Tyrant: King of the Bosporus by Christian Cameron

the ship had little more than steerage way despite all banks rowing. ‘He doesn’t see us,’ he said.
    ‘We’re on the dark horizon and all our masts are struck down,’ Diokles said. ‘But it means that we can’t get in with the land. We could sink in the night, and you know it. We need to get this hulk ashore.’
    ‘There’s nothing on this shore but mud and bugs,’ Satyrus said.
    ‘A man can wade through mud, and bugs don’t usually kill you,’ Diokles said. ‘With the ram gone, there’s nothing holding that bow together but four copper bolts – hear me,
sir
? We will
not
make Tomis, or wherever you think we can get. If the wind comes up and there are cross-waves, we’re gone.’
    Satyrus wanted to rant that this wasn’t his fault and Diokles was being unfair, but he lacked the energy. ‘So?’
    ‘So we need to land,’ Diokles said. He looked at Theron.
    Theron shrugged. ‘You put me in command of a ship,’ he said. ‘I won’t take one again! I grew up with the sea and still I know nothing of him. But Diokles seems to have the right of it, lad. When the wind rises towards morning, we’ll open like a flower. Philokles would ask you to think of the oarsmen.’
    Satyrus nodded. Despite everything, his eyelids sank, as if he was going to fall asleep, cold and wet, huddled by the rail of a sinking ship.
    ‘As soon as dark falls,’ he said, ‘we raise the boatsail mast. If that holds, we raise the mainmast. We turn north and put his bow into the mud. Get every oarsmen up on deck with his sea bag and every weapon we have aboard. Serve out the dead marines’ gear and all the stuff we got off the enemy. If we can run him far enough ashore, we save the drinking water.’
    Diokles nodded. His lip curled in a fraction of a smile. ‘I was afraid you’d decide to try and board the bastard and take him.’
    Satyrus stretched warily. The idea of getting back into his armour made his body hurt all over again. ‘I thought about it,’ he said, by way of humour.
    ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Diokles said.
    Full dark, and half a moon – a clear, cool night with enough starlight to read a scroll. As soon as the
Falcon
got his boatsail up, his motion changed. Diokles got the deckhands to bring their bags on deck and then sent all of them aft except the work party for the mainmast. Satyrus stood in the bows, his hands on the lines fothering the shield.
His
shield.
    Not that he could do much if the patch gave way, except curse, and drown.
    He turned and watched the mainmast rise. A spar that big could sink them if it fell from its cradle of lines and hit the deck, but he lacked the energy to worry about such a thing. Instead, he watched the pink western horizon. The enemy vessel – if it was an enemy – was invisible, hull down and sail down. He might even have landed for the night, although few sailors would risk the mudflats on this stretch of coast.
    The thought made him give a tired smile, because he was about to beach his precious
Falcon
on those very mudflats. And he’d never get
Falcon
back. His grip on the cross-brace tightened.
    Before the last line on the mainmast was pulled taut, the pink was gone from the sky, and the great path of stars rolled overhead from horizon to horizon. Only a few oarsmen had the energy to look up, but those that did exclaimed – a comet, bright as the moon, was rising above the eastern sky.
    She’ll see that in Heraklea
, Satyrus thought.
    By the second watch of the night, all the oarsmen were packed in the stern, lifting the bow almost clear of the water. As long as the wind held, they’d be in with the land before dawn.
    ‘Do I see a glow to the west?’ Theron croaked. He wasn’t moving much, the wounds having stiffened and his muscles strained.
    Diokles nodded. ‘He put ashore. You know what that tells me?’
    Satyrus grunted.
    ‘Tells me they know you’re aboard this ship and there’s money in it. No one would be on this coast unless there was some