Black Ships (8 page)

A scream and a whimpering cry from almost outside the door. One of the rowers in the first tier, I thought. I had seen those men this morning, but I did not know their names.

It was only a little distance, not even the height of a man, from the cabin to the first tier. I could pull him inside in a moment and see what could be done. Kos’ sister was near. I met her eyes. “We can get him in,” I said.

You must not shed blood nor see it shed.

This time it was easier to disobey.

I opened the door and we darted out.

It was the first man on the right side, with an arrow through his shoulder. He had fallen in the space between the benches, his oar hanging loose in the port, fouling the one behind it on each sweep. His face was set, his teeth clenched.

I grabbed his right arm, the one without the arrow through the shoulder. “Get his feet!” I shouted. She did.

“No,” he whispered.

“Be quiet,” I said. “We’ll get you inside and you’ll fight another day.” The girl dragged him and I half lifted. It must have hurt awfully, but it took only a moment to get him inside. The young boy’s mother looked up, the rower’s head falling almost in her lap.

“Here, now,” she said, lifting his head up and turning his shoulder so she could see it.

I started back to the door.

“Where are you going?” the girl said.

“The oar has to be moved. It’s fouling the stroke,” I said. “There are no men with hands free to do it.”

I darted back out, low in the shelter of the rower’s rail, but still the wind hit me. It had picked up, cold and laden with rain. The storm was almost on us.

“Left side on the mark!” Xandros yelled. The left side oarsmen pulled their oars out, causing a turn to the right. He was completely exposed up there at the tiller, not even a shirt between him and arrows, or a leather breastplate such as Neas wore. In the shelter of the rail I couldn’t see what he saw, could see nothing of the battle or the sea.

He saw me moving and nodded fractionally. The oar was fouling the stroke, and the left turn was awkward and slow, with two oars out of ten not pulling. I crawled across the deck and closed my hands around the handle. I had no idea they were so heavy. It took both hands to pull it up, dripping through the port, and ship it in what must be its usual place.

We met a wave head-on, splashing up over the prow and the rail. The seas were getting high.

There were shouts out on the water. I didn’t know the voice, but the tongue was Wilusan.

Xandros nodded. “On the mark!” he yelled. “Prepare to set the sail! Right side on three! Left side skip the beat!”

The chanter took up a different song, and the clouds reeled overhead as we turned sharply again, the wind behind us now, blowing straight down the ship. There were no arrows. We must be temporarily out of range.

On Xandros’ mark the sail went up. It caught and filled, billowing out white against the black clouds behind us, the dolphin leaping red on white.

The ship surged forward.

“Keep the stroke!” Xandros yelled. Under oars and sail both? That would be our maximum speed.

I turned and went back in the cabin.

The boy’s mother was drawing the arrow while Kos’ sister held his arm still. Her face was white, but she was crooning, “Be still. Just for a moment. Be still.”

The arrow came out in a great rush of blood. The man moaned and his head rolled to the side.

“Is he dead?” the boy said in a hushed tone.

I put my hand to the side of his neck, felt the strong beat pulsing there. “No,” I said. “He’s passed out from the pain. Let me see the wound.”

“Salt water,” said the boy’s mother. “Salt water to clean it.”

The girl went and got some.

I looked at the wound, washing the blood away where it welled. Skin and muscle torn, a whiteness at the bottom and one sharp chip of bone. I pulled it out. “It’s chipped his collarbone,” I said, “but I don’t think the bone is broken through. He’s breathing well, so it’s not in the lung, and too high for that I think. If we can stop the bleeding, he should mend.”

“Pressure,” the boy’s mother said. “Clean cloth and pressure till the bleeding stops.”

We took turns holding it tight against him while the ship tossed and bucked. The light was gone. It was dim twilight in the cabin, too soon for natural twilight. There was a surge of sound, like a great roaring. It was rain.

I went to the door and looked out, then slid out and shut it behind me.

The rain beat down in sheets. The sodden sail held the wind and strained at the ropes. The oars were all shipped now, the drum silent. When I stepped out of the shelter of the prow the wind lashed at me, and it was hard to stay on my feet. I made my way down the ship between the rowers. Some of them were nursing minor hurts. Most sat with their heads down, like horses who have run their race and worn their hearts out in sight of the finish line.

