by John Norman
The ideal for an enemy contemplating boarding was clearly, if possible, to utilize two ships and draw alongside the target vessel on both the port and starboard side, thus permitting a simultaneous, coordinated attack, analogous to a land action in which an enemy can be attacked both on the front and rear, or on both flanks. To do this in one maneuver the enemy would require four ships, two for the Dorna and two for the Tesephone. That necessitated being joined by at least one of the two ships to port.
I looked to the sun, Sol, Tor-tu-Gor, the common star of Earth and Gor, of dozens of orbiting bodies, from massive to miniscule.
“It is two Ahn until darkness,” said Sakim.
“At least,” I said.
I hoped that it would take at least an Ahn for the enemy to bring his consolidated forces into a position where an attack would be possible.
For the next twenty Ehn, the Tesephone and the Dorna rowed abreast, like a larger and smaller waterfowl, the beat set by my charge to the Tesephone’s keleustes.
Thurnock lowered the glass of the Builders. “Five ships, now joined, like birds of prey, pursue,” he said.
Captain Tab and I, given the proximity of our two ships, had had no difficulty in communicating.
I had issued certain orders. One dealt with a deep coil of rope on the stern deck. The second order was to mount a ship’s lantern, unlit, on the stern deck of both the Dorna and the Tesephone.
“At this pace,” said Sakim, “we shall be overtaken well before darkness.”
“I trust the enemy believes so,” I said.
“Thus he proceeds at his leisure?” said Sakim.
“Exactly,” I said.
Some ten Ehn later the coiled line on the stern deck was deployed. Though the Dorna and Tesephone were still abreast, the line was fastened to the stern of the Tesephone and the prow of the Dorna. This action would likely pass notice with the enemy, given his distance. If not, I expected that it would give him little concern.
Fifteen Ehn later I signaled the keleustes to cease the beat, and the Dorna and the Tesephone rocked on the water.
“Surely you do not intend to capitulate?” said Sakim.
“There is little point in capitulating,” I said, “if it means the death of every man aboard the Dorna and the Tesephone.”
“You would seek more time?” said Sakim.
“While Tor-tu-Gor goes about his business,” I said.
“The five ships of the enemy pause,” said Thurnock. Clearly their oars were at rest, blades submerged.
They were now within several yards of us.
I had the speaking tube brought to the stern deck. “Terms!” I called. “Terms!”
Laughter drifted across the water to us.
“Prepare to die!” we heard.
“We have a hundred stone of gold aboard,” I called back. “At the first sign of hostility we shall cast it into the sea!”
There seemed some confusion on the stem deck of the nearest vessel, which I took, mistakenly, as it turned out, to be the flagship of the corsair fleet.
“Shall we now give the gold to the waves of mighty Thassa?” I called.
“Let it be the price by means of which you purchase your lives,” came back. “Transfer the gold to this ship and your lives will be spared.”
“Do not believe them,” said Sakim.
“Thurnock,” I said, “can you see who speaks?”
Thurnock lifted the glass of the Builders. “We know him,” said Thurnock. “It is Laios, from the tavern of Glaukos, The Living Island, in Sybaris.”
I had thought it would have been Nicomachos, Admiral of the Fleet of the Farther Islands, posted in Sybaris. Was he not a familiar of Archelaos, governor of Thera? Would he not be the plausible commander of the corsair fleet?
“Laios?” I asked.
“Laios,” said Thurnock.
“Not Ctesippus?” I asked.
“No, Laios,” said Thurnock.
“In the tavern,” I said, “Ctesippus had primacy over Laios. Thus I conjecture that the ship sunk by the hith, the sinking of which Ctesippus survived, was the designated flagship of the corsair fleet.”
“And Ctesippus was the Admiral?” said Thurnock.
“He was deferred to and his orders were promptly obeyed,” I said, “even to abandoning men to the risk of drowning.”
I then turned back, with the speaking tube, to the nearby ship.
“I will deal only with he who is first amongst you,” I said, “else the gold goes in the sea.”
“I am first,” called Laios.
“One ship,” I called, “reposes in safety, concealed behind four ships. Doubtless that brave vessel is your newly designated flagship.”
“No!” called Laios.
“Have it launch a longboat, and bring your Admiral, Ctesippus, forward, to negotiate.”
“Show us the gold!” called Laios.
“Bring your Admiral, Ctesippus, forward, to negotiate,” I said, angrily.
“Madness!” cried Laios.
“Then you accept responsibility for the loss of the gold?” I asked.
“Hold, do nothing,” called Laios. “I will consult.”
“That will take time,” said Sakim.
“I trust so,” I said.
We watched a longboat enter the water and begin to make its way back between enemy vessels to the farthest ship back, the presumed flagship of the corsair fleet.
“Tor-tu-Gor descends,” said Sakim.
“I did not know we had a hundred stone of gold aboard,” smiled Thurnock.
“The enemy,” I said, “cannot be sure that we do not.”
“Surely,” said Sakim, “we have a hundred stone of imaginary gold aboard.”
“Two hundred,” I assured him.
