Troy 01 - Lord of the Silver Bow by David Gemmell Page B

of Lykia, and then find a sheltered bay for the night. All sailors preferred to beach their vessels at dusk and sleep on dry land. The crew of the
Xanthos
was no exception. They were brave men and daring when circumstances demanded it, but all of them had lost friends or kinsmen to the capricious cruelty of the sea gods. They had waved goodbye to comrades setting sail on calm waters beneath a blue sky, never to be seen again in this life. Ferocious storms, treacherous coastlines, pirates, and rocky shoals all took their toll on the men who lived and worked on the Great Green.
    Out of sight of land the crew grew silent. Many of the rowers emerged from the lower deck to stand at the rail and gaze out over the sea. There was little conversation. Like Khalkeus, they began to listen to the groaning of timbers and feel the movement of the ship beneath them. And they gazed with fearful eyes along the horizon, seeking any sign of anger in the skies.
    Zidantas both shared and understood their fears. They had heard sailors from other vessels mocking this new ship and issuing dire warnings about the perils of sailing on it. The Death Ship they called her. Many of the older members of the crew could recall other large ships being built and sailing to their doom. Zidantas knew what they were thinking: The
Xanthos
feels fine now, but what will happen when Poseidon swims?
    He gazed at the silent men and felt a sudden surge of pride. Zidantas never sailed with cowards. He could read a fighting man and had always cast his eye over a crew before joining it. These men were fearful of the unknown, but if a storm did break or pirates appeared, they would react with courage and skill, as they had on the
Ithaka
the day Alektruon had attacked.
    The memory of that day haunted him still, and he sighed.
    White gulls swooped overhead, wheeling and diving above the black horse sail. The wind picked up. Zidantas glanced at the sky. Sudden storms were notorious during the autumn months, and few trading ships ventured far once summer was over. “If the wind changes . . .” he said aloud.
    “There was a storm two days ago,” Helikaon said. “Unlikely to be another so soon.”
    “Unlikely—but not impossible,” Zidantas muttered.
    “Take the oar, Ox,” Helikaon told him, stepping aside. “You’ll feel more at ease with the ship under your control.”
    “I’d feel more at ease back home, sitting quietly in the sunshine,” grumbled Zidantas.
    Helikaon shook his head. “With six young daughters around, when do you have the chance to sit
quietly
at home?”
    Zidantas relaxed and gave a gap-toothed grin. “It’s never quiet,” he agreed as he glanced over the side, reading the swell of the sea. “She’s smoother than I thought she would be. I would have expected more roll.” Zidantas curled his massive arm over the steering oar. “I’d be happier, though, had we waited for tomorrow’s dawn. We have left no room for error. It tempts the gods.”
    “You are a Hittite,” Helikaon replied. “You don’t believe in our gods.”
    “I never said that!” Zidantas muttered, nervous now. “Maybe there are different gods in different lands. I have no wish to cause offense to any of them. Nor should you. Most especially when sailing a new ship.”
    “True,” answered Helikaon, “but our gods are not quite as merciless as yours. Tell me, is it true that when a Hittite prince dies, they burn twenty of his soldiers along with him to guard him in the Underworld?”
    “No, not anymore. It was an old custom,” Zidantas told him. “Though the Gypptos still bury slaves with their pharaohs, I understand.”
    Helikaon shook his head. “What an arrogant species we are. Why should a slave or a soldier still serve a master after death? What possible incentive could there be?”
    “I do not know,” Zidantas answered. “I never had a slave, and I am not a Hittite prince.”
    Helikaon moved to the deck rail and glanced along the line of the ship.