The next morning Timothy was sprawled on the deck of the merchant ship that he and the guys had contracted to guard, watching white clouds scudding across the sky.
It felt good to just lie around after a hearty breakfast instead of going who knows where through unfamiliar lands, spinning your head in all directions like an owl.
A fresh flatbread, a piece of goat cheese, a handful of olives, and a cup of wine had completely reconciled him with reality.
Timothy was feeling mellow and loved everyone around him. Everyone really, even that show-off Rapanu.
This time they'd had a peaceful voyage, though the sea was dangerous now, especially off the coasts of Lukka and Milawanda, where the shoreline was cut up by a ton of small bays.
Just once two boats with some raggedy bums on board burst out from behind the rocks, smelling loot, but a volley of arrows and the gleam of Helon's bronze armor, their boss, killed that impulse.
They shot three of them, and the rest just yelled, waved their fists in helpless rage, and rowed back.
Not such a great idea to dress up in heavy bronze when you're at sea, but it worked on fools every time. Only noble warriors had good armor, and it cost you more to mess with them.
Plus uncle Helon had a real bronze sword, greaves, and a helmet made of boar tusks. He'd taken all that wealth from a dead enemy. Helon had managed to wound him in the thigh, and when the guy bled out, finished him off in the neck.
Timothy sighed enviously.
All he had for weapons was a spear and a crappy dagger. His shield was garbage. He'd woven it himself from wicker and covered it with leather.
An arrow wouldn't get through it, of course, but if he had to take a good spear throw, it might pierce through.
Good weapons were expensive these days.
Timothy looked at the sea and squinted.
He'd work guard duty for about ten years, save up silver, and become a merchant himself.
What if they got lucky and robbed some little town along the way, or took a merchant ship at spearpoint. There's your silver.
Piracy at sea was normal business and respected. Everyone did it, especially the merchants themselves.
There was less and less trade from this kind of life, but the same number of people who used to go with caravans remained. And they wanted to eat every day.
What would thousands of hungry men do when they had weapons but no work? Right, they'd band together in gangs and take up robbery.
Where else could they go?
Timothy had absolutely nowhere to go. Nobody was waiting for him in his native Athens. He was the second son. Their land would go to his brother, and he himself got a spear, a knife, and a kick in the ass from father.
So he ended up in his mother's brother Helon's crew. He'd been going around for three years now. He'd been to Ugarit, Tyre, and the cities of Egypt.
All better than herding goats on the rocky wastelands of Attica that hadn't seen a drop of rain in a couple years.
"What are you doing sprawled out here?" Timothy heard his boss's displeased shout. "Get your ass up, lazy bum! You're going to the market with the boss. He'll sell the girl, and you'll stand nearby and listen. We're owed a share from that, you know. We're the ones who caught her."
Helon was a warrior about thirty-five, solid, but more broad-boned than meaty. On the contrary, he was lean and bony, though this didn't affect his strength at all.
Helon carried his armor, which weighed more than half a talent, like it was nothing, and threw his spear fifty paces, hitting the reed target without fail.
And he drove Timothy mercilessly, having promised his older sister he'd keep her son alive. That's exactly why he drove him hard.
His sun-baked face, crossed by an ugly scar from the corner of his eye almost to his chin, radiated such warmth and tenderness that Timothy jumped up like he'd gotten a good kick.
Actually, a good kick was about two heartbeats away, no more. Uncle Helon didn't have an excess of patience.
"I'm coming too," Rapanu, standing right there, tightened his fancy belt and looked expectantly toward the hatch where they were bringing out the slave woman.
"Bet she does something wild while you're selling her?" Timothy whispered to the owner's son. "Three shekels of silver and lunch."
"What would she do?" Rapanu was interested—he wasn't above a good meal. Especially on someone else's dime. And he loved silver even more than his own mother. To be honest, the kid was a bit greedy.
"Something that's never happened before," Timothy declared.
"I'll take it!" Rapanu extended his palm. "Father said I should sell her, gotta learn. So we'll see. I'm betting everything goes normally."
And then Timothy froze, greedily devouring with his gaze the lovely face and mane of blue-black hair that shimmered with sparks in the bright sun.
He saw the slave woman often, but he could never get used to the sight, and every time he flinched like a boy.
"You the mouthy one who's gonna sell me?" Theano asked lazily when she came out of the hold and shielded her eyes from the bright sun.
She snorted mockingly when she saw Rapanu's face stretch in amazement.
"Don't lowball me. If you sell me to a poor house, I'll send an evil fever on you. I know a real spell."
"I'll whip you right now, bitch!" the merchant's son even went splotchy purple.
"Master! Good master!" Theano suddenly fell at Rapanu's feet, hugged his knees and stared up with the pleading gaze of huge wet eyes. "Forgive me, foolish girl that I am!"
"Hey!" Timothy raised his hand. "Don't hit her, the price will drop. Helon and I get a quarter! Forgot?"
"Didn't I tell you I can sing and dance?" the girl looked beseechingly at Rapanu. "I even play the kithara!"
"No, you didn't tell me!" Rapanu brightened up—he'd already caught the jingle of silver. "You can dance? We can ask even more money for that! Alright girl, fine, I forgive you!"
"Thank you! Thank you, good master!" Theano said passionately, got up from her knees and declared like nothing had happened. "I need a new tunic! And a comb! My hair's all tangled, and I need to be beautiful today."
Rapanu groaned and raised his eyes to the sky, and Timothy roared with laughter.
He'd definitely get his lunch and silver.
And the young merchant reluctantly handed the girl a snow-white rectangle of cloth with a hole in the middle.
Really, he wanted to sell an expensive slave woman—she couldn't look like some ragamuffin caught on one of the countless islands of the Great Sea. That just wasn't serious.
Theano without the slightest embarrassment took off the shabby rag that served as her clothing and tossed it aside with disgust. She put on the new tunic, belted it, and arranged the folds beautifully.
There! Totally different now!
"Let's go already!"
Merchant Uertenu impatiently tapped his carved staff on the deck.
The respectable trader was tall, solid, with a large meaty nose. His extensive belly inspired considerable respect from those around him, and he carried it proudly, with calm dignity.
His beard, curled in small rings and arranged with every possible care, rested on his chest, covering the gold of a heavy necklace.