Killer of Men - Christian Cameron [194]
‘I am not nothing,’ I said. But I knew that he was right. I couldn’t keep a crew together by myself – unless I wanted to engage in pure piracy, bloody murder for profit. And I did not. Heraclitus was too strong in me, even then. In fact, what I liked least about Miltiades was his ceaseless search for profit.
I remember sitting there, on a damp rock just above the tide line, my feet in the sea-wrack, when I heard a raven – not a gull, but a raven, cawing in the dark, like Lord Apollo’s voice speaking. I held up a hand to silence Herk and I listened, and then I got to my feet and walked off down the beach to where Paramanos and Miltiades were arguing. Herk followed at my heels, clearly afraid I was about to open the breach – but I was not. The god had given me the answer, and I thrust between Paramanos and Miltiades and shouted for them to listen. Their faces were backlit by the big fires we had burning at the sentry posts – we didn’t want the Syrians to surprise us, either.
‘We should all go,’ I said.
That silenced them.
I almost remember what I said. I felt as if Lord Apollo stood at my side, whispering fine words, good arguments, into my ear. Or perhaps Heraclitus, his servant.
‘Listen, lord. You think I am blinded by love – perhaps I am. But if the Mede is foolish enough to send eight ships away, we can catch them and destroy them. And then the balance is ours. It might make him hesitate. It will increase our power over the Phoenicians.’ I paused. ‘If we take those ships—’
Honeyed words, Homer calls them. No sooner were they out of my mouth than Paramanos was agreeing. Sometimes, there is a right answer – an answer that suits every man. It took us less time than it takes to heat a beaker of wine to convince our lord that we had a winning strategy, and then he grinned, drank wine and clasped my hand, and we were friends again, instead of rival pirates.
We left in complete darkness. That was the campaign where I learned the value of having all my men in high training – the value of making my rowers feel as elite as the hoplites felt. We left that beach like champions. We left our fires burning to deceive the enemy and we raced north under oars, and every man felt as if he was swept along on Nike’s wings.
We came on Myrcinus as the sun set on the third day. The lower town was afire and the Syrian ships were drawn up on the rocky beach south of the town.
Miltiades summoned me aboard his ship, and I leaped from my helmsman’s rail to Paramanos’s and then on to the Ajax, the black-hulled Athenian trireme that was Miltiades’ pride. Cimon and Herk were already there. We never slowed – we were under sail, the wind under our sterns, and our sails must have looked like flowers of fire in the ruddy light.
Miltiades’ face was lit as if from within. He was a foot taller than a mortal man, his hair glowed in the sunset as if he was an immortal and his words flowed thick and fast.
‘Beach your ships as you find room,’ he said. ‘Get ashore, get their ships and sweep the beach clean. Paramanos, you and Arimnestos land your full compliment, every man on the beach. Form tight and get between us and the town.’ He grinned. ‘Once we own those hulls, this campaign is over. Their commander is a fool.’
‘Or it is a trap,’ his younger son said. He shrugged.
Cimon, the older son, shook his head. ‘Don’t be a stubborn ass, little brother. There’s no trap because they shouldn’t know we could even be here!’
Miltiades nodded his approval of his older son’s thinking. ‘Even if it is a trap,’ he said, ‘there’s not much they can do to us if we keep our ships manned and only land our marines. You two can cover us on the beach – if we have to run, your crews are fast.’ He laughed. ‘Oh, I can feel the power of the gods, companions! We are about to burn