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that none of his ships had been lost. Yes, there was always luck involved, but more important, at the end of every trading season those ships were checked by carpenters, drawn up on beaches, and debarnacled. Necessary repairs were undertaken. The crews were carefully chosen, and the captains were men of great experience. Not one of his fifty galleys ever sailed overladen or took unnecessary risks in the name of greater profits.
    With the storm passed, the day’s crossing to the mainland coast would be a gentle test for the new ship, allowing the crew members to grow accustomed to her—and to one another. The boatman’s comment about the local sailors was correct. It had not been easy finding skilled men willing to sail on the
Xanthos,
and they were still some twenty short. Zidantas had scoured the port seeking sailors to join them. Helikaon smiled. They could have filled the quota twice over, but Zidantas was a harsh judge. “Better to be short with good men, then full with dross,” he argued. “Saw one man. A Gyppto. Already assigned to the
Mirion.
If I see him in Troy, I’ll try again.”
    “Gypptos are not used to galley work, Ox,” Helikaon pointed out.
    “This one would be,” Zidantas replied. “Strong. Heart like an oak. No give in him.”
    A light breeze drifted across the deck. Helikaon walked to the starboard rail and saw that many of the small cargo boats were making their way back to the shore. The last of the trade items were being loaded. By the port rail he saw the youngest member of his crew, the boy Xander, sitting quietly awaiting orders. Another child of sorrow, thought Helikaon.
    Just after dawn that morning, as he had prepared to depart, Phaedra had come to him. “You must see this,” she said, leading Helikaon through to the bedroom put aside for the sick woman. The child Phia had been given her own room but had crept back to be with her mother. The two were fast asleep, the child’s arm laid protectively across her mother’s chest.
    “Thank you for taking them in,” he replied, as Phaedra quietly closed the door once more.
    “You gave me all this, Helikaon. How can
you
thank
me
?”
    “I must go. You understand that I meant what I told the child. They stay for as long as they wish.”
    “Of course. It was lucky Phia found you. The healer said the mother would probably have been dead by morning.”
    “If you need anything, I have instructed Parikles to supply it.”
    “You take care. Of all my lovers you are the most dear to me.”
    He had laughed then and drawn her into an embrace, lifting her from her feet and swinging her around. “And your friendship is beyond price,” he said.
    “Just as well my body isn’t,” she responded. “Otherwise I might have been living like Phia’s mother in that hovel.”
    Smiling at the memory, he scanned the ship. The two Mykene passengers were standing on the port side. Both wore armor and had swords scabbarded at their hips. The older of them, the chisel-bearded Argurios, stared up at him, his gaze openly malevolent.
    You would like to kill me, Helikaon thought. To avenge Alektruon. But you will come at me face-to-face, Argurios. No dagger in the back, no poison in the cup. The young man beside Argurios spoke then, and the warrior swung to face him. Helikaon continued to watch him. Argurios was not a big man, though his arms were heavily muscled. They were also crisscrossed with many scars of combat. Stories of heroes were told in every port on the Great Green, spread by sailors who loved tales of combat and bravery. Argurios was featured in many of those tales. He had fought in battles all across the western lands, from Sparta in the south to Thessaly in the north and even to the borders of Thraki. All the stories told of his courage, and not one spoke of rape, torture, or assassination.
    Helikaon’s thoughts swung back to the man who had followed him in Kypros. He had thought he had the assassin trapped at Phaedra’s house. Zidantas and