Vectors (18 page)

"Jealous still? Has he no woman at all?"

"Only for release, not for love. I talk to the slaves of Afshar's house, you know. The women say that Melos is kind and he is gentle, but he has no soul. After it is done, his mind is gone far away. And as I have told you often, the lying together afterwards is the best part of all."

"I'd give a lot, Thais, to know just where Melos' mind goes afterwards. I'm sure he has some trick to help Afshar tomorrow but I cannot think what it can be. Come on, Thais, help me turn off my troubled thoughts."

* * *

The race would follow the boundary of the lake, eastwards, and then turn past the floating markers back towards the city. Normally, one circuit was more than enough for a galley race, but this time it would be three or even four. The race would finish when the judges rang the great copper gong the second time. On a still evening, the sound carried miles across the water, and in any case the sound would be repeated on other gongs along the shore. Shielded oil lamps had been tied to the route buoys to mark the path—a night race was very unusual.

Well before noon, Cyrus was ready. His rowers were rested, well-fed and confident. Afshar's galley, with six less rowers, was still a bustle of activity. Cyrus could see Afshar standing in the prow holding the overseer's whip, and Melos in the stern working near the metal cylinder. In the few minutes before the noon starting gong, the crowd fell silent. Across the water, Cyrus again heard the strange high pitched hissing from the cylinder and a churning noise like a great pump inside the galley.

The shadow of the stone spear in the city square turned steadily with the Sun towards the noon marker. At the starting gong, the oars bit the water and Cyrus' galley moved smoothly forward. Morale was high. The oars moved in perfect unison to the rhythm of the mallets on the wooden blocks.

Cyrus, confident that his galley would function perfectly without him, kept his attention on the other ship. A wood fire was blazing in the cylinder. Cyrus saw the grey smoke pouring up and the great wheels in the rear began to turn, threshing the salt water of the lake. The oarsmen of the other galley had been ragged at the start but were now settling into a reasonable stride. The pace picked up gradually until Afshar was holding a position a couple of hundred yards behind.

The sun stood high in the sky and seared the calm surface of the lake. Through the heat of the long afternoon, Cyrus tended to his rowers, wiping sponges of cold water over their sweating bodies and offering them fruit juices and bread dipped in red wine. He joked with them to keep up their spirits. They all knew that the worst part was still to come, in the evening. They were holding their strength and their will for that time.

Afshar's galley held its position astern, belching out grey smoke and churning the clear water of the lake with the thresh of the great paddle wheels. It had lost no more ground. Cyrus could see the crowds of excited spectators on the shore as they finished the first complete circuit of the lake. Most people had wagered to see Cyrus much further ahead by the late afternoon.

The overseer leaned over to Cyrus and spoke softly, out of earshot of the rowers.

"Master, we cannot hold this rate until midnight. Soon after dark we must ease the pace."

"I know. But Afshar's rowers cannot keep it up either, they do not have the condition of our men."

"Master, look at their strike rate. It is much lower than ours."

Cyrus squinted through the sun's reflected glare at the other galley. In front of the paddle wheels the oars rose and fell at an even, almost a leisurely pace. Melos' device was having a big effect.

As sunset approached, it became clear that Afshar was gaining ground, little by little. When the galleys were a hundred yards apart Cyrus could pick out the tall figure of Melos, his pale hair blackened by smoke and ashes, working at the cylinder in the rear of the ship.

Cyrus had set up his strategy well before the race and it was almost time to use it. Shortly before sunset he slowed a fraction, just enough to let the other galley pass him. As it went by he could hear the excited shouts as the word went below decks to Afshar's rowers. His own oarsmen knew his plan and calmly waited the signal.

Afshar was a hundred paces ahead when Cyrus gestured to his overseer. The tempo of mallets on blocks picked up sharply, the sweeps flashed faster in the evening sunlight and the bow wave rose. Within minutes they had come level again with Afshar and were moving rapidly on past him. Cyrus was counting on a quick lead of a few hundred paces to break the spirit of Afshar's unseasoned oarsmen and destroy their performance.

