Buono’s Tale

“Fight him?”

Paolo nodded. “That’s right.”

“You look tired, landsman,” Achilles said, “Don’t worry, this won’t take long.”

“What do… How do we…” Buono stammered.

“God’s balls, how stupid are you?” Paolo said. “You fight until you can’t fight anymore. Now begin!”

Achilles eased into a crouch and spread his arms. The span was enormous. Smooth, hard muscles like tree-roots bulged in his thighs and his calves were thick-edged iron plates.

Buono stood stiff-legged on the flat soles of his feet and raised his hands. The sleeves of his tunic fell to his shoulders.

“Come on,” Achilles said. “Knock me down.”

It looked impossible. Then Buono remembered the way to cut down a tree: strike low. He rushed at Achilles, waving his arms. At the last moment he dropped down and grabbed for one huge thigh with both arms.

Achilles pushed him off with one broad hand. It caught Buono in the same spot where he’d been puched earlier. He wheezed and toppled backwards. His head struck the deck with a ‘crack’.

Achilles grinned. “Good idea. But you’re too slow and weak.” He stepped back and let Buono get up.

The crew hooted and whistled at Buono. He rubbed the hurt on the back of his head. His fingers came away blood-stained. Buono wobbled, ready to faint. Achilles came closer. There was the smile again, bright white in his deep-brown face.

Buono clenched his right hand into a fist. He sunk down into a crouch. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Not really.” Achilles shrugged. “But it has to be–” Buono’s fist slammed into his throat, choking off his words. Achilles dodged as Buono swatted at him a second time, and a third. He put his hands up and made two fists. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“I like you, landsman.” Achilles snapped a jab into Buono’s temple. “Really, I do.” Two more jabs peppered his right cheek. “Most of them just try to run.” Buono raised his hands to block. Achilles hit him anyway. “At least you faced me. But as I said, you’re too slow and weak.” He slapped Buono’s face aside, then came down with a hammer-fist on his chest.

Buono dropped to a knee, gasping.

“Come on, landsman. Do you have one more trick? Just one more? I want to know what it is.” 

Buono saw Achilles looming over him as a hazy, dark cloud. His head felt as light and empty as his stomach and his chest burned with raw pain. He lurched toward Achilles, trying to clinch with him. Achilles raised his knee into Buono’s belly. He collapsed into the big man, sucking air.

Achilles clucked his tongue. He seized Buono’s tunic collar in one hand and his leg in the other. With a snap and a twist, Achilles lifted Buono’s body to his chest. He bent his legs and sprang up, driving Buono over his head. Achilles locked his elbows and held him there.

“What now, landsman?” Achilles asked. “Do you still want to join this crew? Or shall I put you back in your rowboat?”

“Yes! No! I mean, I submit. I give up! I can’t fight any more– I can’t. Please!”

The crew was silent. Achilles glanced at Paolo.

“Put him down,” the captain ordered.

It took Buono a moment to realize he wasn’t falling into the sea with the oar. The rope was still attached to the ship.

“Are you going to pull me up?” he called.

“No!”

Buono sighed. His arms burned and his fingers felt ready to crack. He was afraid that if he let go with either hand he wouldn’t be able to grip the rope again.

The ship’s side was made of wooden planks stitched together with hide and caulked with pitch. Buono kicked off his other sandal and dug his toes into a seam in the planking. He pushed up from his toes, hanging away from the vertical surface of the ship’s side, and pulled himself up the rope a hand’s- breadth at a time.

Finally Buono reached the rail. He got his head and shoulders up above it and looked around the deck. It was filled with rowing benches. Most of the men sat idle on them. A few sailors minded the incomprehensible system of lines that controlled the sail. No one made a move to help Buono. He noticed that someone had tied the end of his rope to some kind of peg. He dragged on the rope and managed to swing his leg over the rail.

The sailors waited until Buono clambered aboard, shaking and barefoot. A man who’d been trimming rope-ends and tying them together sheathed a big knife and approached Buono.

“So you finally got yourself aboard. I suppose I should welcome you.”

“No thanks to you!” Buono retorted.