Kos and Xandros were both at the tiller. I clung to the rope steps to the afterdeck and climbed up, ignoring Kos’ hand.

All about us the horizon had closed in, leaving us alone amid mountains of green water. Each wave splashed up over
Dolphin
’s prow, sending a plume of foam into the air, but she shed water like her namesake. In the back, three men were bailing.

Far out to our right I could see another ship. It was
Winged Night.
I could see the black wings painted on her spread sail.

“Is Bai all right?” Xandros shouted.

It took me a moment to realize that Bai must be the rower. “The arrow was in the shoulder, not the chest,” I said. “I think he’ll make it.”

“Good,” Xandros said. It was taking two of them to keep the rudder straight.

“Where is everyone else?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Xandros said. “Neas told us to pass straight through and take their worst, then run on with the wind behind us. The storm came up fast. Any prayers you have right now to the Lady of the Sea would probably be appropriate.”

The clouds gathered down like omens, like the anger of the Lord of Storms.

THE ISLANDOF THE DEAD

T
he storm and night both came down on us. Bai, the wounded rower, woke dazed with pain and vomited in my lap. The girl was seasick as well, and it wasn’t long before the cabin stunk. I couldn’t blame them for their illness. The ship rose and fell so violently that sometimes I bumped my head on the down swell. Night came, and we huddled there in the dark. We did not dare a light with the movement of the ship, even if one of us had been able to go all the way aft to get fire. If there was still a spark in the brazier, which I did not know.

Sometime after full dark two of the rowers came in to join us, dripping with rain and shivering.

“The captain told us to get some rest so that we’d be fresh later in the night,” one of them said. “How’s Bai?”

He was sleeping, or perhaps passed out again, but there was no fever.

Six of us huddled there in a cabin that tapered from a hand span at the front to the height of a man at the back, a cabin only a little longer in length than my height, and only tall enough for me to sit upright.

We did not speak. The only one who could lie down was Bai, and that with his head in my lap and his feet at the point of the prow. The child fell asleep on his mother’s lap. He, at least, was not sick.

One of the rowers smiled. “He’s got a sailor’s stomach. The captain will promise him a bench at this rate.”

His mother didn’t quite smile. I could hear her thought as clearly as if she’d spoken it aloud—that at this rate we would be putting children to the oars soon enough.

Kos’ sister was shivering. She came and sat next to me, and I put my mantle around her. “Are you all right?” I asked quietly.

“Just cold,” she said. She was shaking, but her body shrank from contact with mine. She was only a few years younger than me and very pretty. I had no doubt she’d received a warm welcome in Pylos.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Tia,” she said. “Daughter of Iaso, the boatbuilder. Kos is my older brother.”

I closed my eyes for a moment in the dark.

It is like this always in Her service. Things swirl around and sometimes we can see the patterns, like Her hand on my sleeve, the faint whisper of the future, the past.

Sometime in the night the rowers changed their shift. Two more wet, exhausted men came in. One of them was Bai’s friend, and took over his care. Bai wakened and took some water. There was still no fever as far as I could tell, and the bleeding had slowed to a seepage beneath the bandage when his arm was moved.

The night would never end. I thought that I would never sleep, but I did, slumping half sideways against Tia.

I dreamed that I stood on a hillside with a brown river beneath me, young olive trees sleeping in the sun on the slope below, vines stretched in orderly rows. A girl stood beside me, her hair like flame, her black tunic blowing in the breeze. Her skin was fair, but her eyes were as dark as caves beneath the earth. I knew Her.

“Great Lady,” I said. “I do not know Your purpose. And I have seen blood shed against Your laws.”

“You have obeyed Me,” She said. She stretched out one white hand, skin flecked golden in the sun. “You have answered My purpose.”

“To carry You within me to where You wish to go. But Lady,” I faltered, “this burden is too great. I do not know the things I need to know. I can’t carry You alone.”

She turned and smiled, lips as red as pomegranates. “You aren’t alone.”

I woke to the tossing of the ship. It seemed a little lighter than before.

I extricated myself from the others and slipped out the door.

