Killer of Men - Christian Cameron [183]
We picked up another pair of Aegyptian merchants just north of Naucratis the day after the raid, ships inbound with no idea of what had happened. More silver and gold, and Cyprian copper. The bilge of Storm Cutter was filled so deep that we had a hard time beaching the ship, and rowing was a horror.
I beached again, carefully, fed my crew on stolen goat meat and sent the newly captured crewmen to walk back to Naucratis. Then I went west, to Cyrene. That was for Paramanos. He’d found a girl he fancied in the Chersonese, a free Thracian woman, and he’d decided to pick up his children, which filled me with joy – because that meant that he was committed to me. It was touch and go in Cyrene – the authorities knew us for what we were, but Paramanos was a citizen, and they chose not to tangle with my marines. His sister brought his daughters to the boat, clutching their rag dolls, the poor little things – they wept and wept to be put on a boat full of men, and hard men at that. But some things earn the smiles of the gods, and my Aegyptian slave girl turned out to be a fine dry-nurse. She was ridiculously thankful, now that she found she wasn’t to be raped every night. And I have noticed this, honey – animals and people repay good treatment. And the gods see.
We put to sea with a strong south wind coming hot and hard off Africa. We hadn’t dared to sell even an ostrich egg out of the hold in Cyrene – they didn’t like us, and Paramanos feared that the council would seize the ship. I spent the whole night afraid that he would change his spots and betray us. Which shows that I had something to learn about men.
The wind was fair for Crete. We had a hold full of copper and gold and I knew a good buyer. Besides, I wanted to know how Lekthes was doing, the bastard.
I’m laughing, because most Greek captains thought that it was a great thing just to go down the coast of Asia, or across the deep blue from Cyprus to Crete, but thanks to Paramanos, I sailed the wine-dark as if I owned it, and every night he showed me the stars and how to read them the way the Phoenicians read them.
Good times.
Paramanos was showing off for his daughters and they reciprocated, turning into a pair of little sailors. Ten days at sea and they could climb masts. The elder girl, Niobe, had a trick that scared me spitless every time I saw her do it – when we were under way, rowing full out, she would run along the oar looms, a foot on each oar.
The oarsmen loved her. Every ship needs a brave, funny, athletic eleven-year-old girl.
Probably as part of his showing-off for his girls, Paramanos made a disgustingly accurate landfall on Crete, and was insufferable as a result. We walked up the beach at Gortyn’s little port and were welcomed like Homeric heroes – better, in that quite a few of them were murdered. Nearchos embraced me as if he’d forgotten that we weren’t lovers, and his father was decidedly warmer than I feared.
‘Tell me everything!’ Nearchos said. ‘Nothing has happened here, of course,’ he said, glowering at his father.
So I bragged a little of the raid and I talked of the sea. I was falling in love again – with Poseidon’s daughters, as the fisherfolk say. But the sea bored Nearchos – boats were a tool for glory, not an end in themselves.
‘You raided Aegypt?’ Lord Achilles asked. ‘Your Miltiades is a bold rascal. You must be a bold rascal yourself.’
I raised my cup to him and we pledged each other until I stumbled out of the hall into the rose garden and puked up an amphora of good wine. But I gave each of them a cup of beaten gold – half the wages they’d given me, returned in a guest-gift, and then they were my friends for life.
In the morning, I had a hard head, but I went to