by Mika Waltari
“Arsinoe,” he said respectfully, “the men believe they have a goddess on board. But in watching you they forget to row and in time they may have even more dangerous thoughts. It would be better also for Turms if you were to go below and not show yourself too frequently.”
Seeing a stubborn look on Arsinoe’s face I said hastily, “I know that no one can compel you to do so, but it would be a pity if the burning sun were to scorch your milk-white skin.”
She screamed in dismay and attempted to cover as much of her bareness as she could. “Why didn’t you say so immediately?” she reproached me and hastily went below to the compartment which the helmsmen had made comfortable for her. I was left to trail behind like a pet dog.
5.
For three days we rowed through the open sea and no winds awoke to help us on our way. At night we roped the vessels together and Arsinoe’s cat crept surreptitiously along the rails with flaming eyes, arousing the superstitious awe of the sailors. Nor did they grumble, but rowed willingly, believing every stroke took them farther from the dreaded Carthaginian galleys.
But on the fourth night Dorieus girded himself, began talking to his sword, sang war songs to rouse his spirit and finally confronted Dionysius.
“What are your real intentions, Dionysius of Phocaea?” he demanded. “We have long ago eluded the vessels of Carthage. Yet from the sun and stars I see that we have sailed northward day after day. We will never reach Eryx this way.”
Dionysius agreed good-naturedly, then gestured with his thumb. Instantly the crew seized and bound Dorieus so quickly that he had not even time to touch his sword. He roared at the outrage, then remembered his honor and grew silent, contenting himself with murderous looks.
Dionysius began to speak soothingly. “We respect you as a hero, and by birth you are far above any of us, but you must admit that the blow on the head you suffered at Lade still troubles you at times. When I heard you talking to your sword, when you spoke of the stars and the sun and seafaring, of which you know nothing, I realized that for your own good I would have to imprison you in the hold until our arrival in Massilia.”
Even the men patted him kindly on the shoulder and said, “Don’t be angry with us, for it was for your own good that we did this. The vast-ness of the sea easily affects a mind unaccustomed to it. Even the sly Odysseus had himself bound to the mast when he heard the sirens’ song in his ears.”
Dorieus quivered with rage. “We are not going to Massilia! Instead of a dangerous voyage I offer you a good battle on land, and when I have won the crown of Segesta I will divide the land of Eryx among you and allow you to build houses where you can raise your sons to be soldiers. I will give you slaves for your fields and you can amuse yourselves by hunting the Siccanians and taking their women. Of all this pleasure Dionysius would treacherously deprive you.”
To silence him Dionysius burst into long laughter, slapped his thighs and shouted, “Listen to his confused babble! Would we, men of Phocaea, leave the sea to dig in the earth? I have heard nothing more ridiculous.”
But his men began to shift from one foot to the other and glance at one another. Rowers left their benches and the crews of the penteconters climbed to the stern the better to hear.
Dionysius then grew grave. “We are sailing north straight to Massilia and already we are in Tyrrhenian waters. But the sea is wide and my good luck still holds. If necessary, we will overcome the Etruscan vessels also and break through to Massilia. There they make red wine, there even a slave dips his bread in honey, and milk-white slave girls are sold for a few drachmas.”
“Listen, you men!” shouted Dorieus. “Instead of unknown dangers and strange gods I offer you a familiar land whose temples are built in the Greek manner and whose natives pride themselves on speaking the language of Greece. I offer you a short voyage and an easy war. You have seen me fight. I now offer you a life of ease under the protection of my crown.”
Dionysius tried to kick his head, but his own men intervened. “There is much truth in Dorieus’ words,” they conceded, “for we do not even know how our kinsmen in Massilia will greet us. The Etruscans easily sank the hundred ships of our forefathers and we have only three, with a total of but three hundred men. They would not suffice when the sea before us turns red and black with Etruscan vessels.”
“Three hundred brave men behind my shield is an army!” cried Dorieus. “I do not even ask you to lead the way but only to follow me. You are out of your wits unless you believe me rather than Dionysius, that breaker of vows.”
