“Your first sailors’ bath,” Neos called out. His voice barely audible above the rising wind.
Alerio looked up from the deck to see all the crew members holding onto ropes, the mast, or the rail. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed the coil of rope, raced to the mast and tied off an end. At the oar, he looped the rope around his waist and tied it off on the rail.
“Stroke,” Peri sang out. “Row between the pulse of Gods!”
The Legionary finished the first stroke, stepped back poised for the Captain to call the cadence. Instead of Peri attempting to be heard above the howling wind, Neos, on the oar in front of him, began to chant. Realizing the song would keep the oarsmen in rhythm, Alerio joined with of them. Occasionally, when the gusts abated for a moment, the rowers on the other side could be heard.
With Zeus’ fury from above
Poseidon’s ire below, we stride the planks
Feet on the deck, Pushing the oars low
With all our strength, we move our vessel
Against the odds, through the gale
And row between the pulse of Gods
Alerio picked up the chant and matched Neos stroke for stroke. For a moment, he worried about the sailor when the Greek flinched as Alerio joined the singing. But he walked the oar steadily with sure footsteps, and the Legionary forgot about everything except maintaining his pace. The storm hit and the transport rolled.
The rain came down in sheets and Peri lost sight of his rowers. Angling the boat so the bow rose on the waves, he felt the ship’s movement and its response, letting him know his crewmen were doing their job. The Thalássio Klouví shifted to a northeast direction and headed into the wind and waves.
Titans of the sky in revolt
Waves rise to pound, our hearts determined
On a tossing deck, dipping the blades down
With muscle and sweat, we move the vessel
Against the odds, through the gale
And row between the pulse of Gods
Waves rolled along the sides and only a few broke over the rails. When the water did swamp the deck, Alerio stumbled in the surge. Ahead of him, Neos hesitated until the seawater washed away. Learning from the experienced sailor, the Legionary stopped fighting the water and delayed until it streamed away.
Threatened by the Fates
Yielding to nothing, except the strokes
We deny the fates, with ferocity and oak
With spirit and soul, we move the vessel
Against the odds, through the gale
And row between the pulse of Gods
Neos and Alerio walked each oar stroke fighting the swells and waves. Together, the crewmen kept the Thalássio Klouví in motion as it plowed through the stormy sea.
With Zeus’ fury from above
Poseidon’s ire below, we stride the planks
Feet on the deck, pushing the oars low
With all our strength, we move our vessel
Against the odds, through the gale
And row between the pulse of Gods
Chapter 21 – Birds and Bilge
Sweating in the chilly, blowing rain, gave testament to the hard work of the oarsmen. Endlessly it seemed, the sea rose and the transport climbed up and down the swells. The fat belly of the ship remained below the surface and kept the hull from tipping and sinking to the bottom. But her freeboard diminished as sea water and rain dripped into the cargo hold. At the end of the tempest, the storm passed to the south leaving the deck of the Thalássio Klouví floating only a foot and a half above the surface.
To maintain forward progress and keep the sluggish vessel from floundering, the rowers finished a few more exhausted strokes.
“Ship your oars,” Peri ordered in a hoarse voice. “Neos and Zoon, lower the mainsail. Eidos get me a sounding. Let’s see if we made any progress.”
“I’ll help,” offered Alerio.
“Sisera. I need you on the oar while I get out the pump,” Peri informed the Legionary.
“Pump, Captain?”
“Yes, to the pump and stop with the Captain,” Peri scolded. “This is a merchant transport, not a Navy vessel.”
Crypto vanished below the platform and emerged with a long wooden item. The object was carved into blades that joined together as they traversed and twisted down the length of a solid center shaft. After setting the carved piece aside, Peri reached in and pulled out a lead trough.
He placed the trough on the lip of the tube sticking above the cargo cover. The other end rested below the rails sticking out over the side of the boat. Then he lifted the carved wooden item, inserted the end in the tube, and lowered it.
“That’s a pump?” Alerio asked.
