Ahead, Aristocles could see the unmistakable bulk of the unpainted Ilean warship, the Nexotardis, its outline horizontal at the sides but ingeniously curved upward at both ends. The bireme occupied its own piece of shore at the bay’s far end and had been given a wide berth by the Phalesians ever since its arrival. The ship’s repairs were finished now, and it looked fit and ready to depart.

‘I don’t know,’ Aristocles said.

Sixty Phalesian hoplites stood on the beach, a careful distance from the warship, at their ease but standing close by as an additional precaution. Kargan had said he would depart with the dawn. The soldiers would stay until he left.

‘Amos and his men are already here.’ Nilus nodded in their direction. ‘Chloe, if you want to leave early, have some soldiers escort you.’

For the first time, as they approached the bireme, Aristocles found himself close enough to read the lettering on her side. ‘Nexotardis,’ he read.

‘A strange name, and a strange people,’ Nilus said. ‘They insist we give their ship a wide berth, and then they invite us on board for a farewell banquet. I will never understand them.’

‘What is important is that we understand this ship,’ one of the other consuls said. ‘This is our chance to see it up close.’

‘Everyone, keep your eyes and ears open,’ Aristocles said. ‘Ask many questions and answer few.’

‘And why invite your daughter?’ Nilus was shaking his head.

‘Kargan asked for a musician and suggested Chloe. I couldn’t deny her existence, given the fact that he has met her.’

‘Father gave me the option of refusing,’ Chloe said.

Aristocles took in the sight of the bireme as they walked to the lowered gangway, little more than a plank with steps fitted at regular intervals. He’d seen bigger merchant vessels, but this was easily the largest warship he’d ever encountered. He looked at the spike of the bronze ram, prominently visible with the warship drawn up on the beach bow first. He tried not to stare too hard, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

‘Aristocles,’ Nilus whispered. ‘Face front.’

Aristocles led Chloe up the gangway, their progress made easier by the fact that they wore no boots or sandals. Reaching the top deck, open to the elements, he was confronted by a long space of planks worn smooth by the passage of countless feet, cleared for the occasion. The section of decking farthest from shore, behind the big mast, had been set up for a banquet. Cushions clustered in piles beside carpets woven with strange dizzying patterns. Swarthy bare-chested men in loose loincloths held small wine jugs ready to pour. Immense iron bowls used as braziers cast warm light, tended unceasingly by dedicated slaves, for the danger of fire aboard a wooden ship was obvious.