by Peter Tonkin
Admiral Minnakht joined them. He was tall – but nowhere near Hercules height. He wore a full beard that flowed down his breast which was encased in a golden breast-plate. He wore the head-dress favoured by User and Hunefer, with a gold band denoting his rank. A long red cloak hung from broad shoulders and he held it in place with big, square hands at thigh level, to stop it flapping in the wind. His skin tone was lighter than User’s and Puella’s, with a decided golden undertone. He was unarmed. He had quick brown eyes that measured them all in a blink. ‘Centurion,’ he said courteously in heavily accented Greek. ‘Divine Isis commanded that I invite you aboard, though of course I was happy to do as she ordered. Indeed, I planned to do so, having talked to the master shipwright and learned of your interest. Queen Cleopatra wishes that you and I both report to her at the conclusion of the voyage, so that we can each give her our observations.’ He looked around them all, then his gaze flicked away to his massive vessel.
‘So that you can be more confident about what is going on,’ he continued, ‘allow me to give you an outline of our planned voyage. We will soon be turning anatoli east – once we are clear of the notoriously shifting shoreline of the delta. We will then go at best speed under oars for ten Roman miles until we sight Cape Canopus. We have water-clocks aboard similar to those used in your Senate, I believe, as well as devices designed to measure our speed. It should take us little more than an hour to reach the cape. Then we will turn back, lower the sails, and proceed at best speed under sail westwards to the Pharos. The speed we reach will depend on the strength of the wind of course and cannot be predicted with such accuracy. When we reach the Pharos, we will put away the sails and enter the Great Harbour under oars, go onto the Royal Harbour and report to Divine Isis as ordered.’
‘Thank you, Admiral. We will be most interested to see what such a fine vessel can achieve,’ said Artemidorus, matching the Egyptian’s formality.
Ferrata sniggered but covered it with a cough.
As soon as he had gone, Artemidorus said, ‘Right. We’ll treat this seriously. There’s not much to observe while she’s under oars except for her speed. Ten miles in an hour sounds impossible to me. She’s powerful and she’s new, so her hull will be clean, but I’ve only ever heard of triremes and liburnians approaching anything like that speed. The real test will come when the sails go down. Quintus and Ferrata you go to the bows, keep an eye on the rigging of the foremast and the main mast. Hercules and Notus you go to the stern. Try not to get too close to the officers and sail handlers up there but keep an eye on the ropes to the mast as well. Crinas, you go below and find out whether that new device for measuring speed is working and if so, what speed we’re doing when we turn east. Check it again when we run back west under sail. Kyros, you go with him. Memorise any numbers. Hecate, you stay with me. We’re watching how the sails and the rigging that controls them works. Everyone clear?’
*
Alexandros swung eastwards. The pausator raised the speed and the oarsmen responded, their song and their oar-strokes quickening. The ship’s sleek lead-sheathed hull cut through the water, her ram destroying the oncoming waves one after another. The head wind made her speed seem greater than it was, but Artemidorus began to wonder whether she really could go as fast as the admiral claimed. He and Hecate went to the bow, side by side, looking into the water as the ship raced on. There were dolphins playing in the bow-wave – surely a sign that Poseidon was holding his hands over them, thought Artemidorus. But then he was struck by a disturbing realisation. The admiral had made no sacrifice to any god or goddess before getting under way. That suddenly seemed to be a dangerous omission, even on a short testing voyage such as this one.
Despite this, he found himself catching his breath with every plunge and heave as they smashed their way eastwards. Hecate shared his exhilaration. Even the spume flying in over the bow to soak them was part of the excitement. Fortunately, both the wind and the water were warm, for it didn’t take long for both his tunic and her cotton robes to become molded to their bodies. All at once he found her curiously distracting. Droplets hung like diamonds from her eyelashes and in the wildness of her curls. He found himself wondering whether what he felt for her was friendly affection or burgeoning lust. If the latter, did it arise from growing attraction – or simply from the fact that he hadn’t slept with a woman since Puella vanished with User?
