Killer of Men (47 page)

So I bragged a little of the raid and I talked of the sea. I was falling in love again – with Poseidon’s daughters, as the fisherfolk say. But the sea bored Nearchos – boats were a tool for glory, not an end in themselves.

‘You raided Aegypt?’ Lord Achilles asked. ‘Your Miltiades is a bold rascal. You must be a bold rascal yourself.’

I raised my cup to him and we pledged each other until I stumbled out of the hall into the rose garden and puked up an amphora of good wine. But I gave each of them a cup of beaten gold – half the wages they’d given me, returned in a guest-gift, and then they were my friends for life.

In the morning, I had a hard head, but I went to visit the bronze-smith. He wanted to buy all my copper, as I expected he would. I gave him a good price and we parted with a dozen embraces.

‘Any time you want to give up piracy,’ he said, ‘I could make you a decent smith.’

I waved to him and went down to the fishermen’s village and found Troas. He was sitting by his Lesbian boat, mending a net.

‘I heard you was back,’ he said. He didn’t look up. ‘She’s wed and well wed, and it’s your boy she calved first. So don’t go making trouble.’ Then he looked at me. ‘She called him Hipponax,’ he said. ‘And we all thank you for the boat.’

I’d sold a pair of the eggs and all the copper. I put a bag on the upturned boat hull. ‘For the boy, when he’s a man,’ I said. I had planned a long speech – or perhaps just a blow. I hadn’t forgotten how he’d given me a boatload of fools.

But standing there on the beach, by his upturned boat, I had to acknowledge to the gods that his boatload of fools had made me the trierach I was. His hands and the gods had helped make me. Still, I glared at him.

‘You nigh on killed me with your cast-off men,’ I said.

‘I had no reason to send my neighbours and friends with you, boyo,’ he said, calmly enough.

‘I got them home – even the fools,’ I said.

‘Aye, you’re a better man than some,’ Troas said. He nodded, and that was my apology.

‘I’d like to see my boy,’ I said.

‘Nope,’ Troas answered. ‘My fool of a daughter took quite a shine to you, my young Achilles. She’s just about over it now, and settling down to be a prosperous fisherwoman. She almost loves her husband, who’s a good man and not a fucking killer.’ His eyes held mine, as tough in his way as Eualcidas or Nearchos or Miltiades. Then he nodded. ‘On your way, hero,’ he said. ‘No hard feelings. Come back in five years, if you’re alive, and I’ll see to it that you and your boy are friends.’

I felt a rush of – sadness? Rage? And a lump in my throat as big as one of the ostrich eggs.

‘Can I give you a piece of advice, lad?’ Troas asked.

I slumped against the boat hull. ‘I’m listening,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘You think you’re happy as a hero, but you ain’t. You’re a farm boy. It’s not too late to go back to the farm. I saw you play house with my daughter and I didn’t figure you’d ever come back. But the fact that you did come back tells a whole different story.’ He went back to his net. ‘That’s all I have for you, son.’

It is odd how quickly you go from the killer of men to the bereft boy. ‘I have no home,’ I said. I still remember the taste of those words, which slipped past the fence of my teeth against my will.

Troas looked at me then. Really looked at me. ‘Don’t give me that shit,’ he said, but his tone was kind. ‘Go and make one.’ And he got up and embraced me – Troas, giving me a hug for comfort.

That’s the way of youth, honey. One moment you are Achilles risen from the dead, the next an old net-mender feels sorry for you. And each moment is as real as the other.

I got to my feet. I was crying, and I didn’t know why.

‘Still some human in you, eh, boy?’ he said. ‘Give me another hug then, and I’ll pass it to your son in a few years.’ He held me close. ‘If you don’t leave this life soon, all you’ll be is a killer,’ he said.

I held him hard, and then I went back down the beach to my ship. Nearchos was waiting, with Lekthes. Lekthes was standing with a sea bag on his shoulder and all his armour nicely shined. His wife held his hand and wept. I kissed her and promised to bring him home, and then I embraced Nearchos.

‘I have three ships and all the men to man them,’ Nearchos said. ‘When you – when you want me, call. We’ll come.’

I sailed away with a lump in my throat.

