by Mika Waltari
Miletus sent out target vessels filled with logs and twigs that kept them afloat despite the gashes in their sides. But many commanders refused to attack the targets, fearing that their bronze rams would be twisted, their oars would snap and the galleys would burst at the seams.
Dionysius however declared, “We must test the strength of our vessels and rams as well as our ability to disengage ourselves quickly once we have struck.”
With the first crash I toppled off the bench, struck my head and almost lost my oar. From the deck I heard the sound of clanking from prow to stern as though a slave had dropped an armful of bronze dishes onto a paved street. But it proved to be only Dorieus who had lost his balance when we rammed the target.
When he had had evidence of my good will Dionysius released me and, because I could read and write, took me with him on deck. He taught me how to recognize the various signals and trumpet calls that were used to direct the unified movements of the galleys. Upon receiving wax tablets from the city and the fleet’s council, he had me read them aloud and write replies. Previously he had tossed them overboard. After I had shown him how, he wrote a short message and as a result received, to his great surprise, a sacrificial bull, three sheep and a boatload of fruit and root vegetables. I explained that Phocaea was obligated to contribute the same amount of provisions to the allied depot at Miletus, where there were also available flute players, oil, wine, and copper plaques decorated with lion heads to be worn as badges of rank by the helmsmen.
“This is unbelievable,” muttered Dionysius. “Although I wept, cursed and stamped my foot at the depot, I wasn’t given even a sack of flour for my ships. Whereas you make me rich by merely drawing letters in wax. Perhaps this war isn’t as bad as I had thought.”
The entire fleet had begun to suspect that the war had turned for the worse. Only the authority of Miletus kept the fleet intact, for the world’s richest city, mother of a hundred colonies, could not be permitted to fall.
Then came a night when the sky over the city turned red and word spread that the Persians had robbed the Ionian temple of Apollo and set it on fire as a signal to their fleet. As I watched the glow I suddenly knew that the Persians were avenging the burning of the temple of Cybele at Sardis. It was fortunate for me that I was at the Phocaean camp, for had I remained in Miletus and been recognized I would surely had been killed by the enraged populace.
Fear and confusion gripped Lade, but during the night the men grew calmer. Many felt that the Persians had brought a curse upon themselves by destroying the oracle, others again were certain that nothing could save lonia since the god had been unable to protect even his own temple. But all the men purified themselves, braided their hair, anointed their faces and donned their best garments in preparation for battle.
3.
When the sky lightened, a thick column of smoke was still rising from the city as a signal to the hundreds of Persian galleys which had rowed out to sea to engage us in battle. To the sound of trumpet and conch we rowed out to meet them in the battle formation determined by the council, the larger vessels in the center and the lighter on either side. The golden city of Miletus fell behind us. Progress was slow, for many oars snapped and the ships got in one another’s way. The closer we came to the Persians the closer the vessels hugged one another for mutual protection.
We saw the silver and bronze glimmer of the Phoenician ships with the frightening figures of their deities. But we also saw Greek ships from Cyprus as well as other Ionian galleys in the enemy’s formation. Ionian prisoners were sacrificed on the Phoenician vessels and their blood was spilled into the water under the prows.
The sea was rilled with Persian ships. But the allied fleet likewise covered the sea. Mallets began beating out a quickened rhythm on the brass gongs, the song of the oarsmen became frenzied. The water churned under the prows as the two rows of vessels sped toward each other. My throat was dry, my stomach tense with fear. Then I knew only the roar and the crash, the utter confusion, the splash of water and the screams of the dying.
We were fortunate in the first attack. Our ship under Dionysius’ command rowed at an angle towards the enemy’s galleys as though deliberately presenting their sides, then suddenly turned and rammed into the nearest vessel. It tilted over us, its men falling into the water and onto our deck. Arrows whistled through the air. Alternately rowing and backing water, we strove to free ourselves of the sinking ship. But as we pulled loose our stern crashed into another galley and men swarmed aboard. Our deck groaned under the weight of combat.
All five of our ships were tangled in a helpless knot among the enemy galleys. Our rowers ran to the decks with their weapons but many of them fell before the Persians’ arrows. In the confusion I found myself beside Dorieus on the deck of a Phoenician vessel, and before I even knew how it had happened we had taken the galley, flung the deity on its prow into the sea, and forced into the water all those who dared not fight and fall on the blood-stained deck.
But because of the meagerness of our forces we were compelled to abandon the ship and leave it drifting with broken oars. When the tumult had stilled and Dionysius had summoned his ships, all five responded and we saw that we had broken the enemy’s front. With the collective strength of our five galleys we surged toward the center where the magnificent vessels of Miletus were engaging the enemy.
By midday our penteconter was sinking beneath us and to save ourselves we were obliged to capture a Phoenician bireme. When Dionysius had raised his emblem he began to look around.
“What does that mean?” he demanded.
We saw sinking and drifting ships, swimmers and floating bodies, and men clutching oars and fragments of wood. Beyond them the Ionian fleet, which had remained behind to protect the strait of Lade, was rowing full speed towards our rear and before we realized what was happening it was attacking the vessels of its allies.
