Read Online Lord of the Silver Bow by David Gemmell - Free Book Online Page A

out of the ports. A rope was tied around his waist, and he felt himself being lifted from the water.
    “Let go of the wood,” said his bearded rescuer.
    Now Gershom wanted to, but he could not. There was no feeling in his hands. The swimmer gently pried his fingers open. The rope tightened, and he was lifted from the sea and pulled over the deck rail, where he flopped to the timbers. He cried out as the raw sunburn on his back scraped against the wood, the cry tearing the dry tissue of his throat. A young man with black hair and startlingly blue eyes squatted down next to him. “Fetch some water,” he said.
    Gershom was helped to a sitting position, and a cup was held to his mouth. At first his parched throat was unable to swallow. Each time he tried, he gagged.
    “Slowly!” advised the blue-eyed man. “Hold it in your mouth. Allow it to trickle down.”
    Swirling the liquid around in his mouth, he tried again. A small amount of cool water flowed down his throat. He had never tasted anything so sweet and fulfilling.
    Then he passed out.
    ∗ ∗ ∗
    When he awoke, he was lying under a makeshift tent erected near the prow. A freckle-faced youngster was sitting beside him. The boy saw his eyes open and stood and ran back along the deck. Moments later his rescuer ducked under the tent flap and sat beside him.
    “We meet again, Gyppto. You are a lucky fellow. Had we not been delayed, we would certainly have missed you. I am Zidantas.”
    “I . . . am . . . grateful. Thank . . . you.” Heaving himself to a sitting position, Gershom reached for the water jug. Only then did he see that his hands were bandaged.
    “You cut yourself badly,” said Zidantas. “You’ll heal, though. Here, let me help.” So saying, he lifted the leather-covered jug. Gershom drank, this time a little more deeply. From where he sat he could see along the length of the ship and recognized it. His heart sank.
    “Yes,” said the giant, reading his expression, “you are on the
Xanthos.
But I know the hearts of ships. This one is mighty. She is the queen of the sea—and she knows it.”
    Gershom smiled, then winced as his lower lip split.
    “You rest, fellow,” Zidantas told him. “Your strength will soon come back, and you can earn your passage as a crewman.”
    “You . . . do . . . not know me,” said Gershom. “I am . . . no sailor.”
    “Perhaps not. You have courage, though, and strength. And, by Hades, you sailed a piece of driftwood well enough.”
    Gershom lay back. Zidantas spoke on, but his voice became a rhythmic murmur, and Gershom faded into a dreamless sleep.
    II
    Helikaon stood at the steering oar, adjusting his balance as the great ship cleaved the waves. The dolphins had returned, leaping and diving alongside the vessel, and he watched them for a while, his normally restless mind relaxed and at peace. Only at sea could he find this exhilarating sense of freedom.
    On land there were so many tedious distractions. With more than fifty ships in his fleet there were constantly problems to solve: authorizations for repairs to galleys, reports to read from his captains, meetings with his senior scribes and treasurers, checking the tallies of cargo shipped against the goods or metals received in exchange. His lands needed supervision, and though he had good men marshaling his horse herds and patrolling his borders, there were still matters only he could resolve. His heart lifted as he thought of young Diomedes. His half brother was almost twelve now and within a few years would be able to take on real responsibility. The blond-haired boy had begged to be allowed to sail on the
Xanthos.
His mother had forbidden it.
    “I am the king,” Diomedes had said. “People should obey me.”
    “You
will
be king, and people
will
obey you,” Helikaon had told him. “But for now, little brother, we must
both
obey the queen.”
    “It is not fair,” complained Diomedes. “You sailed with Odysseus on the
Penelope
when you were