Fortunately, his thoughts were interrupted by Crinas who came hurrying forward. ‘The machine suggests we will cover the distance to Cape Canopus in an hour, just as the admiral predicted. We seem to be moving at almost one and a half stadia every minute.’
‘That’s extraordinary. He can’t possibly keep that up!’ Even as Artemidorus spoke, the rhythm of the drumbeat, the song and the oar stokes slowed. Alexandros’ speed eased. ‘Now we’ll get a better idea of her normal speed,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Go and see what this wonderful device says now.’
Crinas came puffing back ten minutes later as measured by the admiral’s water clock. ‘Just under a stadion a minute, say 500 podes feet.’
‘Still impressive. Especially as the wind is freshening, which will be a handicap until we reach Cape Canopus, then it will be a big help on the homeward run, of course.’
Crinas nodded distractedly, his eyes on Hecate. ‘And I hope the wind stays warm as well as strong. To help your clothes to dry if for no other reason. They are neither healthy nor decent as they are.’
iii
They reached Cape Canopus in a little over an hour according to the admiral’s water clocks. Then they turned north, still under oars, and finally swung west. The oars rumbled back aboard. Alexandros sat slightly uneasily with the waves thundering against her stern as the dolphins swam away northward looking for another playmate. Even though the rear of the great vessel was almost as sharp as her prow, the configuration was very different. There were steering oars instead of that great bronze-bound ram. The slope of the stern sat high, allowing the restless, wind-driven sea to run beneath it, pitching the hull forward uneasily. The Admiral hesitated, feeling the new movement of his command, liking it less than the way she sailed under oars into wind and weather. But after a few moments, as the water clocks were re-set, he called for full sail.
The foresail blossomed and the hull steadied at once, her bow facing more purposefully westward. Then the mainsail came down, flapped twice with a rumbling like that made by the oars coming back inboard. Then the wind caught it and it bellied out, snapping taut in a heartbeat. The sail-handlers tied it off, checked the pulley and went to report to the captain and the admiral leaving Artemidorus and Hecate alone once more.
All around Artemidorus and Hecate a dizzying range of sounds rang out. Seagulls skimmed low, screaming. The mainsail continued to make muted thunder. The ropes holding it in place groaned with tension, as they tightened like the strings on a lyre. The ebony pulley blocks screamed with the strain. The masts themselves groaned under the stress of moving the great hull forwards as fast as the wind dictated.
Hecate put her hand on the greatest of the rigging ropes. ‘It is alive!’ she whispered, awed. ‘I can feel its ori inu spirit stirring.’ She moved her hand onto the deck-rail beside it. ‘The whole ship has a spirit,’ she said, hawk’s eyes wide with disbelief. ‘It has been awoken by the wind. I can feel it. I can hear it!’
Artemidorus smiled. How simple she seemed. Like a superstitious country girl. ‘Is it a good spirit?’ he asked.
Her eyes seemed to cloud over. Her face folded into a frown. Abruptly he remembered what they had called her in the slave market: striga witch. He found himself wondering who had supplied the secret poison with which Titus Elva’s wife had murdered him. ‘I do not think so,’ she answered. ‘Her spirit is at war with Oya goddess of the wind.’
‘Here the god of the west wind is Zephyrus,’ he said. ‘He and Alexandros must be friends or there will be trouble.’
‘Then there will be trouble,’ said Hecate.
She touched the wood
en pulley block holding the rigging line to the main sail again and jumped back as though it had burned her. Artemidorus stepped forward, reaching for her protectively – but with no idea what he was protecting her from.
The wooden block shattered, utterly destroyed by the strain of controlling the main sail. A sizeable piece smacked Artemidorus squarely between the shoulder blades, propelling him forward. He crashed into Hecate, automatically wrapping his arms around her as they both tumbled to the wet, slippery deck. The rope released by the failure of the block lashed free, tearing off a section of the deck-rail and cracking like a whip just above them, spreading splinters and chunks of wood far and wide. The deafening snap was followed at once by a sound like nothing Artemidorus had ever heard before: a ripping, tearing roar. He rolled over, dazed and in a good deal of pain, taking his weight off Hecate and looking upwards.
