‘I told the bowyer you spend a lot of time at sea and he took that into account in the construction. The string is silk – he said sinew or hide wouldn’t deal well with the moisture. The different pieces are glued with gelatin from Sarsica and bound with deer gut.’
‘Nikolas . . . How can I thank—?’
‘I hope it serves you well,’ Markos said. The old king had been frowning as he watched the exchange, and now he spoke for the first time. ‘You’re fortunate your brother is persuasive, Dion, for it cost as much as a set of armor.’ He harrumphed. ‘You have the offering for the Oracle at Athos?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘If you end up crossing the sea, whatever you do,’ Thea said, ‘don’t go near Cinder Fen. And remember, we want peace with the sun king.’
‘Peace isn’t always possible,’ King Markos said.
Casting his eyes back down to the shore, Dion saw that his crew was inside the large sailing vessel and waiting, with the youth Riko waist deep in water as he held the bobbing ship, fighting the tossing back and forth of the waves.
‘I’d best go,’ Dion said to them all.
His mother embraced him again, and then, unstringing the bow and sheathing the weapon in its leather cover, he said goodbye to the assembled group.
He sensed their eyes on his back as he walked to the water and waded in, handing the packet up to Cob and then throwing his body over the gunwale to jump inside. The sail went up and the oars started moving in their slots.
Finally looking back at the bank, he saw that his father, brother, and Helena had left, with his mother the only one still waiting to see him go. He waved at her one last time, and wondered when he would next see her again.
Then Cob asked Dion if he wanted to take a turn at the tiller, and he forgot all about his family as the fresh wind sent a mist of spray against his cheeks.
The odor of stale sweat and salt-soaked timber overwhelmed Chloe’s senses. She lay awkwardly with her ankles tied tightly with twine, her wrists behind her back, and a gag in her mouth. She had been stuffed below decks on the Nexotardis among the jugs and amphorae, water skins and sacks. Prone on a platform close to the bow, somewhere between the painted eyes, she had at least managed to turn herself around so that she could see the interior of the bireme.
The view from under the warship’s upper deck contrasted sharply with the festive scene above. On a narrow wooden bench nearby, half a dozen swarthy soldiers with arms in slings and cloth bandages covering old wounds sat in silence. Wretched slaves slumped in the rowing benches. Blood stains old and new decorated the timber planking. In addition to the supplies, the hold where Chloe lay was stuffed with loot: sacks of jewelry and decorative chests sealed tight. Before the quake, Kargan had said his ship had been trading, but it was obvious his men had been in combat.
Chloe moaned and tried to cry out again and again as the night passed with terrifying speed. She kicked at the timber but no one came to save her. Tears trickled from her eyes and the twine cut into her ankles and wrists.
Then the worst happened. The hatches on the upper deck opened, sending in a puff of fresh air that was swiftly swallowed by the evil reek below. Men came down the ladders and barked orders. The slaves scurried as they left their benches and exited the vessel; soon she felt them hauling its bulk off the shore.
The bireme rocked as it wallowed in the water before the slaves returned and a whip cracked, sending them to their positions. Oars slid out and a drum began to beat, sending a pounding rhythm through the ship’s interior, throbbing in time to Chloe’s constricted wrists. She screamed and kicked, writhing and rolling, trying to free herself, but Kargan’s men knew their business, and the knots were too tight for her to have any hope of freeing herself. Her nostrils flared and her heart raced as she hyperventilated, feeling her vision close in as she fought to get enough air into her lungs. The gag in her mouth, a tight ball of cloth, pressed up close against the back of her throat. It was held in place by a second length of linen tied behind her head.
The ship started to roll up and down as it carved its way through ever-bigger waves. Chloe felt the floor beneath her drop and then rise with each movement. She closed her eyes; the motion made her feel ill and disoriented, and she knew it would never stop.
After more than an hour she opened her eyes when she heard voices. Kargan stood nearby, regarding her. Despite there being two rows of benches, there was only the one central floor running the length of the ship, and the ceiling was low enough that Kargan had to crouch to look at her.
‘Free her hands and legs, then bring her up to me,’ he ordered.
Kargan couldn’t have slept, yet the night appeared to have taken no toll on him, aside from a slight shadow beneath his black eyes. None of his previous humor was evident as he returned to the topmost deck.
A sailor cut through Chloe’s bonds, then hauled her to her feet. With oarsmen moving back and forth at both sides, he led her to a ladder leading to an open hatch.