Peri didn’t reply. He was too busy turning a handle attached to the wooden structure. After several spins, water appeared on the part of the blade visible above the tube. The liquid poured off the top blade, splashed into the trough, and flowed overboard.
“See for yourself,” Peri declared as a steady stream flowed from the blade. “Eidos. I need that sounding.”
The sailor hauled in the pot and carried it to Peri. After swishing around the sea bed material, the Captain announced. “We’re closer to the coast. Now, if the clouds would clear.”
“Have Sisera sing some more,” Neos suggested. “He chased away the storm.”
“What?” Alerio questioned.
“He didn’t mean anything,” Peri said quickly. “Raise the foresail. Zoon, come spin the pump.”
“No,” the sailor replied as he walked over and took the handle from Crypto.
Alerio studied the bilge water pouring from the tube. At his father’s farm, they had a waterwheel for lifting water from the stream. The ship’s pump seemed like magic except, he could see it work, and had seen the mechanism go in the tube.
“Stay on the oar,” Peri ordered as he sat down and leaned against the rail. “Wake me when the clouds clear.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Try singing.”
***
The Thalássio Klouví sailed through the calm sea. Eidos relieved Alerio and Neos took over for his cousin as the overcast afternoon passed. When he finished a turn at the pump, Alerio stretched out and dozed. A shout from Neos woke him.
“The wind is shifting,” the sailor announced. “and Helios has come out to smile on us.”
A noticeable breeze touched the sailors as it came over the starboard side. Almost as soon as the wind shifted, the clouds parted and the sun appeared.
“Roll the sails and man the oars,” Peri ordered from his place on the deck. Before climbing to his feet, the mariner held up two fingers and measured the distance from the fiery ball.
***
They rowed smoothly and Peri adjusted the oar. From the raised platform, he was the first to sight the tops of the mountains in the distance.
“We’ve found land,” he announced pointing to the east.
Alerio glanced in the direction but all he could see was water. Then sawtooth hills appeared on the horizon. The closer the boat moved towards the hills, the higher they rose and soon, the Legionary could make them out as the upper portion of mountains.
“I told you,” Neos exclaimed.
Alerio looked around as the sun touched the sea in the west and then back at the approaching land. The sailor had been right. They hadn’t seen the shoreline until the sun was almost down.
“How far off are we?” Eidos questioned.
“Not much north of Dhërmi Beach,” Peri replied.
“You’ve still got the touch, boss.”
“Years of experience,” Peri replied to the compliment. He angled the oar, guiding the boat in a southeast direction. Then he announced. “Step lively. We’ll be dining around a campfire this evening.”
The relief of crossing the Ionian Sea safely and the promise of dry land brought a cheer from the three sailors and the Legionary. Then, they settled into a steady rhythm as the mountains, now off to the port side, climbed into the dar
kening sky.
“Not much further,” Peri assured them. “And it looks like we’ll have company tonight. There’s a boat on the beach.”
“Do you recognize it?” inquired Neos.
“Not from this distance. But we’ll put in nearby and spend the night telling stories,” Peri declared. Then, his features fell and he muttered. “We don’t have enough daylight left.”
Eidos heard him and asked, “Enough light for what?”
“To make a run south,” Peri replied. “There are eleven men on the transport.”
Both Peri and Eidos studied the shore although only Crypto had a clear visual.
“What does eleven men mean?” Alerio inquired.
“We operate this transport with five,” Neos answered. “The only reason for six extra crewmen is piracy and seizing merchant ships.”
“What will Peri do?”
“Not much we can do except land,” Neos explained. “The coast south of here is full of low rocks extending into the sea. We sail away, we’ll crash and sink. We land, and in the morning, we’ll be fighting for our lives. Unless, of course, we abandoned the Thalássio Klouví and leave it for the Illyrians.”
“Won’t they come tonight?”
“No. They’ll wait for us to bail out the cargo hold,” Neos described. “Why attack and have to work when they can wait and we’ll do it for them.”