As they moved past, there were more shouts and frantic activity on the other galley. Afshar himself was running aft in a panic, gesturing excitedly as the gap widened. There was no sign of an answering sprint from his rowers. Melos and Afshar stood in the stern, arguing violently about something.

As the light failed, Cyrus saw the big barrel being dragged to the rear of the galley. The fire in the cylinder began to blaze more brightly and the smoke from it darkened and hung black and dense over the surface of the lake. The great wheels turned faster, then faster yet. The vessel began to pick up speed and again to overhaul Cyrus.

The galleys drew parallel, and Cyrus could see the timbers of the other ship vibrating, groaning and twisting as it put on even more speed. Afshar stood directing activities. Through the deepening darkness it was clear that Melos was still arguing strongly with his Master. Cyrus saw Afshar draw back his arm and bring the long overseer's lash forward hard. Then it was too far and too dark to see anything clearly except the white fire in the metal cylinder. By its light, Cyrus thought he saw a pale form splash into the lake from the stern of Afshar's galley and strike off towards the shore and the lights of the city.

Cyrus motioned to his own overseer to slacken the pace. If Afshar could hold that tremendous speed, then there was no way to catch him. The gap widened. The blaze ahead shrank slowly to a fierce point of light in the distance. The loud hissing came clearly across the water and the greasy smoke filled his nostrils.

Suddenly, the point of light ahead spread upwards like a white starburst, then was as quickly extinguished completely. A few seconds later a great thunderclap of sound spread over the lake. Cyrus strained his eyes ahead but could see no sign of Afshar's galley. Screams of fear and agony reached him across the dark water. He ordered double tempo for the oarsmen and they sped on into the darkness.

Where Afshar's galley had been they found only random fragments of wooden beams and floating oars. Clinging to these were five rowers, horribly burned and gasping with the pain of the salt water on their wounds.

The race was over. Cyrus ordered the injured made comfortable—though little could be done—and turned back to the city.

Waiting at the quay he found Damon, Thais and Melos. The latter had a deep purple weal of the lash across his left cheek and a fierce red burn on his right shoulder. He was naked, soaking wet and shivering in the cool night air like a sick horse.

"Damon, lend him a cloak. And Thais, bring some wine. Now Melos, what happened out there?"

Melos was in shock. He tried to speak but at first could find only his barbaric mother tongue. After a cup of wine he at last managed to say, "The barrel of oil. It was too much. I knew the heat would be too great."

"But you did use it."

"I tried to stop it and he struck me with the whip. I know the power of the steam and I jumped into the water."

"You disobeyed your Master and fled. You know the penalty for that?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Well, Afshar is dead now. He was killed when the galley exploded. I suggest that you tell no one else what you have told me. Say you escaped by a lucky accident."

"Yes, Master."

It took a moment before the import of Melos' reply sank in. Master. Not Lord, the term of respect used from a slave, but Master, the term of ownership. Cyrus wondered again at the mind in the shocked, battered and fatigued body, that could accept the news of Afshar's death, re-evaluate Melos' own status and instantly give the appropriate reply.

Afshar was dead, and now Melos belonged to Cyrus. The night had been too terrible for him to feel any joy at the idea. And the next morning, the robed priests called on him and pointed out, apologetically, that he himself must now stand trial for the forbidden actions of his slave, Melos.

* * *

"I know and I understand the charges. To answer them, I would like to present three people to speak on my behalf. First, Darius of Susa, known to you all for his wisdom and scholarship. Second, the slave Melos; and third, myself."

The seven priests were seated at the long sandalwood table in the temple hall of judgement. In front of them, at the trial table, stood Cyrus, and behind him Darius and Melos. Darius of Susa was white bearded and frail and his brown domed head grew only a few wisps of white hair. But the dark eyes were bright and alert above the beaky nose and he looked keenly around him, at the blue tuniced guards and beyond them to the large silent audience in the body of the great hall.

The senior priest looked questioningly at Cyrus. "Darius is always welcome here. But Melos? You know well that a slave cannot give testimony about himself or others. His words can have no weight under our laws."

