They had lost twenty-nine of the sixty-eight souls on board. Strangely, the one-armed veteran Agrios had survived, but the youngster Praxos had been swept away. Of the survivors, many were injured, and two died later that day.
Helikaon had wrenched Oniacus’ dislocated shoulder back in place, tied it securely, and given the injured man the steering oar. Then he and Andromache had joined the uninjured crewmen to row the ship slowly through the ash-covered sea. It had been hard to see in the constant grayness, and Helikaon had despaired of finding a berth for the night when a darker shape had appeared out of the half-light.
It was a small low island, much of it scoured clean by the waves. They could not beach the ship, for they did not have the manpower to launch it again. They dropped the stone anchors in the shallows and struggled to the beach as best they could. Exhausted, they all slept where they lay regardless of the waves lapping at their feet. In the morning Helikaon sent out men to look for fresh water. They quickly discovered a clear spring nearby, and for the first time since they had left Thera, Helikaon knew they were safe for a while.
That night they recognized when sunset arrived only by the astonishing display of colors—bronze, red, and purple—in the darkened sky. Helikaon now knew which way was west, and he felt encouraged by the knowledge.
The next day they held funeral rites for their comrades. With no beasts to kill for sacrifice, the men poured libations from the one surviving jug of wine to placate Poseidon, who had brought them to this place, and to Apollo, begging him to bring back the sun.
As captain, Helikaon took part in the rites, but he walked away as soon as possible. He found the men’s simple devotion unfathomable and remembered a conversation he had had with Odysseus concerning the men’s faithfulness to such unreliable gods.
“All seamen are superstitious, or pious in their devotion, however you see it,” the Ithakan king said. “They are constantly in peril, at the mercy of the wind and the treacherous sea. Giving names to the elements and treating them like living men with human emotions makes them feel they have control over events which would otherwise seem random and meaningless.
“They are simple men and revere the gods as they revered their own fathers. When angry, their fathers could lash out at them and hurt them. When happy, they would feed them and keep them safe. So they try to keep the gods content, giving them food and wine and praising them, worshipping them. Do not sneer at their faith, Helikaon. We all need something to have faith in.”
“You do not believe in the gods, Odysseus.”
“I did not say that,” the older man replied. “I do not think the sun god Apollo drives his chariot across the sky each day like a slave tasked with a very dull chore, but it does not mean I do not believe. I have traveled all around the Great Green, and I have met men who worship the weather god of the Hittites, and Osiris, the Gypptos’ god of the dead, and the child devourer Molech, and the grim lonely god of the desert folk, but no nation of people seems more blessed than any other. Each has its triumphs and tragedies.”
He thought for a while. “I believe there is a being beyond comprehension who guides our path and judges us. That is all I know.” He grinned and added, “And I fervently hope there is no Hall of Heroes where we must spend eternity supping with the blood-smeared Herakles and Alektruon.”
On the gray beach in their still, twilight world, Helikaon gazed toward the east. He thought he could detect a breath of breeze, and the sky seemed to be lightening in that direction. He wondered if they ever would see a cloudless day or a starry night again.
He smiled. Ahead of him he could see Andromache and Dex walking toward them along the shore. Even her dress of flame seemed diminished in the gray light.
They met and stood facing each other. He put up his hand and brushed ash from her cheek. He looked into her gray-green eyes.
“You are beautiful,” he told her. “How can you be so beautiful when covered with ash?”
She smiled, then asked, “You walked to the headland again? Do you still hope to see the Bloodhawk?”
He answered ruefully. “No, I do not. The ship is smaller than the Xanthos and was closer to Thera. I do not think it survived. But perhaps its crew did. Or some of them. Odysseus was a strong swimmer, although it was a long time before I found that out.” He smiled at the memory. “And he claimed he could float on his back all day, a goblet of wine balanced on his belly.”
She laughed, and the air seemed to lighten at the sound. She looked up. “The sky is getting brighter, I think.”
He nodded. “If the breeze picks up, we might sail today.”
The main mast of the Xanthos had been swept away by the sea, along with the black horse sail, but there was a spare mast lying the length of the ship, and it had been raised in readiness. There were extra oars stored in the bowels of the galley and a new sail of plain linen. When the men had rolled it out and checked the sail for weaknesses or tears, Oniacus had asked him, “Will we paint the black horse of Dardanos on this one, Golden One?” Helikaon had shaken his head. “I think not.” We need a new symbol for the future, he had told himself.
“But you do not know where we are. How can you know where we are going?” Andromache asked.
“We will sail west. Eventually we will see familiar land.”
“Perhaps we have been swept far beyond the known seas.”
He shook his head. “In our terror, my love, the great waves seemed to last an eternity. But in truth, it was not very long. We cannot be far from the lands we know, but they might have been changed by the waves and be hard to recognize.”
“Then we will still reach the Seven Hills by winter?”
“I am sure we will,” he told her honestly. His heart lifted at the thought of the fledgling city where families from Troy and Dardanos were building their new lives. The land was lush and verdant, the air sweet and the soil rich, the hillsides teeming with animal life. They would start again there as a family, the four of them, and leave their old world behind. He wondered if he ever would return to Troy, but as he thought it, he immediately knew he would not. This would be the Xanthos’ last great journey.
He said, “Once we reach the mainland or a large island, we should be able to enlist more oarsmen.”
“I can row again if needed.”
He gently took her hands and turned them over. The palms were raw and blistered from helping row the Xanthos to this barren island. He said nothing but gazed at her quizzically.
“I will bandage them as the men do, and then I can row,” she argued, her face stern. “I am as strong as a man.”
His heart filled with love for her. “You are the strongest woman I have ever known,” he whispered. “I loved you the moment I first saw you. You are my life and my dreams and my future. I am nothing without you.”
She gazed at him in wonder, and tears came to her eyes. He took her in his arms and held her close, feeling the beating of her heart against his chest. Then they turned and walked hand in hand back along the beach, their two sons trailing behind.