“Captain Crypto. Do you have any weapons on board?”
“We have sicas, all sailors do. And barbed hook poles and clubs. Oh, and a Hoplite helmet and spear,” Peri replied. “Both are tarnished but serviceable. I got them in a trade and haven’t found a buyer yet.”
“Beach us as far away from their boat as possible,” Alerio responded. “Then dig out the spear and helmet.”
“What are you thinking, Sisera?” demanded Eidos.
“Let’s see if they fear doing battle with a mythological warrior.”
“What mythological warrior?”
“Me,” exclaimed Alerio.
***
The Illyrian boat rested on the southern end of Dhërmi Beach. Their position chosen to ambush any ships coming up from the south. Or in the case of the Thalássio Klouví, to cut off escape if Peri attempted to pass them on the way south.
“Ship oars. Let her run,” Crypto called out just before the transport ran aground. When the grating of the keel on the sand ended, he ordered. “Zoon. Drop the stern anchor.”
“No,” the sailor replied as he stepped onto the platform, picked up a chunk of iron, and dropped it off the rear of the boat. The line ran out and when the iron hit bottom, Zoon tied the rope off on the rail.
“Neos. Give me a spike on the beach,” Peri directed once the rear of his boat was held in place.
The sailor tossed a rope, a hammer, and a sharpened spike off the bow. Jumping from the deck, Neos vanished for a moment before appearing higher on the beach. He drove the spike in and tied off the rope securing the transport to the shore. After anchoring the boat, the sailor pulled his knife and walked up the beach to the forest.
“Eidos, Zoon, and Sisera. Gather supplies and let’s prepare a big meal,” Peri ordered. “We might as well feast tonight. Because, we don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”
The two sailors pulled storage boxes from under the platform and opened them. While they worked, Alerio stared at Peri.
“Do you have something on your mind, Sisera?”
“The helmet and spear, Captain Crypto.”
“I thought we settled the Captain title,” Peri reminded the Legionary. “I am not in the Navy anymore.”
“I realize that, sir. But you have suddenly become commander of a Legionary,” suggested Alerio. “The helmet and spear, if you please Centurion.”
“I prefer Captain.”
Crypto climbed into the space under the platform and Alerio heard rattling as the Captain shifted items. Finally, the end of a spear shaft poked out and the Legionary pulled out a mid-length Greek spear. Thankfully, it was an individual weapon and not a long-shafted spear Hoplites used in the phalanx. Even so, it was half again the length of a Legion javelin.
Alerio inspected the spearhead in the waning light. It was heavier than a javelin’s head and longer with four edges running to a sharp tip. Another difference, the Greek spearhead was steel as opposed to the iron tip on a javelin.
Stepping away, Alerio spun the shaft overhead. After a few turns, he located the balance point and increased the speed. Peri stuck his head out as the spear began to whistle in the air. Then, the Legionary brought the shaft down, flipped it over the back of his neck before passing it across his chest and behind his back. It happened so fast, Crypto lost sight of the spear until it appeared with the steel tip held steadily over the deck.
“Legion training?” Peri inquired as he stepped onto the deck holding a Hoplite helmet.
“Mostly, but I had the privilege of learning a few things from a Spartan,” Alerio replied.
“A Spartan?” gasped Eidos. His arms were full of food sacks and his mouth hung open. “You trained with the Spartans?”
“A Spartan and yes, I did.”
“I don’t think the Illyrian pirates are prepared for that,” Eidos said as he walked to the rail and lowered the supplies to Zoon. Then he yelled to Neos who stood feeding wood into the campfire. “Sisera trained in Sparta.”
“I don’t think the Illyrians are prepared for that,” Neos shouted back.
“I said that first,” Eidos yelled.
***
Alerio scooped up a handful of sand in a cloth. Then, he lowered the spearhead and ran it back and forth in the grit. It was the fourth set of passes, one for each blade. The steel gleamed as if newly delivered from the forge. After buffing the spear from tip to end with a dab of goose grease, the Legionary set the spear aside and picked up the helmet.
