Legacy of Blood (14 page)

One of the Helots brought some linen bandages from the cart. Tyro and Demaratos stripped Phemus' charred clothing away, and applied a flaxseed poultice to the worst of the burns along his neck and shoulder. Phemus was beginning to come round, and mumbled, ‘What happened?'

‘You were hit by lightning,' said Demaratos. ‘You're lucky not to be walking with the shades.'

As they bandaged the wounds and retied his clothes, Lysander saw what looked like the small figure of a man appear on the deck of the ship with two lanterns. Narrowing his eyes, Lysander peered through the rain to watch the sailor swing the lamps back and forth.

‘We must leave now,' said Aristodermus, holding up a hand to his face to gaze in the same direction.

‘But there's a storm raging!' said a boy called Spiros.

‘That's why we have to leave,' said Aristodermus. ‘We need to get the boat away from the rocks, or it will be smashed to pieces by dawn. The marine is signalling to us. Take a shield and spear, and get out to the ship at once.'

Lysander led the way down to the shingle beach, picking a careful path over the jagged rocks, with his shield strapped over his back, steadying himself with his spear. Demaratos and Tyro supported Phemus, whose legs were still not strong enough to carry him. Orpheus
clattered down on his wooden leg.

Once they'd all reached the bottom, the spears were lashed together with cord. Phemus managed to cling to the middle, and the two strongest swimmers, Leonidas and Aristodermus, swam out using them as a float. One by one, the boys threw themselves into the surf, powering out towards the ship. Lysander looked for Orpheus, but saw his friend was already ploughing through the surf.

Lysander made sure his shield was secure, and walked straight out towards the waves. The water churned over the pebbles towards him, and swamped his feet and ankles.

The man from the ship's deck was shouting, but the gales whipped his words away. Lysander was knee-deep when he looked back and saw that Kantor was still standing on the beach, looking nervously into the water.

‘What's wrong?' he yelled.

‘I don't … I … I can't swim!'

Lysander came back to Kantor's side, the water dragging at his heels.

‘Come with me,' he said. ‘I'll get you there. It's easy.'

Kantor, lips blue with cold, nodded.

Lysander pushed out against the surf, pulling the boy with him. The waves broke against his torso. Saltwater sprayed his face. Kantor was coughing beside him, screwing up his eyes against the onslaught. When the
water reached his chest, Lysander swam, attacking the barrage of water.

Kantor gripped his tunic belt, and the extra weight threatened to pull Lysander under.

His chest heaved as he sucked in massive gasps of air.

A quick look up revealed he'd barely swum ten paces – the ship was still another twenty out to sea. Lysander pressed on, pulling against the water with everything he had. The waves rolled over his head, sucking him back towards the shore. His eyes stung with the saltwater, and his arms felt like rocks.

He had no spare energy to turn and check Kantor. The fingers that gripped his waist were enough for Lysander to know he hadn't drowned.

Ten paces to go.

On the deck lanterns rocked, blurring through the piercing rain. Men were gathered, black shapes folding and unfolding under the ink-black sky. He saw his comrades being pulled up on to the deck like giant fish.

Lysander couldn't feel his arms any more, but he knew they were moving because of the pain in his shoulders. His shield was heavy on his back, pressing him into the water. A wave swept over his head, and Lysander was completely submerged. His world flipped over, and suddenly he was lost in an underwater abyss. The sensation of Kantor's grip melted away. As the last of the air tried to push out of his lungs, Lysander's chest felt scorched and raw. His eyes searched the water for
the other boy – nothing. He didn't even know which way was up.

Water flooded his mouth.

He never thought he'd die this way.

Something tugged at his armpit, and Lysander choked in a breath as his head broke the water's surface.

‘Hold on!' said a voice.

Lysander slipped under. He was so weak.

Again something pulled him up.

‘Get another hook on him.'

Something nudged his shoulder, then slid under his other arm. He was lifted out of the water. He banged against the side of the ship, felt hands seizing his tunic and cloak. Then he was lying on something hard.

‘Is he alive?' said Kantor's voice. ‘Tell me he's alive.'

