by Michael Ford
‘The hull’s breached,’ shouted Lernos. ‘Abandon ship!’
Chapter 14
The thunder of the water roared in Lysander’s ears.
‘Take in your oars!’ said Moskos. ‘Topside, all of you.’
Boys streamed past Lysander’s bench, almost falling over each other to scramble away from the gaping hole. Leonidas was already standing at the bottom of the steps, ushering the others to safety.
‘Come on,’ said Aristodermus, taking Lysander’s arm and pulling him toward the crowd heading up the steps.
The water in the hull was around Lysander’s ankles now, and still rising. How long till the boat sank?
The bay was little more than a thin patch of sand a hundred paces away, backed by wave-swept rocks, enclosed by two headlands like a set of crab’s pincers. Boys stood against the deck-rail, peering over the back of the ship where the water was coming in.
The ship lurched as the aft tore free from the submerged rocks. Lysander struggled to stay on his feet and slammed into Aristodermus, who steadied him.
‘Salvage what you can of weapons and equipment,’ he shouted, ‘and get overboard.’
The ship was already sitting lower in the water. The sky was just giving way to grey but the sun was not yet up, and Lysander could see the dark shapes of the rocks just beneath the surface of the sea.
Another wave buffeted the vessel closer to the shore. ‘What about the ship?’
‘Forget the ship. It’s useless now.’
Moskos was suddenly between them, stabbing Aristodermus with a finger, his weather-beaten face close.
‘We take the ship in with us.’
Aristodermus’ hand flashed upwards and seized Moskos either side of the jugular, pushing him backwards on to a pile of ropes. ‘I won’t send my boys back down there to row.’
Moskos choked out his words. ‘You don’t need to. We must drag her in. Get ropes tied to the aft, above the breach. My men can do the rest.’
Aristodermus stared at Moskos for a moment, then released him. He turned to Lysander.
‘Get ropes secured firmly to the deck-rails, and anything that won’t break off.’
Lysander found a crowd of boys and repeated Aristodermus’ orders.
‘But how will we get to shore?’ said Phemus.
‘Another swim,’ said Lysander.
Phemus pointed into the water. ‘We’ll be torn to pieces on the rocks; you saw what happened to the ship.’
‘We have our orders.’
Boys ran to the ropes and began tying off knots against the deck-rails. Others were busy fastening on their swords. Lysander was impressed with their quiet organisation.
Moskos and his small crew waited, and he was shaking his head impatiently. To Hades with your ship! thought Lysander. His comrades descended on the weapons store like bees to their nests, plucking shields and spears. Leonidas handed Lysander his.
‘Are you ready?’ shouted Aristodermus.
‘Yes, sir!’ they shouted back. All had their cloaks rolled up and fastened to their fronts.
The ship listed suddenly to port, sending two or three of the boys to the deck. Those who stayed on their feet, including Lysander, stumbled instinctively to the other side to try and steady the vessel. Lysander tripped over the ropes that lay tangled across the deck.
‘We haven’t got long,’ said Moskos, looping a rope over one shoulder and under the opposite arm. Sirkon and the other crew did the same. ‘If she takes in any more, we’re going to lose her. Get your army in safely. We’ll need them to drag the ship in.’ He turned to the marines. ‘Have you all made sacrifices to Poseidon? You’re in his hands now.’
They nodded, then one by one climbed on to the deck-rail and slipped overboard. The ropes around their middles snaked over the rail and five sploshes sounded as they hit the water.
Lysander looked over the side. The marines were already making for shore. ‘Forget Poseidon,’ Lysander said. ‘Trust in yourselves. Regroup on the sand, and good luck.’
Lysander saw the others hesitate, so decided to act first. He clambered over the deck-rail, and stood on the outer ledge. The waves slapped the side of the ship, and he could see the rocks more clearly beneath the surface now, with pale patches between them. The rest of the boys followed his example. He let his shield drop into the water below, then picked a safe-looking spot. He couldn’t be sure, but there was no time to waste. He stepped off.
