by Ken Farmer
Now, Patroclus reappeared, clutching a large leather bag, heavy with shafts - and not the crude arrows used for practice.
Judoc pointed. "Archers, Capitaneus." The man had no knowledge of numbers beyond the count of his fingers, but said, "A handful and two."
"Aye," came the reply. Turning he said with some gruffness. "Get you below, Barsa. Or gain a bow and take stance." As expected, the portly man turned immediately to descend down the rear scuttle and safety. Now all waited, needing no instruction or commands from the Captain. This was not, by far, their first treat with a pursuing galley, or even a long row-hull, as used by the reavers far south in the land of the Nile Delta.
Now their attention began to focus as the galley came into long arrow range. Their contempt for the skill of the usual pirate bowman did not descend into disregard for their foe. A shaft sent by a fully pulled string, even if wielded by a fledgling without knowledge of either windage nor loft, could still pin a man to the wood behind him. They would reserve their scorn for later, over cups and jawing about the work of the day.
Suddenly, they saw the first wood in flight - several in a long looping climb, then drop. All fell astern but one that was heard as it impacted on the hull wood at the very aft of vessel. Most pirate ships carried archers - or, at least, men who could use a bow with some little skill. Their usual aim was for the man at the steering oar, or rudder. With no hand on the pointing of the marked ship, it would usually turn upwind and stop, making an easy board for the reavers waiting to jump the distance between the hulls.
Again came the flight of arrows, and most of which made it aboard, sticking into a shield or the wood of the deck. The range was still long, even though well within the distance that the crew of the Petrel could start feathering their pursuers, but the Captain had long known that a sudden sharp blow was much more efficacious than a gradual increase of battle.
Now he could see that the ship had a short ram, and such would need to be avoided should the raider manage the close the distance. To his newling rudder man, he said, "Make ready to give swift pull on my command. Yon ram needs to be refrained from entering our wood."
The man just grinned and nodded. The Captain hoped that there would be time, over cups, to find the chronicle of this Greek. But for now...
He pulled his nocked arrow to full, instantly followed by his men. The release of the string was followed by a handful more. The aim was for the archers in the point of the galley, and indeed all but two fell over into the open hull. Now, from the large leather of shafts brought from below by the Sage, they began to fill the air with death.
The weakness, spoken of by the Captain to his passenger, was now evident. All ships with oars require that the pullers face away from the direction of movement. It has always been and unlikely to change - a man has far more vigor in pulling an oar, braced by his feet and legs, than pushing away with no assistance to his arms. But, facing as such, none can either see nor avoid any projectile that boards the ship over the bow.
The Captain could see that some of the oarsmen had their various shields strapped across their back in carriage - and protection from just such wooden boarders. It made no difference. The shafts of the Petrel were not hunting arrows, made with a broad head to both bleed the prey and to prevent the barb falling from the wound. These had merely a sharpened iron point, no wider at the base than the shaft itself, and made to penetrate leather or bronze plate. That it had less killing power than usual for the broad arrowhead of a huntsman was of no consequence - a man with even a narrow point through an arm or leg - or backside - had no further interest in his foe.
Now the flight of arrows was as driving rain in a fierce storm. With the rowers of the galley in two long columns, and sitting as closely as eggs in the basket of a farm-woman, the bowmen had little need to aim and even less to delay a release. Oars began to drop into the water, fouling those of their mates that were still whole of skin. In less time than needed to tell the tale, the way of the galley fell to nothing, both from the trailing wood and the sudden need of men - seeing a mate to their front fall over with a shaft sticking from his body - to turn and cover below his bench.
The Petrel sailed on toward the horizon.
Chapter 3
The distance from Salona to Athens was about six thousand stadia - about two hundred leagues to a man of the eastern domains. Down the length of the Ionian Sea, then around the protrusion of Greece that bounded the land with the Great Sea took the longest. From there the journey north into the port that served Athens was only about a thousand stadia.
The journey took more than the half month, this mild season having winds of less than stiffness. They stood away from the land, mostly, and as a result, had no more encounters with the galleys of reavers that infested the myriad of small islands on their route. Of sailing vessels, only a few were sighted and those being merely merchants, themselves hesitant to allow a strange hull to approach to any closeness.
Interestingly, as they made their way down the Ionian sea, the Greek hireling of Barsa had given a desire for employ. The sea and wind being moderate and the evening pleasant, the two men - and the Sage - sat in the waist with their cups and meal. "You have a yearning for the life at sea? Or mayhap the need not to return to your land to discuss past events with the magistrates."
The Greek gave a wry smile, then replied, "There is some truth to the idea that my presence in certain cities of my land is... unwelcome. But, I have no writ of seizure against my name. As an urchin, I was bonded to a hide-merchant for my apprenticeship, but neither my nose nor aspiration agreed with the vision of a life with such stinks and offal." He took a long swallow, then continued, "My opinion was not desired nor welcomed by the fat merchant, he chaining me by the leg to my work table for both day and night. Months later, he gave assumption that my resistance to such work had decayed sufficiently to allow my release."
