"David Gemmel - Troy 01 - Lord of the Silver Bow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

ship began to tip. Then it slid into a trough, and a second wave swamped it. Gershom heard a rending
sound as planks gave way beneath the weight of the water. The sea surged in, and—driven down by
the mass of its copper cargo—the galley sank within moments.
As he clung to the ruined decking, it occurred to Gershom that he probably had mined some of the
copper that had doomed the ship he sailed on.
The stern face of his grandfather appeared in his mind. “You bring your troubles on yourself, boy.”
That was certainly true tonight.
On the other hand, Gershom reasoned, without the backbreaking labor in the mines he would not
have built the strength to endure the power of the storm.
No doubt it would have pleased his grandfather to see Gershom working in the mine in those early
days, his soft hands blistered and bleeding, to earn in a month what at home he would have spent in a
heartbeat. By night, in a filthy dugout, he had slept beneath a single threadbare blanket as ants
crawled on his weary flesh. No servant girls to tend his needs, no slaves to prepare his clothing. No
heads bowed now as he passed. No one to flatter him. At the palace and the farms his grandfather
owned all the women told him how wonderful he was, how masculine and strong. What a joy it was to
be in his company. Gershom sighed. On Kypros the only available women for mine workers said
exactly the same thing—as long as a man had copper rings to offer.
Lightning lit the sky to the south. Perhaps the storm is passing, he thought.
Thoughts of grandfather came again, and with them a sense of shame. He was being unfair to the man.
He would not glory in Gershom’s downfall, any more than he would have taken pleasure from the
public execution he had ordered for his grandson. Gershom had fled the city, heading out to the coast,
where he took ship to Kypros.
He would have stayed on there in Kypros if he had not seen a group of Egypteians in the town a few
days before. He had recognized two of them, both scribes to a merchant who had visited his
grandfather’s palace. One of the scribes had stared at him. By then Gershom was thickly bearded, his
hair long and unkempt, but he was not sure it was enough.
Gathering the last of the copper rings he had earned in the mine, he had wandered to the harbor and
sat on the beach, staring out at the ships in the bay.
A bandy-legged old man approached him, his skin leathery, his face deeply lined. “Looking for sea
work?” he asked.
“I could be.”
The man noted Gershom’s heavy accent. “Gyppto, are you?”
Gershom nodded.
“Good sailors, the Gypptos. And you have the shoulders of a fine oarsman.” The old man hunkered
down, picked up a stone, and hurled it out over the waves. “Several ships looking for men.”
“How about that one?” Gershom asked, pointing to a huge, sleek double-decked galley at anchor out
in the bay. It was beautiful, crafted from red oak, and he counted forty oars on the starboard side. In
the fading sunlight the hull had a golden gleam. Gershom had never seen a ship so large.
“Only if you yearn for death,” said the old man. “It is too big.”
“Too big? Why is that bad?” Gershom asked.
“The great god Poseidon does not suffer large ships. He snaps them in two.”
Gershom laughed, thinking it was a jest.
The old man looked offended. “You obviously do not know the sea, young fellow,” he said stiffly.
“Every year arrogant shipwrights build larger craft. Every year they sink. If not the gods, then what
could cause such catastrophes?”
“I apologize, sir,” Gershom said, not wishing to cause further offense. “But that ship does not seem to
be sinking.”
“It is the Golden One’s new ship,” said the man. “Built for him by a madman no one else would
employ. It won’t have a full crew. Even the half-witted sailors around here have refused to serve on it.
The Golden One has ferried in seamen from the outer islands to man it.” He chuckled. “Even some of