by Peter Darman
‘Keep the shaft as close to your eye as possible without distorting your vision and breathe correctly.’
‘How can you tell if I am breathing correctly when I am riding by you in the saddle?’
My impertinent questions were invariably answered by cane strikes on my knuckles. But for all their pettiness and sadistic indulgences they taught me the art of shooting a bow until it became second nature. As I pulled back the bowstring to full draw I took a deep breath, let out some air from my lungs to dispel any tension and then held my breath until I released the bowstring.
‘A quiet mind cannot exist in a tense body.’
The arrow flew through the air, arching slightly upwards and then falling as it spun towards its target. I saw the iron tip strike one of the Roman soldiers, knocking him to the ground. The arrows of Gallia and Surena also found flesh as we stooped to retrieve more arrows.
How I would have liked Gafarn to be standing with me. My adopted brother was one of the finest archers in Hatra and probably among the best in the whole Parthian Empire. He was that rarest of things: an instinctive archer. When he shot a bow he used only his sight and instincts to hit the target. He practised, of course, but as my instructors informed my father after Gafarn had picked up a spare bow on a shooting range one day and proceeded to out-perform all the other boys, including myself, the gods had blessed him with a rare talent.
Some masters would have had Gafarn’s hand cut off for his insolence but my father, perhaps thinking it would encourage me, indulged his abilities. The sons of Hatra’s nobles hated Gafarn because despite his lowly status he was more skilled with a bow than they. And skill with a bow was one of the things that defined a Parthian lord; indeed, defined him as a man.
‘A true instinctive archer can snuff out a candle with an arrow in total darkness,’ my last instructor had told me when I had reached my twenty-first year, ‘when he cannot see his arrow, his hand or anything else except the candle’s flame.’
I had laughed aloud when he told me this. But my derision was silenced two days later when Gafarn did this in a blacked-out room in the palace.
We shot slowly, methodically, as the Cretans replied, their missiles slamming into the shields held up by our comrades. But the Romans and Cretans had no shields and as our arrows began to cut them down their volleys became less accurate and more irregular. We each selected our targets before releasing our bowstrings. It is better to shoot a dozen arrows well than a hundred poorly.
An arrow hissed over my head and slammed into the mast, another two struck the gunwale and five more sliced through the mainsail. But neither of the scorpions shot a bolt at us as The Cretan eased past the breakwaters and drifted into the blue waters of the Aegean. The wind caught the artemon and mainsail and propelled the vessel to the right. Athineos struggled with the steering oars to restore its course and prevent us from careering into the right-hand breakwater. The Cretans loosed a last volley that sent arrows skidding dangerously across the deck, two lodging in one of my quivers and splintering several shafts, but fortunately causing no casualties.
Athineos bellowed to us to get the hatches open to release the crew to retrieve the rowboats as the sails billowed and we began to pick up speed. The shield bearers placed their missile-peppered scuta against the gunwale and smiled boyishly at each other and us. I embraced Gallia as the others ran to the hatches and shouted to those below that we had escaped Ephesus.
Alcaeus stayed with the wounded sailors in the hold but the others came on deck and raised their heads to the heavens and thanked their gods for their delivery. Anca was crying tears of joy as she and Burebista embraced each other, both looking deliriously happy. Cleon, still clearly disappointed at having been forced to flee from Ephesus, at least managed a smile as the gorgeous Hippo dazzled him with the most beautiful smile and kissed him tenderly on the lips. I saw Surena go to work with his dagger on the main mast, carefully prising an enemy arrow from the wood and slipping it into a quiver. I soon was doing the same. We had shot off a good deal of the arrows we had captured on the wharf so it would be wise to retrieve as many as we could.
The sailors went back to their tasks after first hauling the two rowboats back on board and securing them to the deck. It was late afternoon now and the sea resembled a dazzling shimmering lake as the sun sank low on the western horizon. The breeze was pleasant, the day still warm and I raised my arms and thanked Shamash for His mercy in allowing us to escape from Ephesus. The Lord of the Sun had certainly smiled on this day.