20

We didn’t see another ship until we were north of Miletus – the rebels and Miltiades between them had swept the oceans clean. North of Samos we caught a merchantman out of Ephesus – I knew the ship as soon as I saw him on the horizon. It had been Hipponax’s pride, a big, long merchant with enough rowers to be a warship. I remembered what Briseis had said, that Diomedes had taken all their wealth, and we ran him down easily enough. They used slave rowers, and slaves will never save your cargo.

With my spear at his throat, the captain admitted that he served Diomedes of Ephesus.

I took the ship as well as the cargo, and all the slaves at the oars, too. But I put the deck crew ashore east of Samos. ‘Tell Diomedes that Arimnestos took his ship,’ I said. ‘Tell him that I’m waiting for him.’ I laughed to think how the little shit would react.

And then I took my new ship back to the Chersonese. On the way, I stood in my bow and wondered at what Troas had said, and how I had cried. How could I ever give this up to shovel pig shit? I was a lord of the waves, a killer of men. I laughed, and the gulls cried.

But over on the European coast of the Chersonese, a raven cawed, the raucous sound braying on and on.

Miltiades came down to the docks to meet us, and I laid his share of the take at his feet – every obol – and he shook his head.

‘Walk with me,’ he said.

We walked down the beach, and I remember the smell of the sea-wrack and the dead fish rotting in the white-hot summer sun.

He put an arm around my shoulder. ‘I thought you’d deserted,’ he said. ‘I apologize. Men will tell you that I said some things about you. But you are weeks overdue.’

‘I had a lot of copper in my bilges,’ I said. And it was true. ‘I went to a port I know in Crete to sell it.’

He wasn’t listening. ‘Right, right,’ he said. ‘I have a note for you. From Olorus.’ He handed me a small silver tube.

I opened it. It held a scrap of papyrus, and on it someone had written a verse of Sappho.

I smiled.

‘I have a big draft of recruits coming in,’ he said. ‘You planning to crew that Ephesian ship yourself?’

‘Planning to return him to his true owner,’ I said. ‘An old friend of mine. But I paid you your half.’

Miltiades shook his head. ‘I told your father once that you were more like an aristocrat than most men I knew,’ he said. ‘You love this man enough to give him a
ship
?’

I had an idea – a mad idea. I’d thought about it since I’d had Diomedes’ captain under the point of my sword. Or perhaps since Troas told me that I should go back to the plough and find a home.

I would need Miltiades’ good will, though. So I shrugged and told the truth – always disarming with manipulative men. And women. ‘I love Aristagoras’s wife,’ I said.

It was Miltiades’ turn to shrug. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen her. Even pregnant. And men tell me things. About you, too.’

‘It is her ship,’ I said.

Miltiades nodded. He turned to face me and he was a different man. He was dealing with me a new way – one warlord to another, maybe. Or one adulterer to another. ‘If you send her that ship,’ he said, ‘her husband will take it – and lose it.’

‘I thought that I might just kill her husband,’ I said.
And go back to my farm in Boeotia?
I wondered.

‘His people would follow you to Thule. To the Hyperboreans.’ Miltiades shook his head. ‘I hate the bastard, too, but if he goes down, my hand can’t be in it, and that goes double for my captains. I feared you might have some such foolishness in mind.’

I turned away.

‘Bide your time,’ Miltiades said. ‘You’re young, and she’s young. I assume she loves you, too? If she didn’t, Aristagoras would hardly hate you the way he does.’

‘Does he?’ I asked. ‘He’s pretty dickless.’

Miltiades chuckled. ‘It’s true – his parts must be fairly small. But he did try to have you murdered on Lesbos,’ the Athenian said. ‘You’ll recall that I saw to it.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve been a good friend to you.’

Ah, the delightful customs of the aristocracy.

‘There’s no rush,’ Miltiades said again. ‘Listen to me, boy.’

I was getting wiser in the ways of men – hard men. When Paramanos brought his daughters aboard, I knew he was mine – because he’d committed his life to the Chersonese. I liked him – but I
needed
him. And yes, I would have twisted his arm to keep him. The longer I spent with Miltiades, the more like him I would become. That summer, I was the highest earner of all Miltiades’ captains. Briseis gave him a hold on me. He knew it, and I knew he knew it. I wasn’t going anywhere.

‘He looks like a good ship,’ Miltiades said cheerfully. ‘Crew him up and give him to Paramanos.’ He looked at my new acquisition. ‘When the time is right, when you need help, I’ll see to it you have my aid in getting your girl. My word on it.’