“They waited to see which side would be victorious,” said Dionysius bitterly. “With this deed they are bargaining for clemency for their cities. The goddess of victory has abandoned lonia.”
Nevertheless we continued to fight and lost two vessels in the unequal battle. We did, however, manage to rescue the survivors so that the three remaining galleys were fully manned. Dionysius ordered the Phoenician oar-slaves, whom he did not trust, to jump into the sea, then disengaged himself from the battle and turned his vessels towards the open waters. Many Ionian ships were fleeing northward, pursued by the relentless Persians. The Ionian oarsmen now had need of the strength that they had gathered while lying under their sails for weeks.
As one of the participants I should have more to tell about the sea battle at Lade. But I was inexperienced in naval warfare and my eye could not easily distinguish one vessel from another. Most indicative of my inexperience is the fact that I was amazed to see the heaps of treasure chests, expensive weapons, sacrificial vases and urns and gold jewelry on our ships. While I had been fighting for my life, Dionysius and his men had had time to rescue the treasure in the vessels they had captured, and hastily to cut off arms and thumbs that yielded bracelets and rings.
Dionysius was pleased with the Phoenician galley that he had seized. He rapped its cedar planks, inspected its accommodations and the placement of its rowers’ benches, and cried, “What a ship! If I had a hundred like it and each manned by Phocaeans, I could conquer every sea.”
He did not smash the deity’s figure but made it an offering. “Side with me, Phoenician god, whatever your name may be, and fight for us.” He made no changes on the ship other than painting large eyes on its prow so that it would find its way even on distant seas.
By nightfall the sea around us was deserted. Dionysius made no attempt to land but had the vessels proceed within calling distance of one another, with the rowers alternating at the oars. The moans of the wounded echoed through the ship and Dionysius’ only remedy was to wash the wounds with sea water and cover them with tar. Dorieus had acquired numerous bruises. He also had been struck o
n the head by an oar with such force that his scalp had split before he had succeeded in removing his helmet.
Seeing the misery around me in the dark of night and the frightening emptiness of the sea, I was ashamed of my own invulnerability and wept aloud, something I had not done since Herakleitos had banished me from his house, calling me ungrateful. I had danced the dance of freedom and helped the people to banish Hermadoros from Ephesus, and Herakleitos had been unable to forgive me.
4.
When I awakened the sun was high, the water was murmuring under the prow, the oarsmen were singing in time with the bronze beat, and to my surprise I saw from the sun that we were going southward instead of northward to Phocaea.
Dorieus was seated at the prow, holding a wet cloth to his head. I asked him, in the name of all the sea gods, where we were going, for there were brown hills to the left of us and shadowy blue islands to the right.
“I don’t know,” said Dorieus, “and I don’t care. There’s a swarm of bees in my head and the very sight of the sea makes me ill.”
The wind had picked up and the waves were beating at our sides, occasionally splashing in through the oar ports. Dionysius was cheerfully arguing with the helmsman about shadows and landmarks.
“Where are we bound?” I demanded. “You are taking us into Persian waters.”
Dionysius laughed. “The Ionian ships are fleeing northward to their respective cities, but we are behind the Persian fleet and no one would think of looking for us here.”
A dolphin leaped into the air, baring its glistening loins. Dionysius pointed to it. “Can’t you see that the sea nymphs are tempting us with their rounded hips? Any sign that takes us farther from the Persians and lost lonia is a favorable one.” I could see from the glint in his eyes that he was jesting and that he had already made his decision.
He indicated a large blue island before us, signaled to the helmsman, and said, “That is Cos, island of the healers. Stop talking and go below to see how many of us need a coin in our mouths to pay the ferry.”
Leaving behind the leaping dolphin, the glorious sea breeze and the chant of the rowers, I descended to the bottom of the vessel where the wounded lay on the blood-slippery planks. A feeble light shone through the oar ports and the moaning had ceased.
“A few are dead,” I told Dionysius, “others cannot lift a hand, and still others are trying to sit up and are calling for food and water.”
“Throw the dead to Poseidon and his nymphs,” said Dionysius. “I shall take with me only those who are able to reach the deck either on foot or on their bellies. The others we shall leave at the temple of the healer on Cos.”
He shouted the same instructions to the two vessels following us. The men of Phocaea unclothed the dead, thrust a coin into the throat of each and tossed them into the sea. Most of the wounded managed to drag themselves on deck, cursing and groaning and calling upon the gods to aid them, for no one wanted to be left behind.
Not all the men reached the deck. Under the strain some of their wounds reopened, their blood bubbled forth onto the planks, their hold slackened and they fell back into the darkness.
Seeing this, I said harshly, “You are merciless, Dionysius.”
He shook his head. “On the contrary, I am merciful. Who are you to talk, Turms? These wounded are my people. I have risen to be their leader, I have shared my bread and salt with them and have thrashed seamanship into them with my rope. But a man gets by in life only with his own strength. The immortals will not drag me by the hair onto the deck if I lie helpless in the dark of the ship. I am the one who must make the effort even if it means dragging myself onto the deck by my teeth. I demand no more of them than I do of myself.”
