – so they hurled themselves
who would have expected it of us? – so they hurled themselves
against the mass of levies and mercenaries in the centre. That
was the chaos that greeted us when the haze finaly burned off,
so that we couldn’t see any of our ships at first because we
didn’t think to look for them behind the line of Aegyptians facing
us.
Now, I also have to add that up to this point Datis, the
Persian commander, thought that his own left – the Phoenicians
we’d beaten – had been enveloped by a larger force. Friends
like Cyrus told me later that that’s what Datis had been told by
the beaten remnants, because beaten men count every foe two
or three times. So despite the defection of the Samians and the
destruction of the Lesbians, Datis thought that the battle was stil
in the balance. He was holding back his reserve of Aegyptian
triremes, waiting to see the rest of our fleet.
That’s battle, on a giant scale. When hundreds of ships face
each other, no one man can command them, or even guess what
occurs. Datis won the Battle of Lade in the first hour, but the
haze and the defeat of the ea
stern Phoenician squadrons made
him cautious. Otherwise, he could have closed the gap and
trapped us al in the sack. Miltiades would have died there, and
Aristides, and Aeschylus. And many other good men.
As it is, I wil cry when I tel who died. Just wait.
We rowed south, avoiding contact with the Aegyptian squadron.
They had smaler ships than ours, and as I say, we could see no
reason for their caution – al we could see was disaster.
We formed a circle, with our sterns together – a favourite
We formed a circle, with our sterns together – a favourite
ploy of the Athenians, like a phalanx formed in a box against
cavalry. In this case, Miltiades did it so that we might shout from
stern to stern.
Aristides spoke first. ‘We must attack into their centre,’ he
said. ‘The Milesians are stil fighting, and many of the Chians.’
Paramanos shouted over him. ‘Foolish bravery, my lord. Our
few ships can’t save one of them.’
‘We can die with them,’ Aristides retorted.
To be honest, that was my plan, as wel. A defeat this great –
the destruction of the whole fleet of the Greeks – would be the
end of Greek independence. For ever. You who live now, you
cannot imagine a time when Athens had fifteen ships on her best
day, and eight of them were ours. Sparta had none.
Of course, I cared nothing for the East Greeks – except my
friends. But the rebelion was al I had known, and the men of
that rebelion were the friends of my youth, and besides – first
and foremost – I knew that in that hour Briseis was lost to me.
I think I moaned aloud. No one heard me but the gods.
Nearchos shook his head. ‘These are not my ships to
squander, but those of Lord Achiles my father,’ he said, with
more maturity than I had. ‘I wil accept the dishonour – but I wil
withdraw. On my head be it.’
Miltiades balanced on the curving stern boards of his ship. He
held up his hand for silence. ‘Nearchos has the right of it,’ he
said. ‘It is our duty, for the sake of al the Helenes, to save what
we can and live to fight again.’
Aristides cursed – something I had never heard him do.
Aristides cursed – something I had never heard him do.
‘Fight again?’ he said. ‘With what?’
‘Our wits, our ships and our swords,’ Miltiades said.
In that hour, he rose to greatness. From that moment, he was
no longer Miltiades, tyrant of the Chersonese. From that
moment, he made himself the leader of the resistance, although
many years would pass before men knew it.
‘We must save as many of the Milesians and Chians as we
can,’ he said. ‘Nearchos, go with honour. We were victorious.
Tel your men – tel your sons. Had al men fought like you, we
would have had the victory.’ Then he turned to me. ‘Arimnestos
– we need to cut a hole in the net around the Chians.’
I had nothing left to give, but his words were like a summons
and I stood straighter by the rail of my ship. ‘Yes, lord,’ I said.
‘I think the Persians have ordered their captains to let any
fleeing ship run,’ he said. ‘So we wil “flee” to the centre, turn
north and attack the Aegyptians.’ He pointed at me. ‘You lead –
you have the heaviest ship. When you see my signal, turn north –
just as we did this morning – line ahead to line abreast. Don’t die
like heroes. Gut a ship or two and make a hole. And then run.
Al I ask of every one of you is that you kil one more ship.’
Nearchos was weeping. ‘I can’t leave,’ he said. ‘I’l fight until
you run.’
Miltiades smiled, the way he always did when he got the best
of a deal. ‘You must do as is best for you, son of Achiles,’ he
said.
Our rowers had rested for long enough for muscles to stiffen,
but we had al swalowed cheese and garlic sausage, and we
but we had al swalowed cheese and garlic sausage, and we
crept west under oars into the teeth of that west wind that had
blown us to victory in the morning.