Now, Miltiades was as foxy as his red head proclaimed, subtle, devious and dangerous. He lied, he stole and he would do anything, and I mean anything, for power. But when he gave his word, that was his
word
. He was the very archetype of the kind of Greek the Persians couldn’t understand – the kind of man Artaphernes detested, all talk and no honesty, as Persians saw it. But when he gave his word, a thing was done.

‘Even if I’m dead,’ I said.

He took my hand, and we shook. ‘Even if you are dead. Athena Nike, Goddess of Victory, and Ajax my ancestor hear my oath.’

And that was that.

I named the new ship
Briseis
and I kept the newly enfranchised rowers, crewing the deck and marines from Miltiades’ men, including all his former slaves. Our new recruits came from Athens, three hundred men. I let Paramanos pick himself a crew from the best of them. Miltiades had an arrangement with the city – it was a secret, or so I reckoned, since even Herk and Cimon were closed-mouthed about it. But the men who came were
thetes
, low-class free men of Athens, and sometimes of Athenian allies like Plataea or Corcyra. The cities were rid of their malcontents and we got motivated men, ready to fight for a new life. Miltiades swore them to service – he was absolute lord in the Chersonese, and he didn’t play games with democracy like some tyrants – and made them citizens.

He got aristocrats, too – not many, and most of them down on their luck – but he bought their loyalty with land and rich prizes and they served him as household officers and marines.

The positive side to the arrangement was that new men – former slaves – like Idomeneus and Lekthes – and me – were at home in the Chersonese. The aristocrats needed us and treated us as equals, or near enough.

Miltiades’ informants said that the Great King, Darius, was tired of the pirates in the Chersonese, and intended to send a strong naval expedition against us. On the opposite shore of the Bosporus, Artaphernes and his generals, Hymaees and Otanes and Darius’s son-in-law, Daurises, campaigned against the Carians. The first battle was a bloody loss for the men of bronze, and they sent to Lesbos for help from their supposed confederates, the men of Aeolis, but the new tyrant ignored them. They fought a second battle to a bloody draw, and though they lost many of their best men, they drove the Medes from Caria – for a time.

We felt like spectators – worse, we felt like truants or deserters. The fighting was so close that we could sometimes see troops moving on the opposite shore. I would train my marines with actual
sparabara
, the elite Persian infantry, visible across the straits.

By midsummer, Miltiades could take no more. He added another pair of triremes to his fleet, purchasing them from Athens, got another draft of new men to crew them, then took us to sea to attack the Phoenician squadron that supported Darius’s army.

We had better rowers. Our ships, except mine, were lower and faster under oars, and we could turn faster. Miltiades insisted that we were fighting for profit, not glory, so we were cautious, attacking only when we had overwhelming odds, seizing a store ship here and a Lebanese merchant there.

By the great feast of Heracles, I couldn’t stand it any more. My ship was not suited to these tactics and all my crewmen were grumbling because we were snatching at snacks while the other crews feasted.

I wonder now if Miltiades intended that I should revolt.

A great many things happened in the space of a few days, and the course of events is lost to me now. I can only tell this as I remember it. I remember sitting in a wine shop on the quay, drinking good Chian wine with Paramanos and Stephanos. Paramanos had his own ship, the
Briseis
, and he wanted Lekthes as his marine captain.

I shrugged. ‘Can’t you find your own?’ I asked.

He laughed. ‘Why not give me all your marines? You don’t use them any more.’ He chuckled, and I frowned. It was true. My ship was too heavy for the new tactics.

Stephanos shook his head. ‘Why don’t we go after them where no one can run?’ he asked.

Now, it’s worth saying that the Phoenician commander, Ba’ales, had a dozen warships at Lampasdis, down the Bosporus towards the Troad. Miltiades had eight ships, all smaller. We always ran when the warships came out. They always ran from us when they were outnumbered.

It was a hard summer for oarsmen on both sides.

I fingered my beard and admired my ship. I loved to sit and look at him while I had a cup of wine. ‘Miltiades can’t risk it,’ I said. ‘We only have to lose once and Artaphernes has us. He can lose two or three squadrons and he can always force Tyre to send more.’

Stephanos drank some wine, admired the woman serving it and began to dabble in the spilled wine on the table. ‘I just keep thinking of the Aegyptian raid,’ he said. ‘No risk, no blood and a crippling blow.’

My eyes met Paramanos’s over the rims of our wine cups.

