The Etruscan (7 page)

His artlessness frightened me, for even the greatest scoffer retains in some corner of his heart a certain respect toward offerings.

“Don’t you really believe in the deities?” I asked.

“I believe what I believe,” he answered evasively, “but one thing I do know is that even if I had thrown a hundred chains into the sea we would not have had a west wind unless the sea had previously indicated its coming.”

As Dionysius had predicted, the early morning brought a wet squall that pushed us eastward with creaking masts. So violent was the churning of the sea that Dorieus, still suffering from the blow on his head, vomited time and again. Many of Dionysius’ men likewise lay on the deck, clinging to the railing and unable to eat.

The west wind drove westbound merchant ships to shelter, leaving the deserted sea to Dionysius. His luck accompanied him, for when we had reached the straits between Rhodes and the mainland the wind died down. Dawn brought with it a land wind and a veritable fleet of vessels loaded to the gunwales with grain and oil for the Persian navy near Miletus. Their crews greeted us gaily, misled by the Phoenician ship and the Persian emblems which Dionysius displayed.

Presumably Dionysius had little interest in such cargo and merely sought to prove to himself and to his men that he was still waging the Ionian war. We seized the largest of the ships before its crew realized what was happening. When Dionysius learned that the vessels were Greek ships in the service of the Persians he immediately ordered both our penteconters to scuttle them. We had no need of grain or oil, nor could we have transported them.

With oars and sails we headed for Cyprus and on the way surprised a large and richly laden merchant vessel which also carried passengers. As we surrounded it and clambered up its steep sides its crew vainly attempted to ward off our attack. The passengers, recovered from their initial shock, appeared with upraised hands and in various languages promised large ransoms for themselves, their wives and their daughters. But Dionysius as a cautious man had no desire to spare anyone who might identify him or his men in the future. So he felled the male passengers himself with swift blows of his axe and left the women to his men while the ship was being plundered.

“Make haste, my clansmen,” he said. “Although I cannot deny you the joys which only a woman can give, remember that I will kill with my own hands anyone who attempts to conceal a woman on one of our vessels. It would create only bickering and confusion.”

The men pulled at their beards and stared with burning eyes at the weeping women.

Dionysius laughed and added, “Remember also, my gallant warriors, that every joy has its price. Whoever utilizes the short time at our disposal in gratifying childish passions instead of in sensibly collecting loot will lose his share of it.”

So great was the Phocaeans’ greed that only a few chose the women. The rest of us scattered over the vessel, where we found gold and silver in the form of both coins and objects, beautiful pieces of sculpture, women’s jewelry and colored fabrics, even two rolls of purple cloth. We also took care of the spice supply and the wines, as well as the passengers’ possessions.

The easiest way to dispose of the vessel would have been to burn it, since we were incapable of puncturing its heavy, cedar sides. But Dionysius did not wish to betray us through smoke or fire. Instead, we chopped holes in the ship’s bottom and as the vessel began to sink Dionysius roused those of his men who had chosen women instead of loot and then had the throats of the women slit, thus giving them an easy death in compensation for the dishonor they had suffered.

Only Dorieus had not participated in the plundering and raping but had returned to our vessel immediately following the capture. Mikon, who had not taken part in the fighting, had inspected the ship and found an ivory-trimmed medicine case together with physician’s instruments.

When Dionysius censured him for his laziness, Dorieus stated that he fought only armed men, the more skilled the better. But the killing and plundering of unarmed men was beneath his dignity. This explanation satisfied Dionysius, who promised him his share of the loot even though he had not contributed to it.

Having related this much, I have really described our entire voyage, for everything happened in the same manner. The only difference lay in the size and number of the vessels, the time of day, the stiffness of the resistance, the amount of loot, and other matters of secondary importance. We rounded Cyprus on the sea side and sank several ships from Curium and Amathus after having lured them closer with our Persian shields and emblems. But we could not prevent the escape of several fishing boats which had witnessed the attacks. In great urgency Dionysius stamped the deck and cried for a favorable wind to carry us straight toward the Phoenician coast. No one would suspect our appearance on the busiest shipping routes, for pirates had not dared venture into these safest waters of the civilized world for generations.