The mainsail was torn from top to bottom. One-half of it flew forward like a legionary vexillum. The other strained to remain in place. The whole deck seemed to heave beneath him as he looked up, dazed. It was probably his imagination, he thought, but the mast appeared to be twisting. Sail-handlers were running all over the deck like a nest of ants disturbed by a burning stick, slipping and sliding on the damp planks.
But then his thoughts were jerked away from what he could see to what he could feel. Alexandros heeled over, still beneath the dictates of the wind in the uneven sail. Artemidorus felt himself sliding towards the gaping hole in the rail. Visions of Furius’ terrible death flashed once again. But then a strong black hand caught him. Steadied him. Hecate was firmly on her wide-spread knees. He reached and grabbed her sinewy wrist. His slide towards the edge stopped abruptly and he lay still gasping in shock and agony, looking up at the sail.
The figure of Isis, Goddess of Kingship, and the Protection of the Kingdom, had been utterly destroyed.
*
‘This is a nasty bruise,’ said Crinas. ‘But you were lucky. The piece of wood that made it has done no more damage than the blow you got from the Macedonian’s club outside the gambling den in Canopus. However, if it had hit Hecate in the face instead of you in the back it would have killed her.’
‘I think we’d probably both be dead if she hadn’t felt what was going to happen just before it did. Her head would have been smashed in by the wood from the pulley block and mine would have been removed by the rope it released and the section of deck-rail it took with it.’
‘Do you think they were right in the slave-market?’ asked Crinas, his voice just above a whisper. He was a follower of Hippocrates and was not usually superstitious. ‘Is she a witch?’
‘Who can tell? It could be coincidence as much as magic.’
‘Ah. More of a Cynic than a Stoic today?’
‘Still a Stoic to put up with this pain. What is that stuff you’re rubbing on my back?’
‘An unguent that will make it feel better. Eventually.’
The conversation was brought to an abrupt end by the arrival of Admiral Minnakht who stooped under the low lintel of the little cabin Crinas was using as a treatment room. ‘How are you?’ he asked as he straightened.
‘I am well, thank you, Admiral. Please don’t concern yourself. My physician assures me the bruise is not serious.’
‘And the slave woman?’
‘Hecate had the breath knocked out of her but that is all. And only because I fell on her.’
‘We will have to report this to Divine Isis.’ Minnakht looked worried. He stroked his beard like the pirate Halys, deep in thought.
‘We will,’ nodded Artemidorus, pulling his tunic into place. ‘And I will tell her how lucky we were that this occurred now. The loss of the sail is unfortunate, but it is nothing compared with what we have learned. Imagine if this had happened in the middle of a battle or at the height of a storm. It would have been a disaster. All the pulley blocks need to be redesigned or re-made with tougher stuff than the ebony wood that failed. What is the hardest wood available? Can you substitute it somehow with metal? If so, would copper, bronze or iron be the best given that it must resist sea-water to be of any long-term use. Queen Cleopatra has the entire Musaeum at her disposal. They will surely come up with an answer in the shortest possible time.’
The admiral looked down at his guest. His worried expression faded. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I suggest we report to Divine Isis together.’
‘And then we should talk to Keelan the shipwright,’ added Artemidorus.
iv
‘We will test coconut wood pulleys,’ said Keelan. ‘It is the only wood I can think of that is tougher than ebony. And there is plenty to hand. But the mast has survived you say?’
Artemidorus remembered the strange twisting motion but before he could say anything Admiral Minnakht answered, ‘Yes, it flexed at the moment the accident happened. But it is undamaged. I have looked at it myself, but you will no doubt wish to examine it too.’
‘I will, of course. I was only concerned because, unlike coconut wood, pine trees of the height and quality needed for Alexandros’ masts are not so easy to come by. Her current main mast came from Beoria in Assyria and it would take weeks to replace it. And Divine Isis has ordered that we proceed according to her schedule. She wishes to be at sea with her complete navy, heading northward within the next seven days.’