“In the morning, you’ll stand two to a side,” Alerio explained as he rubbed the tarnish off the helmet. “Hold your poles low and make small circles with the tips.”
Neos stopped spooning stew into his mouth and inquired, “And where will you be?”
“I’ll be sleeping,” the Legionary replied.
“Of course, you will,” Eidos declared as he scraped the bottom of his bowl. “While you’re sleeping, the Illyrians will turn the sand red with our blood.”
“Oh, and I don’t want to be awakened,” Alerio added with a wink across the fire at Peri. “Because the person who wakes me, will be the first to die.”
Chapter 22 – Rumor of a Mythological Warrior
Before daybreak, Alerio heard the Illyrian pirates rowing their ship up from the south. Judging by the crunch of the keel on the sand, they brought it ashore over an arrow’s distance from the Thalássio Klouví.
“The scum are afraid we’ll leave before they can claim their prize,” Peri sneered. “I feel like a sacrificial bull waiting for the long knives of the priests.”
“Maybe they’re a flock of sheep being led to slaughter,” Alerio suggested.
“You have a lot of confidence for a single warrior against eleven pirates.”
“I’m a Legion weapons instructor,” Alerio explained. “Knowing men is part of surviving.”
“Poets and philosophers understand the nature of man. Hoplites understand combat,” Peri remarked. “Knowing and fighting are two very different skills.”
“Not as dissimilar as you might think, Captain Crypto.”
***
Two of the brigands remained on their boat while the other nine walked up the beach to firmer footing. They swaggered across the distance between the boats, turned downhill, and approached the merchant boat from high ground.
The Greek sailors were paired up with four paces separating the cousins from their Captain. Three of the Greek sailors had two-handed grips on poles with grappling hooks on the ends. Held low, the sailors moved the boat tools making small circles low to the ground. Zoon, paired with Peri, had a club. Unlike the hooks that pointed in the direction
of the pirates, the bludgeon swung gently in front of the partially mute sailor’s legs.
“There is nothing for you here except death and pain,” Peri whispered at the line of approaching Illyrians. The shapes becoming clear in the early morning light. “Lower your weapons and remain silent.”
“Your ship is mine. And your crew, my slaves,” a large man announced as he raised a sword. Lifting two fingers from the hilt, he scratched at his bushy beard.
“For the love of Eleos, keep your voice and weapon down,” cautioned Peri in a barely audible voice.
“You can implore your Goddess for help. But the only mercy you’ll have today is from me,” the pirate leader declared. He thumped the sword’s hilt against his leather armor and bragged. “I am Balaites, scourge of the sea and taker of lives and cargo. None can stand against me.”
“Lower your voice,” warned Peri. “Or you’ll wake up our cargo.”
The boat hooks continued to rotate, drawing the eyes of the Illyrians. They watched and prepared for an attack by the Greek crew.
“I don’t take directions from the likes of you, merchant,” Balaites rumbled. “If I wake a few pigs, I’ll have my fighters make me bacon before the sun is fully up.”
“Not swine,” Peri mumbled forcing Balaites and the men on either side of the pirate leader to lean forward to hear. “My cargo is a mythological warrior.”
Balaites roared with laughter. The men adjacent, his Lieutenants, sarcastically passed the words ‘mythological warrior’ to the rest of the Illyrian riders. They added their voices to the mirth.
“Are you mad?” demanded Peri in a conversational tone.
“My crew and I fear no one,” Balaites yelled. “Not Hoplites, not Spartans, and certainly no one calling himself a mythological warrior.”
“Ground your weapons,” Peri ordered loudly.
Peri, Eidos, and Neos thrust their hooks into the sand. Anticipating an attack by the wicked implements, the Illyrians followed the progress of the boat tools. With their eyes down, they failed to see the movement on the deck of the Greek transport.
Fatal Obligation Page 13
