“The Artemisia may have no fire hurlers, Golden One,” Chromis said impatiently, “but she has greater speed than some of these bigger ships. We can lead the Mykene a merry dance if you so order.”
“Speed can be vital,” Helikaon replied, “but usually running away from a battle, not toward it.”
The other captains laughed, and Chromis flushed, fearing he was being made a fool of.
“I am not mocking you, Chromis,” Heliakon said. “I have a part for the Artemisia to play, and it is an essential one. You will need all your ship’s speed and agility.”
Chromis grinned and looked around him, proud to be chosen. “So when do we attack them, Golden One?” he asked. “The sooner our ships can slip out into the Great Green, the sooner we can start to fight back, hit the enemy at the Bay of Herakles.”
“We will not attack,” Helikaon told him. “We will wait for the Mykene to attack us.”
Chromos snorted. “But how can we be sure of that? They’ve been content to keep us trapped in the bay like… like crabs in a net.”
“You yourself pointed out that much changed when the Xanthos arrived,” Helikaon said.
He looked around at the Trojan captains. “We must have patience,” he said. “Something the Mykene do not have. They are an impetuous and aggressive people. We must use that against them.
“And my plan is not just to slip past Menados, then make a run for it. I plan to destroy his entire fleet.”
The day passed with bone-aching slowness on the waters of the Hellespont, and when the sun slid down the sky, there was still no sign that the Xanthos and the Trojan ships were planning to break out of the bay. Menados forced himself to stop pacing the deck of the Alektruon. He sat in his captain’s chair, the picture of calm assurance. Inside his head, though, he was seething with anger at the cunning Helikaon and with his need to sail into the bay and smash the Xanthos into small shards. His captains had wanted to follow the hated galley in, but Menados had refused to chase after it in the dark.
All of his fifty-five remaining ships were now at sea, either gathered off the entrance to the Hellespont or patrolling the strait. The oarsmen were tired, and he ordered that they work in shifts, with half the men rowing at a time. It always had been difficult to find rowers. Any man who could afford a soldier’s armor and weapons would rather fight in the field than endure the hot fetid conditions on the rowing benches. Some of the ships’ masters used slave labor. But chained slaves were unlikely to work as hard as free men, and the Alektruon was rowed entirely by Mykene warriors who were proud to be on the finest ship in all the Mykene fleets.
As the light started to fail on the second day, there was a shout from one of the vessels closest to the Cape of Tides. A craft had been spotted trying to break the blockade. Menados, excitement rising in his chest, ordered the Alektruon and the four nearest ships to intercept her. Block her course, he ordered, but do not engage yet.
Peering into the gloom, he soon could see her for himself. It was not the Xanthos but a smaller ship with a dark sail sporting a white full moon. She sped along the line of the coast, perilously close to the rocks of the cape, risking the use of her sail to gain more speed.
“Not the Xanthos,” said his sister’s son, disappointment in his voice. “But maybe they are using a small ship to sneak the royal family out of Troy.”
“That would require a very small vessel indeed,” Menados said drily. And, he thought, Priam would never leave the city or his treasury.
The small ship skipped across the waves, closer to the approaching Mykene galleys. Then, suddenly, her sail was furled, the rowers took over, and within heartbeats they had turned the vessel fully around and she was powering back toward the bay.
“Do not follow!” the admiral ordered, and the signal was passed quickly from ship to ship. The Mykene vessels pulled slowly away, reluctantly, Menados thought.
What is Helikaon up to? he wondered. Was it what it seemed? One ship making a run for it? Or another fire ship? No, Helikaon would not use that trick twice. He paced up and down the deck again, his officers watching him anxiously.
Finally he came to a conclusion. If Helikaon were to sneak past him again, two nights in a row, he and his officers would face a slow and agonizing death at Agamemnon’s hands. He could not afford to let even one vessel out of the bay. It was another moonlit night, so he had to assume they would try again.
“There will be no rest for our crews!” he told his officers. “Tonight all our ships will patrol!”
Helikaon was awake before dawn, when the light was just a pink glow in the east. He had slept deeply. The previous night he had put two ships out at the mouth of the bay to act as night watchmen. The rest of the crews got a good night’s sleep and were fresh for the coming day.
He saw a Trojan galley gliding toward them from the cape, where its captain had picked up reports on the Mykene fleet from the watchers stationed there.
“They patrolled all night!” its master shouted up to Helikaon gleefully. “Their rowers will all be as tired as dogs!”
Oniacus grinned at his lord. “Tired crews and tired commanders,” he said.
Helikaon nodded. “And tired men make poor decisions,” he answered. “It is time for the Artemisia to lure them in.”
For a second time he watched Chromis’ vessel head off gamely toward the Mykene fleet. He was impressed by the skills of the captain and his men. Chromis may be a blowhard, he thought, but he is right to be proud of his ship and its crew. May Poseidon keep her safe.
The crew of the Xanthos was busy preparing for battle. The clay balls full of nephthar, each as big as a man’s head, were being transferred carefully from the hold to straw-lined baskets beside the fire hurlers. The hurlers were being checked and greased. The specially prepared arrows and braziers were kept at the central deck, far away from the nephthar. Each crewman donned a leather breastplate and took up his sword and bow and a quiver of arrows. Food was passed around to break their night fast: corn bread and cheese.
As the light grew stronger, Helikaon ordered his small fleet to form up in two lines abreast facing north, well back from the mouth of the bay. The Xanthos was front and center. The Sword of Ilos and the Naiad, with their fire hurlers, he placed near each end of the front line. The two ships that had watched all night were tucked in at the back in a position of comparative safety.
Helikaon strapped on his bronze breastplate and sheathed the two leaf-bladed swords in scabbards on his back. He placed his full-face helm within reach. To his second in command he said, “You are steersman today, Oniacus. Are you clear on our strategy?”
“Yes, Golden One,” Oniacus replied. He hesitated. “We have never lost a sea battle yet,” he added, concern in his eyes. “And I will follow your strategy without question, as always. Yet we are already trapped in this bay, like a mouse in a jug, and it seems your plan now is to lure a cat into the jug.”