Lysander managed a smile. At least he was safe. He opened his eyes to see Aristodermus and Kantor standing over him. Coughing racked his chest, and he vomited up a mouthful of sea water.

‘On your feet, Lysander,' said his tutor. ‘Get down below with the rest of the boys.'

Lysander half sat up, and looked about. He was on the deck of the ship.

Two men in Spartan cloaks were winding up the anchor, and another two were tethering boathooks to the inside of the deck-rail. Presumably the ones used to heave him out. The same men then started dragging at ropes over the side, drawing up the fenders.

‘Down below!' barked Aristodermus. ‘We have to get ourselves away from the shore.'

Lysander stood up and fell sideways with dizziness, landing against the deck-rail. Kantor disappeared through a hatch in the middle of the deck, which emitted a pale glow. Lysander stumbled over. Six steep steps, almost a ladder, descended into the belly of the ship. He half fell, half climbed down, and found himself on the oar-deck. The faces of his comrades stared back at him, illuminated by two oil lanterns swinging back and forth from the ceiling. They were lined up on benches either side of the ship with an aisle in between. There were about twenty benches on either side, each carrying two boys. Long oars rested over their laps. Kantor had already taken a place behind Drako.

‘Good of you to join us,' said a grizzled, red-faced sailor. ‘Take a seat.'

Lysander looked across the benches. Demaratos sat beside Prokles. Leonidas was with Orpheus. All the boys were paired up.

‘Where should I go?' he asked.

The marine pointed to an empty bench. ‘You'll have to pull an oar on your own.'

‘No, he won't.'

Aristodermus climbed down the ladder, and sat on the bench. Lysander took a seat beside him. His teeth were chattering with cold.

‘Ready?' asked Aristodermus.

Lysander nodded and took hold of the oar. His knuckles were purple.

‘Listen,' said the man at the front. As the lanterns swung his face was in turns illuminated and in shadow. Two thick scars were etched from his mouth back to his ear as though his cheek had been torn open at some point in the past. ‘My name is Moskos and I am the captain of this vessel. That means you do as I say, without question. You,' he said, pointing to Lysander's side, ‘are port. You,' he pointed to the other side, ‘are starboard. Two sides, simple. When I say “One”, you extend the oars straight out from the side of the vessel. Do not let them touch the water. When I say “Two” you lean forward, pushing back the oar. “Three” is let the oar drop into the water. “Four” is the most important part. It means you pull with all the strength the Gods have given you.' He accompanied each instruction with an action. ‘“One” is lift out again. Understood?'

‘Yes, sir!' they shouted.

‘Good, let's try and straighten her up. Port. One!' Lysander and Aristodermus pushed their oar out over the water. It slid easily through the hole pins that kept the oar in place. The moonlight caught the crests of the silver waves. ‘Two!' They leant forward on the bench.
‘Three!' The oar dipped. ‘Four!' Lysander pulled, feeling the oar glide through the water. The boat turned a few degrees, creaking as it went.

‘And again,' shouted Moskos. ‘One … Two … Three … Four … Starboard as well. One … Two … Three … Four …'

He continued to count and Lysander and his comrades moved in unison, dipping their oars and propelling the boat through the dark water.

One of the other marine soldiers came down, and took up the count on a small drum. There was no need for the numbers once they were into their rhythm, and the boat rose and fell over the swell.

‘Keep pulling,' said Moskos. ‘We'll be clear of land soon enough.'

‘The spirit of Diokles lives,' muttered Drako.

Through the hole pins, Lysander could see the black sea rolling. The motion churned in Lysander's stomach. He concentrated on keeping in time and found his nausea was quelled if he kept his eyes fixed on the marine at the front.

Others weren't so lucky, and Lysander heard his comrades retching. Vomit spattered his ankles as Drako leant over his oar and emptied the contents of his stomach.

‘Sorry,' he said, sheepishly.

Moskos laughed. ‘Looks like we've got some fresh ones here, Sirkon. Slow down the count.'

The marine with the drum laughed as well, and left
a little more time between each strike. Moskos walked down the aisle, tapping each of the central rowers on the shoulder, numbering each row off as he went. Lysander was number eight.

‘Odds, rest on one,' he shouted, ‘and draw in your oars.'

