The Arrows of Hercules
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Arrows of Hercules». Краткое содержание книги:
“Exciting and quite believable adventures.”—Classical World
“Rousing piece of fiction...pace is rapid and unrelenting.” —The Arizona Republic
"Nay, lad. We have a way to go yet."
"I liked Saphanbaal. Are all witches like her?"
"I hope not. Keep bailing, or we shall find ourselves in the sea!"
For some minutes Zopyros rowed and Ahiram bailed. But, every time the talkative infant spoke, he forgot to bail, and Zopyros had to bark at him. At last, feeling the water rise around his ankles, Zopyros snatched the dipper from the boy and, with a score of rapid scoops, got the water back down to a less ominous level. While he bailed, the boat drifted, bobbing and rocking.
Zopyros handed the dipper back to Ahiram, saying earnestly: "Keep bailing, son, no matter what!"
"I tire of bailing."
"There's no help for it, unless you would swim the rest of the way."
"But I wax sleepy!"
"We cannot have you going to sleep, because I can't bail and row at the same time. Wake up!"
The water was rising again. As it rose, the boat moved more sluggishly. Casting about for some means of keeping Ahiram awake, Zopyros said: "Let's play a game. Let's pretend we have forgotten Punic and speak nothing but Greek. How would you say: Tm sleepy' in that tongue?"
"Eimai—eimai hypnôdês."
"Good! Keep bailing! Faster!"
Despite Zopyros' efforts to hold Ahiram to his task, the water gained again. Again Zopyros had to stop rowing and take the dipper himself. By the time he had beaten the water level back to within a digit of the bottom, Ahiram had fallen quietly asleep. From then on, it was a nightmare struggle to row the waterlogged craft a few strokes, bail frantically, then row some more. Each time the water seemed to gain more between bailings, and the ship appeared to come no closer ...
At last they reached the ship. Zopyros had to risk capsizing by standing up in the wretched skiff to grasp the gunwale of the merchantman. With his free hand he boosted Ahiram up into the waiting arms of the sailors, tossed his wet bag after, and climbed over the rail himself. The half-filled boat wallowed shoreward as Saphanbaal reeled in her line.
A stout figure, standing before Zopyros on the moonlit deck, bowed and said in Punic-accented Greek: "Rejoice, my lord Zopyros! I am Captain Bostar of the Sudech, and your humble servant. How can I serve you?"
"Be in good health," said Zopyros in the same language. "We must find a place for the boy to sleep—"
"Harkening and obedience! But he seems to have found a place for himself/' said the captain, pointing.
Ahiram had curled up on the deck and fallen asleep again, with his head on his arm. In obedience to the mate's orders, the sailors hurried about, letting out the sail and swinging the ship's bow eastward. Zopyros wrapped Ahiram in a blanket and moved him to a safer place. Then he followed Captain Bostar into the cabin aft. Although this cabin was larger than that on the Muttumalein, Zopyros still had to stoop to enter the tiny room. A chair, a stool, a small three-legged table, and the captain's bunk took up most of the space.
They sat across from each other at the little table. Over the table a small bronze lamp, suspended from the ceiling, swung back and forth with the motion of the ship. In the dim yellow lamplight, Captain Bostar was seen to be a man of medium height, powerfully built, with a large curly black beard. Besides the usual rings in his ears and on his fingers, he wore a costly-looking necklace of amulets alternating with semiprecious stones. On his head sat a cylindrical cap with a scarf wound turbanwise around it. Below the turban, pouchy black eyes peered out on either side of a large, fleshy nose.
"Will my lord deign to sip a drop of wretched Byblian?" said Bostar, pouring from a small jar into a beaker.
"Thank you," said Zopyros. "You seem to run an efficient ship."
"Your lordship is much too kind! May the gods of Hellas requite your courtesy! By the way"—he suddenly changed his language to Punic—"speak you the Canaanitish tongue?"
"No, alas," said Zopyros. He had remembered Evnos' warning that Bostar was not the most trustworthy of sea captains. Besides, the man's excessive politeness made him wary. "Have you a regular arrangement with the witch?"
Bostar shrugged, spreading his hands. "In my trade one must have contacts with people of many kinds, in many lands. Else, how should I learn of profitable deals before my competitors do? How long was your excellent self in New Phoenicia?"
"Not so long as I should have liked." Two could play at the game of evasion. "I found Carthage a most impressive city. Will this be your last voyage of the season?"
"That is as the gods of the weather decide ..."
The conversation became a dull repetition of polite phrases. Zopyros finished his wine, excused himself, and went out on deck. He found a sheltered place near the child, wrapped himself in his cloak, pillowed his head on his duffel bag, and fell into uneasy slumber. The gentle roll of the ship, the groan and creak of timbers, the song of the wind in the rigging, and the rhythmic splash, splash of the blunt stem smiting the waves were woven into his dreams.
The sun was up when the sound of voices awakened Zopyros. The captain, the mate, and two sailors were standing in a group, arguing in Punic. As he opened his eyes and saw that they were watching him, he caught the tail of a sentence:
"... I told you not to speak so loudly; now he wakens!"
This, thought Zopyros, was interesting. He smiled, yawned, stretched, said "Rejoice!" and pretended to go back to sleep.
"No harm is done," said Bostar's voice. "He knows not the Punic tongue."
"But the boy does!" said another voice.
"The boy's gone aft, out of earshot." Zopyros recognized the voice as that of the mate. " 'Tis not too late to seize them now—"
"Nay," came Bostar's voice again. "He wears a sword beneath his raiment. He's a big, strong youth and no man's fool. In the cabin, he turned my questions aside as neatly as you please. Did we not succeed at the first grab, by Milkarth's iron yard, he'd have a head or an arm off one of us ere we secured him! Tonight were better."
The mate said: "When he slumbers tonight, we'll bind and gag him and the lad and hide them below deck, lest they cry a rescue whilst we stop at Akragas."
A sailor said: "Feed him well and ply him with wine and he'll sleep during the day."
"Aye," said another. "The sooner he's trussed the better. What think you he'll fetch On the block at Tyre, sir?"
Bostar: "With his wit and education, he should bring at least eight or ten pounds of silver. And the boy will fetch at least the half of that when he's been to the castrator's."
The mate said: "Won't this queer future deals with Evnos, Captain?"
"Bugger Evnos! I'll not reject the gifts of the gods for any mealy-mouthed ransomer in the Inner Sea ..."
Speech sank to murmurs as the group moved off. Zopyros cast off his pretense of sleep and got up. He was shaking with rage and fear, although he tried to hide the fact by staring stonily seaward. Seize him and his protégé to sell in the Persian Empire—the boy as a eunuch—would they? He'd see about that.
For a time he stood at the rail, so filled with fury that he could hardly think. Little by little his mind cleared. It was lucky, he thought, that he had awakened when he did and frightened them off. A few heartbeats more and they might have nerved themselves to throw themselves upon him right then ...
Dirty, treacherous, murderous, baby-burning, moneygrubbing, Phoenician swine! It served him right for ever trusting one of them ...
He checked himself. That was no way for a Pythagorean to think. Pythagoras had stressed the worth, or lack of it, of the individual man, regardless of his tribe or nation. One of his closest friends had been a barbarian from Scythia; another had been a Thracian. Zopyros had found Canaanites good, bad, or indifferent like other men. At the moment he was having a run of bad Phoenicians, just as the die of his game set might turn up a three several throws in a row.