CHAPTER FOUR
“Oars out!”
At Achilles’ command the rowers thrust their oars through the locks and over the water.
“To the water, reach!” The rowers stretched forward on their benches, towards the rear of the ship. Behind them, the oars snapped into the water.
“Stroke!” Achilles thundered. Buono and the other men leaned back in their benches and pulled the oars to their chests with a shout, “Heigh!” It took a few seconds to complete the stroke with their long oars.
“Lift it, Buono, lift!” his seatmate cried. All the oars but one rose dripping out of the water. The men reached forward with a “Ho!” Buono’s oar gnashed the water and skipped across the surface.
“Come on, catch up now!” he exhorted Buono. “Help me just a bit, would you?” Together, they wrestled the oar forward and plunged it into the water an instant after the others.
“Heigh!” Again Buono leaned into the stroke.
“You lift, then reach,” his seatmate said. “Christ, man, I thought you knew how to row!”
“It’s different,” Buono puffed, “when it’s just yourself in the boat and the oar weighs less than millstone.”
“You’ll learn the way of it. Ho! That was better. A bit early, but better. You’ve a fair pull.”
“Thank you. Heigh!”
“But you have to be efficient. You fight – Ho! – You fight it too much. You waste your energy. What’s worse, you waste mine. Heigh!”
“You mean, move it just when you do,” Buono said. “Ho!”
“Right. Pull as I pull, push as I – Heigh! – push, and never a wobble.”
“I’ll do my best. Sorry, what – Ho! – what did you say your name was? So many men at once, I couldn’t – Heigh!”
“Devin. From Brittany.”
“Ho! Thank you, Devin. You’ve been extremely kind to me. Heigh!”
“Have to be, don’t I? I have to share a bench with your landsman’s arse. Ho!”
The Sant’Agata churned through the water under oars at an easy cruise. At Paolo’s command the sailors hoisted the sail and lashed it to the yard.
“I hate to ask this, Devin,” Buono began. “Heigh!”
“Is it a stupid question? I love stupid questions.”
“Ho! Perhaps. How long do we row?”
“Until Achilles decides we need – Heigh! – a rest,” Guillame said. “Christ, that was a stupid one. Ho!”
“How did you fare against him?” Buono asked.
“Heigh! Broke my arm, the great dark bugger. Ho!”
“Really?”
“Said I hurried him. Was quite apologetic. Heigh!”
They rowed on without any conversation other than ‘Ho!’ and ‘Heigh!’. Buono lost track of the time. He was certain he had been rowing for hours. He looked up at the sun. It seemed to be at the same spot, just under the cross between mast and yard, it had been when he rowed the first stroke.
“Watch it, Buono, you’re slipping,” Devin said “Come on now, with the ‘heigh’ and the ‘ho’. I can’t barely hear you.”
“Trying,” Buono muttered.
“Try harder,” Devin said. “Heigh! And you’d best do it fast…”
“Well, I…”
“…because Achilles is staring right at you, my boy. Ho!”