For a moment he thought his legs had struck something solid, but the water gave and he plunged downwards. His spear shot loose of his hand and burning saltwater filled his nostrils. Cold wrapped itself around him and squeezed.
His limbs were heavy from the days of rowing, and he clawed back to the surface, finding his shield and spear floating on the undulating waves. All around boys fell into the water like stones, surfacing with splutters and coughs. Lysander turned on to his back and began kicking towards the shore. The cold seemed to close on his heart like a fist.
Swimming with his cumbersome weapons was like dragging himself through thick honey, but Lysander sucked in deep lungfuls of air and willed himself on. The sky above was growing paler by the second, and the stars were vanishing one by one. Lysander fixed his eyes on the brightest and kicked on.
Something brushed his head, and he twisted in the water. A rope. His fingers gripped it. He saw the marines standing on the shore, beckoning them in. Lysander pulled himself along the lifeline, kicking at the same time, until finally a wave plucked him up and he floated in on its surge. His legs were wobbly as he felt the ocean floor, but he supported himself on his spear and managed to drag himself up the beach. His feet crunched and he saw that among the pebbles were littered the fragments of shells, big and small. Some, spiralled and luminescent in the pre-dawn light, were beautiful.
The others were finding their way ashore as well, heaving their soaked bodies on to dry land like strange creatures from the deep. Kantor was clinging to one of the stronger boys, who carried him on his shoulders as he swam. All Lysander wanted to do was lie down and rest, but a strong hand tugged him to his feet. It was Moskos.
‘The job’s only half done,’ he said. ‘Get on a rope.’
Lysander dropped his shield and spear, and stood behind Sirkon, who had planted his feet firmly in the pebbles. Leonidas rushed up behind Lysander, and the rest of the boys spread themselves along the five ropes, some right at the water’s edge, others further up the beach. Surely it was futile, thought Lysander. How could they drag a ship that size?
‘Heave on three,’ yelled Moskos. ‘One … Two … Heave!’
Lysander tightened his freezing fists around the ropes and pulled with everything he had. For a moment, it looked as though the ship was not going to move at all, but then the back, where the ropes were fastened, shifted towards them.
‘We’re doing it!’ shouted Demaratos. ‘It’s moving.’
Lysander’s legs and arms were racked with tremors, but he heaved until his eyes felt ready to burst. The aft swung around towards them, and the ship began to drift slowly in, as though propelled by a light breeze.
‘Keep pulling!’ ordered Moskos.
Lysander took a step backwards up the beach, then another, as the ship’s pace increased. Then he was pulling hand over hand. With a grinding sound, the stricken vessel climbed out of the water, its keel pocked with barnacles. It scraped across the pebbles to a halt, and water began pouring out of the oar-holes at the bow end.
‘Well done, men,’ said Moskos, coming to Lysander’s side.
‘It will be fine there,’ said Lernos. ‘When the tide goes out, it will be completely on dry land.’
Up close Lysander could see the breach in the hull wasn’t as big as he’d thought. It was a tear as wide as his arm was long, but only a plank in depth.
Lysander sank down again among the shields on the beach beside Leonidas and Orpheus. Leonidas plucked up a conch shell from the beach, just like the polished ones sold in the market in Amikles along
with sea sponges. Inside, its horned exterior shone bright pink.
‘They say Poseidon’s son Triton carries one of these, and when he blows it, the sea turns wild.’
‘Then it looks like Triton is against us,’ said Lysander.
Orpheus patted his shoulder and gave a small chuckle. ‘If the Gods were against us, we wouldn’t be here now, would we?’
They rested on the beach as the sky gave way to grey, then blue. One of the marines ventured back on to the vessel and the boys took it in turns to form a chain in the water, along which to pass the remaining weapons, armour and supplies. Thankfully, the flasks of water had kept dry above deck, and Lysander swallowed a few mouthfuls of the brackish liquid. They all began to sort through their equipment, and helped each other fasten their armour. Lysander’s leather breastplate chafed against his skin, but as soon as the arm and leg-guards were fitted as well, he felt his determination hardening.