Gallia was chatting to Hippo and Cleon, showing the former how to hold a bow and pull back the drawstring. The high priestess was delighted to be able to hold the bow of the Queen of the Amazons. Surena was slipping off the bowstring from his bow and counting the number of arrows in his quiver. Domitus sauntered over, holding his shield that resembled a pincushion.
‘Let’s hope that old witch we met on Cyprus was right,’ he said.
‘She is a seer,’ I told him, ‘someone who can see the future. Of course she is right.’
He placed the shield against the gunwale. ‘I have just been talking to one of the sailors and he is mystified as to why we are sailing north instead of south.’
‘We go to seek the lions of Lemnos,’ I said.
He rolled his eyes. ‘You sure you didn’t get a knock on the head back in Ephesus? The sailor said that there is nothing north except trouble.’
‘If we went back to Syria then we definitely would be asking for trouble,’ I said.
‘So where are we heading?’
I had no idea, only that we had to get to Lemnos. And after that? I shrugged vacantly.
‘Very reassuring,’ he muttered.
He looked around at those on deck, his eyes resting on Cleon and Hippo who resembled love-struck teenagers.
‘What are you going to do with them?’
I gave him another shrug. ‘I don’t intend to do anything with them.’
He drew his gladius from its scabbard and began examining the blade for signs of any chips along the edges.
‘Well, let us assume we get back to Dura, a big assumption. If the Romans find out you are harbouring a man wanted for inciting a riot at Ephesus they will either demand him back or march an army into your kingdom to take him back. Then there is the high priest.’
‘Kallias? I think we can handle his army of over-dressed temple guards.’
He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘He will want his high priestess back so he can burn her for her sacrilege and will be using all his influence to persuade the Romans to send an army to get her back.’
‘And what would my general’s advice be?’ I asked.
He looked at the land on our starboard side. ‘Dump them on the nearest island we come to.’
‘I will think on the matter.’
He picked up the scutum. ‘Meaning you will ignore it. I despair, Pacorus, I really do.’
He marched off to complain to Drenis and Arminius about me, shouting at Surena to stop playing with his dagger and do something useful. I smiled. It was good to see him happy. I walked over to where Burebista and Anca were both staring out to sea.
‘A fine view,’ I said.
They both turned, Anca sheepishly avoiding my eyes as she stared at the deck.
‘In all the excitement of this day I have not had chance to speak to you, Anca. I apologise for my bad manners.
She still averted my eyes. ‘No apologies are needed, dominus.’
I smiled and reached out to hold her arm. ‘I am not your dominus but would be your friend. Please, be at ease.’
She looked at me, her eyes brown and bright. She looked as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
‘What part of Dacia do you come from, Anca?’
‘I have never seen Dacia, lord,’ she replied, her eyes filled with sadness. ‘I am the daughter and granddaughter of slaves.’
‘I promised to take her back to our homeland, lord,’ said Burebista, ‘though until
today I had no idea how I would do so.’
‘Parthia always has room for excellent commanders, Burebista,’ I told him. ‘I cannot promise you long life but I can guarantee prosperity and a life of freedom.’
Anca looked concerned. I smiled at her.
‘The decision would rest with both of you, naturally.’
‘Dacia calls us, lord,’ replied Burebista. ‘We go back to raise the standard of resistance against the Romans.’
Still the same old Burebista: reckless and headstrong. Just the type of leader Dacia would need if it was going to withstand the might of Rome. Anca looked alarmed. I turned to see Athineos’ unkempt second-in-command whose eyes settled on Anca’s ample bosom.
‘Skipper wants to see you,’ he uttered to me as the corner of his mouth curled up to form a leer as he continued to stare at Anca’s chest.
Burebista placed himself between his woman and the lecherous sea dog.
‘You have delivered your message.’
