very rich man, and you are his only daughter. He can spare me a ship-full of gold; but he cannot do without you.’
He gave her a sweet smile, and she glared back at him. Beside her the Greek slave was still whining, biting his hand in terror.
Dikaiarchos frowned and sighed, and made a quick flicking gesture with his hand. At this the Libyan turned, and in one swift fluent relaxed movement, like a man describing an arc, he took a small curved blade from his belt and slit the slave’s throat.
He fell and died, like a beast at sacrifice. We all stared at the fallen corpse shuddering in its gathering pool of blood. I think it was then that I guessed what lay in store for the rest of us.
‘Take them away,’ said Dikaiarchos. He turned and started to walk up the temple steps. The Libyan called out his name. He looked back.
‘You said I could have her. You promised.’
Dikaiarchos wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘Did I? Oh yes. Well, have her then. No marks though. No mess.’
At this the girl started forward. But the Libyan was ready, and he snatched her back to him, locking his blood-spattered hand around her wrist and holding her. For a moment she struggled; but she must have realized it was futile, and soon she ceased, and just stared ahead, still and soundless, like a snared bird.
We were led away, back through the empty town, up along the cliffside path between the ruined houses.
Once the girl glanced round. I saw the pleading in her face, and then the despair as the others looked away.
I had supposed, in as much as I was still capable of thought, that the Libyan would take her off to some private place; but halfway up the street, like a man taken short who cannot wait, he pulled her aside, pinned her against the wall with his forearm, and forced his bloody hand between her legs.
The passengers averted their eyes; but it was not to spare the girl, it was to spare themselves. Meanwhile the other pirates watched like dogs waiting to get at their dinner, and I realized the Libyan was only the first. My heart filled with shame, and disgust at all mankind. But I did not turn away.
The Libyan was grunting, and muttering in her ear. He shifted, and a shaft of the sinking afternoon light caught the bronze studs of his belt. I saw the girl’s hand there, gently moving. It might have been an embrace; but it was not. Slowly she was feeling along the studs with her fingers, towards where his dagger lay in its sheath of leather.
Beside me my father noticed too. Almost imperceptibly his head shifted. Then, at the top of his voice, he shouted out, ‘By God! Have you no shame at all?’
Immediately the other prisoners hushed him in a frenzy of loud reproachful whispers, hissing through their teeth that he had done enough already to get them all killed. The nearest pirate stepped up and smashed his fist into my father’s face. He stumbled, and when he righted himself his face was bleeding from the nose and mouth.
But it had given the girl the time she needed.
Her delicate fingers closed around the dagger’s hilt. I see that dagger still. It was cream-white, ivory or bone, smeared still with her tutor’s blood. Carefully she nudged it upwards, a little each time, moving with the Libyan’s motion. Her hand paused; her fist locked around it, and with a sudden clear-voiced cry she plunged it into his heaving side.
He spun round with a great bellow, his lizard-eyes wide and bulging. She buried the knife again, somewhere in his belly; then, as he stumbled, she shoved him away from her and ran.
The street was on an incline, with steps of cracked marble sprouting grass-tufts and overgrown with wild thyme. At the top, where the road turned, there was a low wall, knee high, and here she halted.
The Libyan was stumbling after her, clutching his wounded blood-oozing side with one hand and flailing at her with the other. I could not understand why she was waiting. In an instant he would be upon her.
‘Run!’ I cried. Then I
He gave her a sweet smile, and she glared back at him. Beside her the Greek slave was still whining, biting his hand in terror.
Dikaiarchos frowned and sighed, and made a quick flicking gesture with his hand. At this the Libyan turned, and in one swift fluent relaxed movement, like a man describing an arc, he took a small curved blade from his belt and slit the slave’s throat.
He fell and died, like a beast at sacrifice. We all stared at the fallen corpse shuddering in its gathering pool of blood. I think it was then that I guessed what lay in store for the rest of us.
‘Take them away,’ said Dikaiarchos. He turned and started to walk up the temple steps. The Libyan called out his name. He looked back.
‘You said I could have her. You promised.’
Dikaiarchos wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘Did I? Oh yes. Well, have her then. No marks though. No mess.’
At this the girl started forward. But the Libyan was ready, and he snatched her back to him, locking his blood-spattered hand around her wrist and holding her. For a moment she struggled; but she must have realized it was futile, and soon she ceased, and just stared ahead, still and soundless, like a snared bird.
We were led away, back through the empty town, up along the cliffside path between the ruined houses.
Once the girl glanced round. I saw the pleading in her face, and then the despair as the others looked away.
I had supposed, in as much as I was still capable of thought, that the Libyan would take her off to some private place; but halfway up the street, like a man taken short who cannot wait, he pulled her aside, pinned her against the wall with his forearm, and forced his bloody hand between her legs.
The passengers averted their eyes; but it was not to spare the girl, it was to spare themselves. Meanwhile the other pirates watched like dogs waiting to get at their dinner, and I realized the Libyan was only the first. My heart filled with shame, and disgust at all mankind. But I did not turn away.
The Libyan was grunting, and muttering in her ear. He shifted, and a shaft of the sinking afternoon light caught the bronze studs of his belt. I saw the girl’s hand there, gently moving. It might have been an embrace; but it was not. Slowly she was feeling along the studs with her fingers, towards where his dagger lay in its sheath of leather.
Beside me my father noticed too. Almost imperceptibly his head shifted. Then, at the top of his voice, he shouted out, ‘By God! Have you no shame at all?’
Immediately the other prisoners hushed him in a frenzy of loud reproachful whispers, hissing through their teeth that he had done enough already to get them all killed. The nearest pirate stepped up and smashed his fist into my father’s face. He stumbled, and when he righted himself his face was bleeding from the nose and mouth.
But it had given the girl the time she needed.
Her delicate fingers closed around the dagger’s hilt. I see that dagger still. It was cream-white, ivory or bone, smeared still with her tutor’s blood. Carefully she nudged it upwards, a little each time, moving with the Libyan’s motion. Her hand paused; her fist locked around it, and with a sudden clear-voiced cry she plunged it into his heaving side.
He spun round with a great bellow, his lizard-eyes wide and bulging. She buried the knife again, somewhere in his belly; then, as he stumbled, she shoved him away from her and ran.
The street was on an incline, with steps of cracked marble sprouting grass-tufts and overgrown with wild thyme. At the top, where the road turned, there was a low wall, knee high, and here she halted.
The Libyan was stumbling after her, clutching his wounded blood-oozing side with one hand and flailing at her with the other. I could not understand why she was waiting. In an instant he would be upon her.
‘Run!’ I cried. Then I
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