Paolo had not posted a lookout on the mast, so a man in the bow saw it first—

“Land! Siracusa harbor ahead!”

An hour of easy rowing brought the Sant’Agata to the quay. Buono and the other rowers wheeled her slowly in place until she pointed her stern to the dock. They tied up and dropped a pair of anchors from the bow. Buono got up with the rest of the rowers and stretched out his legs. Devin passed him a skin of wine.

“You’ll like Siracusa, you will,” Devin said. “A fine town. How’s your Greek?”

“I re—” Buono caught himself. He’d almost said, ‘I read Greek better than I speak it.’

“My Greek’s all right, I suppose,” he said instead.

“Good!” Devin winked and grinned. “You can do the talking, then. I know just where to go.”

“Where are we going?” Buono asked.

Devin glanced skyward as though praying. “Where’d this one come from? A monestary? To get laid, Buono! To get laid!”

“Oh!”

“Starboard-quarter section!” Achilles called.

“Ah, good!” Devin said, “We get our shore-leave first—we’ll have our pick of the ladies before they’re all tired out. Come on!” He dragged Buono astern by his elbow.

They passed Achilles on the gangplank ramp, who put a few bronze coins into each man’s hand.

“That’s all?” Devin scoffed. “For rowing your big black arse all the way to Sicily?”

Achilles laughed from his belly. His open-hand slap to Devin’s ear knocked the grin from the Celt’s face. “The Captain wants you back in two hours. You get paid off when the voyage is over, in Venice. Now get off!” He shoved Devin down the ramp, and Buono followed.

“All right,” Devin said, counting the coins, “we’ve enough to get drunk or get laid, but not both. What’s your vote?”

“Drunk,” Buono answered without hesitation.

“Excellent choice,” Devin said. “Considering the girl you could get with this much bronze, you’d need to be drunk first anyway.”

“Hi! Wait for me!” Elihu jogged after them on the quay, holding up the skirts of his black robe in both hands. “Where are you going?”

“To the book-sellers, of course, and after that a nice hot shave and a stroll in the all-buggering gardens,” Devin said.

The sarcasm missed Elihu entirely. “Sounds fine! Excepting the shave, of course. I’m hoping to find a volume of Herodotus I’m missing.”

“Which?” Buono asked.

“The one with the ants. I used to have—”

“Pardon me, learned physician,” Devin interrupted, “but friend Buono and I have already made a solemn plan as rowing-brothers to get horribly, stinking, self-soiling—”

“He has money,” Buono whispered in Devin’s ear. “His fees, remember?”

“Heroditis! Ants! Fascinating!” Devin gushed. “To the booksellers we go! But could we stop for a bite and a swallow first? To lubricate the intellect, mind you.”

Elihu shrugged. “I suppose I could eat something. Can you find us a place that keeps kashrut, Devin? A nice quiet place?”

Devin took Elihu by the arm and led him down a grimy alley. “This is Siracusa! I can find anything, given enough coin.”

Buono glanced back over his shoulder. The dock area disappeared out of sight as he followed around Devin around corners and between buildings. In minutes he had no idea which direction he faced or how far he had walked.

“What is it, Master Achilles?” Buono asked without turning around.

“I want to know if you’re tired, landsman,” Achilles said in his ear.

“Of course I am. I’ve been tired for days. Everyone’s tired.”

“Did you all hear that?” Achilles’ screaming, hot breath burned the hairs in Buono’s ear. “Landsman says you’re tired! Are you tired?”

“Heigh,” the rowers chorused. “No, Achilles!”

“Hear that? They’re not tired.”

“They lie,” Buono answered.

“Do you want a rest?” Achilles whispered.

“Is it up to me?”

“Ha! No.”

“Then I’ll not answer,” Buono grunted.

“But you do want one, don’t you landsman?”

“Achilles, when do you stop calling me that? I only want to know.”

“I like you,” Achilles said. “Really, I do.” He slapped the back of Buono’s head, cupping his huge hand to strike both sides of his skull at once. Buono pitched forward but managed to keep from smacking his forehead on the oar.

“That didn’t hurt you?” Achilles said.

“You sound concerned,” Buono replied. “But honestly, I can’t tell anymore.”

Achilles stepped out from between the rowing-benches. “Oars out! Drift! Ship oars! Rest.”

Men rushed past Buono to lower the sail. His arms and legs crunched together in stiff, trembling knots. His back and the muscles under his ribs burned and shivered.

He leaned back and looked up, taking in the huge square sheet of linen unfurling overhead. Cool wind brushed his cheek, and Buono frowned. Something was wrong.

