reached the tabernacle, the box at the center of the ship into which
the mast sank securely, Andromache saw that a circular wooden seat had been
built around the thick oak mast. Plaited ropes had been fixed as handholds.
There were half-finished carvings around the edges of the seat.
“We are expecting some rough weather,” Gershom explained. “Even the most
experienced sailors can feel nausea in winter storms. The center of the ship
heaves about least in rough seas. Come here if you feel unwell or if a storm is
looming.”
Andromache nodded and glanced at Kassandra. She looked a little frightened
now, and her face had turned pale. Gershom continued on toward the foredeck.
Glancing down through open hatches, Andromache could see the oarsmen taking
their places in the rowing seats on the lower deck. They were laughing and
shouting and passing water skins back and forth. They kept their eyes averted,
but she knew they were all aware of the two princesses walking above their
heads.
On the foredeck a yellow canopy had been set up to make a private space for
the women. Gershom explained that this was where the pair could sleep and spend
their days during the voyage. Andromache was used to such arrangements on her
trips to and from Thera, but Kassandra looked aghast.
“It’s so small,” she whispered to Andromache.
Andromache was about to point out that the Xanthos ’ foredeck was
roomier than any other on the Great Green, when silence fell over the ship. She
looked back to see Helikaon climbing onto the aft deck. His long dark hair had
been tied back in a ponytail, and he was wearing a simple tunic of faded blue. A
change came over the crew, a quiet that spoke more of respect than of fear, she
believed. She sensed the power in him. It called out directly to her blood, and
she tore her gaze away, her face reddening.
Eight burly crewmen ran to the foredeck and, splitting up into two teams of
four, untied two long ropes fastened to a thick support. Andromache was
intrigued. “What are they doing?” she asked Gershom.
“Getting ready to haul up the anchors. The Xanthos is a heavy beast
and hard to launch. We drop the anchors a little way from our mooring place;
then, when the men heave on the ropes, it helps pull the hull into the water.”
From all over the King’s Beach Andromache watched men come running. Crewmen
from other ships, fishermen, beachmasters, even foreign traders all worked
together, putting their shoulders to the golden hull of the Xanthos to
push her out into the bay.
For a moment it seemed the ship would not move. Then a voice shouted,
“Again!” There was a pause, the timbers creaked, there was a deep groaning
sound, the ship moved forward a pace, then another, then suddenly slid into the
water, and they were free and afloat. The men on the foredeck tied off their
ropes, leaving the stone anchors sluicing water on specially strengthened
sections of planking.
The people on the beach cheered as the eighty oars were run out. Then came
the deep voice of Oniacus from belowdecks, supplying a rhythmic beat for the
rowers.
“ One was an oarsman,
They say he was a bad man,
One was a slinger,
And certainly a sad man.
One was a whoreson,
They say he was a madman,
One was a singer
Who never was a glad man.”
The Xanthos moved smoothly away from the beach. The wind was from the
north, from Thraki, and the galley made slow progress for a while as the oarsmen
battled the strong headwind to get out of the shallow Bay of Troy. The ship
moved as if through glue.
“Let’s pick it up, you lazy cowsons!” Oniacus yelled. “Mark of four!”
“ One had a sword trick,
One had a treasure,
One had a big prick,
One had the pleasure.”
The oars sliced into the churning water and the ship picked up speed, but it
was heavy going, the tide and the wind seeking to drive the great vessel back
toward Troy. The two women stood hand in hand watching
the mast sank securely, Andromache saw that a circular wooden seat had been
built around the thick oak mast. Plaited ropes had been fixed as handholds.
There were half-finished carvings around the edges of the seat.
“We are expecting some rough weather,” Gershom explained. “Even the most
experienced sailors can feel nausea in winter storms. The center of the ship
heaves about least in rough seas. Come here if you feel unwell or if a storm is
looming.”
Andromache nodded and glanced at Kassandra. She looked a little frightened
now, and her face had turned pale. Gershom continued on toward the foredeck.
Glancing down through open hatches, Andromache could see the oarsmen taking
their places in the rowing seats on the lower deck. They were laughing and
shouting and passing water skins back and forth. They kept their eyes averted,
but she knew they were all aware of the two princesses walking above their
heads.
On the foredeck a yellow canopy had been set up to make a private space for
the women. Gershom explained that this was where the pair could sleep and spend
their days during the voyage. Andromache was used to such arrangements on her
trips to and from Thera, but Kassandra looked aghast.
“It’s so small,” she whispered to Andromache.
Andromache was about to point out that the Xanthos ’ foredeck was
roomier than any other on the Great Green, when silence fell over the ship. She
looked back to see Helikaon climbing onto the aft deck. His long dark hair had
been tied back in a ponytail, and he was wearing a simple tunic of faded blue. A
change came over the crew, a quiet that spoke more of respect than of fear, she
believed. She sensed the power in him. It called out directly to her blood, and
she tore her gaze away, her face reddening.
Eight burly crewmen ran to the foredeck and, splitting up into two teams of
four, untied two long ropes fastened to a thick support. Andromache was
intrigued. “What are they doing?” she asked Gershom.
“Getting ready to haul up the anchors. The Xanthos is a heavy beast
and hard to launch. We drop the anchors a little way from our mooring place;
then, when the men heave on the ropes, it helps pull the hull into the water.”
From all over the King’s Beach Andromache watched men come running. Crewmen
from other ships, fishermen, beachmasters, even foreign traders all worked
together, putting their shoulders to the golden hull of the Xanthos to
push her out into the bay.
For a moment it seemed the ship would not move. Then a voice shouted,
“Again!” There was a pause, the timbers creaked, there was a deep groaning
sound, the ship moved forward a pace, then another, then suddenly slid into the
water, and they were free and afloat. The men on the foredeck tied off their
ropes, leaving the stone anchors sluicing water on specially strengthened
sections of planking.
The people on the beach cheered as the eighty oars were run out. Then came
the deep voice of Oniacus from belowdecks, supplying a rhythmic beat for the
rowers.
“ One was an oarsman,
They say he was a bad man,
One was a slinger,
And certainly a sad man.
One was a whoreson,
They say he was a madman,
One was a singer
Who never was a glad man.”
The Xanthos moved smoothly away from the beach. The wind was from the
north, from Thraki, and the galley made slow progress for a while as the oarsmen
battled the strong headwind to get out of the shallow Bay of Troy. The ship
moved as if through glue.
“Let’s pick it up, you lazy cowsons!” Oniacus yelled. “Mark of four!”
“ One had a sword trick,
One had a treasure,
One had a big prick,
One had the pleasure.”
The oars sliced into the churning water and the ship picked up speed, but it
was heavy going, the tide and the wind seeking to drive the great vessel back
toward Troy. The two women stood hand in hand watching
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