Dionysius raised his hand for silence. ‘Termit me to speak. It is true that I have negotiated with Dorieus. It is also true that we would lose nothing in warring in Eryx since Carthage will not pardon us in any case. But all this I have planned only in the event that the gods do not favor our reaching Massilia. Only as a last resort will we strike somewhere on the coast of Eryx.”
At sea Dionysius was mightier than Dorieus, and after lengthy argu ment the men decided to try for Massilia. It was, after all, their original objective.
But the strange sea was pitiless and the winds fickle. In time our drinking water became foul and many fell ill and saw fevered visions. Nor did Dorieus’ occasional outbursts from the prow make matters easier. Arsinoe grew paler, complained of continual nausea and wished herself dead. Each night she begged me to free Dorieus so that he might start a mutiny since any fate would be preferable to aimless drifting with only maggoty flour and rancid oil to eat.
Then at last we sighted land. Dionysius smelled and tasted the water, sounded the bottom and inspected the mud clinging to the wax plummet. But he had to admit, “I do not recognize this land. It stretches north and south as far as the eye can carry, and is, I fear, the Etruscan mainland. We have drifted too far to the east.”
Soon we met two Greek cargo vessels and from them learned that the shore in front of us was indeed Etruscan territory. We asked them for fresh water and oil but the crew, looking dubiously at our matted beards and scorched faces, refused and urged us to go ashore. The fishermen, they said, would help us.
Since they were Greeks, Dionysius did not wish to rob them, but allowed them to sail away and bravely turned our own vessels toward the land. Soon we found the mouth of a stream and a cluster of reed-roofed huts. It was evidently civilized country, for the people did not flee from us. The houses were timbered, there were iron kettles and clay images of gods, and the women wore jewelry.
The very sight of that smiling land with its blue mountains was so delightful that not even the rowers had any desire to do violence. We took on a supply of drinking water slowly, for no one was anxious to return to the sea, not even Dionysius.
Suddenly a chariot appeared and an armed man spoke to us sternly. Though his language was strange, we understood just enough to know that he demanded to see our sailing papers. We pretended not to understand, whereupon he looked searchingly at our weapons, warned us not to leave and drove away in a cloud of dust. A little later a panting troop of spearmen approached and settled down to stand guard nearby.
They did not stop us from boarding our ships, but as we thrust our vessels into the water they shouted threateningly and flung spears after us. By the time we were safely offshore a row of signal fires was burning along the coast and a fleet of fast war vessels, narrow and light in build, was bearing down on us from the north. Again we headed for the open sea, but our rowers were so exhausted that the galleys soon overtook us. When we failed to respond to their signals, an arrow with a bloodstained clump of feathers plunged into the deck of our vessel.
Dionysius wrenched it free and looked at it. “I know what this means,” he said, “but I am a patient man and will not engage in battle unless I am attacked.”
The sails pursued us relentlessly until nightfall, when they fanned out and suddenly attacked. We heard the crack of snapping oars, the sound of metal rams smashing the sides of our penteconters, and the death screams of our oarsmen as arrows and spears whistled in through the oar
ports. Our galleys listed and came to a halt at the very moment that an Etruscan vessel crashed into the trireme, severing both its steering oars. Enraged, Dionysius seized a grappling hook and chain and tossed them so cleverly at the Etruscan vessel that they caught in its stern and with a sudden jerk the ship came to a standstill. From our high deck it was easy to kill the rowers who ran to free the hook. An enemy attack from our rear was unsuccessful, for try as it might the frail Etruscan galley could not pierce the heavy oaken planks with its feeble ram.
Although the entire battle lasted only a few minutes, it caused great damage especially to our smaller vessels. We managed to repair the steering oars of the trireme, and the penteconters stuffed their leaks with sheepskins, but it was late that night before we had succeeded in bailing out the sea water which already had spoiled our recently acquired drinking water and provisions.
What was worse, we had not escaped the Etruscan galleys. Although most of them had fled toward shore, two remained nearby and when darkness fell they lit the pitch pots on their after decks as signal fires.