‘What’s Lernos doing?’ asked Orpheus.
Lysander saw the Spartan at the far end of the beach where the pebbles gave way to sand. He was crouching to examine the ground, then jumped up and came running back with a frown.
‘Is something troubling you?’ asked Aristodermus.
Lernos stroked his chin. ‘Footprints. In the sand. Someone has been here recently.’
‘You said smugglers used this cove.’
‘Yes,’ said Lernos. ‘You’re probably right. Are we ready to move?’
Aristodermus turned to face them. ‘Take your weapons, boys.’
Lysander fastened on a still-wet cloak, along with his sword and helmet, then took a spear and shield from the pile in the sand.
Lernos addressed them, pointing back up the beach. ‘The tunnels are reached up a narrow gully at that end. It’s pitch black inside, so stay close to the man in front, and don’t get lost. There are several other smaller passageways that lead off the main branch. It’s like King Minos’ Labyrinth down there.’
Lysander’s mother used to tell him the stories of the maze built under the palace in the kingdom of Crete. A monster lurked down there, half man, half bull, and it feasted on human flesh. He’d stopped believing in such tales before his tenth year.
Aristodermus was speaking to Moskos in whispered tones.
Their tutor addressed them. ‘The marines will stay here and try to repair the ship. We’ll reconnoitre the city, then form a plan of attack. Are you ready, Spartans?’
‘Ready!’ Lysander shouted with the others.
They marched along the beach, with Lernos leading alongside Aristodermus. The sun was up now, behind thin hazy clouds, and it was beginning to warm Lysander’s back. It looked like they were heading straight towards a mound of boulders, but a sandy path, lined with long grasses, opened up leading upwards and inland. On one side a steep rocky wall rose up, with boulders strewn around its base. Lernos led them between the rocks until Lysander saw a dark opening. It was triangular, about as tall as him, and barely two paces wide at the base. It looked completely innocuous, and if Lernos hadn’t said, Lysander would have assumed it was nothing more than a minor cleft, terminating quickly.
‘Lysander, stay at the rear with Orpheus,’ barked Aristodermus. ‘Make sure he doesn’t get left behind.’
Lysander stood outside the mouth of the cave with his friend, while the others filed through. When it finally came to his turn, he stooped under the lip of the tunnel mouth. Immediately, a cold draught enclosed his body.
‘Keep your hand on my shoulder,’ he said.
Orpheus did as he asked. For the first few paces, the other boys were like ghosts in the shadows, but then darkness set in, and Lysander strained his eyes in the pitch black.
‘It’s tall enough to stand upright,’ Lernos’ voice echoed along the line. ‘Keep close to the boy in front, and everything will be fine.’
Lysander straightened up, and followed the sound of the shuffling feet ahead, dragging his fingers along the slimy wall. It reminded him of the blindfold exercises he used to do with his grandfather. You have to trust yourself to the darkness, Sarpedon had said.
Orpheus’s hand fell off his shoulder, and Lysander turned.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I tripped over something. It’s fine.’
Lysander reached out and found his friend’s arm.
‘Come on, we can’t fall behind.’
Lysander thought he could hear the other boys ahead, and hurried along, keeping a firm grip on Orpheus’s arm, using his other hand to feel ahead. He thought about calling out for them to wait, but the others would laugh at him if he did.
A dim light approached.
‘It must be the way out,’ said Orpheus hopefully.
But something about the flickering told Lysander it wasn’t natural daylight. It wasn’t the tunnel exit.
‘Wait.’
They froze, with their backs against the cave wall, as the light grew stronger, illuminating the tunnel wall, which glistened with moisture.
‘Where did they find a torch?’ said Orpheus.
Lysander heard a noise to their side, and turned to see a stocky man carrying a flaming torch. He wasn’t a Spartan.
‘Who are you?’ he said, reaching for his sword.
