A sling bullet bounced off the deck and glanced from my ribs, fetching a grunt from me and leaving a three-day bruise. On the quarterdeck our marines cast javelins.
The ships drew apart. Damophilos shouted: "Port rowers, drag your oars! Steersmen, steer hard to port!"
The Halia turned in a short circle, so as to bring up facing the stern of the receding Myraina. Meanwhile the triemiolias followed a wider circle in the other direction.
I glanced towards the other squadron, maneuvering with the two Antigonian triremes. Shouts and crashes floated across the heaving waters, but all five ships were still in action.
Damophilos brought us around, into the wake of the sevener, and gave the signal to shoot. When Onas tried to put another spell on a dart, Pronax said:
"Forget this nonsense! Pray to the Bright One and see what happens." He clasped his hands. "Heavenly ancestor, far-casting Apollon, god of the sun and of Rhodes, aid thy children in their need ..."
Talos crashed. The dart rose, skimmed over the stern of Myraina, and plunged into her waist. We yelled with delight as Pronax, grinning, picked up the next dart.
We all prayed this time; even I. I might not believe in gods, but a battle was no time for testing philosophical theories. We made another hit.
The triemiolias rowed parallel to the Myraina on her left. They were not fast enough to get ahead of her, and if they turned toward her, she would escape them before they could close.
This time, however, the sevener saved her foes from a stern chase by wheeling towards them. We followed, shooting dart after dart.
Closer came the Myraina to the smaller ships. As before, the latter converged upon her in hope of breaking her oars.
At the last moment, like some great African beast in a rage, the Myraina lurched to one side. With a terrible crash her ram stuck the Active's bow just aft of the base of the latter's ram.
Then followed one of the most extraordinary scenes of instant destruction that I have ever beheld. In a twinkling the Active fell all to pieces. Men and parts of the ship poured into the water. One moment, there rowed a stout triemiolia; the next, nothing could be seen but a tangle of boards, spars, oars, ropes, and splashing, struggling men, screaming thinly over the whistle of wind and the roar of battle. Ropes were tangled around the Myraina's ram, from which splintered boards slid off into the foaming water.
A second crash followed, as the Euryalê struck the starboard side of the Myraina. Although the catheads warded the larger ship from the ram of the smaller, the triemiolia broke several of the Myraina's oars.
The Halia now neared the stern of the Myraina, which, slowed by her collision with the Active, was barely moving. Debris tangled the sevener's oars and trailed from her ram, further retarding her movement.
On the quarterdeck of the Myraina stood a clump of officers, wrapped in wind-whipped scarlet cloaks. As my ship approached, I picked out the Antigonian admiral by his gilded armor and by the shield bearers huddled about him.
As we closed, our archers began to shoot. The shield bearers brought up their shields, so that the arrows aimed at the admiral struck harmlessly against them; the other officers ducked out of the way. A squad of Antigonian archers began shooting back, though the wind blew their shafts every which way.
"Cock your piece," I said, "third notch. Load your piece. We'll try to pick off that popinjay."
"Range two and a half," said Berosos. "Range two plethra. Range ..."
I said a short but fervent prayer to Helios-Apollon; then, when our bow stopped heaving for an instant: "Shoot!"
Onas struck his knob. Away went the dart. I felt a pang of disappointment when I saw that the missile was going to miss. Then, at the last minute, like a puff of breath from the lips of the god, a blast of wind swerved it. It plunged into the group on the Myraina's quarterdeck.
The group flew apart in a whirl of limbs and a flutter of garments. There was shouting and scurrying on the deck of the sevener. All on the Halia howled with joy.
I would have loaded again, but Damophilos sounded the signal to cease shooting. With his hands cupped around his mouth, he bellowed:
"You up forward, hold fast! We are about to ram!"
The chant of the coxswain came faster as the Halia picked up speed. The Euryalê lay off to the right of the Myraina like a wounded sea beast, hardly moving.
Now, however, the Myraina also speeded up. She plowed through the tangle that remained of the Active and headed for the Asiatic shore. With a final exchange of arrows, she raised her boat mast, hoisted her boat sail, and drew out of range.
I saw that the other fight had also ended. Although no ships seemed to have been sunk, the two Antigonian triremes were also rowing in the direction of Kynos-Sema. They were low in the water and sluggish, laboring like crippled centipedes with many oars broken or lost. Our three other triremes seemed in no better case.
The Halia stopped at the mass of wreckage and began hauling swimmers out of the water, by rope and oar and clutching hand, to cough and retch on the deck. Most of the Active's crew were still alive, clinging to oars and timbers. All but one of the marines, however, had been drowned by the weight of their armor; the lucky man had happened to seize the yard as the ship broke up.
While we hauled the dripping survivors out of the wrack, the Antigonian ships receded. Berosos shouted:
"Behold, one of them sinks!"
It was true; one of the Antigonian triremes was almost awash. Her oars had stopped. As we watched, the Myraina came alongside to take off her people. These were still clambering up the sevener's sweeps and sides when the trireme rolled quietly over and lay bottom up, like a wallowing whale, with waves breaking against her keel.
By the time we had rescued all of the Active's crew who were still afloat, the Myraina and her remaining consort were small in the distance. The high, bright sun lit up the golden eagles on their sterns. As they dipped and bobbed off into the blue distance towards Asia Minor, our five ships clustered, and the captains conferred in shouts. Bits of wreckage from the Active drifted past.
Our officers soon gave up the idea of chasing the Antigonians. Except for the Halia, every one of our surviving ships had taken under-water damage. Sailors bailed and pumped furiously; pailfuls of water, glittering like showers of gems, flew up and over their sides. So our squadron limped back into the Great Harbor.
The moles and rooftops were covered with Rhodians, who cheered us lustily even though our victory had been, not an overwhelming triumph, but a barely achieved repulse of a might foe who would surely return for further reckoning. We marched out the shipyard gate through cheering crowds and returned to our homes. And so ended the bloody business of the day.
Two days later a messenger summoned me from my studio to a special meeting of the Assembly. Wondering whether I was to be commended or condemned, I followed him. I was keenly interested in the Assembly meeting, as I had never seen one.