Olympus: It's Not Just a Game

Chapter 23

"Helmsman!" Lord Peter shouted. The hatch on the deck burst open, and sailors scrambled out, some still clutching food or guiltily wiping wine from their beards. "Imbeciles!" their master roared. "Where was the watchman? All hands to the mainsheet! Prepare to go hard to port!"

To Nancy's surprise, he hardly looked surprised at the gross negligence of his crew. She had no doubt that heads would roll, if they all survived the attack, but at the moment he seemed more exhilarated than upset by the imminence of danger. He was haughty and cruel, she thought, but there was a certain magnificence about him that commanded respect.

By this time, the sailors had managed some semblance of order, and the ship looked like a warship, not a pleasure barge. It was just in time. By now Nancy could hear the boom of the galley drum below decks on the oncoming ship. She braced herself for the shock of a collision.

At the last possible moment, Lord Peter called out, "Hard alee!" The helmsman threw himself against the steering oar, and the sailors hauled down on the main sheet. The sailing vessel heeled over to port, writhing away from the deadly path of the oncoming galley. With a horrible grinding noise, the galley sheered past Lord Peter's ship. Its oars snapped off with a noise like a succession of rifle shots, and the helpless slaves chained to those oars screamed in agony as they were pulped against the planks of the underdecks. The desperate slaves toward the rear hauled their oars in out of harm's way.

On the decks above, a mass of armed sailors leaped onto Lord Peter's craft. Twenty of them made it aboard, some carrying torches, others sabers. Lord Peter drew his diamond blade and leaped onto the foredeck. He fought like a tornado, single-handedly whirling and slicing his way through the crowd of invaders. Half a dozen intruders fell before his blade, but those with torches scampered out of the way and up the rigging toward the great canvas sail. In a moment, he saw their plan to set the sails ablaze and cripple the sailing ship.

Lord Peter redoubled his efforts, hacking his way fearlessly through the wall of armed sailors that blocked him. They fell like corn before a scythe, but their deaths served a purpose. The torchmen aloft reached the corners of the sail, and in a moment, flames licked up the taut canvas. A stiff breeze fanned the flames, and still more torchmen were clambering toward the sail when Peter reached the foot of the rope ladder. He cut through it with one slice, and the torchbearers overhead screamed as they felt it give way. They swung helplessly over the decks, and then were hurled loose. Some were fortunate enough to land in the sea, others crunched onto the decks.

But the damage was done. The sails were ablaze. Lord Peter never hesitated; he ran to the center of the deck, his body luridly lit by the fires above. He struck the ship's gong and barked out orders over the roaring inferno. "Hands below to the ram deflector!" he called out. "Hands above, prepare to dismast!" Then he ran across the deck to the weapons locker, and hauled out a battle axe. Sheathing his sword, he lifted the axe above his head. "Helmsman," he cried. "Hard about! Set a course for that galley!"

The fiery ship carved out an arc of luminous foam as it turned back toward the galley. Over the roaring conflagration, they heard the enemy's drum boom and the dreaded voice call out, "Ramming speed!"

Lord Peter eyed the narrowing gap of water between the vessels. "Helmsman, half a point to starboard," he commanded. He took his battle axe and began chopping at the port side of the mast. Sparks and blazing scraps of canvas rained down upon him as the blade bit into the tarred pine of the mast, but he paid no attention. "Starboard side," he bellowed between strokes, "prepare to sever lines." His sailors drew their cutlasses, and held them ready, still wondering what their captain planned. The galley was now one ship's length away. Now only half.