But the gentle breeze continued to blow toward Cyprus, just as the breeze always blows toward land in the daytime and in the morning from land to sea, unless storms or capricious gales prevail. This has been made possible by the fishermen’s sea gods so that the men may sail out before dawn and return with the day winds.

The wind was not our only obstacle, for a strong current, of which the men from Salamis had warned us, made our oars powerless to carry us in the direction set by Dionysius.

As Dionysius stood on the deck, stamping his feet, rattling shields, and calling for a favorable wind, Mikon came to me.

“Why don’t you summon the wind, Turms?” he suggested. “Do it if only in jest.” He was smiling and there was a familiar wrinkle between his brows.

I cannot explain why I did so, but I raised my arms and summoned the wind thrice, then seven times and finally twelve times in an increasingly loud voice, until my own shouts intoxicated me and I was no longer aware of what happened around me.

When I came to my senses Mikon was holding my head on his arm and pouring wine down my throat, Dorieus was staring at me strangely, and Dionysius looked frightened, as though he didn’t believe what he saw. The sky which shortly before had been cloudless had changed color, and from the west a blue-black mass of clouds was approaching with the speed of a thousand charging black horses. As Dionysius shouted for the sails we heard the thunder of hoofbeats, the sea darkened and frothed, and lightning blazed above us. Then we plunged forward with snapping sails through blinding hail and foam, unable to do anything but follow the wind to avoid being swamped by the house-high waves.

As the lightning flashed and the ship groaned we lay on deck clinging to whatever we could. Then, as the wine which Mikon had given me rose to my head, I stumbled to my feet and, clutching the mast rope, tried to dance on the rolling deck as I had once danced on the road to Delphi. The dance penetrated my limbs and from my throat burst words which I did not understand. Only when the storm began to die down did I drop in exhaustion onto the deck.

Until late that night we sailed along the blue shoreline of Cyprus, striving in vain to reach the open sea. A stiff breeze forced us relentlessly northeastward and not all the shifting of sails took us from the direction in which an apparently relentless will was driving us. When darkness fell Dionysius had the sails half furled and the vessels roped together so that we would not drift apart during the night. While most of the crew slept he and several others remained on watch for possible breakers.

But nothing happened and we awakened at daybreak to the astonished shouts of the lookouts. When we reached the deck we saw that the sea had grown calm and that we were floating off the easternmost tip of Cyprus. The sun rose from the sea all red and gold, and on its mountain at the end of the promontory we saw the temple of Aphrodite of Akraia with its terraces and columns. It was so near that in the dazzling light of dawn we could distinguish every detail and hear the crowing of Aphrodite’s famous black cocks over the water.

The men of Salamis cried out that this was a sign and an omen. The powerful Aphrodite of Akraia, the Aphrodite of seafarers and the mightiest Aphrodite of the eastern sea, had sent a storm to lead us to her. Moreover, she was a native Cypriote, having stepped ashore there from her seashell with only her golden hair veiling her foam-white body. For all those reasons, said the men of Sardis, it was necessary that we go ashore and make a sacrifice lest we incur Aphrodite’s wrath.

But Dionysius roared at the men to take to their oars since only a miracle had kept us from drifting onto the reefs between the small islands while we had stared at the temple. The men of Salamis protested that the miracle was Aphrodite’s and that they would not take the responsibility of leaving without having made an offering.

“I gladly recognize the might of the golden-haired goddess,” said Dionysius, “and promise to make a sacrifice at the first opportune moment. But you can see for yourselves that there are many large ships in the harbor. I would rather suffer Aphrodite’s wrath than that of the god of war.”

He ordered the beat of the gongs quickened to battle speed. “I’ll sweat out of you the last desire to sacrifice to Aphrodite.”

But despite the best efforts of the rowers, the helmsmen noticed that our speed was not what it should have been and the men themselves muttered that never before had the oars felt so heavy.

