Hope of Earth (38 page)

Supplies arrived from Naupactus: food, bedding, even a hardy corps of prostitutes. Jes was relieved to see that Wona was not among them. This was too much like a final fling before execution.

They ate well, and sang some rousing songs. But Jes knew that it would take more than such encouragement to prevail on the morrow, when they would have to fight—or suffer the shame of letting the Corinthians have their way.

Jes had learned, from the attitude of the crewmen and the gossip Wona culled, that Phormio was considered to be the smartest admiral Athens had. The ships of Athens were generally conceded to be the fastest and best-managed in Greece. But there were limits. Twenty against forty-seven? Expertise could not make up for lack of power. The Corinthian admiral was surely no fool. If he maintained a tight formation, how could anyone stop it from going where it wished? The main Athenian technique was ramming; when a ship jammed into another ship from the side, the ram would puncture and disable it. But if one Athenian rammed one Corinthian ship, the men of a second Corinthian ship would grapple, board, and destroy the Athenian ship before it could pull free of the wreckage. So even with a perfect score, they could take out only twenty enemy ships—while losing all of their own.

It was time to sleep. Jes headed with her blanket for a suitable spot, then spied Kettle, the hoplite commander, there, and quickly changed course. But he saw her, and sneered before turning disdainfully away.

It was one gesture too many. Jes was tired and her temper was worn. So she did something foolish. She changed course again, and went to lay her blanket down near the man.

He stared darkly at her. She stared back. “Have you something to say, Hoplite Kettle?” she inquired.

He reached for his spear. But before his hand could grasp it, she had her knife out and cocked, ready to throw.

His jaw dropped. “You threaten me, stripling?”

“I merely suggest that I intend to sleep in peace, sir.” He was not in her chain of command, but he was an officer, so she gave him that token courtesy of recognition.

Kettle lifted the spear. He was sitting on the ground, but could throw it hard and accurately from that position.

She refused, again, to be intimidated, though she was distinctly nervous. She had to make her stand now, or forever be wary of him. “If you will hold up your shield, sir, I will show you my aim.”

He made a sound of contempt, and lifted his shield part way.

She hurled the knife into its center, hard.

Kettle looked. It was clear that she could as readily have put the knife into his face. She had given fair warning that she was not to be held in contempt. He laughed and jerked it out, flipping it back to her hilt-first. “Sleep in peace, pipe-man.” He lay down and closed his eyes, not at all concerned.

It was a small and dangerous victory, but perhaps she had won a modicum of respect. At least he had addressed her by her title.

The trierarch was going among the men of his crew as they settled for the night, talking briefly with each before moving on. He came to Jes. “Bed down now,” he said. “We may be roused early, and must be ready.”

“Yes sir,” she agreed uncomfortably.

“You have doubts?”

“I fear for our success.”

He squatted beside her. “Jes, do you question my competence?”

“Oh, no sir! I didn’t mean—”

“At ease; the question is rhetorical. Of course I am competent in my position, as you are in yours. I will perform well tomorrow, and so will you. Admiral Phormio is not merely competent; he is a genius as a strategist. If it is possible to destroy the enemy fleet, he will enable us to do it.”

“But is it possible, sir?”

“Not only possible but probable. We are bound to take some losses, but theirs will be far heavier. Have faith in that.”

“I will try, sir.”

He leaned close. “Jes, I know the admiral’s strategy. It is brilliant and feasible. All we need is discipline and performance in our crews. I have faith in both the strategy and the crews. I ask you to accept my word: we have victory within our means. Do you accept that?”

Somehow she had to believe. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Welcome.” He tousled her short hair and stood. He glanced at Kettle. “Good to see you guarding my piper, commander. I will stand in great need of both of you, tomorrow.”

The hoplite nodded noncommittally.

And now Jes did believe. The situation made no more sense than before, but Captain Ittai had made her confident that their fleet had the advantage. Somehow his confidence and his touch of camaraderie had transferred his faith to her. He had transformed her fear into assurance.

She knew that he was doing the same for every other crewman. Intellectually she remained in doubt about the outcome of the coming engagement, but she no longer feared it, and she was now quite sure of the leadership of their ship. Captain Ittai was quite a man.

One thing still bothered her, though. Her brother Sam was quite a man too—and Wona had made a fool of him. How great was Jes’s guilt for bringing Wona to the trierarch?

So even if the Athenian fleet was completely victorious, with no losses, what mischief lay ahead?

A hand tapped her shoulder. “Pipeman.” It was Kettle, but this time he didn’t sound angry. He could have dropped a clod of dirt on her face, by “accident,” but hadn’t; he had his own honor. If he ever attacked her, it would be with the same fair warning she had given him. “Up, pipeman. Clear your bladder and go immediately to your-post.”

It was still dark. She did as directed. All around her she heard others doing the same.

The helmsman checked the roster. The ship slid into the water. Other ships were moving similarly. “Faint pipe,” the helmsman said. Jes played just loud enough to be heard in the hush. She knew her music was vital, because the oarsmen could not see the boatswain in the darkness. Neither could she, but the helmsman was directing his orders to her. As dawn came, the full fleet was rowing almost silently out to sea.

And there, in the middle of the channel, was the Corinthian fleet. It had been trying to sneak past without notice. Admiral Phormio had anticipated that ploy, and acted to catch the enemy ships away from the shore, in open water. That was where he wanted them, Jes knew.

But that fleet was still more than twice the size of this one, and packed with fighting men. What strategy could prevail against it?