Half the oars lifted from the water, and the vessel slowed down. Lysander and his tutor continued to pull their strokes. Lysander counted them in his head. He lost count when he reached eight hundred and realised he was no longer cold. His fingers had regained their colour and his back was wet with sweat. His mouth was sore from the dried salt, and his tongue felt thick. Aristodermus rowed without complaint – the only clue to his weariness was the rasping breath forced out with every stroke. He was just another Spartan now, taking orders like the rest of them.

They continued to row through the night, taking turns on the oars. Between sessions, Lysander slept sitting up, leaning against the oar, rocked to sleep by the sea. He dreamt of the Oracle's words:

You are a leader, but not so.

You are a slave, but to yourself.

You must free yourself, child of two worlds.

The shackles that bind you are of your own making.

Fear not, your destiny is branded on your heart.

Sometimes he thought he was rowing asleep, and performed the practised motion with his eyes closed.

He lost track of time – there was only rowing, and
not rowing. In their breaks, water was passed around in a flask – just a swig each, and then on to the next boy.

‘Make it last,' was Moskos' mantra. ‘Make it last.'

Dawn came as a surprise, with light peeping through the oar-holes. They were all rowing in a daze, with great heaving breaths, heads lolling on their necks.

‘All rest!' said Moskos.

As one, the crew drew up their oars, then fell across them with a mighty groan.

‘That felt like the thirteenth labour of Herakles,' said Drako, gasping.

Lysander was too weak to laugh, but after resting for a few moments, he felt strong enough to stand. He joined the queue heading topside.

After the stench of sweat and vomit, the fresh air tasted divine, and Lysander went to the edge of the deck and sucked in deep lungfuls. The sea had calmed down, and the blue expanse spread all the way to the horizon. A steady wind was blowing, and one of Moskos' men was halfway up the mast, untying the sail. After it was unfurled, two marines pulled on ropes and it spread open like a seabird extending its wings. The ship lurched into motion.

‘Eurus, God of the eastern winds, is with us,' cried Moskos.

Lysander looked at his palms. They were smeared with blood and the skin was broken. New blisters had formed beneath the ones that had burst.

‘Get some saltwater on those,' said one of the marines, tying off the sail. ‘You'll get used to it soon enough.'

Phemus hobbled out on to the deck, and Lysander joined the crowd of boys around him. Aside from his charred hair, he seemed in good spirits.

‘You had us worried,' said Lysander. ‘Not many live whom Zeus strikes with his bolt.'

‘My family make their sacrifices regularly,' said Phemus. ‘The King of the Gods should have nothing against me.'

Orpheus smiled. ‘Did it hurt?'

‘I don't remember anything about it. Just waking up on board this ship.' Phemus shifted slightly and grimaced. ‘It hurts now though!'

‘At least you're spared the rowing,' said Lysander.

‘One of Moskos' marines is teaching me how to navigate,' said Phemus. ‘It's all to do with the stars, and the sun.'

Bread was passed around – stale and rock hard – with dried fish that smelled worse than it tasted. Lysander had to moisten the bread with water before he could even swallow it.

‘Come over here,' shouted Demaratos. ‘Look at these!'

He was standing at the deck-rail, pointing at the ocean. Lysander rushed over, to see something smooth as polished metal break the surface of the water. An animal with a long nose. Lysander's heart jumped. He
leant over as another split the water, easily keeping pace with the ship.

Other boys crowded around, as the creatures multiplied. There were five, ten, fifteen of them, cutting through the waves.

‘What are they?' said Prokles. ‘Are they nymphs?'

One of the marines bent over laughing.

‘They're dolphins, you imbeciles! We seamen say they're a good omen for fair sailing.'

‘They're beautiful,' said Orpheus, without shame. Lysander marvelled at the way their glistening bodies scythed the waves.

The dolphins stayed with them for much of the morning, then disappeared as quickly as they'd arrived, melting into the water. Lysander hoped that wasn't an omen too.

The wind stayed with them for most of the day and night, but for the next few days, Lysander was back beside Aristodermus on the bench. He was four hundred strokes through his second shift of the fourth night, when the cry came from above.