The sailor looked at the muscled Dacian before him, picked something out of his nostril and wandered off. I made my excuses and walked to where Athineos stood steering the vessel. Veins bulged on his thick forearms as he gripped the rudder to steer The Cretan north. He looked even fiercer than usual as the dipping sun turned the sky orange and the wind continued to drop.
‘How good are your eyes?’ he snapped.
‘Good enough.’
‘Then use them to take a look south.’
I did, and concern swept through me as I saw two small shapes on the horizon.
‘Roman warships.’
I stared, open-mouthed, at the two vessels that seemed many miles away but also immediately threatening. I thought we had escaped from Ephesus but the Romans were apparently intent on tracking us down and either killing or capturing us so they could transport us back to Ephesus for exemplary punishment.
Chapter 13
‘Are you sure?’
Athineos looked at me with a face full of wrath.
‘An hour ago they were barely discernible dots on the horizon, now I can see square sails and ships sailing side by side. In another hour, when we will be pulling into shore to anchor for the night, I shall be able to see the eagles on the mainsails. Yes, I’m sure.’
‘Can they catch us?’
He turned and squinted at our pursuers. ‘Not today. They will also have to anchor soon.’
I looked up at the sky. ‘But the wind will be blowing again tomorrow.’
He shook his head. ‘It won’t save us. They have sails too but what they also have, which we do not, are oars.’
They were triremes, warships that had three levels of oars, sixty-two on the upper level, fifty-four on the middle level and another fifty-four on the lower level. The upper-level oarsmen rowed through an outrigger and had a deck running the length of the ship above them, from which thick linen screens could be suspended to protect them from missiles or poor weather. The oarsmen on the middle level rowed through an open oar-hole, but those on the lower level, whose oar-holes were only eighteen inches above the waterline, had their ports enclosed by a leather sleeve.
‘You remember me telling you about their rowers when we were on the way to Ephesus?’ he said.
‘That they are not slaves.’
‘They are professionals. Each one sits on a cushion and they row to the beat of a drummer so they can get their rhythm,’ he answered. ‘And that rhythm is fast, Pacorus. The Romans may spout all this rubbish about Greeks being effeminate and boy lovers but they spend good money on Greek rowers because they know they are the best to be had. And like this ship each trireme has a mainmast and a small boat-mast forward.’
He told me that the sails were square-rigged and fitted with brailing ropes and could be removed before a battle.
‘And triremes are fast,’ he continued. ‘No longer than forty yards and a beam just over six yards, their lightweight hulls are mortice-and-tenon construction in fir and oak and that means they can cut through the water at speed.’
‘But surely they are carrying a lot of weight?’ I said desperately.
He laughed. ‘They carry a fair weight, yes. But they are slim, unlike this old lady, and they have a hundred and seventy rowers providing motive power. They don’t fight, but the forty marines on each trireme do. So once we’ve been rammed they will either let us all drown or throw grappling hooks so they can board us to kill us with their weapons.’
He looked at me. ‘Are you going to tell them?’
‘Who?’
He nodded at the people on deck. ‘Them?’
‘Yes.’
As Athineos guided his ship into a small bay on the north coast of a small island called Psara, I gathered my companions on deck and informed them that two Roman warships were chasing us. The sailors furled the two sails and dropped a large stone anchor to secure our position in the shallow water and the cook began to prepare some of the meagre rations we had on board. None of us had much of an appetite as we sat in a circle on deck and picked at our cooked fish, rations that had been earmarked for the marines that had been guarding the sailors before we liberated them. Meanwhile the sun dipped in the west.
After we had finished eating Athineos called everyone together in front of the cabin for a briefing. He had forbidden the lighting of any torches as a precaution against the Romans spotting us.
‘I thought you said they too would be forced to seek an anchorage,’ I said.
‘Never underestimated the Romans, Pacorus.’
He folded his thick arms in front of him.
‘You all know that the Romans are after us and that tomorrow they might catch us.’