‘She wishes to be at sea?’ said Artemidorus. ‘Is Cleopatra planning to come herself? In person?’
‘Naturally,’ answered Minnakht. ‘She is Pharaoh of the Two Lands. She has always led her forces into battle. She will do so now.’
‘But a week,’ said Artemidorus. ‘How will you repair Alexandros and still prepare her to accommodate Cleopatra – even if she is travelling with a much reduced entourage?’
Keelan shrugged with a hint of weariness. ‘We will work much,’ he said. ‘And sleep little.’
‘Almost all of the work will be completed within four days,’ said Minnakht. ‘I would invite you and your witch to come aboard again as we test the improvements. And any others of your contubernium who wish to join us.’
*
Things were different four days later. The first change, which was obvious from the jetty, was that Alexandros’ fighting towers were in place, one on the deck in front of the forward mast and the other, larger, on the deck behind the main mast. There had, it seemed to Artemidorus, been some minor adjustment of the rigging to allow for their presence. The next change was the hinged stair that could be let down at the side, leading from water-level to deck-level between the cutwater and the first rowing box. They had scrambled aboard up a rope ladder last time. But Cleopatra, of course, would do no such thing. Artemidorus ran up the movable companionway with Hecate and the others close behind. The whole deck was now covered in a sheet of lead. The malleable metal had been beaten into every curve and corner. The point of the lead covering was so that the wooden planks did not burn, because fire was one of the most potent weapons in sea-battles. A fact attested by the presence of four large onager catapults among the scorpions and ballista bolt-throwers that now clustered around the castle on the after deck. Onagers with metal baskets instead of leather slings – designed to fire blazing projectiles as well as massive rocks at enemy vessels.
Beneath the hatches, steps led down past the rowing benches to the next hatch which led in turn down into the accommodation areas. There was no knowing where the oarsmen and sail-handlers were expected to sleep, for much lower deck was furnished fit for a queen and her attendants. No, it was fit for a goddess. But the luxurious apartments were not what he had come aboard to see. He left Hecate exploring wide-eyed and went back on deck to join the others who had been prowling around.
‘Look at this,’ said Quintus, leading him up to the forepeak. Leaning against the stempost, the pair of them looked down. The whole front of the vessel was now covered in metal plates of bronze to match the massive ram. And, above the primary ram, a smaller ram had been added. A modern vessel such as this one was not designed to need a
corvus. She would ram her opponents, the double rams holding her steady as her marines streamed into the attack, protected by flights of arrows and hails of slingshot from the castle on the foredeck. As well as the extra armour, a great beam had been added hard against the foremost rowing box – designed to protect the rowers as Alexandros crashed into her enemies. But there had been a price to pay. The primary ram which had smashed through the waves last time he had been aboard now sat below the surface. He frowned, trying to work out whether having so much more of the hull submerged would add to the strain on the mast and sails as they tried to move her. Certainly, he thought, the oarsmen were going to have trouble getting this much heavier vessel up to the sort of speeds that managed on her first test run.
v
‘We have re-rigged the entire ship, of course,’ said Minnakht. The admiral was in full battle dress now. Formally accompanied by a pair of shaven-headed priests and a young man dressed in the pinnacle of Alexandrian fashion to whom everyone nearby seemed to defer. A court official he had never met before, Artemidorus supposed, and thought no more of the matter.
‘And replaced the pulley blocks with stronger ones,’ added Keelan, who was to accompany them this time. Better late than never, thought Artemidorus.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because I’m sure that the changes and additions will alter the way she handles considerably. The steps you lowered to us, for instance, must affect her angle in the water, the same as the corvus did on Triton, so that side will sit lower than the other.’
‘We have balanced the steps,’ said Keelan, ‘to ensure that Alexandros still sits level.’
‘Level but lower, yes I noticed. Have you assessed the difference that will make on her speed?’ Hecate reappeared, still seemingly dazzled by what she had seen in Cleopatra’s quarters. So, he persisted for her benefit as much as his own, ‘the difference it will make on the strain the sails and rigging will undergo when she’s under sail rather than oars?’