A great cheer went up as the procession debouched along the quayside and headed for the out-thrust pier where thrones had been set up for Otto and Pphira. Blade studied the yelling crowd and smiled - battlemen, not used in last night's carnage, were whipping all that did not cheer. One way of getting an audience.
It was nearly time.
Pelops came to stand on the deck near Blade. Ixion took his place atop a short companion leading down to the first rowing deck. Blade had fashioned a speaking trumpet of leather and instructed Ixion in its use. Now the mate put the trumpet to his lips, glanced at Blade, and waited.
Blade watched Pelops narrowly. The little man was trembling and biting his fingers convulsively. Blade patted the small shoulder and grinned hugely. "Why are you afraid, Pelops? I have explained how we are going to win."
Pelops wiped sweat from his brow. "I cannot help it, sire. You know I am a coward. I am sick with fear. And even if we win I may still die."
Blade stared at him, his grin vanished. "So you will die. A free man. Think on that, little school teacher. And get yourself a weapon. I will have no unarmed man on my deck."
Pelops extended his hands in a helpless gesture. "I know nothing of weapons. You know that also, sire."
Blade gave a command and Ixion tossed him a short sword. Blade gave it to Pelops who stared at it as a child at a new toy.
"Learn," commanded Blade. "You will never have a better chance." Then: "You got my word to the Queen, Pelops? Of the black flag?"
"I did, sire. I sent a servant who brought me back word that the Queen Pphira understood."
Blade said, "Good. I have done all I could. If we win I will be quits with Pphira. If we lose there will be no harm done and she no worse off."
Pelops quavered, "If we lose, sir? But you said - "
Blade clapped him hard on the shoulder, so hard that the little man reeled and nearly fell. "So I did, my tiny friend, and so I mean it Now look to yourself, for I will be busy. It is beginning."
Otto and Pphira were on their respective thrones. Otto the Black, a giant of a man - Blade estimated 400 pounds of richly clad flab - raised a beringed hand to straighten one of the small tapers that flamed in his luxuriant black beard. Blade studied him through the glass. If his plans worked out this would be the last time that Otto would even halfway resemble a man.
The Queen had one hand on Otto's fat knee. She leaned and whispered and Blade could almost see the hate and revulsion on her timeless face. He saw it because he knew it was there. Otto did not see it.
Otto was not much interested in the lady. He toyed with the candles in his beard - Blade confessed wonderment that the fat man did not go up like a Christmas tree - and eyed the behind of one of Pphira's house slaves. He smiled and licked his liver lips and nodded to something that the Queen said. The spying Blade remembered that Otto had given special orders - Blade to be taken alive and unhurt, to be brought to his quarters in the Palace immediately. Where the twelve, undoubtedly, would be waiting to subdue him and ready him for the grand entrance of Otto.
Otto raised a fat hand and dropped a gayly colored scarf.
Immediately the catapults on Otto's ships, Captain Equebus in command, began to thunk and twang. The range was too great. Towers of water built as the huge projectiles fell short. The enemy's nine ships, formed in a bow shaped line, began to move toward Blade's little fleet.
His preparations had been long and thorough. He had had no sleep and until now had been drooping with weariness. The moment the first catapult spoke he came alive. He spoke softly to Ixion.
"What of the wind?"
That expert pointed out to sea, reading something in the purple haze that escaped Blade. "Not yet," said Ixion. "In an hour or less we will have wind. None before."
Blade nodded in satisfaction. "Fair enough. They have more canvas and would soon have the gauge of us. Look - the fools are going under sail anyway."
True. Each of Otto's, ships carried a huge square sail rigged to a single slanting spar. The sails hung limp and lifeless, impeding, doubling the work of the sweating slaves. By that stupidity alone Blade gained the edge in speed.
Blade raised his sword and made a chopping motion. Ixion began bellowing orders through his leather trumpet. The orders were picked up by a slave in the bow, with another trumpet, and passed on to each galley in turn.
He had pulled his hooks at precisely the right moment and now he watched as the four ships, looking miniscule by the side of the large craft attacking, began to fall into a single file behind the trireme. Blade smiled grimly. There was already shouting and gesticulating on the command decks of the enemy. Equebus had expected Blade to assume a broad frontal defense, to spread his ships into a smaller bow to ward off the larger attacking one. Equebus wanted a series of ship to ship battles with his the larger craft and almost double in number.
Blade raised a finger, Ixion his trumpet, and three rows of oars began to rise and dip, flinging droplets of water like a million diamonds. The big trireme leaped forward. These were galley slaves promised freedom and they would row their hearts out for it.
The drumming came up in a regular monotonous thrum from the second tier: Dum-dum-dum-Dum-dum-dum-Dum-dum-dum.
"I put Chephron on the drum," said Pelops. "He seemed best fitted for it and he is no better with the sword than I."
Blade ignored him. He spoke to Ixion. "Increase the beat - up twenty a minute."
Ixion bellowed the order and the trireme began to throw a bow wave as the long oars flashed in unison. The slaves were putting their scarred backs into it. They began to sing. The drum increased the cadence - dum-dum-dum-dum-dum...
Blade took the helm himself. It was a side rudder, a big oar that reminded Blade of those on Viking ships. It was alive in his hand. He could feel pressure tingling in the wood. Pphira had enough way on her to answer immediately. Blade studied the battle line of Otto's ships. About three hundred yards now.
Blake called out, "Fire buckets ready."
Ixion relayed the order.
"Shields up."
Crewmen scurried to secure wooden shielding along the railings. They would give some protection from arrow fire, none from the catapults.
"Archers aloft," cried Blade and Ixion sent the order on its way.
Blade's attacking force was now in a single line, led by the trireme Pphira. The flagship of Equebus was a hundred yards ahead and coming up fast. Blade touched the tiller and took the trireme a point to starboard. The huge flagship, a quadreme, a clumsy floating palace, nevertheless had a nasty underwater ram. Blade's little fleet had not been allowed rams.
Blade put his glass squarely on Equebus for a moment. The Captain paced the command deck of his flagship, brave in scarlet cloak and silver helmet, heavily armored, waving a sword as he screamed commands. He had realized the mistake of hoisting sail in a dead calm and was trying to repair the damage. Meantime his slaves, lacking the inspiration of Blade's, fell out of rhythm and caught air instead of water and cursed and cringed at the lash. There was no whipping on Blade's ships.
Equebus had no speaking trumpets and had to transmit his orders by flag. This added to confusion - wrong flags were flown and even these misread. Blade grinned satanically as he watched Equebus lose his temper and strike out at his junior officers.