But it is not our purpose to inflict the entire log of that voyage on our reader, adventurous though the voyage was. Matter of much greater importance claims our regard. Still it would be unjust to our voyagers to pass it over in absolute silence.
At the very commencement of it, there occurred one of those incidents to which all voyagers are more or less subject. A gale arose the very evening of the day on which they left port, which all but swamped the little vessel, and the violence of the wind was so great that their huge sail was split from top to bottom. In spite of the darkness and the confusion that ensued, Captain Arkal, by his prompt action and skilful management, saved the vessel from immediate destruction. Fortunately the gale did not last long, and, during the calm that followed, the rent was repaired and the sail re-set.
Then occurred another incident that threatened to cut short the voyage even more disastrously than by swamping.
The sea over which they steered swarmed with pirates at the time we write of, as it continued to swarm during many centuries after. Merchantmen, fully aware of the fact, were in those days also men of war. They went forth on their voyages fully armed with sword, javelin, and shield, as well as with the simple artillery of the period—bows and arrows, slings and stones.
On the afternoon of the day that followed the gale, the vessel—which her captain and owner had named the Penelope in honour of his wife—was running before a light breeze, along the coast of one of the islands with which that sea is studded.
Bladud and some of the crew were listening at the time to an account given by a small seaman named Maikar, of a recent adventure on the sea, when a galley about as large as their own was seen to shoot suddenly from the mouth of a cavern in the cliffs in which it had lain concealed. It was double-banked and full of armed men, and was rowed in such a way as to cut in advance of the Penelope. The vigour with which the oars were plied, and the rapidity with which the sail was run up, left no doubt as to the nature of the craft or the intentions of those who manned it.
“The rascals!” growled Arkal with a dark frown, “I more than half expected to find them here.”
“Pirates, I suppose?” said Bladud.
“Ay—and not much chance of escaping them. Give another haul on the sail-rope, mate, and pull, men, pull, if you would save your liberty—for these brutes have no mercy.”
The sail was tightened up a few inches, and the vessel was put more directly before the wind. The way in which the slaves bent to the oars showed that the poor fellows fully understood the situation.
For a few minutes Captain Arkal watched the result in stern silence. Then, with an unwonted look and tone of bitterness, he said in a low voice—
“No—I thought as much. She sails faster than we do. Now, friend Bladud, you shall presently have a chance of proving whether your royal blood is better than that of other men.”
To this remark the prince made no other reply than by a good-natured smile as he took up the bronze helmet which lay beside his sword on the thwart and placed it on his head.
Captain Arkal regarded him with a sort of grim satisfaction as he followed up the action by buckling on his sword.
The sword in question was noteworthy. It was a single-handed weapon of iron, made in Egypt, to suit the size and strength of its owner, and was large enough to have served as a two-handed sword for most men.
“You can throw a javelin, no doubt?” asked the captain, as he watched the young man’s leisurely preparations for the expected combat.
“Yes, I have practised throwing the spear a good deal—both in peace and war.”
“Good. I have got one here that will suit you. It belonged to my grandfather, who was a stout man, and made powerful play with it during a neighbouring tribe’s raid—when I was a baby—to the discomfort, I have been told, and surprise of his foes. I always keep it by me for luck, and have myself used it on occasion, though I prefer a lighter one for ordinary use. Here it is—a pretty weapon,” he continued, drawing a javelin of gigantic proportions from under the gunwale and handing it to Bladud. “But we must proceed with caution in this matter. Take off your helmet at present, and try to look frightened if you can.”
“I fear me that will be difficult, captain.”
“Not in the least. Look here, nothing is easier when you get used to it.”
As he spoke Arkal caused his stern visage to relax into a look of such amiable sheepishness that Bladud could not repress a sudden laugh which recalled and intensified the captain’s fierce expression instantly.
“Learn to subdue yourself, young man,” he muttered sternly. “If these pirates hear laughter, do you think they can be made to believe we are afraid of them?”
“Forgive me, captain; if you had seen your own face, you would have joined in the laugh. I will be more careful. But how do you mean to proceed, and what do you wish me to do?”
Captain Arkal, who was restored to good-humour by this compliment to his power of expression, as well as by the modesty with which the prince received his rebuke, explained his intentions—in low, earnest tones, however, for they were by that time drawing near to the piratical craft.
Having got well ahead of the Penelope, it had backed its sail and lay still, awaiting her coming up.
“Creep to the bow, Bladud, with your helmet off, and show as little of your bulk as may be. Show only your head above the bulwarks, and look as miserable as I did just now—more so if you can. Take your sword, javelin, and shield with you. I need say no more to a man of war. Use them when you see your opportunity.”
Bladud received his orders in silence, and obeyed them with that unquestioning and unhesitating promptitude which is one of the surest evidences of fitness to command. Meanwhile the mate, who was accustomed to his captain’s habits, and needed no instructions, had caused the sailors to lay their shields and swords out of sight at their feet, so that they might approach the pirates in the character of simple traders who were completely cowed by the appearance of the foe. To increase this aspect of fear, the sail was lowered as they drew near, and the oars were used to complete the distance that yet intervened between the two vessels.
