Sword of Apollo (26 page)

“You seem scared,” said Phoenix with a challenging tone. “Are you ready to prove yourself? Because you look like you might shit your tunic.”

Aristophanes smiled wryly. “I'll admit I'm scared,” he replied in a resounding voice—the trained voice of an actor. “But I'm ready to join you. And if I shit anywhere it will be down a Spartan goat-raper's throat.”

The crowd burst into hearty laughter and more young men stepped forward, shouting, “I'll come! I'm ready!” Soon the air was filled with their cries—hundreds of voices raised in exultation.

“To the Piraeus District!” shouted Phoenix. “To the ships!”

As Nikias and Phoenix led the group down the path from the temple, Nikias turned and saw several young men skulk off into the darkness. But the vast majority of the Athenians were still with them. By the time the mob got to the southernmost gate of the citadel—the gate that led to the Long Walls—they were in a raucous frenzy again, and the guards on duty at the exit, fearing for their lives, simply stepped aside and let them enter. The throng's noble song about democracy had degenerated into rambunctious and obscene doggerel based on Aristophanes's humorous words to Phoenix:

“Spartans! Spartans! Rapers of goats!

We'll shit down their bloody throats!”

Nikias and Phoenix walked side by side along the creek that ran the length of the Long Walls to Piraeus, six miles away. The moon was just beginning to rise over the mountains to the east, casting the world in a glow the color of old silver coins.

“Do you really want to leave Athens, defy the men in power?” asked Nikias. “You might not ever be able to come back.”

“With Perikles dead,” said Phoenix stoically, “there is nothing here for me now. I need this expedition as much as these young men.”

“I've heard of Phormion,” said Nikias. “He's the one who led the Athenians to victory in the battle during the siege of Potidaea, isn't he?”

“Yes. He's a great man,” replied Phoenix. “The best tactician on the sea. But he needs our help. The Spartans and Korinthians can send eighty or more ships to fight him. Phormion was Perikles's man, just like me, and Kleon wants him to fail so that he can shard him and send him into exile and replace him with one of his own ball-lickers. And so the ships sit in the boat sheds, as useless as—”

“Tits on a bull?” offered Nikias.

“Precisely, Cousin,” replied Phoenix, smiling for the first time.

They were approaching the Plataean camp—Nikias could see the shapes of their makeshift homes in the moonlight. A figure stood in the pathway. As Nikias got closer he could see that it was Leo, holding a large leather bag. Nikias broke from the Athenians and jogged up to him.

“Welcome back,” said Leo.

“I wondered where you were,” said Nikias.

“Phoenix told me to stay here at the camp in case things went awry.” He handed Nikias the heavy bag and it made a jingling sound of coins.

“What's this?”

“I've collected money from everyone in the Plataean camp,” said Leo. “To help pay for the expedition.”

Nikias took the bag and nodded thoughtfully. The Plataeans had given up money that would have been used to pay their way in Athens—for food, clothing, and medicine. But they knew how important it was to bring help back to their citadel.

“How many of our men are at the port?” asked Nikias.

“Two hundred or so,” said Leo. “Most of the cavalry. And many recently widowed Plataeans who hope to banish their grief in Spartan blood.”

“You can't come with us,” said Nikias flatly.

“I reckoned you'd say that.”

“You have to go back to Mount Parnes,” said Nikias. “Tell them what has happened here—tell them that we're going back to Plataea with help.”

“I know,” said Leo. “I leave at dawn.”

“Take Photine with you,” said Nikias, “but don't ride her. She'll throw you. Tell Phile she can have her. Phile will be able to manage her well enough.”

The throng of Athenians had caught up to him and were filing past. He felt Phoenix tugging on his sleeve. Nikias kissed Leo on the cheek.

“Good-bye, brother,” said Leo, wiping his tears.

“Peace, brother,” replied Nikias. Then he looked straight into Leo's eyes and said, “Look out for my girls. Treat them as your own.”

“I will.”

“And don't look so glum,” said Nikias over his shoulder. “We'll meet again.”