“You did not specify that it was imaginary gold,” said Thurnock.
“They did not ask,” I said.
“We will make our move presently, will we not?” asked Sakim.
“I think that would be advisable,” I said.
“When?” asked Sakim.
“When Ctesippus is well on his way forward, in a longboat,” I said. “I do not think the fleet will care to leave him behind.”
I then gave orders that the two stern lanterns, these on the Dorna and Tesephone, be lit.
“It is still light,” said Sakim.
“I want the enemy to see that the lanterns are lit,” I said.
“I am not sure we can make it to darkness,” said Sakim.
“Nor am I,” I said.
“If we are so fortunate,” said Sakim, “the enemy will think it madness that such lanterns are lit.”
“Let them deem it rather a device to keep our ships together in the darkness,” I said.
“They would give away our position,” said Sakim.
“They would give away a position,” I said, “but not ours.”
A few Ehn later, Thurnock reported that a longboat had been launched from the last ship.
“So, when?” asked Sakim.
“In a bit,” I said. “Let it get farther from the mother ship, say, midpoint between the mother ship and the four closer ships.”
“In that way,” said Thurnock, “there is likely to be confusion as to who should take the Admiral aboard.”
“And the ships will hold their places, awaiting orders,” said Sakim.
“Let us hope so,” I said.
“I trust, fellows,” I said, calling down to the benches, “you are well rested.”
Eager assent greeted this speculation.
“The longboat is midway between the mothership and the forward ships,” said Thurnock.
“Now, lads,” I called down, “we will see if you row faster for your lives than the foe for his pay.”
I
then slashed my hand downward, and the keleustes brought his mallet down on the great drum.
The Tesephone leapt forward, slipped past the Dorna, tautened the line between herself and the Dorna, was arrested by the line, and then, smoothly, forcefully, began to draw against it, giving impetus to her fellow. At the same time, the rowers of the Dorna bent to their oars, and the Dorna, partly towed, partly under its own power, fell into place behind the Tesephone. The enemy had not anticipated the suddenness of our motion, as we stole a start, nor, I think, understood the speed which we could achieve, even with the imperfect condition of the Dorna. We profited, as well, from the confusion and delay attendant on recovering their Admiral. These factors gave us the start we needed to slip into the lowering dusk. Shortly thereafter, as darkness fell, I had the two lanterns removed from the sterns of the Dorna and Tesephone and mounted on two separate buoyant frameworks, fastened together with some sixty or seventy feet of line. These I set adrift, that pursuers might mistake them for lights mounted to assist the Dorna and Tesephone to remain in proximity despite the darkness. Needless to say, once we were ahead of the pursuers, and had established a sufficient interval, the keleustes put away his mallet and, descending to the benches, called the beat by voice. At the second Ahn, we raised the mast, lowered the yard, loosened the sail, relieved the helmsmen, and rested the oarsmen.
“Well done, Commander,” said Sakim. “I think we are safe now. We should reach Thera and the Cove of Harpalos without difficulty.”
“I am afraid,” I said.
“Why?” asked Sakim. “We have eluded our pursuers.”
“Men,” I said.
“Then what is there to fear?” asked Sakim.
“That which is not man,” I said, “that which pursues and does not know it pursues, that which is guided, and does not know it is guided, that which serves and does not know it serves.”
“Do not fear the Brigand Island,” said Sakim. “It was wounded, torn, and burned. It was abandoned near Chios. It was left there. You saw it left behind. The mercenaries fear it. They want nothing more to do with it. Could it follow us, it would have done so. It may be dead.”
“Do you think,” I asked, “that it can feel?”
“Surely,” said Sakim.
“Really feel?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Sakim. “It must have some rudiments of feeling, however simple and primitive, else it could not respond to irons, to gouging instruments, to fire.”
“It must be a patient beast,” I said.
“I do not think it knows that men exist,” said Sakim, “only that pain and pleasure exist.”
“The course and watch are set,” I said.
“Thurnock is already asleep,” said Sakim.
“Dear Thurnock could sleep in a kennel of hungry sleen,” I said.
“He sleeps soundly,” said Sakim. “May you do so as well.”
“Have me awakened at the first light,” I said.
“I shall notify the watch,” said Sakim.
Chapter Fifty-Four
We Fail to Elude the Enemy
It was the tenth Ahn, the Gorean noon.
At dawn we had lowered the mast and yard, thereby decreasing our visibility.
We moved at first beat.
“It seems,” said Sakim, “that we have Thassa to ourselves.”
Hardly had Sakim spoken than the lookout on the Tesephone’s stern deck called out, “Sails! Five sails astern!”
His cry was echoed a moment later by the lookout ensconced on the stern deck of the Dorna.
“Mast up!” I called.
This cry was raised, too, on the Dorna.
We ascended to the stern deck and were shortly joined by Thurnock and Clitus.
“Second beat,” I called to the keleustes. “Second beat,” he responded.
