Tyrant: King of the Bosporus Read Free Page A

a fight of it.’ Diokles spat over the side, apparently unconcerned by the odds.
    Satyrus ran down the centre catwalk. ‘Kalos! Deck master, there! Any man who has a helmet needs to get it on. Oar master, relieve thebenches in shifts.’ If they actually broke the enemy line, their whole length would be vulnerable to enemy archers. He went back and put a hand on the steering oars. ‘That means you, Diokles. Armour up.’
    ‘You have the helm,’ Diokles said.
    ‘I have the helm,’ Satyrus replied, and the dark-haired man ran off down the deck.
    The Alexandrians were closing under a steady stroke, saving energy. The enemy columns – all six of them – were still deploying. The two centre columns had fallen afoul of each other and were delaying the formation, but the consequence was that as the centre fell behind, the flanks reached well out on either side – the worst thing that could happen to the smaller fleet, whether by intention or by accident.
    ‘Leon’s signalling,’ Abraham called. He had his helmet on, and his voice had a strange resonance.
    Satyrus had his own helmet in his hand, but he swung up on a shroud to watch the bright bronze shield flash aboard
Golden Lotus
.
    ‘Arrowhead,’ he said. But the flashes went on, and on.
    ‘By the hidden name!’ Abraham muttered.
    Diokles came back, buckling his scale breastplate. ‘Of course, wearing this fucker, I drown if I go over the side.’ He looked up. ‘Poseidon’s watery dick, that’s a long signal.’
    Satyrus saw that it was in repeat and jumped down from the rail.
    ‘Arrowhead – we’re to be the point of the second line. He’s not going to engage the centre – he’s going to go for the southern edge of the line. At least, I
think
that’s what he means. Prepare to turn to starboard!’ Satyrus called the last in a command voice.
    Diokles got his last buckle done. He tugged the scale shirt down on his hips so that the
pteruges
sat right, and then put his hands on the steering oars. ‘Got him!’ he said.
    Satyrus shook his head. ‘After the turn,’ he said. ‘Find me my greaves, will you?’
    Diokles ducked his head and started to root through the leather bags stuffed under the helmsman’s bench.
    Satyrus watched the shield. There. The command ship gave a single flash and all down the line, ships turned to starboard, so that the two lines of ten ships heading east were once again two columns of ten ships heading due south.
    The shield flashed again, repeating the next order. In the columnnext to them, Theron’s
Labours of Herakles
was slow to turn and almost fouled the
Glory of Demeter
. The two ships brushed past each other, oar-tips entangled, but momentum saved them and Theron’s rowers had the stroke back.
    Abraham shook his head. ‘I can’t watch!’ he said. ‘This is not like fighting elephants!’ Abraham had proved his courage at Gaza the year before, capturing Demetrios the Golden’s elephants and winning a place on the list of Alexandria’s heroes.
    The shield flashed on, now repeating the order. Then the flashes stopped.
    ‘Any time,’ Diokles said.
    ‘Take the helm,’ Satyrus said.
    ‘I have it,’ Diokles said, suiting action to word.
    ‘You have it!’ Satyrus said, and ran for the command spot amidships. ‘Watch for the signal! Neiron, the next signal will require us to slow.’
    ‘Aye aye!’ Neiron, the oar master, was Cardian – a prisoner of war who’d chosen to remain with his captors. He seldom wore hat or helmet, and had the habit of rubbing the back of his head. He did so now.
    The bronze shield gave a single flash.
    ‘Got it!’ Neiron called. ‘All banks! Cease rowing!’
    Behind them,
Fennel Stalk
made a quarter-turn out of line to the north and the ship behind
Fennel
made a quarter-turn south, so that in a few heartbeats they were ranging almost alongside, just a few oar-lengths behind. The next two ships came up on their flanks, so that Satyrus’s second line was shaped like a