The Etruscan by Mika Waltari Read Free Book Online

He rapped its cedar planks, inspected its accommodations and the placement of its rowers’ benches, and cried, “What a ship! If I had a hundred like it and each manned by Phocaeans, I could conquer every sea.”
    He did not smash the deity’s figure but made it an offering. “Side with me, Phoenician god, whatever your name may be, and fight for us.” He made no changes on the ship other than painting large eyes on its prow so that it would find its way even on distant seas.
    By nightfall the sea around us was deserted. Dionysius made no attempt to land but had the vessels proceed within calling distance of one another, with the rowers alternating at the oars. The moans of the wounded echoed through the ship and Dionysius’ only remedy was to wash the wounds with sea water and cover them with tar. Dorieus had acquired numerous bruises. He also had been struck on the head by an oar with such force that his scalp had split before he had succeeded in removing his helmet.
    Seeing the misery around me in the dark of night and the frightening emptiness of the sea, I was ashamed of my own invulnerability and wept aloud, something I had not done since Herakleitos had banished me from his house, calling me ungrateful. I had danced the dance of freedom and helped the people to banish Hermadoros from Ephesus, and Herakleitos had been unable to forgive me.
4.
    When I awakened the sun was high, the water was murmuring under the prow, the oarsmen were singing in time with the bronze beat, and to my surprise I saw from the sun that we were going southward instead of northward to Phocaea.
    Dorieus was seated at the prow, holding a wet cloth to his head. I asked him, in the name of all the sea gods, where we were going, for there were brown hills to the left of us and shadowy blue islands to the right.
    “I don’t know,” said Dorieus, “and I don’t care. There’s a swarm of bees in my head and the very sight of the sea makes me ill.”
    The wind had picked up and the waves were beating at our sides, occasionally splashing in through the oar ports. Dionysius was cheerfully arguing with the helmsman about shadows and landmarks.
    “Where are we bound?” I demanded. “You are taking us into Persian waters.”
    Dionysius laughed. “The Ionian ships are fleeing northward to their respective cities, but we are behind the Persian fleet and no one would think of looking for us here.”
    A dolphin leaped into the air, baring its glistening loins. Dionysius pointed to it. “Can’t you see that the sea nymphs are tempting us with their rounded hips? Any sign that takes us farther from the Persians and lost lonia is a favorable one.” I could see from the glint in his eyes that he was jesting and that he had already made his decision.
    He indicated a large blue island before us, signaled to the helmsman, and said, “That is Cos, island of the healers. Stop talking and go below to see how many of us need a coin in our mouths to pay the ferry.”
    Leaving behind the leaping dolphin, the glorious sea breeze and the chant of the rowers, I descended to the bottom of the vessel where the wounded lay on the blood-slippery planks. A feeble light shone through the oar ports and the moaning had ceased.
    “A few are dead,” I told Dionysius, “others cannot lift a hand, and still others are trying to sit up and are calling for food and water.”
    “Throw the dead to Poseidon and his nymphs,” said Dionysius. “I shall take with me only those who are able to reach the deck either on foot or on their bellies. The others we shall leave at the temple of the healer on Cos.”
    He shouted the same instructions to the two vessels following us. The men of Phocaea unclothed the dead, thrust a coin into the throat of each and tossed them into the sea. Most of the wounded managed to drag themselves on deck, cursing and groaning and calling upon the gods to aid them, for no one wanted to be left behind.
    Not all the men reached the deck. Under the