Lord of the Silver Bow by David Gemmell Read Free Book Online

his father or drown in the Great Green? Suddenly his tiny room at his grandfather’s house seemed a wonderful place to be. He looked over the side again and saw Grandfather walking away up the long hill.
    Time passed and tempers among the men grew short as the difficulties of hauling goods aboard so high a vessel became more and more vexing. A boat rowed out to them bringing a long fishing net, and this was used to raise the more fragile cargo to the deck. Arguments flared, and then two sailors dropped a large wine amphora. The clay shattered, and thick red wine flowed across the planking. A fight started when one of the two threw a punch at the other, calling him an idiot. The two men grappled. Zidantas stepped in, grabbing each by the tunic and dragging them apart. Other men had begun to shout encouragement to the fighters, and the atmosphere was tense.
    Then, in an instant, all activity ceased and silence fell on the crew.
    Xander saw the Golden One climb over the side and step onto his ship. He was bare-chested and wearing a simple leather kilt. He carried no sword or weapon, yet his presence quieted the crew, who shuffled back to work.
    Xander saw him walk over to where Zidantas was still holding the two men, though they were no longer struggling. “We are losing time, Ox,” he said. “And there is still cargo on the beach.”
    Zidantas pushed the men away. “Clear up this mess,” he told them.
    Helikaon glanced at Xander. “Are you ready to be a sailor, son of Akamas?”
    “Yes, lord.”
    “Are you frightened?”
    “A little,” he admitted.
    “A great man once told me there can be no courage without fear,” Helikaon said. “He was right. Remember that when your belly trembles and your legs grow weak.”

IV
    THE MADMAN FROM MILETOS
    I
    It always irritated Khalkeus when he heard himself described as the Madman from Miletos. He hated the simple inaccuracy of the statement. He was not from Miletos. To be called a madman bothered him not at all.
    He stood on the starboard side of the bireme’s central deck, watching as sailors hauled up the great stone anchors. It was close to midday, and mercifully, the cargo was now loaded. Helikaon’s arrival had brought a fresh sense of urgency to the crew, and the
Xanthos
was preparing to leave the bay.
    A gust of wind caught Khalkeus’ wide-brimmed straw hat, flipping it from his head. He tried to catch it, but a second gust lifted it high, spinning it over the side. The hat sailed over the shimmering blue water, twisting and turning. Then, as the wind died down, it flopped to the surface and floated.
    Khalkeus stared at it longingly. His once thick and tightly curled red hair was thinning now and sprinkled with gray. There was a bald patch on the crown of his head, which would burn raw and bleed under harsh sunlight.
    An oarsman on the deck below, seeing the floating hat, angled his oar blade beneath it, seeking to lift it clear. He almost succeeded, but the wind blew again, and the hat floated away. A second oarsman tried. Khalkeus heard laughter from belowdecks, and “catching the hat” quickly became a game, oars clacking against one another. Within moments the straw hat, hammered by broad-bladed oars, had lost its shape. Finally it was lifted clear as a torn and soggy mess and brought back aboard.
    A young sailor pushed open a hatch and climbed to the upper deck, bearing the dripping ruin to where Khalkeus stood. “We rescued your hat,” he said, struggling not to laugh.
    Khalkeus took it from him, resisting the urge to rip it to shreds. Then good humor reasserted itself, and he donned the sodden headgear. Water dripped down his face. The young sailor could contain himself no longer, and his laughter pealed out. The wide brim of the hat slowly sagged over Khalkeus’ ears. “I think it is an improvement,” said Khalkeus. The boy spun and ran back to the oar deck. The heat of the morning sun was rising, and Khalkeus found himself enjoying the cool, wet straw