Finally, when the shadow of the temple had dropped beyond the horizon, our speed increased. The cloudless sky smiled at us, the sea breathed lightly, and everything around us seemed radiant.

Dionysius shouted triumphantly, “You see, the Cypriote has no power on the sea!”

The rowers began to sing loudly in relief, some with good voices, others cawing like ravens or screaming like gulls. The more loudly they sang the harder they pulled at the oars as though it were no longer an effort but a joy. The water frothed at the prows, the wakes bubbled, and the oars whipped up the sea at our sides.

At midday the lookouts cried out with one voice that they saw a mast and a colored sail. The vessel came directly toward us and soon we all saw the carved and painted rails, the glow of the ivory and silver deity at its prow, and the glint of the sun on the oars. It was a narrow, fast ship and lovely as a dream.

When it was sufficiently near it raised its pennants and showed its shields. The men of Salamis said, “It is one of Tyre’s ships. Surely you don’t intend to anger the sea goddess, Dionysius?”

But Dionysius unhesitatingly showed a Persian shield, signaled the strange ship to stop, and ordered our marines to board it. When we climbed over its side no one offered resistance, although the Phoe nicians shouted in guttural voices and raised protesting hands. Among them were priests with bead-trimmed headbands, silver rattles, and bells around their necks.

“Why are they screaming?” demanded Dionysius, lowering his axe.

The men of Salamis tremblingly explained, “This is a sacred ship. It is carrying incense and votive offerings to the temple of Aphrodite at Akraia.”

Dionysius glowered and scratched his head in perplexity, then inspected the ship. Its cargo was undeniably valuable, although useless for our purposes. When he sought to enter the deckhouse the priests clutched the curtain before the entrance. Dionysius tore it down, went inside, and hastily returned with a red face.

“There’s nothing in there except four daughters of Astarte.”

The men of Salamis talked to the priests and learned that the four girls were the gift of Astarte of Tyre to her sister, Aphrodite of Akraia, and symbolized the four corners of the world ruled by Tyre as queen of the sea.

“This is an omen!” cried the men, and insisted upon seeing the girls.

For a moment Dionysius was tempted to plunder and sink the ship, then the sight of the smiling sun, the shimmering sky and the dark blue eyes of the sea made him laugh. He ordered the girls brought forth.

They stepped out of the shelter fearlessly and gracefully, wearing only their hair ornaments, necklaces and the goddess’s belt. One of them was white as snow, the second yellow as mustard, the third copper-colored, and the fourth black as pitch. We shouted in amazement, for none of us had ever seen a yellow-skinned person.

Dionysius said, “I don’t deny that this is a sign and an omen. The goddess realized that we could not stop to make our offering, therefore she sent us this ship. It is ours, and as evidence of it I am burying this axe in the deck and dedicating the vessel to the goddess of Akraia.”

The men were content with the decision and declared that they had no intention of warring against gods and consecrated girls. In all friendliness they took the priests’ ornaments and bells as mementos, but no one touched the girls.

When they saw that we were about to leave the ship the girls began talking together in great agitation and pointing to us. The Negro girl seized Dionysius’ beard, while the snow-white one ran her fingertips temptingly across the corners of my mouth.

Dionysius frowned. “What do they want?”

The priests of Tyre explained reluctantly that the girls wanted us to sacrifice to Aphrodite. Since all could not do it, the girls wished to choose those from whom they would accept the offering.

Dionysius loosened the Negro girl’s fingers from his beard, waged a violent spiritual struggle with himself, and said, “He who has taken one step must also take the next. We would have to stop at any rate to eat hot food while the sea is calm. But I don’t want to take advantage of my position. Let us draw lots and in that manner choose the four men to represent us.”

The goddess smiled impartially, for a winning pebble—one red, one black and one yellow—was drawn by each vessel. But incredible as it was, I myself drew the white pebble from the barrel. I stared at it in alarm, remembering the touch of the slender fingers on my face. Quickly I passed the pebble to Mikon.

He looked down into his palm. “I thought the moon ruled you. Only now do I understand why the storm which you conjured” up led us to the temple at Akraia.”