"And you departed without farewell in the night, no doubt," said the Captain.
"Aye. That very night. Even over the walls and down a hide strap made for the purpose in the month before and hidden under the scrap table. Since then I have learned many trades..." He shook his head with a humorous smile. "By the gods, what have I not done in my time to earn my daily meal... Pisspot boy in a taverna, and later in a temple of some ill repute. And for a month in a brothel in the city of Asigina. That was a pleasant time in which the Korís of the house gave me tutoring in the pleasures of conjoining, but that ceased when a patron assumed that I was another mat-boy to be used for his pleasure. My foot in his pouchstones ended that berth."
"What is your land, Greek?" This was Patroclus. "I can place you in the reaches of my own birth-land by your tongue, but the slight accent is strange. I would take wager that it would be either Macedonia or Paeonia."
"That is close to the mark. Sparatokos is the city, in lower Thrace." Now he continued with his tale. "As I approached my growth to man-size, I hired out to caravans, firstly as a ktinilatís..."
The Captain looked at the Sage in puzzlement of the word. "Drover," said Patroclus, in Latini.
"...but being of considerable youth, I was the mark and jape of many in the processions. Indeed, more than one attempted the same usage of myself as the patron in the brothel. Then, a guard - a goodsome man, late of some army in Macedonia, took me in hand for instructions with both blade and spear. By the time of my full growth, I had gained considerable skill with such and found a position as guard to a Maldar... a high noble in Damascus. The coin was good but the days were tedious to a young man with roving feet."
Finally, he finished the tale with, "...after release as guard on a caravan to the city of Salona, I found myself trapped between the sea and the putrid Roman Legions. It was with fortune that the good Barsa was in search of a man of arms to help contain his household until some ship would arrive for transport to join his family in Athens."
There was a period of silence as his listeners pondered the words of their new passenger, with the Captain finally
saying, "I have some belief that you have culled the tale somewhat. The skill that I saw briefly on the deck, in contention with the reavers, did not come from trudging along a caravan trail, despite the goodness of instruction from some veteran. You have fought with some army, I would wager."
Again the wry smile with some hint of abashment. "Aye. I must give admit that I have contended with the armies of Rome, and because of my actions, some that have made the long journey to my birthland in search of loot or wenches or other needs, will remain there to the end of time." He pause, then said, "I give hope that such past actions against your comrades do not offend yourself."
The Captain waved his hand in denial. "I have no issue with a man in defense of his home and land. Indeed, I have never seen reason for Rome to have need of conquer, to deplete attacker and defender of both men and gold, when trade would gain riches in excess for all." Another wave, then, "I take no offense for any man in opposing such."
Now the Sage pointed toward the stern. "Here is our patron, coming from his midday rest."
The Captain turned to see the merchant casually striding from the after scuttle, then said, "Greetings, Barsa. Sit you down and join our drink and converse."
The merchant nodded, then sat heavily onto the deck, accepting a cup from Patroclus. He glanced forward where all but Ngozi - he on the rudder - were kneeling in their interminable game of bones, trading low-value bronzes back and forth with good-natured shouts of mirth or mock oaths of despair at the number of spots that were showing. Finally, he said, "This voyage is as a rest in the Elysian Fields, after the past months of discord and vexation. Despite my desire to once again behold my family and sons, I would not be wrothful if the gentle days tarry for a while."
The Captain replied, "I have hope that your duration in the Greek paradise is not at this pace for the entire voyage, else your sons will be dandying their own grandsons on their knees by our arrival." Now he changed the pointing of his thoughts. "Melglos, here, has given that he would take up the labor of the seaman, and I am short a man on this voyage. What say you to that?"
Barsa looked at the big man, sitting back in enjoyment of the day. "He has shown to be a reliable man, and true. I would have a place for him in my merchantry in Athens, but my measure of his being is not that of one who would be tied to a mild household and mundane labor in the days." After a sip, he said, "His metal comes from the same forge as yours, Kapetánios Clavius. As such, I have much thought that he needs more than the settled life of a citizen in a city."
Now Patroclus asked, "What of the slaves that were left with yourself after we stood out with your household?"
The merchant nodded, then said, "As you may remember my good servants left with my family, leaving me with the dross. Those that remained, I would not pay a notched obol to transport, and would have long removed them from my household, had not the Romans come knocking at the gates." He pointed at the Greek - nay, the Thracian, as he was now known. "As the city became more... chaotic with the approach of the Legions, I knew that I must find a man with both weapon and skill for such, lest I wake in Hades with my throat gapped. As you saw, they carried my chests as their last service and with the promise of a coin and manumission when the harbor was reached." He shrugged. "I have little belief that their freedom was long lasting. No doubt they are serving new masters even now."