Yet as the two fleets closed on each other, it was the enemy who blinked. The Corinthians formed their ships into a large circle, their bows pointing outward. The smaller supporting vessels and merchantmen, which weren’t counted as part of the fighting fleet, were sheltered within that circle. But also there, oddly, were the five fast ships—-the only ones that might match the Athenian craft in speed.

Then she remembered her history: a formation like that had been used successfully against the overconfident and surprised Persians at Salamis. The fast ships would rush to support the outer circle wherever it was attacked, so that it would not be breached. They would have only a short distance to go, and would be almost instantly in play. So this made maximum use of them. It was a good formation. If the Athenians tried to envelop the circle, in the standard tactic of periplous, the vulnerable beams of their ships would be exposed to a sudden outward rush by the Corinthian rams. That could virtually destroy the Athenian fleet in one move.

So what could be done? The enemy position seemed impregnable to attack by even a much larger fleet. What was the source of Captain Ittai’s confidence in victory? Jes played her pipe, automatically following the directives of the boatswain, while her mind struggled with the mystery. Were they simply going to try to hold the Corinthians in place indefinitely, so they could not get where they were going? That didn’t seem feasible; the enemy should be able to wait as long as the Athenians could.

The Athenian fleet formed into a single line, and circled the enemy formation at a distance. The Athenian ships were too far out for a sudden thrust to be effective; by the time an enemy ship got there, the Athenian ships would have changed position, and the Corinthian formation would be broken.

The enemy admiral was too smart to fall for that. He kept his ships in place, not only pointing outward, but making constant adjustments so as to orient on the closest Athenian ships. The Athenians would have to approach to have effect, and then they would be vulnerable to the outward rush. This was like circling an angry bear: its swift paws would strike when anyone came within range.

The Athenians did not approach. Instead they circled continually around the Corinthian formation. It seemed to be an impasse.

Then Jes realized that the circling wasn’t static. With each pass, the Athenian fleet was slightly closer. The approach was so gradual that there was no point at which the Corinthians could act to resist an attack, but an attack seemed constantly imminent. So the enemy oarsmen had to keep stroking and backing, staying clear of their neighbors without allowing a gap to open in their defensive ring, aiming outward.

As the Athenian ring tightened, individual ships would change course slightly, as if about to turn inward for a thrust. The enemy ships oriented on them, ready to counter. But no thrust was made. The Corinthians were clearly becoming uncomfortable. This was becoming a war of nerves.

The helmsman walked along the gangway, speaking to the oarsmen in a low tone. When he came close to Jes, she overheard his message: “Maintain present cadence. Do not respond to the piping. Wait for my signal. Ignore the piping.” Then he turned to Jes. “Play the full repertoire, loudly, until I signal Stop.”

She abruptly went into the Turn melody, loudly. They were now close enough to the enemy formation so that the nearest ships could hear the music. They knew its meaning. They thought the attack was starting. One ship started to move forward, before countermanding. Then it had to reverse and recover its position. But others were out of position, and there was almost a jostling of oars before they got it straight. There was a low chuckle among the Athenian oarsmen. They liked the joke.

Jes realized that the Corinthian oarsmen lacked the skill to maintain such a difficult formation for long. They were being cruelly teased. But still, even a ragged formation was more than the Athenians could safely penetrate. So all this was doing was making the enemy angry. Something more was needed.

The helmsman signaled Jes to silence, and walked the gangway again. “Resume honoring the pipe,” he told the oarsmen. “The joke is over.” He made sure they understood before moving on. Then he signaled Jes to play the normal Forward tune. They continued in their line, circling the enemy formation.

The wind freshened, as it normally did at dawn. And suddenly Phormio’s strategy became clear. The Athenian vessels had no problem, being under oar and with room to maneuver. But the Corinthian ships were in a compact formation, pointing in every direction; they could not turn to ride with the wind. They were getting blown out of formation, or sideways into each other. The deckhands had to use poles to push them apart. As the wind continued to gain strength, this got worse. They tried to take evasive action to avoid their neighbor ships, but there was nowhere to go. Seamen and oarsmen were shouting at each other, and soon cursing each other. They were no longer listening to the words of command, or to the boatswains. The oarsmen, not well trained, could not recover their stroke in the increasingly choppy water. The helms became unresponsive. “Now, at the worst possible moment for the enemy, Admiral Phormio gave the signal to attack. Jes saw him waving his flag on the flagship, and saw Captain Ittai acknowledge. Then Ittai turned and spoke to the helmsman. Now was the time.

The boatswain gave Jes the Turn signal. She went into the melody, and the ship swung sharply around. Almost simultaneously, all the other ships of the fleet did the same. Like ferocious birds of prey, they swooped in.

The enemy ships were helpless. Their flagship was caught broadside, unable to turn in time, and Jes heard the crash as it was rammed. Her own ship did not catch one in ramming position, but did manage to sheer off a row of oars. The Corinthians were in utter confusion, not even trying to fight.

There was a brief period of intermeshing. The oarsmen kept rowing vigorously, while the hoplites stood and hurled their spears at the enemy craft. Some even threw from a seated position, surprising her with their power and accuracy. Then the Athenian ships passed each other in the center and moved on out to clear water. They turned, ready for additional ramming runs. But the Corinthians were already reorganizing, in their fashion: to flee back to Patrai. Not one ship tried to fight.

It became a rout and pursuit. Ittai’s ship overhauled a troopship, and made a wide sweep so as to come at it from the side and ram it. But by the time the position was right, they were close to shore. The enemy troops jumped into the water, deserting their ship as they swam for land. So did the oarsmen and hoplites. In a moment the Corinthian ship was deserted. So there was no point in holing it. They drew up alongside, carefully, and transferred a limited crew to take it away. It had just become an Athenian ship.