Killer of Men - Christian Cameron [184]
‘Any time you want to give up piracy,’ he said, ‘I could make you a decent smith.’
I waved to him and went down to the fishermen’s village and found Troas. He was sitting by his Lesbian boat, mending a net.
‘I heard you was back,’ he said. He didn’t look up. ‘She’s wed and well wed, and it’s your boy she calved first. So don’t go making trouble.’ Then he looked at me. ‘She called him Hipponax,’ he said. ‘And we all thank you for the boat.’
I’d sold a pair of the eggs and all the copper. I put a bag on the upturned boat hull. ‘For the boy, when he’s a man,’ I said. I had planned a long speech – or perhaps just a blow. I hadn’t forgotten how he’d given me a boatload of fools.
But standing there on the beach, by his upturned boat, I had to acknowledge to the gods that his boatload of fools had made me the trierach I was. His hands and the gods had helped make me. Still, I glared at him.
‘You nigh on killed me with your cast-off men,’ I said.
‘I had no reason to send my neighbours and friends with you, boyo,’ he said, calmly enough.
‘I got them home – even the fools,’ I said.
‘Aye, you’re a better man than some,’ Troas said. He nodded, and that was my apology.
‘I’d like to see my boy,’ I said.
‘Nope,’ Troas answered. ‘My fool of a daughter took quite a shine to you, my young Achilles. She’s just about over it now, and settling down to be a prosperous fisherwoman. She almost loves her husband, who’s a good man and not a fucking killer.’ His eyes held mine, as tough in his way as Eualcidas or Nearchos or Miltiades. Then he nodded. ‘On your way, hero,’ he said. ‘No hard feelings. Come back in five years, if you’re alive, and I’ll see to it that you and your boy are friends.’
I felt a rush of – sadness? Rage? And a lump in my throat as big as one of the ostrich eggs.
‘Can I give you a piece of advice, lad?’ Troas asked.
I slumped against the boat hull. ‘I’m listening,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘You think you’re happy as a hero, but you ain’t. You’re a farm boy. It’s not too late to go back to the farm. I saw you play house with my daughter and I didn’t figure you’d ever come back. But the fact that you did come back tells a whole different story.’ He went back to his net. ‘That’s all I have for you, son.’
It is odd how quickly you go from the killer of men to the bereft boy. ‘I have no home,’ I said. I still remember the taste of those words, which slipped past the fence of my teeth against my will.
Troas looked at me then. Really looked at me. ‘Don’t give me that shit,’ he said, but his tone was kind. ‘Go and make one.’ And he got up and embraced me – Troas, giving me a hug for comfort.
That’s the way of youth, honey. One moment you are Achilles risen from the dead, the next an old net-mender feels sorry for you. And each moment is as real as the other.
I got to my feet. I was crying, and I didn’t know why.
‘Still some human in you, eh, boy?’ he said. ‘Give me another hug then, and I’ll pass it to your son in a few years.’ He held me close. ‘If you don’t leave this life soon, all you’ll be is a killer,’ he said.
I held him hard, and then I went back down the beach to my ship. Nearchos was waiting, with Lekthes. Lekthes was standing with a sea bag on his shoulder and all his armour nicely shined. His wife held his hand and wept. I kissed her and promised to bring him home, and then I embraced Nearchos.
‘I have three ships and all the men to man them,’ Nearchos said. ‘When you – when you want me, call. We’ll come.’
I sailed away with a lump in my throat.
Part V
An Equal Exchange for Fire
All things are an equal exchange for fire and fire [is an equal exchange] for all things, as goods are for gold and gold for goods.
Heraclitus, fr. 90
It is necessary to know that war is common and right is strife and that all things happen by strife and necessity.
Heraclitus, fr. 80
20
We didn’t see another ship until we were north of Miletus – the rebels and