"Sick already am I," moaned Berosos, looking green under his swarthiness.
Every time our ram dipped into the water, the splash sent spray whipping over the forecastle. We crouched be-, hind our screens with the six archers. The file of marines, rich youths in splendid armor, occupied the quarterdeck, the wind whipping their scarlet cloaks and many-hued horsehair plumes.
The Antigonians, who had been up around North Point, headed towards us. Their sailors hastily furled their small battle sails and lowered the light boat masts.
Captain Damophilos hurried forward, saying: "We shall divide into two squadrons, one consisting of this ship and the triemiolias. It will be our honor to attack the Myraina."
From their faces, my squad would have been happy to leave that honor to others. Berosos said:
"But, Captain, two catapults has the big ship. What will she be doing with them?"
"You do not think to fight a battle without risk, do you?"
"No, but it were well if one could," said the Babylonian, raising a wan smile from his squad mates.
Damophilos said: "Do not try to be funny; it is the wrong time. If it will hearten you, know that Demetrios' shipboard artillery is made up of three-span dart throwers, which we easily outrange. Three notes on the trumpet, thus"—he whistled—"mean 'shoot at will.' Four notes, like this—mean 'cease shooting'."
I asked: "What if the trumpeter be slain?"
"If there be too much noise for my commands to be heard, I will send messengers."
"How shall we aim the ship, since the catapult is solidly fixed to the deck?"
"Leave that to me. I will sight from the stern past the bow post and command the helmsman. You worry about range. Does everybody understand?"
When he had satisfied himself, Damophilos hastened back to the quarterdeck. Onas said:
"Great gods of Egypt, they are almost upon us!"
The Antigonian ships were closing fast. Pronax, the loader, said:
"Herakles! It's too bad we didn't have some target practice afloat before this battle. How shall we ever hit anything with the catapult leaping like a kid in the spring?"
I said: "What range do you make, Berosos?"
Berosos shaded his eyes. "Twenty plethra—perhaps nineteen."
Because of her size, the Myraina could not quickly stop or turn. Nevertheless, she was much faster than any other ship present, having two hundred and eighty rowers. She pulled ahead of the two Antigonian triremes. The other Rhodian squadron, having drawn off to one side, aimed to cut in behind the Myraina and separate her from her companions.
Captain Damophilos shouted a command. Our rowers dug in their oars and braked to a stop, while the two triemiolias, the Euryalê and the Active, raced ahead.
Berosos said: "In the name of Mardoukos, Chares, let us load. In range are we."
"Cockers, cock your piece," I said. I had held off loading because if a catapult is left cocked too long, the skeins lose some of their power. "What range, Berosos?"
"Fourteen plethra."
"Pawls in the sixteenth notch," I said, trying to read the range table from the fluttering sheet of papyrus. "Load your piece."
"May we shoot?" said Onas, nervously hefting his mallet.
"Hold your tongue! Stand by."
I looked back and caught the eye of Damophilos, who nudged the trumpeter, who blew three notes.
Onas at once struck the trigger knob. Talos crashed. As Halia's bow was digging into the waves at the end of a down-roll, the dart plunged into the water far short of the Myraina.
"Zeus ruin you, you god-detested fool!" I shouted. "You're not to shoot until I command!"
"We ought to shoot when the ship is level," said Berosos.
"No," said a cocker, "we ought to shoot when the ship is at the end of a roll, and standing still, and make allowances for the slant of the deck."
"Be quiet, all of you," I said. "Pull up your recoiler. Cock your piece. Fourteenth—no, thirteenth notch. Load your piece——"
There came across the water the sound of a catapult's discharge. A three-span dart whistled past with an unnerving sound and splashed into the water astern of the Halia. My crew leaped and ducked like chickens at whom a hawk has stooped.
"Get back!" I screamed. I waited for one more pitch of the ship. Then, as it neared a level position on its up-roll, I cried: "Shoot!"
Onas had been reciting a spell; hence he was slow with his mallet. As a result, the deck was slanted up as he smote, and the dart flew high above the Myraina.
A second sound of discharge came from the sevener, and a dart whizzed towards us and struck with a thud, a few feet away. Berosos shrieked with fear and covered his eyes.
"So much for your Egyptian spells!" said Pronax, pulling the missile out of the planking. "At least we shall have an extra dart when ours give out."
"Pull up your recoiler. Cock your piece," I said. "What's the range?"
"Nine plethra," said Berosos.
"Tenth notch ... Load your piece."
Meanwhile the Euryalê and the Active drove forward, converging to take the Myraina's oars from either side. A strident yelling arose as the triemiolias dug in to get up speed and then shipped their oars on the side towards the sevener. Their quarry could not follow suit, because a sevener's long sweeps cannot be quickly withdrawn through the oarlocks.
Missiles flew from the deck of the Myraina to the triemiolias and back again: arrows, javelins, and sling bullets. The Myraina's oarsmen laid their oars back flat against the sides of their ship. The triemiolias struck glancing blows against these compacted masses of oars. There was a groaning and cracking of timbers.
A grapnel on the end of a rope flew from the Myraina to one of the smaller ships, but somebody caught it and threw it overboard before it could catch in the woodwork. Then the ships were past one another and rowing again.
Berosos said: "If they once grapple us, lost are we. They must have a hundred marines aboard that thing."
I was about to give the word to shoot when I realized that the Halia no longer faced her target. The flutist's pipe resounded again; the trireme's oars drove her on a curving course to take her out of the path of the Myraina. Belatedly the trumpet sounded to cease shooting.
The sevener altered her course to keep headed towards us. The Myraina's catapults crashed again, and the darts whizzed past our stern, causing the gleaming marines to duck.
Still the Myraina strained on her starboard oars to catch us on her ram. Closer and closer came the great bronze beak, green with patina and spotted white with sea growths, lifting out of the water in cascades of foam and plunging back in. Above it reared the figurehead of the sea monster for which the ship was named.
Now did Rhodian seamanship show itself. The Halia's rowers, in perfect time, strained at their oars until they bent, to give us that extra little barleycorn of needed speed. We plunged through the heaving green seas and away.
The double-pay man in command of the archers said: "Get out of the way, mechanics, so we can fight!"
He and his archers aimed their bows over the wicker screen. The bows twanged; the airborne arrows hissed away. Arrows from the Myraina whistled past us. Two stuck quivering in the forecastle deck. Back in the waist, a sailor screamed with an arrow through his body. The Myraina rowed across our stern so close that it is a wonder her oars did not strike us. Thick catheads, projecting from her sides above the waterline, shielded her from ramming by smaller ships. From her deck, crowded with yelling archers and marines, came a shower of missiles.