‘We could catch them on the beach,’ he said. I had the same thought in my head.

‘They must have lookouts and coast-watchers,’ I said. ‘All down the strait. Every three or four stades.’

‘We certainly do,’ Stephanos said, morosely. Indeed, every farmer on our side of the Bosporus reported on ship movements.

We broke up without any decision. But we talked about it every time we were together – catching Ba’ales on the beach, his men asleep.

And some time just after that, while I was arguing with Paramanos on the beach, Cimon brought a man up beside me.

‘I can make Lekthes’ career,’ Paramanos was insisting.

I knew he was right. But Lekthes was closer to me than any of my other men except Stephanos and Idomeneus, and I was loath to give him up. Thugater, there is no argument as harsh as one where you know that you are wrong.

‘By Zeus of the waves, you are a thankless bastard. I found you a prisoner and I’ve made you a captain—’ I was spitting mad.

‘You? Made me a captain?’ Paramanos grew in size. ‘Without me, you’d be at the bottom of the ocean three times over. I taught you everything you know. There’s no debt between us—’

‘My lords?’ Cimon asked. He was my own age, of impeccable ancestry and had beautiful manners. He was already a prominent man, not least because he disdained his father’s politics. Cimon always wanted to fight. What he wanted was glory – glory for himself and glory for Athens. On that day, he leaned forward, holding his staff, and the only sign that anything was amiss was the trace of a smile on his lips that suggested we were making a spectacle of ourselves.

‘Your heart is as black as your skin, you fucking ingrate!’ I did say that.

‘And which of us is a former slave? I can smell the pig shit on you from here, turd-flinger!’ Paramanos pointed a finger at me. ‘You are like all dirt-grubbers – you can’t stand to see another man succeed. You think it makes you fail! Lekthes deserves—’

Cimon stepped between us. ‘My lords?’ he said again.

‘Keep out of it, Cimon. I’m tired of his poaching my best crewmen. ’ I was equally tired of how, now that he was an independent captain, Paramanos was the highest earner. It suggested that he was right – he had made me. And that enraged me.

Some friend. Youth is wasted on the young. I knew he was right about Lekthes, and I suspected that he was right about how much I owed him.

‘Arimnestos?’ asked a voice I knew.

The man standing at Cimon’s side was dressed like a peasant, in a dirty hide apron over a stained chiton, with a dog’s-head cap on blond curls. The name was said so softly that I wasn’t sure I had heard right, and I turned, my tirade draining out of me.

‘Arimnestos?’ he asked again, and his voice was stronger, happier.

‘Hermogenes?’ It took me a moment. I hadn’t seen him for eight years. He was a man, not a boy. He had a bad scar on his face, a cut that went from the top of his scalp to the top of his nose.

He grinned as if he’d just won the Olympian Games. ‘Arimnestos! ’

We fell into each other’s arms.

Such was my happiness – the instant, life-affirming happiness of rediscovering a friend from home – that I burbled the story of my life in a hundred heartbeats, leaving out everything that mattered, and then turned to Paramanos.

‘I’m a fucking idiot,’ I said. ‘Lekthes needs to go and be an officer. And I do owe you my life.’

That shut him up. Ha! What a tactic. Capitulate utterly. Leaves your opponent with nothing to say. He sputtered, and then he embraced me.

We sat in my favourite wine shop, Hermogenes and me, Lord Cimon, Miltiades’ son, and Herk.

‘You never came back,’ Hermogenes said. He was happy and angry at the same time. ‘We waited and waited, and you didn’t come back to camp. And then Simonalkes came back and said that you were dead.’ He shrugged. ‘I searched the battlefield for your corpse and I couldn’t find you. I asked everyone – even Miltiades. He knew who you were, and he knew where your father had fallen.’ He looked at me. ‘You’ve changed,’ he said accusingly. ‘You haven’t talked to Miltiades about any of this?’

I shrugged. ‘No,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t concern himself with petty things.’

‘Petty?’ Hermogenes asked. ‘Petty? Arimnestos, your cousin Simonalkes has married your mother and taken your farm. Is that nothing to you?’ He drank down his wine. ‘My father sent me – I don’t know, three years back? Sent me to Athens to find Miltiades – and you, if your shade was still in your body. Simonalkes always said that you were dead – killed in the last rush of the Eretrians. But there was no body.’ He looked at me. ‘What happened?’