Some of the crew began to murmur among themselves.
‘Silence!’ barked Athineos. ‘We have two options, as I see it. We can either sail to the mainland, fire the boat and try to evade our pursuers on foot, or we can sail for Lemnos in the morning and hope we get there before the Romans intercept us.’
‘What’s at Lemnos?’ asked one of the sailors.
Athineos looked at me.
I turned to face the questioner. ‘Salvation. I have arranged for reinforcements to be sent to the island and they will be able to deal with the Roman warships.’
The sailor seemed satisfied by my answer, though Athineos was taken by surprise.
‘So, that being the case,’ said the captain, ‘I think it is best to push on to Lemnos.’
His crew was in agreement and went back to their stations in a satisfied mood. Cleon and his small band of men were similarly fortified by my announcement and Domitus smiled knowingly at me. Athineos took my elbow and led me into the cabin, shutting the door behind him. I could hardly see him in the dimness.
‘Reinforcements?’ he said quietly.
‘Men perform better if they have hope, Athineos.’
‘And when we get to Lemnos and there are no reinforcements?’
‘I must ask you to have faith, Athineos, faith that things will turn out to our advantage. Besides, our luck has held thus far.’
‘The thing about luck, Pacorus,’ he replied, ‘is that eventually it runs out.’
Alcaeus wanted Athineos to send men ashore to fetch fresh water, as our supplies were very low. The captain was at first reluctant but yielded after the doctor informed him that several of the crew that had been flogged by the Romans would be dead by morning if their raging thirsts were not satisfied. I offered to go along with the landing party to provide security, Surena and Domitus also volunteering their services. After a few minutes of prevarication Athineos finally relented and said he would lead the expedition. Cleon also wanted to come along but I asked him to watch over the ship.
Six sailors carried two empty water skins each and Athineos also carried a pair. Surena, Domitus and I shouldered one apiece. The crew lowered the rowboats into the calm black sea and we used ropes to clamber down the sides to get on board. The sailors were used to getting in and out the boats but Surena lost his footing and fell on one
of the brawny sea dogs, who gave him a mouthful of abuse.
‘Quiet,’ hissed Athineos, ‘the Romans might be in the next cove for all I know. No talking from now on.’
Because he had forbidden the lighting of any torches or candles on the ship our eyes soon got used to the darkness, the black craggy outlines of the island’s rocky terrain discernible against the night sky. There was no moon but the sky was cloudless and it was possible to make out the shore, the beach and the sharply rising rocky hill beyond.
The only sound was the gentle splashes of the oars as they dipped in the water. After less than five minutes the boats ran aground on the soft sand, we stepped out and hauled them onto the beach. I looked back to see the black shape of The Cretan. It was so quiet I was aware of my breathing and the beat of my heart. Athineos gathered us in a circle and spoke in a whisper.
‘There will be mountain streams inland from this beach. As soon as we find one we fill the skins and then leave. Keep your eyes peeled. The crews from those two triremes might be a stone’s throw away or they might be a few miles away.’
He led the party off the beach, moving between dunes and clumps of grass to reach a wooded area with the mountain looming up on our left. We moved through a dense area of maple, beech and chestnut, the cracks of breaking twigs as we stepped on them echoing through the trees and causing Athineos to curse us. But after stumbling on for a few more minutes we heard the pleasing sound of running water. On hearing it I suddenly felt very thirsty and was glad when I could cup my hands in the small stream and drink the cool liquid.
‘Hurry,’ hissed Athineos as he pulled the water skins off his back and dipped them into the watercourse.
The others did the same and as soon as his men had filled their skins he tapped them on the shoulder to indicate they should depart for the boats. I had never seen him so nervous. Surena was grinning like an idiot as the captain urged his men to complete their tasks and retrace their steps.
‘Fill that water skin,’ I said to him, ‘and be quick about it.’
‘The island seems deserted, lord. Perhaps we could go hunting to fill our bellies with fresh meat.’