"I know this. I am asking for an exception for two reasons. First, I only recently became the owner of Melos and there are facts that he knows and I do not about this matter.

"Second, perhaps more important, were it not for this trial I would have made Melos a free man and applied for his citzenship two weeks ago. When this trial is over, if the accusations are shown unfounded, I will at once offer him his freedom. Thus, his present status is unusual."

After a brief discussion, the senior priest nodded. "We look for truth and justice, and the circumstances are indeed unusual. Melos may speak, but it will not form part of our written record.

"Who will speak first? Remember, we will question as we choose."

Cyrus bowed gravely. "I am ready to begin."

"Then proceed."

The hall fell completely silent.

"Sirs, my slave Melos is accused of conjuring demons, of being possessed by demons, of capturing demons and of performing forbidden and inhuman rites. But all these accusations stemmed from either the gossip of ignorant and superstitious slaves, or from the sayings of Afshar himself.

"Evidence from the slaves is not admissible, and Afshar has passed beyond our questioning.

"I knew that I was not competent to evaluate Melos' condition or his knowledge of the forbidden arts, so two weeks ago I sent him to the Academy of Darius at Susa, for thorough examination. Yesterday, Darius and Melos returned here. I would like to ask Darius to tell you what he found."

As Cyrus stepped back, a questioning hand was raised in the row of priests.

"Before we hear from Darius, a question for our records."

Trouble. Cyrus recognized the emaciated form and shaved head of the priest. A member of Afshar's family, conscious of the fact that criticism of Afshar—even posthumous—would bring dishonor to the whole family.

"Of course we all know of Darius and his reputation. And we also know that you, Cyrus, are an old friend of his, and have supported his Academy, like a true patron of scholarship, with money and gifts."

The curled lip made the insult very clear behind the flowery words.

"I would like to ask you what instructions you gave to Darius when Melos was sent to him. And I would like to know what you have said to each other since his arrival yesterday."

"I gave no instructions to Darius, except to ask him to examine Melos as he chose, and thoroughly. For the rest, Darius and Melos arrived late last night. We have had no chance for discussion since that arrival. His report will be as new to me as it is to you."

The thin priest nodded grudging acceptance. Darius came slowly to his feet and stood facing the line of priests.

"Cyrus sent one other thing to me with Melos; the list of charges against him. As you all know, the procedures for raising, containing, and banishing demons are complex, and they rest upon a base of knowledge of arcane ritual and great learning. So it seemed at first glance that a barbarian slave could not be a vessel for such skills. However, I kept an open mind.

"We tested Melos at Susa. He could not read or write, in our language or in any other. He had never heard of the Book of the Dead, the Book of Moones, the Agranas, or any other standard texts of necromancy and sorcery.

"We went further. He knows nothing of the great arts, of music, drama, sculpture, or poetry. He understands nothing of the calendar, of astrology, or of medicine. Nothing of pageantry, nothing of the martial arts. He has never even heard of the great philosophers."

Darius paused.

"One gift he does have, an ability to do calculations. Not too surprising, in one who was a sailor and navigator before his capture.

"As for his demonic possession. Melos—" he turned to face the slave; "—how long a line must be used to join the tops of two masts fifteen paces apart, if one is ten paces tall and the other eighteen?"

The jaw went slack and the face emptied. A stir of superstitious awe ran through the audience, but Melos recovered very quickly and answered: "Seventeen paces of line, Lord—plus a little for tying."

Darius turned again to the line of seated priests. "You see, Sirs. No possession, or idiocy. Concentration while thinking hard. I see this often in many of the scholars at Susa.

"In summary, Melos is not qualified for necromancy or devil-raising—or indeed for any of the civilized occupations. He could not, in my opinion, conjure, contain or disperse demons. He lacks knowledge, training, and equipment. He is, in short, a barbarian slave and no wizard."

The speech, delivered with calm authority, had great effect. Even Afshar's relative was subdued. After a few moments, the chief priest replied.

"We accept your evaluations, Darius. There remain against Melos, however, grave charges that must be explored. We will question him directly on these."