“Oh?” The sailor pointed the ship’s rail. “That lubbers’ knot you made slipped off the oar as soon as you threw it. Two men dove for your line and held it fast while another belay’d it to the pin. After that, we figured we’d done enough.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Honestly, we wanted to see what landsmans’ foolishness you’d try next. Now, what made you so desperate as to wreck a perfectly good rowboat?”

“I wanted to see Paolo. He told me I should come find him.”

The sailor raised an eyebrow. “He owes you money, then?”

“Actually I owe him money. And my life.” Buono said.

The sailor rolled his eyes. “Oh God. One of those.” He led Buono past the mast and the rowing benches to a raised section of deck near the stern. Two men held the steering-oars on either side of the ship. Captain Paolo stood in the center. When he saw Buono he nearly doubled over chuckling.

“You! Clearly the Lord must want you to live, but you shouldn’t tempt Him so many times in one day.”

“You said I should come find you. You didn’t say you were sailing for Syracuse.”

“I didn’t think you’d take so long,” Paolo said. “My God you did get drunk, didn’t you? You got very drunk.”

“I’m not proud of it,” Buono admitted. “But here I am.”

“Well, I don’t take passengers.” Paolo said.

“Then I’ll join your crew.”

The sailors laughed and pointed at Buono. “Him? Look what he did to the damned rowboat!”

“He’s a Jonah!”

“He’s worse than a Jonah, the man’s a curse!”

Paolo quieted them with a raised hand. “He’s a stupid, goat-buggering landsman but he rowed to the one spot he couldn’t fail to meet us and he got himself aboard. If he could do that with nothing but shit between his ears, imagine what he might be capable of!”

“Was that a compliment?” Buono asked.

“Of the highest sort,” Paolo said. “And now Master Achilles will pay you another.” He took Buono by the arm and walked him to the front of the ship.

“Achilles! Achilles!” the crew chanted. They rushed from the benches to form a ring in front of the mast.  A man stepped out from their midst, a head higher than Buono and half again as wide. His skin was light brown like an olive stone. He stared deep black eyes at Buono over a thin arrow of a nose. Short kinks of black hair framed his head like a crown.

He shrugged his arms and shoulders out of his buff-colord tunic and let the top fall to his waist. His upper chest was a dark slab of muscle and his arms were like thick-knotted rope.

“Buono, you called yourself, yes?” Paolo said. “Buono, this is Achilles. Achilles, Buono.”

Achilles showed Buono a wide smile of ice-white teeth. “How do you do.”

“If you want to join my crew,” Paolo said, “you’ll have to fight Achilles.”

THREE

“You! In the boat!” a man hailed from the ship’s bow-post. “Get out of the channel!”

“I want to come aboard!” Buono replied. He waved his arms vigorously, rocking the little boat from side to side. “Stop the ship!”

“You stupid goat-sucking landsman! We’re under sail!”

The thick timber of the galley’s bow-post aimed squarely at the middle of Buono’s boat. A man-high wake rolled from either side of the bow.

“Oh my.” Buono stepped down from the bench into the boat’s bottom, pitching the craft to one side and nearly hurling himself into the water. He fell to his knees and gripped both gunwales. Buono picked up one oar and looked for the other– it was gone.

“Get out of the way, landsman!”

The galley was bearing down. Its huge sail towered over Buono. Wthout quite knowing why he was doing it, he untied a coil of line from the stern. He looped one end around the oar-shaft and made a knot.

“Ai! Ai! Collision! Ai!” The sailor in the ship’s bow was close enough for Buono to see an angry vein pulse in his forehead.

Buono stood, holding the oar over his shoulder like a spear. His left hand held the other end of the line. Spray from the ship’s bow stung his face. Buono reared back and heaved the oar blade-first. It struck the edge of the ship’s rail and tumbled over.

The rowboat shattered with a crunch as the ship’s bow tore through it. Gray splintered planks littered the water’s surface. Buono held the line tight in both hands. His body banged into the ship’s side.

“Pull me up!” Buono screamed. “Please!” His numb fingers slipped down the rope. The frothing wake bathed his legs and carried away one of his sandals.

A laughing face appeared over the ship’s rail. “Here, landsman–this belongs to you!”

Buono watched as the oar he’d thrown aboard the ship sailed over the rail and into the sea.