“I can almost hear the excitement in the shore cities as each chief hastens to be the first to reach us,” said Dionysius bitterly. “True, I have not heard that Etruscans skin pirates alive, since they themselves once practiced piracy, but they are a cruel people and fond of earthy pleasures.”
Arsinoe’s cat appeared silently out of the darkness on its nightly round, stopping to rub Dionysius’ leg and then stretched out to scratch its claws on the deck.
Dionysius gasped. “That sacred animal is wiser than we are! As you can see, it has turned its head toward the east and is clawing the deck to conjure up an east wind. Let us all scratch together, whistle like the wind and summon a storm.”
He ordered the men to scratch the deck. A few even tried to perform a Phocaean rain dance, but in vain. Even the slight breeze that we had felt died down and the sea became calm. Finally Dionysius gave up and ordered the vessels to be roped together so that the men could rest and pray, comb their hair and wash and anoint their bodies and be ready to die at dawn.
The Tyrrhenian fires disappeared and in the darkness I exclaimed to Dionysius, “Your luck is still with us. The Etruscans fear the black sea and are returning to shore.”
He stared out over the water and thus lost a precious moment. From the stern we heard a crash and, lighting the torches, saw that all the steering oars had been chopped off by the stealthy Etruscans, who had approached under cover of the dark. In the distance they again set fire to their pitchpots.
A feeling of guilt came over me as I thought of Arsinoe. She would still be in the safety of the temple if I had not abducted her and led her to certain death. I descended to her compartment where she lay, thin and wan, her eyes darker than ever in the flicker of the tallow lamp.
“Arsinoe,” I said, “the Etruscans are upon us. Our steering oars are broken, and when dawn comes the heavy Etruscan galleys will arrive to stave in our sides. Nothing can save us.”
Arsinoe merely sighed and said, “I have been counting the days on my fingers and am amazed. And I have developed a terrifying longing to eat crushed snail shells such as are given to hens.”
I thought her mind was muddled from fear and felt her forehead, but she had no fever. Softly I said, “I did wrong in abducting you from the temple, but all is not yet lost. We can signal the Etruscans and hand you to them before the battle. When you tell them that you are a priestess of Eryx they will not harm you, for the Etruscans are a godfearing people.”
She stared at me in disbelief and began to weep. “I cannot live without you, Turms! Even though I am a little frivolous I love you more than I believed it possible to love any man. Besides, I greatly fear that I am pregnant by you. It must have happened that first time when I forgot my mystic silver ring in the temple.”
“In the name of the goddess,” I cried, “that is impossible!”
“Why should it be,” she retorted, “although it is a disgrace since I am a priestess. But in your arms that time I forgot everything. I had never experienced anything so wonderful as I did that time with you.”
I pressed her close to my breast. “Ah, Arsinoe, I too never experienced anything like that. How happy I am!”
“Happy!” she repeated and wrinkled her nose. “I myself am anything but happy. I feel so wretched that I actually hate you. If you intended to bind yourself to me, Turms, you have succeeded, and see that you answer for your deed.”
Holding her in my arms, so frail and helpless and bitter, I felt a greater tenderness toward her than ever before. Whatever was her guilt with Dorieus and Mikon, it had nothing to do with us and I forgave her. Such was my faith in her.
Then I remembered where we were and what was happening, and knew that only my own strength could save Arsinoe and our unborn child. Despite hunger, exhaustion and lack of sleep I suddenly felt myself freed of earthly clay. My power was kindled within me like a flame in a lamp, and I was no longer mortal. I released Arsinoe, rose and ran to the deck. It was as though I walked on air.
Exultantly, head high and arms upraised, I turned in every direction and shouted, “Come, wind; wake, storm, for I, Turms, call you!”
So loud was my cry over the black sea that Dionysius hurried to me. “Are you calling the wind, Turms? If you are, you might as well ask that it be the east wind. That would best answer our purpose.”