The man circled them, as two others approached from ahead, each carrying a torch as well, with unsheathed swords glinting gold in the flickering flames. Where was the rest of their squadron?
‘Help!’ Lysander cried. ‘Back here!’
The man grunted a few words in a language Lysander didn’t understand. The short man took a step in and Lysander saw him swing an arm. Lysander lifted his sword, but the blow was too strong. A club hit him on the side of his head.
‘No!’ he heard Orpheus cry out.
The ground rushed up to meet Lysander as he toppled forwards, pain tearing through his skull. He put his hands out to break his fall, but it was too late; his face smashed into the hard rock floor.
Chapter 15
‘Wake!’ said a voice in heavily accented Greek.
A hand slapped the side of his face, and the first thing Lysander saw was a blade. He tried to move away, but there was a great weight pinning him to the floor. One of the men swam into focus, kneeling on his chest. He had long dark hair hanging loose and his thin nose looked like the beak of an eagle.
Lysander felt for his short sword, but it was gone. They must have taken it.
The man cleared his throat and spat into Lysander’s face. Despite the cold underground, Lysander felt sweat prickle over his body, as fear opened his pores.
‘Orpheus?’ Lysander said.
‘I’m here,’ replied his friend weakly. Lysander twisted his neck and saw that Orpheus was against the cavern wall. Two men held his shoulders and arms back, while another stood in front, holding a broad dagger in the flames of his torch. There was no sign of the other Spartans.
Four enemies.
Only two of them: unarmed.
‘What do you want?’ he said to the man, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.
The man nodded to his friends, and the one with the torch handed it down to Lysander’s captor. The man played the flame back and forth over the length of his arm, close enough to be uncomfortable.
Lysander turned away, unable to watch as the man grinned and brought the torch closer. It felt like the flames were ants, burrowing into his flesh just above the armour that covered his forearm.
The smell of singed hair filled the tunnel, and Lysander’s body shook with the effort of not crying out.
Only when the man handed the torch back did Lysander dare look. A patch of his skin was red and blistered, with clear fluid dripping from the skin.
If only he knew what these men wanted, perhaps he could bargain with them.
Orpheus cried out in agony, and Lysander smelled burnt flesh. The man with the torch was pressing the heated blade against his friend’s upper thigh.
‘Stop!’ begged Lysander. ‘Punish me instead.’
&nb
sp; The man took the knife away, then held it over the flames again. Tears of pain streamed down Orpheus’s face.
‘Let them,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I’m no coward.’
The man with the blade looked at Lysander without pity, then placed the blade across Orpheus’s other leg. His friend writhed against the hands holding him, but there was no way he could escape.
They don’t want anything from us, Lysander realised. They only want to hurt us.
One of the men punched Orpheus in the stomach and he tumbled forward into a ball.
‘Orpheus!’ Lysander shouted, but his friend was gasping for breath. The men all laughed.
The man who had been torturing Orpheus knelt behind Lysander’s head. He brought the knife close to Lysander’s face, hovering with the point over his eyes. Lysander turned his head away and felt a searing pain as the blade was held against his earlobe. It felt like his whole ear was being slowly ripped off.
This time he did cry out, and without shame.
There must be a way out!
Brute force wouldn’t work, but if he lay here, they’d surely torture both him and Orpheus, until they were no longer capable of fighting back.
What had Aristodermus said?
Rest when you can. Fight when you have to. Adapt.
The knife was lifted from his ear, and Lysander felt blood ooze along his neck. He let his head roll to the side, and played unconscious.
The men made grumbling noises at their fun being cut short. Lysander felt the pressure on his chest lessen a little.
This is my chance.
He jerked with his legs and bucked his hips upward, then used his arms to lever the man over his head and into his tormentor with the knife. He twisted on the floor, and kicked out at one of the standing men, sweeping his legs from underneath him. The torch fell to the ground and flared.
From the floor, Orpheus drove his elbow against the thigh of the other man who had been holding him. He dropped with a howl.