Neiron shook his head. 'All or nothing now. You made that call. Now let it happen.'
Amidships, Philaeus called the new stroke – the fastest sustainable stroke – and he began to beat the tempo on the deck with his staff.
The rowers growled and the ship sounded like a live thing. Satyrus felt the increase in speed in his legs and hips. The thumping of the oar master's staff seemed to be the living heart of the ship, pumping blood like the heart of an Olympic runner.
Satyrus tried not to watch the horizon. Even now, Eumeles' captains would be ordering an increase in speed. It all came down to fitness and training – a long stern chase, rower against rower into a gentle wind so close to bow-on that no one could raise a sail. Man to man.
His carefully ordered columns shredded immediately, as the fastest ships passed the slowest and the whole fleet raced. Golden Lotus was in the forefront, neck and neck with Panther's Rose and Aekes' Hyacinth. Behind them came the pirates, lighter, lower vessels with heavy crews who might be slow to manoeuvre but whose crews lived for this very function – to chase down a fleeing vessel and catch him.
An hour, by the sun, and the coast of the Euxine was racing by to the right, stade after stade, and they didn't seem to gain a finger's breadth on the enemy. Some of his least-trained vessels – the half-squadron provided by Lysimachos, for instance – began to lose ground, and they were left behind, as were two of the Aegyptian ships, Troy and Marathon. Throughout the fleet, the slowest ships struggled.
Satyrus watched helplessly as his fleet began to disintegrate.
'Keep your wits,' Neiron said.
'Too late to change your mind,' Theron said. 'You went for the hold. Keep your arm at his throat until you black out.'
Satyrus nodded. He knew they were right. But it hurt to watch ships fall out of the columns, their rowers already spent, or just too slow – ill-built or trailing weed.
If Eumeles has his second squadron at Tanais – if they are oared up and ready…
The second hour of afternoon crawled by. Satyrus took a turn at an oar, as did Theron. Neiron clung to the steering oar. Men were taking turns – sailors, even the most willing of the marines. On the Lotus, they had practised this, and even at such a fast pull, a man knew he'd get a break.
Satyrus rowed a full hour by the sand-glass. The men around him smiled at him, and he loved every one of them for their eagerness.
'We'll catch the bastard, right enow!' called his mate across the aisle, as they lulled together. 'Never you moind, sir. Never you moind it.'
He grinned back, his heart raised by this pronouncement by a man who had to know far less about the chances of the day than he did himself, and then he went forward, the fear sweated out.
By now half of his own fleet was gone behind him, lost over the edge of the world.
'Two hours to the Tanais at this rate,' Neiron said. He was nodding, as if he could hear music. The staff still thumped the deck, a fast but steady heartbeat. 'Still six hours of light.'
Satyrus made himself look forward.
Eumeles' fleet was suddenly close.
'When did that happen?' he said, and his voice broke.
Neiron grinned, and so did every other man on the command deck. 'We got all the officers to row,' he said. 'Must have made a difference.' Then Neiron pointed. 'We broke their hearts,' he said.
Theron nodded. 'We are the better men,' he said.
It was a race while it had contestants. Now it was just predator and prey.
Panther's Hyacinth drew the first blood, smashing his beak into the oar bank of a heavy trireme whose rowers were so tired that they didn't even attempt to turn their ship and fight. Panther crippled the enemy ship expertly and rowed on, barely losing way.
As Lotus swept past the cripple, his archers shot down into the helpless crew, and they surrendered, the captain kneeling on his deck and begging for mercy.
Eumeles' ships lost their nerve completely as soon as they saw the loss of the first ship, and they began to scatter. In the rearward ships, more than a dozen raised sail and tried to sail clear, going west across the wind as best they could. A few made it; most were caught, helpless, and smashed. The Rhodians, who could raise sail faster, ate their wind and killed them.
The afternoon was old and the Lotus's mast was casting a long shadow when Eumeles' navarch decided to turn and fight. The Tanais headland was well in sight, with a beacon burning clearly on the height of the bluff. Satyrus didn't know what the signal was or for whom it was meant, but that was the site of his mother's city.
The mouth of the river was only twenty more stades along the coast, hidden by the multiple headlands, but Satyrus knew the seamarks here as well as any captain. The enemy ships had to fight, or run upriver – and the river was shallow in midsummer. They turned, and their tired rowers formed a ragged line. Just one ship stood on, racing for the mouth of the Tanais.
Satyrus looked around and realized that, by the irony of the gods, he would face Eumeles outnumbered, because his ships had chased off to the west after the stragglers or stopped to loot the defeated. He had his own ships, and one Rhodian, and the Glory of Demeter formed next to him. Daedalus leaned over the rail and waved his fist. Satyrus waved back as Helios put his aspis on his arm.
'Twenty to ten,' Satyrus said.
Neiron wrinkled his lip and spat in the water. 'They're spent,' he said. He pointed his bearded chin at the rowers without taking his eyes off the enemy line. 'Ours are just scenting victory. And this is the moment for revenge, Satyrus.'
Satyrus smiled. 'In other words, I should tell them so,' he said.
Neiron nodded.
Satyrus ran forward and leaned over into the oar deck. 'Eumeles has just formed a sloppy-arse line and he's going to fight. His rowers are finished. Are you finished?'
They didn't roar. But they growled, a low sound that made the ship tremble.
'Ten minutes,' Satyrus shouted, his voice rising. 'Ten minutes of your best, and they are ours. Blood in the water and silver in our hands!'
The growl rose. Like a wind rising, the growl came up as the whole oar bank cocked back, the oars at the top of their motion, and as the oars bit, every voice on the Lotus spoke and the ship seemed to leap forward with its own spirit.
His ships formed up on him so that they were in a loose arrowhead. Two of the slower ships, scenting a fight, came up from behind, rowing for all they had, close enough now to engage as a second line.
'Not the battle I'd planned,' Satyrus said.
No one said anything.
'But I'll take it,' Satyrus said. He looked at the enemy line, now less than a stade away. 'Diekplous against their admiral,' he said, pointing out the blue-hulled ship in the centre of the line.
Satyrus's ships were moving much faster than their opponents – indeed, the enemy squadron was oar-tip to oar-tip, in close order, but many of their ships were partly turned or still manoeuvring to close gaps, and they had very little forward motion. The Golden Lotus was a whole ship's length ahead of her line, but the Troy was now so close behind that she was in line with the Glory of Demeter and they were all moving at the speed of a galloping horse, the wind of their passage like a song of speed and madness.
'Are you taking command?' Neiron asked quietly.
'No,' Satyrus said. 'I'll board with the marines.'
Neiron nodded, and Satyrus winked at Helios, suddenly feeling as if he had the stature of the gods. Win or lose, he was done. He'd brought his fleet to Tanais, and now it was down to muscle and spirit.
We are the better men.
Theron handed him his helmet. He pulled it on, fastened the cheekpieces and together they ran forward.
'Oars in!' Neiron roared, and Philaeus echoed in his singer's voice. Even as Satyrus ran, he had to jump to avoid the oar shafts coming across the lower deck.