The other rowers sprawled around Buono, chattering and laughing easily. Buono sat up straight and pounded his thighs lightly with his fists.

“What are you doing, then?” Devin asked him, laying flat on the bench.

“Just keeping my limbs from going stiff.”

“Oh, my poor boy,” Devin said. “Just let ‘em go. Achilles won’t murder you. Today. He always rests us for at least a couple hours. Might even call up some dinner.”

Buono hugged his arms together, rubbing both triceps. “A couple hours? Even if the wind blows the wrong way?”

Devin and Buono looked up together. High, straight clouds approached from the south. The sail, full with breeze from the north, began to roll and snap.

“Up! Up!” Achilles bellowed. “Oars in! Strike the sail! Before we’re taken aback–move, now!”

The wind slapped at Buono’s face and whistled in his ears. He picked up the oar and brought it to his chest. “Heigh!”

Devin groaned and pushed the oar. “I think my elbow’s gone a-missing, Buono. How did you know?”

Buono shrugged and his shoulders crackled. “Ho!” The crew pulled the sail up tight against the yard. “I’ve no earthly idea.”

Until then, Buono’s Tale is on hiatus.

“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!”

“You’re the new man,” a cheerful voice behind him said.

Buono turned. He saw a tanned and care-lined face surrounded by grey-shot hair. The other man’s beard was bushy and untrimmed. He wore a soft black cap and dull, dark robes.

“I’m Elihu. Physician. How did you fare against Achilles?”

Buono laughed. “You mean before he lifted me up over his head, or after? Didn’t you see?”

“No, no,” Elihu said, scratching the side of his nose with a long fingernail. “I never watch fighting if I can help it. I can tell enough from the results.”

“What do you see, physician?”

Elihu studied the marks on Buono’s face. “You stood too close to him. Let me have your left hand.”

“My chest hurts the most,” Buono said, “He–”

“Quiet,” Elihu ordered. He put his fingers on the vein in Buono’s wrist and counted the seconds to himself. “echad…shtayim…shalosh…arba…” Buono didn’t recognize the language.

“Fluttering. Like a bird with a broken wing,” Elihu said. “You shouldn’t drink so much.”

“You can tell I was drinking?”

“I can tell a lot of things. How did you hurt your kidney?”

“What?” Buono had to think about it. “Oh– that was before. Someone punched me.”

Elihu nodded slowly. “I didn’t think Achilles did that to you. From the look of your face, he was quite gentle.”

“Gentle?! He nearly crushed my heart!”

“Tch. Your heart is fine.” Elihu rummaged in a large bag. “I can give you a draught to help your bile. Drink  plenty of clean water if you can get it. No more wine today.”

“All right,” Buono agreed.

“Close your eyes, please.”

Buono did it. An instant later he screamed–every cut and mark Achilles had made on his face was burning. The stabbing pain shot through his head and made his teeth rattle. He opened his eyes, and saw Elihu taking a white cloth away from his face.

“What — what was that?” Buono demanded.

“Try to keep your face clean,” Elihu answered. “And remember what I said about the water.”

“What are you?” Buono asked. “Some kind of sorcerer?”

“Tch. You’re smarter than that, I think. By the way, you owe me a denarius.”

“I haven’t–”

“Don’t worry,” Elihu said, “Master Achilles will take it from your pay. Shalom! Welcome aboard the ship Sant’Agata.”

“It’s Buono.” He sat on the deck, afraid he’d fall if he tried to stand. He turned his head to Paolo. “Now what?”

Paolo laughed. “So eager! Rest. You’ve had a hard day, Buono. I’ll have the physician look at you. Tomorrow you row, unless this good north wind holds.”

“But– I failed.”

Achilles grinned down at Buono. “I like this one, Captain.” He offered his right hand and Buono took it. He let Achilles pull him to his feet.

“You mean, you think you had to beat him to join my crew?” Paolo said. “You? Ha! Just look at him! He’s magnificent! No. Achilles is my rowing-master and first mate. I keep an orderly ship. I don’t have time for every malcontent who wants to measure his cock. Every man in the crew has fought Achilles, and he’s beaten them all. Every man who gets the idea to challenge his authority already knows how it will turn out.”

“I think I could have known that without the lesson. But what if someone ever beats Achilles?” Buono asked.

“Well, I had another rowing-master before him,” Paolo said. “That one’s name was Hector.”

“You’re joking.”

“Perhaps I am.” Paolo turned to the assembled crew. “You lot! What are you staring at? We’ve fallen a point off the wind. Back to work!”

