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man. Your father spoke well of him. Never shirk any duty Ox gives you. Do your best always.”
    “I will, Grandfather.”
    The old man had gazed at the great ship with its two banks of oars and its colossal mast. Then he had shaken his head. “Be lucky, Xander, and be brave. You will find that bravery and luck are often bedfellows.”
    Xander had been rowed out to the ship just as the sun appeared in the east, its light turning the
Xanthos
to pale gold. It was a beautiful sight, and Xander felt his heart surge with joy. This wondrous vessel was to be
his
ship. He would learn to be a great seaman, like his father. Grandfather would be proud of him, and Mother, too.
    The small rowing vessel came alongside the ship, under the raised bank of oars. There were three other crewmen being ferried out, and they tossed up their sacks of belongings and scaled ropes to the deck. Xander would have done the same, but a sturdy rower moved alongside him. “Up you go, shortshanks,” he said, lifting Xander up to the lowest oar port. He had scrambled through and fallen over a narrow rowing seat.
    It was dark belowdecks and cramped, but as Xander’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw the oarsmen’s narrow seats and the planking against which they would brace their legs for the pull. Putting down his bag, he sat in a rowing seat and stretched out his legs. Grandfather was right. He was too short to brace himself. Next year, though, he thought, I will be tall enough. Gathering his bag, he made his way to the upper hatch and climbed out.
    There were already sailors on board and two passengers, wearing armor. The oldest was a grim-faced bearded man with cold, hard eyes. Xander had seen men like them before. They were Mykene, the same race as the pirates who had killed his father. Their armies roamed the western lands, plundering towns and cities, taking slaves and gold. Mykene pirates often crossed the sea to raid settlements along the coastline.
    Grandfather hated them. “They are a blood-hungry people, and they will one day come to dust,” he had said.
    The main cargo hatch was open, and Xander saw sailors carrying goods down into the hold: big clay amphorae, filled with wine or spices; large packages of pottery plates, bound in rawhide and protected by outer layers of dried bark. There were weapons, too, axes and swords, shields and helmets. Seamen with ropes were hauling up other goods. Xander moved forward to peer down into the hold. It was deep. A man came up the steps and almost bumped into him. “Be careful, boy,” he said as he moved past. Xander backed away from the working crew.
    He wandered to the deck rail and stared back at the beach, where his grandfather still stood. The old man saw him and waved. Xander waved back, suddenly fearful. He was about to go on a voyage, and the immensity of the adventure threatened to overwhelm him.
    Then a massive hand settled on his shoulder. Xander jumped and swung around. An enormous bald-headed man with a forked black beard stood there.
    “I am Zidantas,” he said. “You are the son of Akamas?”
    “I am Xander.”
    The giant nodded. “Your father spoke of you with some pride. On this voyage you will learn how to be useful. You are too small to row and too young to fight, so you will help those who
can
do those things. You will carry water to the rowers and perform any tasks asked of you. When my other duties permit I will show you how to tie knots, how to reef the sail, and so forth. Other than that you will keep out of the way and watch what men do. That is how we learn, Xander. It will be some time before we are ready to sail. It is taking far longer to load than we expected, and the wind is against us. So find somewhere out of the way and wait until the sail has been set. Then come to me on the rear deck.”
    Zidantas strode away, and the fear of the unknown returned to Xander. Too young to fight, Zidantas had said. What if they were attacked by pirates? What if he was to die like