So it was on that night. Pandion stood with his hip pressed against the gunwale, his hands firmly grasping the stern oar to overcome the resistance of the rising wind. On the other side of the vessel, which, as was the custom in those days, had a stern oar or rudder on either side, stood a helmsman and a soldier. The stars flitted through gaps in the clouds and then disappeared in the gloom of the threatening sky, and the mournful voice of the wind, growing deeper in tone, rose to an ominous howl.
The vessel was tossed on the waves, the oars slapped dully on the water and the voice of the overseer could be more frequently heard as he drove on the slaves with curses and blows of his whip.
The master, who had been sleeping under the awning, came out on deck. He studied the sea attentively and, obviously troubled, went to the chief helmsman. They talked together for a long time. Then the master awakened the sleeping soldiers and sent them to the stern oars, himself taking his place beside Pandion.
The wind veered sharply round and started beating furiously at the ship, the waves rose higher and higher, sweeping over the deck. The mast had to be unstepped, and as it lay on the piles of hides it projected beyond the bow, striking dully against the ship’s high prow.
The struggle against wind and waves was becoming more and more desperate. The master, muttering either prayers or curses under his breath, ordered the helmsmen to turn the vessel to the south. With the wind behind her the vessel raced forward into the black, unknown sea. The night passed quickly in heavy work at the rudder. In the grey light of dawn the gigantic waves looked even more threatening. The storm had not subsided, the wind, unabated, lashed the frail ship.
Shouts of alarm swept across the deck — all hands called the master’s attention to something to the starboard of the vessel. There, in the dull light of the dawning day, the sea was broken by a long line of foam. The waves slowed down in their mad race as they approached the blue-grey line.
The entire crew of the vessel clustered round the master, even the helmsman handing over his oar to a soldier. Shouts of alarm gave way to rapid, excited speech. Pandion noticed that all eyes were fixed on him, fingers pointed in his direction and fists threatened him. He could understand nothing of what was going on but saw the master making angry gestures of protest. The old helmsman, seizing the master by the arm, spoke to him for a long time, his lips near the master’s ear. The master shook his head in refusal, and shouted some abrupt words but, at last, he apparently had to give way. In an instant the people threw themselves on the astounded youth, binding his hands behind him.
“They say you have brought misfortune upon us,” said the master to Pandion, waving his hands disdainfully in the direction of his crew. “You’re the herald of calamity, it’s your presence on board that has drawn our ship towards Tha-Quem, (Tha-Quem — the Black Land, or simply Quemt, the Black, the name given by the ancient Egyptians to their country.) in your language Aigyptos. To placate the gods you must be killed and thrown overboard — this all my people demand and I cannot protect you.”
Pandion still did not understand and stared hard at the Phoenician.
“You do not know that it means death or slavery to land on the shores of Tha-Quem,” the master muttered despondently. “In days of old there was a war between Tha-Quem and the Sea People. Since then everybody who lands anywhere in that country, except the three ports open to foreigners, is either killed or sent to slavery and his property goes to the King of Tha-Quem. Do you understand now?” The Phoenician broke off abruptly and, turning away from Pandion, gazed at the fast approaching line of foam.
Pandion realized that he was again threatened with death. Ready to fight to the very last minute for a life that was dear to him he cast a helpless glance full of hatred at the infuriated crowd on the deck.
The hopelessness of the situation caused him to take a rapid decision.
“Master!” exclaimed the youth. “Tell your people to release me — I will jump into the sea myself!”
“That’s what I thought,” said the Phoenician, turning towards him. “Let these cowards learn from you!”
In answer to an imperative gesture from the master the crew released Pandion. Without looking at anybody the youth walked towards the ship’s gunwale. The people made way for him in silence as they would for a man going to his death.
Pandion stared fixedly at the line of foam that hid the low shore, instinctively comparing his strength with the speed of the vicious waves. Fragments of thoughts flashed through his mind: the land beyond the foam line, the Land of Foam… Africa…
(Africa — from the Greek aphros — foam. Hence also Aphrodite — the foam-born.)
So this was the dreaded Aigyptos!… And he had vowed to Thessa by all the gods and by his love for her that he would not even think of journeying so far!… O Gods! What game was fate playing with him?… But he would most likely perish and that would be for the best…
Pandion dived head first into the noisy depths and, using his strong arms, swam away from the ship. The waves seized hold of him; it seemed that they took delight in the death of a man, they threw him high on their crests and then cast him down into the troughs, they crushed and battered him, they filled his nose and mouth with water, they slashed his eyes with foaming spray. Pandion no longer thought of anything — he was struggling desperately for his life, for every breath of air, working furiously with his hands and feet. The Hellene, born by the sea, was an excellent swimmer.
Time passed and the waves carried him on and on towards the shore. He did not look back at the ship, he had forgotten its existence in face of almost certain death. The rocking of the waves grew less. They swept on more slowly than before in long rollers that rose and fell in a roaring swirl of seething foam. Every fresh wave carried Pandion a hundred cubits nearer the shore. Sometimes he sank into the trough of a wave; then a terrific weight of water crashed down on him, driving him down and down into the dark depths until his heart was ready to burst.
Thus he swam on for several stadia, much time passed in this struggle against the waves, until at last his strength failed him and he felt that it was becoming impossible for him to continue the struggle against the giant waters that were trying to embrace him. As he grew weaker the will to live died out in him, it became more and more difficult to strain his aching muscles and his desire to continue the struggle weakened. With jerky movements of arms that worked almost outside his will he rose on the crest of a wave, turned his face towards his distant country and shouted at the top of his voice:
“Thessa, Thessa!…”
The name of the one he loved, hurled twice in the face of fate, in the face of the monstrous and indifferent might of the sea, was immediately drowned by the howl of the stormy waves; one of them closed over Pandion’s motionless body, the youth sank down into the water and suddenly struck the seabed in a whirl of churned-up sand.
Two soldiers in short green kilts, an outpost of the Great Green Sea (Great Green Sea was the name given by the Egyptians to the Mediterranean.)coast watchers, leaned on their long spears and stared at the horizon.
“Captain Seneb sent us here for nothing,” said the elder of them in a lazy voice.
“But the Phoenician ship was quite close to the shore,” objected the other. “If the storm hadn’t died down we’d have got easy booty, and right close to the fortress, too.”
“Look over there,” said the elder soldier, pointing along the beach. “May I remain unburied when I die if that isn’t a man from the ship!”