Many such discussions were given in the long route around the Grecian peninsula, filling both the time and curiosity of the passengers. "...nay, my blood does not actually flow back to the first rising of the Clavius family, but from an..." The Captain paused, not knowing the Greek word that he was seeking, finally giving the word in Latini. "...adoptatus?" The Sage supplied the proper word and he continued, "...aye, a man of remote blood taken into the family of the childless house of Clavius as heir. On the death of the Dominus at the hands of pirates, the man - my Grandfather - became Dominus of Clavius. Myron was his nomen, and with a Greek name given because of the admiration of that land by mine in that age."
The explanation was in company with Barsa and Melglos, on another pleasant evening in the voyage. Patroclus was sitting by also, but he had many times heard the tale. "When that Dominus was slain, or rather, died from a blade thrust from a street thief, my Father became head of the family - or at least, that is the tale that was given to all outside the family. In actuality, the death of Myron was feigned, and his first son not born for many years after."
Now he smiled. "It is said that the attributes of offspring often gives match on each second generation. My Father had much the same being as Aulius, now - his interest was merchantry and tablets of trade and such. To the tales of my Grandmother, Lydia - a woman of much mettle herself - my genitor before him was also with wandering feet as myself, and if her stories be truthsome, of skill with weapons matching Mars himself."
The story was true, to the extent it was told, but was as a drop of water in the bucket of the kitchen-maid as to completeness. The Grandmother of Julius, Lydia, had lived almost to see ninety full seasons, and if with less than strength in her small body at the end, it was with clear purpose of mind until her death mat was taken. Her life was of such length that Julius was a newly made man at her passing, and over those overlapping years, he had been given the tale of his ancestor many times, and as oath-given truth. As a young puerulus, he absorbed the tales of his Grandmother without critical measure, but as he gained his years, he would query the old woman as to the accuracy of the improbable sagas that she gave. Always, she gave oath that none were as taburna tales, blown to fatness for a goodly telling. The skill of her mate, Myron, with a bow, or gladius, or a ship, was attested as absolute truth. "...and young Julius, those deeds were seen with these eyes, or those of his friends - Otho or Menwi or Nanu, whom I would trust as closely as my mate."
Many times - and usually with his asking - did she give the tale of becoming the Grand Domina of the house in which she was once a lowly kitchen maid. And of the adventures from that early time until the natural death of her mate many years later. The story was long - far longer than one telling or even that of many nights could give.
And the stories spanned the breadth and depth of the Great Sea, telling of the subterfuge that brought Myron to improbable nobility in the domain of Rome, then of the putative death of her mate, their sojourn to Carthage, then to other cities after the destruction of that great Punic city. Then the birth of a son, who years later claimed his linage from the ancient Domina of Clavius who then was residing in Gaza, far from Capua. With Myron still dead in the eyes of his people, his son became the head of the household, and the fortunes of the family waxed over the years, even more than the original wealth of the ancient linage.
"...Myron greatly preferred his putative death, in the knowledge of the city," the old woman had said many times, and with a smile. "My mate was born with feet that could not stand in place longer than the for the sun to cross the sky. I have told you of his sojourn on the island of the pirates in his formative years... Aye, of course I have, and many times. And that was just the start of his wandering. With his son, your Father, as Dominus, he was free to take his beloved ship across the waters at will..."
Whether the tales of his ancestor were true in totality - and Julius preferred to believe such - or were expanded a bit by an adoring mate, he knew that his being was infused with the same wandering need. It was fortunate that their family had been given sons in the mold of happening. His brother, Aulius, disliked travel even to the extent of taking a pleasure boat along the coast to Terracina - a trivial voyage - and since the death of their Father, preferring to stay and conduct the transactions of the family, happily buried in his scrolls and tablets, surrounded by a legion of scribes and Numerarii and Calculatoris. Thus, the young, Julius, was free to make travel to... anywhere. Aye, in fact, the idea of being confined to a scribery, marking tablets and scrolls day after day was a far worse fate in his eyes as being stranded on a rocky shore with a broken ship.
The Grand Domin
a, Lydia, had even spoken of a darker past, of the actual genesis of Myron and his friends. And that such knowledge was only known to herself, with all others in witness gone to the slopes of Olympus in their rewards. "...I tell you only, Julius, that the real witness of our family past might not die with me. If you have faith in the character of your future son, then you may pass it on to him..."
Finally, the wind returned with some strength and their passage down the Ionian Sea was hastened, making goodly time in the bend around the bottom of the Greek lands then north to Athens. The voyage had been pleasant, and without need to even turn to avoid some questing reaver - an unusual journey in the pirate-infested seas of those reaches.