Sekla bowed to Briseis and turned to me. ‘Time to pay the ferryman,’ he said. ‘Or whatever you Greeks say when you are about to die. May I just say. .’ he pointed at the onrushing shapes of the two Carthaginian warships ‘. . that I told you so? I’d like you to accept that I told you this would happen before we died.’
I was still looking open mouthed at Briseis. She pulled a fold of her shawl over her face.
In the time it took the rowers to pull five strokes, everything about my life had changed.
Because I had a son. By Briseis. Named Heraklitus.
The pilot boats put an elder on my deck, and the two Carthaginians lay off, with burning fire pots prepared on their marine decks and bows strung. As soon as the old man came aboard, he faced me without a bow.
‘I am old and have grown sons,’ he announced. ‘No one will ransom me, and if I raise my right hand, this ship will be rammed and sunk with all hands, and no one will account me a loss. Understand, pirate?’
I nodded. ‘Sir, I am merely the tool of the gods, in this instance. My ship bears the tokens of an embassy, and I carry the Lord Artapherenes, who comes from the Great King of Persia to speak to the council of Carthage.’
I think his face must have worn the look I had when Briseis told me that her son was also mine.
I motioned to him, and led him forward to where Artapherenes lay among his attendants.
‘This is the Lord Artapherenes, Satrap of Phrygia, relative of the Great King,’ I said. ‘And his wife Briseis and men of his bodyguard.’
I suppose it might have been possible to impersonate such rank, but not in such numbers. The Carthaginian bowed deeply. ‘I’m sure that the tale of your presence here will bear some telling,’ he snapped at me. ‘But I will see to it your tokens of embassy are respected, at least until you clear the harbour.’
I nodded. I had my own plan, now that my duty was done. I went and knelt by Artapherenes, and I motioned Cyrus to attend. He knelt by my side.
‘My lord,’ I said.
His eyes were open and his face was stronger. I have known many men recover at sea and in deserts who might have perished on land. The sea is clean.
So he smiled. ‘Arimnestos. I knew you would get me here.’
I nodded. ‘Lord, these men are my enemies, and I don’t intend to give them the chance to betray their oaths to the gods.’
Cyrus smiled at me. He put a hand on mine, right hand to right hand. ‘You are a good man,’ he said. ‘Why must we fight?’
‘Change is the only constant,’ I said. ‘Some day, perhaps, we will be allies.’ I stood up. ‘I will have you swayed gently over the side, my lord, but the very moment you come to rest on that wharf, my men will back oars, and I will fly.’
Artapherenes nodded. ‘My heart advises that what you do, you must do,’ he admitted. ‘That man’s face held much hate. What have you done?’
I smiled. ‘They made me a slave. I paid them back.’ I rose to my feet and walked back to the helmsman’s station. I took the oars from Sekla and said, ‘Give me a moment here,’ and he smiled and walked away.
Briseis watched it all.
I put my ship on a long, slow curve towards the pier to which the Carthaginian harbour officer pointed from his pilot boat.
I made a hand sign to Leukas, and the oar-rate picked up. The Carthaginian ships had come to a full stop to watch our talk with their elder, and they were slower and heavier, and we shot away.
‘I am about to put your husband ashore,’ I said.
She nodded.
‘You could always come with me,’ I said. ‘I know you won’t, but I’ll curse myself for the next ten years if I do not ask.’
Briseis stood. Very softly, she said, ‘Some day, I will live as your wife. But you do not want to humiliate Artapherenes any more than I do.’ She smiled into my eyes. ‘I do not love him with fire, but I love him none the less, Achilles. He is a worthy man.’
‘He lay with your mother!’ I said. See, the adolescent is never far beneath the surface, and I was suddenly angry.
She recoiled, looked away, and flushed. Then she said, ‘You once swore to protect our family.’
Now it was my turn to look away.
She nodded. ‘If the world were a simple place, none of us would have to make the choices that define who we are. Even when our choices are folly and hubris.’ She shrugged. ‘And would you have me abandon our children?’
‘Children?’ I asked.
She laughed. ‘You are a fool, my Achilles.’ She rose on her toes and kissed me, to the scandal of all the Persians. ‘It is war,’ she said. ‘And in war, there is change. Didn’t Heraklitus say so? Not this summer or next — but soon.’
‘I will come for you,’ I said, as rash as an ephebe.
She smiled. ‘Good.’
We were three ships’ lengths from the wharf. And as usual, I had put Briseis ahead of all my other concerns. Thankfully. .
In many ways, despite everything that follows, it was Lydia’s finest hour.
First, because we rowed to within a ship’s length of the pier — and suddenly, without warning or orders, at a single whistle, the port-side rowers reversed their cushions and we turned in our own length, slowing in the process to a stop and then continuing sternward at a walking pace. It is a wonderful manoeuvre — try training men to it, and you will find that it can take a summer to get it right once. Only a crew that has been together for years can get it just right, without broaching the ship or capsizing or breaking oars or wallowing.
All the starboard-side oars for the first six benches from the stern came in, and our starboard side sternward bulwark came to rest against the stone of the pier as if we were a child accepting the gentle embrace of a loving mother.
Before we touched, every marine was ashore. And Briseis — bless her — her voice barked like a fishwife’s, and the women climbed the side and made the short jump while the lines were held. I clasped Cyrus’s hand while Arayanam and Darius lifted Artapherenes on a bed made of spears and cloaks, and they stepped from the rail to the shore like sailors.
The three Persians saluted with their hands in the Persian way.
Briseis smiled at me.
I broke free of her gaze and made a single hand gesture to Megakles at the helm, and then at Leukas amidships. Leukas roared, ‘Pull!’
Now, I don’t know that the men of Carthage meant to betray their oaths. But I saw no reason to linger and test them.
The two heavy triremes were two cables astern, just getting up to speed. Three more triremes were launching from the sheds, and there was a great deal of commotion along the shoreline, and my heavy crew — with all the best men in their seats — knew the drill.
In five strokes we were at cruising speed.
There was a shout from the ship-sheds.
A sixth ship got off the beach under the sheds. I watched him — Phoenicians’ ships are often male — and his oar-stroke was disgustingly ragged, and that made me watch him another few heartbeats. Only a certain kind of trierarch would have such a ragged crew. Phoenicians are generally superb sailors, but they have a few right fools and at least one evil madman.
Fifteen strokes and my oarsmen were pulling like the heroes in the Argo and I could see their oars bend at the height of the stroke. We were almost at full speed — ramming speed, as fast as a galloping horse.
I’ve said this other nights, but a sea fight seems to get faster and faster as you get closer to the moment of combat. I don’t know whether this is some effect of the hand of the gods, of the spirit men carry within them, or merely a flaw in the flow of time’s stream. Once thing I know — sometimes it is merely that the rowers pull harder as the ships close.