My feet were already moving uncontrollably in the steps of the sacred dance. “Silence, Dionysius, shame not the gods. Let them determine the direction. I merely summon the storm.”
At that moment the sea already sighed, our vessels swayed, the ropes creaked, the air grew damp and a puff of wind blew over us. Dionysius called for the torches to be extinguished. Quickly it was done, but the Etruscans, who were caught unaware, saw the wind whip the flames from their pitchpots onto the deck of the nearer galley. In a few minutes the vessel was ablaze. Over the howl of the wind we heard the mast of the second Etruscan vessel crack in two.
My dance grew wilder, my calls to the wind louder until Dionysius, to silence me, struck me a blow that sent me to the deck. As the storm raged Dionysius himself cut the ropes that tied the vessels together. From one of the penteconters came cries that the sheepskins had loosened and water was rushing in through the holes. In anger and disappointment Dionysius commanded the men to abandon the sinking vessel and clamber onto the trireme, which itself was listing badly. The second penteconter disappeared into the thundering darkness.
Somehow Dionysius righted our vessel, raised the mast and part of the sail, and the trireme began to obey its temporary steering oars.
With the sunrise the sea brightened and the storm calmed to a brisk breeze that bulged the sail. We raced with the giant waves toward the west, the vessel leaping under us like a snorting mount. The men began to laugh and shout and Dionysius gave them all a measure of wine. He sacrificed some to Poseidon also, although many felt that to be unnecessary.
A sail was sighted far ahead. The sharpest-eyed sailor climbed the mast and cried out joyously that it was the striped sail of our lost penteconter. By midday we had reached it and saw that it was not badly damaged.
The east wind continued to blow and on the third day we sighted blue mountains rising like clouds against the sky. During the night the currents carried us with them, and at dawn we sighted the outline of a hump-necked mountain.
Dionysius cried out in surprise, “By all the gods of the sea, I recognize that mountain, so often have I heard it described! How the gods must be laughing, for we are back almost to our starting point. That mountain is on Sicily’s coast, the shore is a part of Eryx and behind the mountain is the town and harbor of Panormos. At last I see that the gods did not intend to lead us to Massilia. I can only regret it though, for they could have piloted us to Massilia with far less trouble. Now Dorieus may assume command, since that seems to be the will of the gods. I will stand down.”
He sent his men to see whether Dorieus was still alive and,
if so, to untie him and bring him on deck. But, to tell the truth, Mikon and I had long since cut away his fetters, in such bad condition was he.
At last Dorieus appeared, hair matted by the salt water, face lined and eyes narrowed like a bat blinded by the sudden light. He seemed to have aged ten years during that month of imprisonment. Faintly he called for his sword and shield. I brought him the sword but had to confess that his shield had been tossed into the sea as an offering to the gods. He nodded and said that he well understood how such a noble offering had saved the vessel.
“So thank my shield for your lives, you wretched men of Phocaea,” he said. “I myself would have sacrificed it to the sea goddess Thetis, who is well disposed toward me. I have had strange experiences the while you have thought that I lay in the hold. But I will not speak of -them.”
His eyes were the color of gray salt as he turned to Dionysius and tested the edge of his sword. “I should kill you, Dionysius of Phocaea, but seeing your foolish head finally bowed before me, I forgive you. I will even admit that the oarstroke which I received at Lade still troubles me at times.” He laughed and nudged Dionysius with his elbow. “Yes, oarstroke, not swordstroke. I don’t understand why I should have been ashamed to call it an oarstroke. Only when the goddess Thetis and I met as equals in the depths of the sea did I come to realize that nothing shameful can happen to me, but that everything I experience is godly in its way. For that reason, Dionysius, I thank you for what you did to me.”
Suddenly he straightened himself and shouted, “But enough of foolish prattle! To arms, men! We will go ashore and conquer Panormos as was intended.”
The men ran for their spears, arrows and shields. When we had numbered our ranks we found that, in addition to Arsinoe and the cat, one hundred and fifty of us had survived. Three hundred had sailed from Himera, and the fact that exactly one half remained was considered by the men to be a good omen.