This humble and submissive approach did not, however, throw the pirates quite off their guard. They stood to their arms and prepared to spring on board their victim when close enough. As the pirate vessel lay motionless on the water she presented her broadside to the trader. The captain took care to steer so that this relative position should be maintained. The pirate chief, a huge man in rude armour, with a breast-plate of thick bull-hide and a shield of the same on his left arm, gave orders to pull the oars on one side of his vessel so that the two might be brought alongside.
They were about fifty yards apart at the moment. Before the order could be carried into effect, however, Arkal uttered a low hiss. Instantly the double banks of oars bent almost to the breaking point, and the Penelope leaped forward like a sentient creature. Each man seized sword and shield and sprang up, and Bladud, forgetting both helmet and shield in the hurry of the moment, poised the mighty javelin which had so astonished its owner’s enemies in days gone by, and in another moment hurled it shrieking through the air. It flew straight as a thunderbolt at the pirate chief; pierced through shield and breastplate, and came out at his back, sending him headlong into the arms of his horrified crew.
The whole incident was so sudden that the pirates had scarcely time to recover from their surprise when the bow of the Penelope crashed into the side of their vessel and stove it in, for the trader, like some of the war-vessels of the period, was provided with a ram for this very purpose.
As the Penelope recoiled from the shock, a yell of rage burst from the pirates, and a volley of javelins and stones followed, but, owing to the confusion resulting from the shock, these were ill-directed, and such of them as found their mark were caught on the shields. Before another discharge could be made, the pirate vessel heeled over and sank, leaving her crew of miscreants struggling in the sea. Some of them—being, strange to say, unable to swim—were drowned. Others were killed in the water, while a few, taking their swords in their teeth, swam to the trader and made desperate attempts to climb on board. Of course they failed, and in a few minutes nothing remained of the pirate vessel to tell of the tragedy that had been enacted, except an oar or two and a few spars left floating on the sea.
“Would that all the sea-robbers in these parts could be as easily and thoroughly disposed of,” remarked the captain, as he gave orders to re-hoist the sail. “Ho! Bladud, my worthy prince, come aft here. What detains you?”
But Bladud did not answer to the call. A stone from the enemy had fallen on his defenceless head and knocked him down insensible.
Four of the men now raised him up. As they did so, one of the men—the small seaman, Maikar—was found underneath him in a state of semi-consciousness. While they carried Bladud aft, the little sailor began to gasp and sneeze.
“Not killed, I see,” remarked the mate, looking into his face with some anxiety.
“No, not quite,” sighed Maikar, drawing a long breath, and raising himself on one elbow, with a slightly dazed look, “but I never was so nearly burst in all my life. If an ox had fallen on me he could not have squeezed me flatter. Do, two of you, squeeze me the other way, to open me out a little; there’s no room in me left to breathe—scarcely room to think.”
“Oh! your battles are not yet over, I see,” said the mate, going off to the stern of the vessel, where he found Bladud just recovering consciousness and smiling at the remarks of the captain, who busied himself in stanching the wound, just over his frontal bone, from which blood was flowing freely.
“H’m! this comes of sheer recklessness. I told you to take off your helmet, but I did not tell you to keep it off. Man, you launched that javelin well!—better than I could have done it myself. Indeed, I doubt if my old grandfather could have done it with such telling effect—straight through and through. I saw full a hand-breadth come out at the villain’s back. What say you, mate? Little Maikar wounded?”
“No, not wounded, but nearly burst, as he says himself; and no wonder, for Bladud fell upon him.”
“Didn’t I tell you, mate,” said the captain, looking up with a grin, “that nothing will kill little Maikar? Go to, man, you pretend to be a judge of men; yet you grumbled at me for engaging him as one of our crew. Do you feel better now, prince?”
“Ay, greatly better, thank you,” replied Bladud, putting his hand gently on the bandages with which the captain had skilfully bound his head.
“That is well. I think, now, that food will do you service. What say you?”
“Nay, with your leave, I prefer sleep,” said the prince, stretching himself out on the deck. “A little rest will suffice, for my head is noted for its thickness, and my brain for its solidity—at least so my good father was wont to say; and I’ve always had great respect for his opinion.”
“Ah, save when it ran counter to your own,” suggested Arkal; “and especially that time when you ran away from home and came out here in the long ship of my trading friend.”
“I have regretted that many a time since then, and I am now returning home to offer submission.”
“D’you think that he’ll forgive you?”
“I am sure he will, for he is a kind man; and I know he loves me, though he has never said so.”
“I should like to know that father of yours. I like your description of him—so stern of face, yet so kind of heart, and with such an unchangeable will when he sees what is right. But what is right, and what is wrong?”
“Ay—what is—who can tell? Some people believe that the gods make their will known to man through the Delphic Oracle.”
“Boh!” exclaimed the captain with a look of supreme contempt.
The turn of thought silenced both speakers for a time; and when Captain Arkal turned to resume the conversation, he found that his friend was sound asleep.
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