The rain was falling in squally patches, and the sail strained at the mast. Dawn was coming, and I could barely see the length of the ship. I could see enough to know that Xandros was still at the tiller, tied on with a length of rope. Living or dead, he could not leave it.

I thought about crossing the deck, but a great wave came onboard, nearly sweeping me off my feet. I fell beneath the rower’s bench. Salt water broke over me. I dragged myself back up and back into the cabin. There was nothing I could do.

Midday came, and the storm was worse. We were tossed about. Each time we wallowed deep into a wave I wondered if we would rise again. Water dripped in from the chinks in the boards above, and we began to bail some out the door to where three of the rowers were bailing, lashed with ropes to the rail. All the food was aft except for some olives, but no one wanted anything enough to go aft. There was water in my water bag still. The girl could not eat, and Bai did not want anything but water. I wished for bread but there was none.

Someone banged on the door. It was one of the rowers, calling the two who were resting. “Come out. We’ve got to get the sail in. The captain says it’s useless, and it’s going to tear away in this wind.”

“What does it mean to be without a sail?” I asked.

He looked at me. “It means that there is nothing to do but go where the storm takes us, and hope he can keep us pointed into the waves.”

They were gone.

I leaned back against the door and closed my eyes. I had worn out my entreaties to the Lady of the Sea already, as had everyone else. I closed my eyes.
Please, Lady, mercy on Your people,
I thought.
Mercy.

Night overtook us. One of the rowers came in with a jar of wine and a fresh water skin, with brined fish that did not need cooking to eat. Tia took one look at them and was ill on my feet. Bai ate them. He still had no fever, and I was beginning to hope that he might mend, if we didn’t all drown.

Sometime after midnight it seemed to me that the pounding of the rain was less. The ship still rolled violently, but the roaring of the wind seemed to have abated a little. I climbed over the others and looked out.

The rain was indeed less. It spattered unevenly across the deck now, which was swimming under a hand span of water. Still
Dolphin
met each wave. Kos was at the tiller.

I made my way aft. The water in the bottom was over my ankles, and the ship was still pitching.

The wind swirled around me as I reached the steps. The stern cabin door opened and Xandros came out. He checked as he saw me, caught my arm as a roll of the ship threw me off balance. “What’s wrong?” he shouted. “Bai?”

I shook my head. “He’s fine,” I shouted back. “I wanted to see what was happening. The rain seemed less.”

Xandros climbed the rope steps. “Kos, you should go below. Your turn.” He untied Kos from the tiller.

Stiffly, Kos tied him in his place. I climbed up the ladder. The wind hit me and I held on to the rail. Two lengths below, the sea churned white with foam, lashing at the ship. Ahead, down
Dolphin
’s side, I could see a patch of sky between the clouds, the faintest hints of stars.

“That’s where we’re steering,” Xandros shouted. “You should go below. You could be swept overboard.”

I thought of that reeking dark hole, and shook my head. “I’ll stay here a few minutes,” I said.

Xandros shook his head. “You know if your Lady calls, I suppose.”

I held on to the rail. I was not foolhardy.

The wind felt good. The waves seemed more regular somehow. We rose and then fell, leaping forward, without the side to side motion that there had been earlier. I said so to Xandros, leaning close to him to speak into his ear.

He nodded. “These are more like regular rollers. We’re coming out of it. And no real damage to the ship that I can see. We’ve been more than lucky. We’ve been in Her hand.”

We were heading east. I could see the sky lightening a little ahead of us. “I wonder where the others are,” I yelled.

Xandros shook his head. “Scattered all over the sea,” he said. “If they’ve ridden it out.”

An hour or more passed. I held the rail and felt the last rain spatter over me. The stars were ahead, the last tatters of storm cloud flying behind us.

Lady,
I thought,
thank You for Your mercy on Your people. Mercy, and dawn.

Pink streaked the far horizon. The great green waves lifted us and rocked us.

Xandros cleared his throat. He had untied the rope. “There’s a water skin just there,” he said. His voice was hoarse from shouting, and I could hardly hear him. “I think there’s still some in it.”

I brought it to him and unfastened it. He raised one eyebrow and held it out to me. “Do you want it, Sybil?”

“We can share it,” I said. I took a small sip and gave it to him, watched him drink, his throat moving with each swallow.