Still he did not consent to say what his plans were. With the temple of Aesculapius as landmark, we rowed into the harbor of Cos. Only fishing and diving boats remained, for the Persians had seized all the larger vessels. They had not, however, destroyed the city.
Priests and physicians came to meet us at the shore and Dionysius had the badly wounded men carried off the ships. Many were unconscious, others delirious, and the priests consented to give these asylum in the temple so that they might fall into a healing slumber.
“We are not afraid of the Persians,” said the priests. “A healer is not concerned with the nationality or language of the sick, or with their beard or the cut of their clothes. The Persians likewise left their wounded at the temple.”
Dionysius laughed. “I respect the temple and fortunately my men are either delirious or unconscious. Otherwise they would crawl over the temple floor and with their bare hands throttle the Persians lying beside them. But even if a healer is not concerned with the language of the sick, I have always thought that he looks carefully at their purse.”
The priests met his eyes frankly. “Many who have returned from the threshold of death have dedicated votive offerings to the temple. But the clay bowl of the poor is as cherished as the silver figure or the tripod sent by the wealthy. We do not heal for money but to develop the divine skill which Aesculapius has given us, his heirs. This we swear in the name of the eye, the hand and the nose, the flame, the needle and the knife.”
The residents of the city hastily prepared a feast for us, but diluted the wine with five parts of water, for they had had experience with drunken sailors in the past. The day ended, the mountain peaks flamed, and splashes of purple swam in the sea, but still Dionysius delayed our departure. The priests began to glower and hint that it had not been their intention to provide asylum for warships but only for the wounded.
“I understand,” said Dionysius. “lonia’s freedom has ended on sea and land and from now on you must welcome the Persians in preference to your own people. I shall leave as soon as I receive a favorable omen.”
As dusk settled over the island and the fragrance of spices rose from the temple gardens, Dionysius drew me aside.
“Advise me, Turms, you who are an educated man, for I am in worse than a fix. I wouldn’t for anything insult these elders and their god, but we are about to leave for dangerous waters and I can’t afford to lose a single sailor. That’s why I intend to carry off one of Aesculapius’ heirs. He must not be too old, otherwise he won’t be able to withstand the rigors of the sea, and he must be able to heal wounds, fevers and stomach complaints. In addition, it would be good if he also spoke Phoenician, as many of the priests do.”
“What are you planning to do?” I asked.
He glanced at me guiltily and finally confessed. “Don’t you understand, Turms? The Persians have enlisted in their service all the warships of Cyprus and Phoenicia as far as Egypt, leaving the sea open and defenseless as a cow’s belly. Kairos help me, I intend to serve the god of the opportune moment.”
“In the name of the immortals!” I cried in dismay. “Honest warfare for freedom is one thing, piracy on the open seas another. The life of a pirate is short, his death fearful, and his name forever disgraced. He is hunted from one end of the sea to the other, he can find no refuge, and his very name strikes terror into respectable people.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” warned Dionysius. “You, a temple-burner, accusing me!”
“Dorieus and I certainly will not follow you.”
“Then remain here,” he said with sarcasm. “Remain with these friendly priests and explain to the Persians who you are and whence you came. We’ll meet sometime in the fields of Hades, but I swear that I’ll arrive there much later than you.”
His words made me hesitate. “It will soon be dark,” he said urgently. “Tell me how best to snatch a physician. We’ll need a good one before many days have passed.”
“Learned physicians are careful of their skin,” I pointed out. “That’s understandable, for if a sword punctures it, all their hard-learned knowledge will ooze out together with their life. Not even the physicians of Miletus consented to board the ships although they promised to care for all the wounded gratuitously in the city after the victory. No, you will ne
ver get anyone to volunteer as physician for your pirate ships.”
“We’re not pirates if we continue the naval warfare in the enemy’s waters after the others have given up,” argued Dionysius. “I’ll make the physician a rich man like all the others who follow me.”
“Even if he were to survive, what pleasure would he have from his riches if he were recognized and his past discovered?” I asked. “Nobody would shield him.”
“Turms,” said Dionysius slowly, “I’m afraid that I shall leave you on Cos, like it or not, unless you stop chattering and do something.”
With a sigh I left him and began looking around. Suddenly I noticed a short man standing apart from the others. There was something so familiar about him that I called out a greeting before I noticed diat he carried a caduceus. His face was round, his eyes restless, and there was a furrow between his brows.
“Who are you?” I asked. “In the dusk I thought I recognized you.”
“My name is Mikon,” he said. “I am consecrated, but unless you give the sign I cannot recognize you.”
“Mikon,” I repeated. “On the expedition to Sardis I met an Attic pottery maker named Mikon. He went to war in the hope of winning enough loot to open his own kiln, but he returned to Athens as poor as he had left it. He was a strong man with arms like gnarled tree roots, and there was a feeling of security in fleeing by his side from the Persians. Still I never felt as close to him as I do to you.”