The crew dispersed, leaving Buono and Achilles alone on the fore-deck. Achilles still gripped Buono’s hand, steadying him.

“I think you made a mark on my neck, Buono.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a fair strike. I should have respected you more, kept my chin down.” Achilles paused. “There is a saying in my country: ‘Do not make a smaller man scared, for he will find a way to kill you.’ Are you scared of me, Buono?”

“Master Achilles, I am too hungry to be scared.”

“Ah, that explains it. We have another saying: ‘Always fight with your belly empty!’”

Achilles called for bread, and a sailor brought half a loaf to the foredeck. Just then the wind began to fail. The great white sail went limp as air spilled from it.

“Man the benches!” Achilleus shouted. The crew jumped to their positions and grasped the oars. Achilles barked the stroke and they rowed in unison.

“And you!” Achilles pointed to Buono, tearing at the bread with his teeth. Buono froze with a ragged hunk of it hanging from his mouth. “You, keep a watch off the bow. Sing out if you see any more rowboats!” Achilles laughed from his belly, a deep bass rumble. “Heigh! Ho! Heigh! Ho!” he called to the rowers. The galley churned on south, out of the Malamocco channel and into the Adriatic Sea.

“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.

“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.”

“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.

Here’s my Babelfish- assisted translation. I’ve highlighted all the parts which were completely made up by me - including Rustico’s given name and the name of their ship. The article writer made a couple of mistakes even cribbing my made-up history: Buono has three daughters in 827 and no sons, and he has assumed that “ben Moische” is Elihu and Rebekah’s surname, when actually it means “Son of Moses” and applies to Elihu only.

Color Coding:

RED: I made it up completely.

BLUE: I put it in the book as an educated guess: I made it up but it could well have been true.

BLACK: comes from the legends I heard from other sources

[ ] means I’m not too sure of the word.

 “Buono” da Malamocco (Metamauco) Legendary Personage

Named Tribune by the tenth doge of Venice Agnello Partecipazio after the war of 810 against the Frank Pepin, king of Italy, was made spokesman for the people and guarantor of social justice. The tribunes were inviolable in the times of the Empire.

The house of Buono was, as was traditional, open day and night to listen to every kind of [problem]. For the joy of his wife Magdalena wife and their three sons, when Buono was not at sea, he would take his station very seriously and remained seated on a simple bench for hours to listen to his [concittadini].

Buono da Metamauco was with then-Tribune Agnello Partecipazio and Andrea the Torcellan called “Rustico”, on one of the Venetian galleys that faced victoriously, in a brave and hopeless battle, that took place not far from the Rialtine islands, against Pepin’s ships that entered the lagoon in 810 in lagoon with a fleet from neighboring Ravenna.

He then remained in the seafaring world, arming a ship the “San Nicola” and travelling as her captain, [among] the Venetian merchants, throughout the Mediterranean and especially the Eastern routes to Alexandria and Constantinople.

Everyone knew that only the expert Venetians could hope to navigate in winter in the open sea and without stars.

The “San Nicola” had a crew of companions: a former carpenter who became a skillful merchant “Rustico” Andrea of Torcello, who since 822 was also his partner, and even first mate of the San Nicola and an old Hebrew doctor who fights with both against the Franks, Elihu ben Moische.

In November 827 on orders of the new doge Giustiniano Partecipazio, contrary to the decree of the Byzantine Emperor Leo V the Armenian (813 - 820) and ratified by the same Duke Giustiniano, that forbade commerce with the Arabs, [setting out with] the fleet of 10 ships, with which they were partners, in the first days of December 827 from Venice, berthing in the port of Alexandria, Egypt, with the mission to steal to the relics of Saint Mark the Evangelist.

They successfully hid the bones of the saint within a cask filled with cuts of pork and cauliflowers, thus to avoid the Muslim customs controls, who with the cry “Kinzir - Kinzir” (pig, pig) went away spitting.

They arrived in Venice in glory, [traditionally] on 31 January 828. 

Doge Giustinian paid Buono and Rustico 100 pounds of silver with which the two heroes, according to tradtion, finished the construction of the oratory of the church of Saint Mark in Torcello.
Crew of the San Nicola:
Buono da Malamocco (Captain) Andrea da Torcello, “Rustico” (First Mate) Pietro, (Second Mate) Giacomo (sailor) Emilio (sailor) Giuseppe “Giusto” Baseio (Doge’s official) Brutus, “Brutto” (soldier) Hubert called  “Franco” du Gascoyne (soldier) Elihu ben Moische (Physician) Rebekah (apprentice physician) Nikos (sailor) Medes (sailor)