“Either here or in the other world,” replied Leo softly.

 

TEN

No one tried to thwart the mob as it entered the streets of Piraeus, for it had swelled to nearly three hundred strong. The young men passed through the gates into the port city and made their way down to the docks. Phoenix divided them into equal groups and distributed them amongst the five triremes, where five hundred men already stood next to their respective ships, waiting to drag them off the shore and into the water. Phoenix made sure that each ship had an equal number of Plataeans and Athenian youths, as well as veteran oarsmen. Phoenix was captain of one of the ships—the
Argo
—with three trusted veterans taking charge of the others: the
Democracy
, the
Spartan Killer
, and the
Aphrodite
.

The fifth ship—the one Phoenix told Nikias to join—sat a little apart from the others. Nikias gazed at the sleek vessel with its fiendish ram and sinister eyes made of shining marble on the curving prow. The boat was “well planked,” as Phoenix would say. Standing on the beach under the prow was Diokles and, next to him, a towering figure with broad shoulders. Another man, skinny and bent, scratching at his scraggly beard, paced nearby.

“Are you ready to put your life in Poseidon's hand?” Chusor asked as Nikias approached. His tone was gruff yet good-natured, as if he wanted to say, “Years have passed, but nothing is different between us. We are still the best of friends.”

Nikias smiled and held out his hand and Chusor gripped it. “I am if you're willing to take me on your ship.”

Chusor smiled broadly, showing his big white teeth, and Nikias noticed how gaunt his friend now looked. Gone was the strapping giant. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes seemed to have retreated into his skull. All his ribs showed and his pectorals had withered.

“I survived the sickness,” said Chusor, reading his concerned look. “Only just. And I'm ready to leave this cursed place. I'll take my chances on the sea.”

“Hello, Ezekiel,” said Nikias, turning to the fidgeting man.

“Good to see you again,” said the doctor. “It seems like a lifetime ago that you were in Athens.”

“Are you coming with us?”

“Chusor and Diokles have persuaded me to come along for the first leg of the delightful journey,” replied Ezekiel sourly.

“I'm glad there will be a doctor on board,” said Nikias. “I fear I suffer from seasickness.”

“Oh, I have a remedy for that,” said Ezekiel with a wave of his hand. He climbed up the nearest landing ladder, evidently on a mission to search through his collection of medicines.

There was a festival atmosphere on the beach. The young Athenians were inflamed—excited to be going on an adventure, to be thumbing their noses at Kleon and his rule—and talked boisterously about what the journey might entail. The Plataean warriors were also anxious to be heading out. They wanted to get back to their citadel—a place they had abandoned only so they could help deliver their women and children safely to Athens. Now they were happy to be going home to help defend their beloved city, whatever the risks.

Several of the Athenians called out, “When do we go? What's keeping us?”

Chusor said to Nikias in a low voice, “Look at these Athenian lads. They have no idea what's in store for them.”

“It's in their blood,” said Nikias.

“Adventure on the sea?” asked Chusor. “Or the breaking of rules?”

“It's all one and the same to us Greeks,” replied Nikias.

Chusor raised his eyebrows. “We'll see how many of them want to keep going once we've made it to Serifos. Or how many of them die along the way. I fear the sickness will break out amongst the men who have yet to be infected. But we can't stay here. This miasma will come whether we're on the waves or on land. I fear all of Athens might perish before this evil has gone away.”

“What's on Serifos?” Nikias asked.

“A secluded cove to the south where we can take on water and buy food from the willing locals,” came the reply. “Also,” he went on, peering into the bay to the south as if he were scanning across the vast sea into the future, “that way we can avoid Korinthian shipping lanes in the Saronik Gulf. And we can train the crew along the way and leave the worst of them on one of the Athenian-held islands.”

Nikias stared long and hard into Chusor's eyes. “And your daughter, Melitta?” He paused and swallowed hard. “I could not find her or Helena in the citadel.”

Chusor nodded. “I took her far away. And Helena as well. I cannot tell you where. For their own safety, in case you are ever captured by the enemy.”

