“What are you guys gossiping about?” Liz had squatted down next to them. They explained.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the chain. “Hmm. Are you sure, Jerry? About the chain being worth an arm and a leg, that is?”
Jerry nodded. “Absolutely certain. Look at the fights and effort that went into recovering any of the ‘arms’ of a hero in the Iliad. We’ve got no conception of just how valuable wrought metal was, and a piece of work as fine and uniform as that chain . . . ”
“Okay, okay. Now I get what you were saying earlier, about Cruz and Mac carrying a fortune in metal with them.” Liz pursed her lips, to stop them twitching into a smile. “I wonder. Do you think this tub has drainage bungs?”
Jerry blinked. She thought like a jackrabbit. “I don’t know.”
“Hmm. Must have, I guess. Maybe back near the steering oars. I’ll take a little swim this evening,” she said, with a wicked little chuckle.
29
Not so wily, after all.
The black pentekonter had a shallow draft. She wouldn’t have far to swim to check out the underside. That was a blessing. It was still as scary as hell, even with the moon bright in a starlit sky, to swim quietly through the dark water, feeling the hull. Presently Liz’s exploring fingers were rewarded… with a brass loop. . . . Just behind the steering oars. Carefully she tied the rope onto it before swimming back.
* * *
By the afternoon of the next day even the value of the chains they were planning to steal wasn’t enough to stop Odysseus’ crew from being on the edge of revolt. They were after all not serfs or slaves. They were all at least minor nobility. And even their prince had been poorly in control of them. Being chained up was bad enough. But being chained up for a day and night at sea, when they were accustomed to landing, was too much—especially in the heat. Well, especially as they were an ill-disciplined pack of minor aristocracy, accustomed to doing things their own way, and not having to take it in turns to urinate over the side.
Then the sea boiled with an immense dragon.
“fShe’s mine!” yelled Smitar and Bitar in obvious delight, diving down at the newly appeared dragon in the water.
“Hey gorgeoufs, where have you been all my life?” bellowed Smitar.
“Ignore him. He’fs a boor. And he’fs got no teeth,” shouted Bitar.
“Neither have you, fsilly!”
The bickering, snapping dragons tumbled out of the sky, onto the newcomer. And she disappeared.
“What did you go and frighten her off for?” complained Smitar.
Bitar looked huffy. “I didn’t! You did!”
A tree slowly disappearing into the ocean attracted Smitar’s attention. “I fsay. What’fs this carob tree doing here in the water?”
Bitar looked thoughtfully at it. “fSinking,” he said, finally.
Smitar snorted in irritation. “I didn’t expect it to be doing the breafst-fstroke. I meant it wafsn’t here a minute ago.”
The carob tree, about to disappear forever into the depths, turned into a leaping and dancing flame. This was also a poor choice of shape for the water. In a flicker there was a huge gray seal swimming there, twisting agilely in the wine-dark waves. The Achaeans, who had been on the verge of rebellion moments before, now moaned in fear.
“Who or what is this . . . creature?” asked Henri warily.
“Proteus of Egypt,” said Jerry. “Otherwise known as ‘the old man of the sea,’ who lives at Pharos, an island off the mouth of the Nile. He can change his shape at will. He keeps seals like a shepherd.”
“He’s welcome to them,” snorted Liz. “Smelly, nasty things.”
“I always thought seals were kinda neat,” Lamont protested, looking at the plump gray seal that was now riding the bow wave.
“You aren’t a commercial fisherman. Hell. I shouldn’t say that. If you ever get home, with your luck, you could go commercial with a handline, Lamont. But go on, Jerry. Wrack that brain. Is this thing dangerous?”
“He is a renowned seer, but I have not heard ill of him,” offered Medea.