The beats vary from ship to ship. My ships, the Dorna and Tesephone, and those others at sea or docked in the arsenal at Port Kar, used a five-beat system. The first beat is the least taxing for the oarsmen whereas the fifth beat is the most taxing. The fifth beat cannot be satisfactorily maintained over more than twenty or so Ehn. Muscles ache, men tire, and rhythm, so essential for oared vessels, is impaired or lost. Accordingly, the fifth beat is usually reserved for situations in which ramming or shearing is imminent. A good keleustes, like good helmsmen, is invaluable, particularly in battle. Some ships use a mechanical device, rather like a metronome, to guide the keleustes in his work, in governing his striking on the metal drum, but most captains of knife ships do not avail themselves of this aid, regarding it as of little worth. Too often it is, in its thoughtless way, unrelated to the reality of the moment, sometimes dangerously so. They prefer a living keleustes who can see the benches and heed the action of the oars and, consequently, adjust the beat, subtly, as necessary, to optimize the performance of the vessel, subject to actual conditions.
An Ahn later our lookout reported that the pursuers had gained.
“We cannot outrun them,” said Thurnock.
“Not at second beat,” I said.
“The Dorna cannot keep up with us if we go to third beat,” said Thurnock.
“Attach the towing line,” I ordered.
“It will slow the Tesephone,” said Thurnock.
“Then,” I said, “the Tesephone will be slowed.”
The line was attached and the Dorna fell in behind the Tesephone.
“Third beat,” I called to the keleustes.
“Third beat,” he responded.
An Ahn following the transition to third beat we had maintained much the same distance between us and the foe.
“Overnight, last night, they followed like sleen,” said Sakim.
“In darkness, how could it be?” asked Clitus.
“I had hoped,” I said, “that our tactic of the buoyed ships’ lanterns might have led them astray.”
“It did not do so,” said Sakim, moodily.
“Their success in pursuit was their good fortune,” said Thurnock.
“And our ill fortune,” growled Clitus.
“I do not think this was a simple matter of fortune,” said Sakim.
I did not speak, but I shared Sakim’s doubt.
“Thassa is wide, and ships are small,” said Thurnock.
“Yet five sails mark the horizon,” said Sakim.
“We are holding our lead,” said Thurnock.
“They are permitting us to do so, as of now,” I said.
“Could we not, at third beat, do so indefinitely?” asked Thurnock.
“Possibly,” I said, “if matters now were as they commonly are.”
“But they are not, mighty scion of the Peasantry,” said Sakim. “Consider the crewing involved. They could bring fresh oarsmen to the benches every ten Ehn if they wished, even at the fifth beat.”
“They are content, at present,” I said, “merely to keep us accessible.”
“Our lads are strong and skilled,” said Clitus. “I would match them for a time against any on Thassa.”
“For a time,” I said. “That is the point, time.”
“Captain?” asked Clitus.
“Our lads,” I said, “however strong and skilled, cannot match frequent shifts of oarsmen.”
“But until darkness?” said Clitus.
“I think until then,” I said.
“You hope to slip away in darkness?” said Sakim.
“I do not think that will be possible,” I said, “for a reason which I suspect you can divine.”
“Then let us then turn about now and do battle,” said Thurnock.
“We would be destroyed,” I said.
“But nobly,” said Thurnock. “I do not care to rush into meaningless, unavailing darkness, like some quivering urt.”
“Sometimes a clever urt can escape t
he descending paw of the larl,” I said.
“I do not understand,” said Thurnock. “But I know my captain. He is not a coward.”
“Have you something in mind, Captain?” asked Sakim.
“Yes,” I said.
“You know something we do not?” he asked.
“Possibly,” I said.
“You have a plan?”
“There is a chance, a slim chance,” I said. “It goes back to Sybaris, before we left for Mytilene.”
“Are you sure of it?” asked Sakim.
“No,” I said. “Not at all.”
“Take courage, dear Thurnock,” said Clitus. “You can die tomorrow as well as today.”
“I do not like being thought a coward,” said Thurnock.
“Why should you concern yourself,” said Clitus, “if the enemy entertains a mistaken notion?”
“Such might work to your advantage,” I said.
“Shall we maintain our present course, to the Cove of Harpalos?” asked Sakim.
“No,” I said. “Set our course for Sybaris, straight for Sybaris.”
“Is that wise?” asked Clitus.
“We have no choice,” I said.
“It has to do with the ‘chance’?” said Sakim.
“Of course,” I said.
“Would you tell me more of this chance?” asked Sakim.
“I do not think so,” I said. “If I did so, you would realize how slim it is.”
“To Sybaris?” said Sakim.
“Yes,” I said.
“I shall inform the helmsmen,” he said.
“Do so,” I said.
“The corsairs could overtake us in the night,” said Thurnock.
“That is possible,” I said, “but I do not think they would care to engage at night.”
“In the morning, shortly before first light,” said Thurnock, “I shall have the mast lowered, that we seem to disappear.”
“Keep it up,” I said, “and have the sail full.”
“Captain?” said Thurnock.
“It is important that we be seen,” I said.
“And thus we show our boldness, our contempt for the foe,” said Thurnock.
“Doubtless,” I said.
“Five sails hold steady in our wake,” said the lookout, lowering a glass of the Builders.