The Gryphon's Skull

That was the theory on which Menedemos operated, anyhow. It had worked for him more than once. This time . . . This time, his ship and the piratical hemiolia closed with each other at a truly frightening clip. The wind of the Aphrodite's passage blew against his face and ruffled his hair. The hemiolia showed no signs of backing away. She swelled with each stroke of the merchant galley's oars, with each stroke of her own. She had archers on the foredeck, and a black-bearded ruffian at the steering oars bawling orders to his crew.

Archers ... Menedemos said, “Sostratos, duck under me here, grab my bow and arrows, and go forward. You're a decent shot, and you're not rowing or steering.”

“Certainly,” his cousin answered, and did it. He fumbled a little as he strung the bow, but he was ready to shoot by the time he got to the Aphrodite's foredeck. Menedemos knew he was a better archer than Sostratos, but he was also the akatos' best ship-handler, and that counted for more.

Only a couple of stadia separated the two galleys now: less every heartbeat. The rowers, gasping and drenched with sweat, couldn't see that, but Menedemos could. He bit his lip till he tasted blood. Had he outsmarted himself? The hemiolia carried more men than his akatos. If it came to that kind of fight, he would likely lose.

But if I ram, or if I can scrape my hull along her side and break half her oars . . . He'd done that to a Roman trireme the summer before— an astonishing victory for an akatos. But those Italians had been amateurs on the sea. By the way she was rowed, by the way she steered, the hemiolia had a solid crew. Now, who's got more nerve? Menedemos wondered. Me, or that son of a whore over there?

“They're shooting,” Diokles said. The rhythm of mallet on bronze never faltered.

“I see 'em,” Menedemos answered grimly. The arrows splashed into the sea, ahead of the Aphrodite 'sram. Archers always started too soon. Menedemos raised his voice to a shout: “Give 'em a couple, Sostratos! Show 'em we've got teeth, too.”

His cousin waved, drew the bow back to his ear, and let 0y. To Menedemos' astonished delight, one of the bowmen on the pirate ship clutched at his shoulder. His howl of pain came loud and clear across the water. Sostratos whooped joyfully and shot again. He had no luck that time, or none Menedemos could see.

And then, instead of going on to make a ramming attack against the Aphrodite, the hemiolia heeled sharply to starboard. The pirates' oarmaster screamed at his men, to get the last little bit of speed from them and make sure the merchant galley couldn't ram their ship. The black-bearded chieftain lifted a hand from the steering oars to shake a fist at Menedemos. Menedemos lifted his hand, too, to blow the pirates a kiss.

That hemiolia was faster than the Aphrodite. Even had Menedemos wanted to pursue the pirates, which he didn't, he couldn't have caught them. “Let the men ease off, Diokles,” he said, thinking, If I were the captain of a trireme, I would go after those bastards.

But even a trireme, as swift a naval vessel as there was, couldn't always keep up with a hemiolia. Menedemos scowled, wishing there were a ship that could scour swift pirate galleys from the seas.

But his scowl didn't last. The rowers raised a panting cheer. And Diokles said, “That was nicely done, skipper. Most of those abandoned catamites haven't got the stomach for a real fight.”

“That's what I was counting on,” Menedemos answered. “The son of a whore with the whiskers made me nervous, though. I wondered if he really did want to mix it up.” He raised his voice so everyone on board could hear: “Let's have a cheer for Sostratos, who shot a pirate with his first arrow.”

The rowers hadn't seen that, of course; they'd been looking back toward the stern. The cheer they gave Menedemos' cousin was louder than the one he'd got himself; they had some of their wind back. Menedemos watched with amusement as Sostratos, still up on the foredeck, gave a wave the rowers also couldn't see and stammered out, “Thank you very much.” Even when he gets a chance to shine, he doesn't know what to do with it, Menedemos thought.

Carrying the bow and quiver, Sostratos made his way back toward the stern. Menedemos greeted him with a line from the Iliad: “Hail, 'best of the Akhaioi in archery.' “

“I'm not, you know,” Sostratos answered with his usual relentless honesty. “You're a better shot than I am, though not by a lot. And hitting anything when you're shooting at a moving target from a moving ship is as much a matter of luck as anything else.”