The Chians were oar to oar and bow to bow with the
Aegyptians across the centre, and the Milesians were just a few
stades from us, but deeper in, farther north, and now the
Phoenicians we’d beaten had come off the beach – not to face
us, but to finish the poor Milesians.
Our rowing was poorer than dirt, and I had no heart to curse
my rowers. They had given their best, and for nothing.
But Poseidon took pity on us poor Greeks, or else that day’s
curses were al used up. In as much time as it takes a fast man to
run the stade, the wind changed – right around. West to east.
And a warm, damp wind hit us like the open hand of a
beneficent god. In heartbeats we had our boatsails up on deck.
Black took longer, and Miltiades passed us, and so did
Aristides. They mocked us.
We were in a strange ship, and everything was stowed by
strangers. As it happened, I thought it was a miracle that Black
got the boatsail up at al. Then we were racing away west.
Behind us, a rain squal appeared at the bottom of the bay and
hit the Phoenicians. It was as if the gods were seeking to do al in
their power to remedy the perfidious foolery of men.
I’l be honest – it had none of the breakneck enthusiasm of
morning. We were tired to our sinews and we were no longer
fighting for greatness. But like wild dogs, we were stil
dangerous.
dangerous.
And, lest I make the Aegyptians sound like an enemy to be
trifled with, many men fight badly, late in a victory. I’ve done it
myself. Why risk yourself when the day is won, eh? The
Aegyptians were shocked when we turned on them, and timid.
And why not? They were vassals of Persia, not friends, and their
side was already victorious.
Had we known the future – had we been able to see the dark
days at Artemisium and Thermopyle, when the Chians and the
Lesbians stood against us, vassals of Persia, in those same ships
– we would have left them to die. But who could calculate such a
thing? Or abandon a friend?
And of course, they repaid us in their turn – on the beaches
of Mycale. But that story is for another night, eh?
Where was I? Ahh – so we turned on the Aegyptians,
eighteen ships, and our ships were bigger and our crews more
dangerous, even so late in a long fight. They kept formation and
many backed water, and we swept on, ignoring the timid,
determined to relieve the Chians.
Miltiades was first to sink a ship – a smal trireme that sank
under his forefoot, caught in a bad turn. Herakleides the Aeolian
was, by then, a master helmsman.
Paramanos quickly got the ship that tried to rescue that one,
and then we were in among them like barracuda among baitfish.
Nearchos was the first to die. He was lost when the rain
squal hit us, and he didn’t see the Cilician who caught him aft
with his ram. I hope he died quickly. His ship sank, and we saw
wi
th his ram. I hope he died quickly. His ship sank, and we saw
it al.
Neoptolemus died driving his ship deeper and deeper into the
Aegyptians, trying to save his uncle – who was already dead,
mighty old Pelagius who would never again hold games on the
beaches of Chios. He died with an arrow in his eye.
Another arrow kiled Herakleides at the helm of Miltiades’
Ajax, too. Miltiades took the helm himself. He kiled men the
way a man with a scythe reaps the ripe barley, but when his
marines were al wounded, he chose to live, turned out of the
maelstrom and ran. I saw him go and knew that it was time for
me to go, too. Idomeneus was in the bow, kiling with his bow,
and the Aegyptians were hanging back, pelting us with javelins
and looking for easier prey while we tried to break their oars,
and in the distance, perhaps a stade away, I could see the
Chians and the Milesians fighting their way to us – to the hope of
rescue.
Two Aegyptians, bolder than the rest, came at me, and they
knew their business. I was too cocky, and I thrust between
them, looking for the double oar-rake, but they folded their
wings like diving birds and they grappled us as we passed
between after a shower of javelins that al but cleared my deck
of sailors. They had marines – Aegyptian marines are first-rate
troops, as good as our Greeks, man for man, with heavy linen
armour, twenty or thirty layers of it quilted up, because linen is
cheap in Aegypt. They wear bronze helmets, not like ours at al,
and carry a heavy shield made of the hide of some river beast.
Every man has a pair of wicked, barbed javelins and a huge iron
Every man has a pair of wicked, barbed javelins and a huge iron
sword, and they can use them. I’ve heard men say that the
Aegyptians are al cowards, but I’ve never heard a man who’s
fought them make such a foolish claim.
Just before they boarded, I saw Stephanos bring his ship into
action. He was always one of the best helmsmen, and he was at
his own oars. He caught the leeward Aegyptian at a stand, al her
oars in, and he punched into the enemy’s side like a shark
closing its teeth on a corpse, and the Aegyptian’s keel snapped.
Stephanos gave me a wave and I returned it – the athlete’s
salute. Aye, I remember that moment, because Stephanos was
like a god then.
But the other Aegyptian boarded us, undaunted by the death
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