Nikias felt a wave of relief and he sighed. “I knew you would get them out of Athens,” he said, his face breaking into a wide smile. “Of course you can't tell me where they are. Just so long as I know that they're safe.”

A cry came from down the beach. For a split second Nikias thought that Kleon had sent an army to Piraeus from the citadel to stop the ships from leaving. But he realized that it was Phoenix's voice shouting out a command. Nikias turned and watched as the crew of his cousin's trireme lifted the ship a few inches off the rocky beach and eased it into the water. The veteran sailors climbed swiftly on board and seized the oars while the novices clambered over the sides and landing ladders.

“Nicely done,” said Chusor. “Even with half a crew of lubbers.”

Chusor quickly assigned each man standing near the
Spear of Thetis
a number from one to three—that being the deck on which they would sit. He did his best to divide his veteran oarsmen amongst the young Athenians and Plataeans and told them to toss their belongings on board before the ship was put into the water. Pulling a twenty-foot-long oar was tricky work and needed steady oarsmen at intervals to keep the rhythm and set an example for the others. Some of his mariners protested when they were assigned to the lowest deck. But Chusor cajoled them with promises of extra pay and that seemed to satisfy them for the time being.

It was easy enough to get the
Spear of Thetis
into the water, for that was merely an exercise in brute strength. With guidance from Chusor and Diokles, the mixed crew of young Athenians, Plataean warriors, and veteran oarsmen managed to shove the craft into the harbor and climb on board. Nikias, up to his waist in water, looked about foolishly, wondering what to do. The boat was already drifting slowly away from the beach, guided by a few veteran oarsmen who had quickly taken their places and were dipping their oars into the water. But the landing ladders were thick with men trying to get on board. He started following the boat, wading through the water, and was quickly up to his breast. He began swimming along with many others.

“Wait!” shouted frantic voices. “We're not on the ship!”

Just then Chusor cried out from the prow, “Hold!” and the oarsmen reversed their motion and the ship came to a stop on the calm water. The men in the water laughed and swam the short distance to the ship, relieved that they weren't being left behind.

Nikias let everyone get on board, then climbed the landing ladder at the prow. As soon as he got to the top part of the ship—the open battle deck—Diokles took him by the arm and led him over to the highest tier of seats: the deck that cantilevered over the side of the ship.

“You sit behind me,” Diokles said. “You do what I do. You are strong. You will catch on fast.”

Nikias sat on the hard wooden seat and gripped the smooth wood shaft of the oar, moving the pole on the tholepin and testing the rope oarlock, which had been greased with tallow. The smell of the tallow and the other men's sweat made his stomach churn. The boat was filled with the din of voices—veterans giving instructions to the men near at hand. Nikias wished he wasn't soaking wet. His arse was already itching on the seat.

“Don't dig too deep with the blade,” said Diokles. “And don't strain too hard. Think of it like a long arm and a hand pushing the water.”

Nikias tried to do as he was told. The first couple of times he pulled on the oar the blade skimmed the water. Then he overcompensated and pushed the paddle in too far. But soon enough all of the oarsmen, given a rhythm to row by the drummer, were causing the big ship to move. Guided by the man at the tiller—who sat on his navigator's chair on the roof of the vessel—the
Spear
headed across the cove toward the seawall that guarded the inner harbors. Nikias realized, with a pang of regret, that Konon had not shown up at the shore. He wished his friend had been able to come on board. But a one-armed man wouldn't be much use on a trireme.

Rowing was easier work than Nikias had thought it would be. It actually felt good to stretch his back and torso, to feel his arms and chest stirring the sea with the oar. He was happy that his old shoulder injury, earned in a fall from Photine, had fully healed. It would have been impossible to do this kind of work with a bad shoulder. He concentrated on Diokles's ludicrously muscled back. The Helot turned around and smiled at him.

“Good, good,” he said approvingly.

Nikias glanced over his shoulder in the direction they were going. Even though he couldn't see the moon high in the sky, he could see it shimmering on the choppy water. “What about the chain across the entrance to the seawall?” he asked. “How are we going to get through that?”