Thirty years earlier Sekundos would have waited for his moment and challenged Arelos to a duel for the right to captain the ships. Now he merely accepted his orders, hoping their luck would hold and he would return home for the winter laden with booty. Somehow he doubted it. Slave raids were always profitable, even though they did not yield the treasure gained by plundering ships carrying gold ingots or silver bars. Still, how many of those could Arelos guarantee in any season? Most of them sailed from the high eastern coasts, usually accompanied by a war galley for protection. And then there was Helikaon the Burner. Sekundos shivered at the thought of him.
The previous year Helikaon had captured a pirate ship and burned it with the crew still on board, their hands lashed to the rails. Only an idiot like Arelos would consider sailing into Dardanian waters, haunt of Helikaon’s dread ship, the Xanthos.
Idly Sekundos stirred the ashes of the fire with a stick, seeking glowing embers to feed a new blaze. When at last he had the fire going again, he sat beside it, the cold of the night still in his bones.
Several of the older crewmen joined him by the fire. “Going to be a fine day,” said Molon, a stocky man of middle years. He handed Sekundos a chunk of stale black bread. “I would guess they found the Mykene pair. I hope they don’t drag them back here for torture.”
“They won’t drag them anywhere,” Sekundos said. “You don’t take men like that alive.”
Molon stared out over the hills. “They’ll kill the woman, too,” he said. “Waste of a good slave. A hundred silver rings, I reckon.”
“More like sixty,” Sekundos said. “Wasn’t pretty enough to make more, even with the golden hair. And too tall. Kretans don’t like tall women.”
“I’ll wager they don’t like throat cutters much, either,” remarked a thin, round-shouldered man with a wispy beard. He was young and new to the sea. Sekundos did not like him much.
“Well, we wouldn’t tell them that, would we, Lochos?” replied Molon.
“Surprising how word gets out,” the thin man said. “The whisper would go around the slave market even before the bidding started.”
“Why do you think Kalliades did it?” Molon asked.
Sekundos shrugged. “Maybe he just didn’t like Baros. For a copper ring I’d have gutted him myself.”
Lochos laughed. “A copper ring—and the gods giving you forty years back, old man. Baros was a fine fighter.”
“Not fine enough,” Molon put in. “They say Kalliades killed him in a heartbeat. Say what you like about Mykene warriors, you wouldn’t want to get in a scrap with one.”
Another ship had beached the night before, its crew setting a cookfire some hundred paces farther along the rocky shoreline. It was an old vessel with a high curved prow, similar to the first ship Sekundos had owned. He gazed at it fondly, noting how well it had been cared for. Not a sign of barnacles, and there was fresh linseed oil on the timbers.
“Arelos is thinking of taking her,” Lochos said. “Only about thirty in the crew.”
Sekundos sighed. “You note the crimson eyes painted on the bow?”
“Yes. What of it?”
“It is the Penelope, out of Ithaka. You recall the stocky man with the wide golden belt and the red-gold beard? The first ashore late yesterday? That is Odysseus. They call him the man without enemies. A lot of young sailors think that’s because he is such an amusing storyteller. It is not. It is because when he was a young warrior, Odysseus killed all his enemies. Back in the days when he was known as the Sacker of Cities. Take a look at the big black man sitting sharpening knives. That is Bias. He can hurl a javelin with such power that it could damn near go right through a bony man like you, Lochos. And you see the blond giant by the fire? That is Leukon. Last summer he fought in the games at Pylos. He’s a fighter, and one blow from his fist would cave in your skull. There’s not one man in Odysseus’ crew who can’t be counted on when the thunder rolls. Take the Penelope? We’d lose more than half our men—and the rest would carry wounds.”
“You say.” Lochos sneered. “But all I saw yesterday was a fat old man in a golden belt, and most of his crew look ancient and worn out—just like you. I could take him.”
“I’ll enjoy watching you try,” Sekundos said, stretching and climbing slowly to his feet. “Of course you need to remember something.”
“What’s that?” Lochos asked.
Sekundos’ foot slammed into the seated man’s face, knocking him backward, blood spraying from his broken nose. He struggled to rise, but Sekundos leaped on him, hammering his fist twice more into the injured nose. Then Sekundos grabbed him by the throat and hauled him upright. “You need to remember that us old ones are sneaky bastards. Take Odysseus? He’d pin your ears back and swallow you whole. And what he shit out would be worth more than you are.” Sekundos threw the dazed man to the ground, then returned to his seat.
“You are in a foul mood,” Molon said amiably.
“No, I am in a good mood. If it was foul, I’d have cut his damned throat.”
Just then one of the men pointed toward the settlement. “By the gods, isn’t that Kalliades?” he said.
Sekundos lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunshine. Then he saw them: Kalliades, Banokles, and the girl, walking down toward them. The girl’s hair had been shorn away. Sekundos swore. “That’s another thirty silver rings off the price,” he said.
“What is that he’s carrying?” Molon asked, pushing himself to his feet.
Sekundos chuckled. “Clever lad. Should be interesting to see what happens next.”
The three newcomers were followed onto the beach by a large number of the pirate crew, all keeping their distance. Sekundos waited. Kalliades walked up to the fire and tossed the severed head of Arelos to the sand.
“We fought the duel,” Kalliades said.
“So you are the captain now?” Sekundos asked.
“I have no wish to be captain, Sekundos. Piracy does not suit me. Horakos nominated you.”
“A great honor, I am sure, lad.” He stared hard at Kalliades. The man had a cut on his cheek that was dripping blood onto his tunic. “You’ll need some stitches in that.”
“In a while.”
“And we get the woman back?”
“No. I keep her. You get the ships.” He glanced down at Lochos, who was lying on his back, holding a cloth to his bleeding nose. “What happened to him?”
“He attacked my boot with his nose. You’ve got nerve, Kalliades. I’ll say that for you. What makes you think I won’t order the men to hack you to pieces and take the woman?”
Kalliades shook his head. “You’d have to challenge me, Sekundos. The Law of the Sea. You want to challenge me?”
Sekundos laughed. “No, lad. You can keep the woman. With her hair slashed like that she’s hardly worth the cost of feeding her.”
“Whose ship is that?” Kalliades asked, pointing toward the Penelope.
“Odysseus’.”
“The storyteller. Always wanted to meet him.”
“He tells a fine yarn,” Sekundos agreed. “But he doesn’t carry passengers for free.”
“Then it’s as well that I robbed Arelos after killing him,” said Kalliades, tapping the heavy pouch hanging from his belt. “And now it is decision time for you, my friend. Do we wish each other well and walk away, or did you have other plans?”
Sekundos considered the question. In reality he had no choice. He was too old to challenge Kalliades. Then the thought struck him that he was too old to face any challenge. He swung toward the waiting pirates.
“Do you lads wish to serve under me, or does any other man here want the command?”