Everyone else was below or sleeping. It was like being alone on the vast sea, dawn and flying stars. His sodden hair clung to his shoulders, one perfect drop of water standing on his browned skin. His face was remote, quiet as though silenced by the sudden, unexpected beauty of the morning.

Something touched me, something unfamiliar.

I had not put a name to it when the door below opened and Kos came out. “Xandros? Do you want to set the sail?”

He handed me back the water skin. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s take it halfway up the mast to give us some steerage. We need to figure out where we are.”

I looked out over the waters in the gathering dawn. On the horizon behind us something lay dark on the waves. It looked like another black ship, her sail drawn down. “Xandros, there!”

We kept her in sight while the sail was set, then Xandros maneuvered a little to bring us ahead of her and cross in front of her. Before long we could see that it was indeed one of our ships.

“Is she a hulk?” Kos wondered. “I don’t see anyone moving on her deck.”

“Can you see who she is?” Xandros asked. I noticed that both Kos and I saw things sooner than he did.

The next lift of a wave showed her prow to both of us at the same time. “It’s
Cloud
!” Kos shouted. Now we could see her tiller engaged, a white streak behind her. There was still someone at the helm at least.

The sun rose red out of the sea.

I stood on the stern deck while Xandros gave the orders to drop the sail and maneuver with oars to come alongside
Cloud.
As we got closer we saw that she was half awash, and that everyone was bailing. There was a shouted conversation across the water that I caught only half of, but deduced from Xandros’ part that
Cloud
had taken a rogue wave amidships over the deck. Three rowers had been swept into the sea. Though they had heard them calling and yelling in the sea, they were unable to turn and get them, so they were lost. They had been near
Winged Night
through the first part of the storm, and she had been riding it well, but they had not seen her since twilight the night before. They had seen two other ships far out, but ours, Achaian, or random merchant traffic they didn’t know.

“We were near
Hunter
until the worst of it yesterday,” Xandros said. “And late in the day Kos saw something he swears was
Seven Sisters
ahead of us.”

I thought about the fishing boats in the storm. A dozen men, eight women, and fifteen children. The warships might ride the storm out, but the fishing boats were much smaller.

Full morning came. The sea was still rough, but not heaving as it had. Everyone came out and set about cleaning up and bailing. We rode close by
Cloud.

The young boy from my cabin was up on the prow. “Look there!” he cried.

I did. Xandros shaded his eyes and squinted. “Please, Lady, not Neoptolemos.”

Three warships rode together, their sails folded and their oars out.

Kos ran forward to join the boy. “No,” he shouted back, his face split with a grin. “It’s
Seven Sisters, Hunter,
and
Pearl
!”

We came up to them and a cheer ran from ship to ship as they recognized us. Aeneas waved from the tiller as we came alongside. “Xandros, you lucky bastard!”

“That would be you,” Xandros yelled back. “The Sea Lady takes care of her own, and we’re glad of it!”

Neas laughed.

We came close enough for ropes to be thrown between all five ships, and pulled us side by side like a giant raft.

Cloud
had the worst of it, though
Pearl
was hurt from the battle. Too close a pass down one of the Achaian ships had broken half the oars on her right side, and she was now running with only five to each side.

Xandros leaped lightly across the gap to
Seven Sisters.
He reached back for me. I looked at him skeptically. “Prince Aeneas needs his oracle, Lady,” he said.

I took his hands and jumped.

The captains of the other ships had come aboard as well, and we all crowded onto the afterdeck of
Seven Sisters.
There was also an old man who I realized was Aeneas’ father, Anchises. He looked at me with something between shock and horror.

“My son,” he said. “You cannot have a woman at your council.” Two other men’s faces set in stern lines.

Aeneas looked up with a mild expression. “Father, is it not fitting and proper that I should have the counsel of Sybil and hear her words?”

“Throughout the ages, kings have taken counsel of Sybil,” Anchises said, “in proper place and at proper time. They have gone apart to her dwellings in deserted places, and asked their questions of her in darkness. And she has replied in such verse and length as the gods use when they veil their mysteries from men. Kings do not invite her to open council, where her words are no more than others and where she may hear politics and policy and openly speak of the strategies of men.”