Part 30 (1/2)

”Not on your life,” the oarmaster grunted. ”Old Har- palus deserved a cleaner death than she gave him.”

Joe remembered the welts on his shoulders. ”Have you ever felt a whip?” he asked.

”Yes, d.a.m.n you!” the oarmaster replied in his Greek- tainted Latin. ”I've been a slave in my time.”

Joe hooked the light between their wrists. He cranked the main halliard winch until they dangled, swinging gently through the catenary arc which suspended them from maintop to mizzen b.u.t.t. ”Tell them to get my people over here in one piece.” He tapped the Roman on the kneecap again.

The Roman started yelling orders, and after the oar- master had considered the situation for a moment he joined in.

There was hammering aboard the galley. Manacles being unriveted, Joe guessed. ”Now hear this,” he said.

”All hands report on board immediately.”

Minutes pa.s.sed and no one came. Joe picked up the belaying pin. They started yelling again.

Still nothing happened. Maybe he should have taken more hostages before showing his hand.

Then there was a faint splash amids.h.i.+ps and Joe spun

in horror. He'd known these Greek swabbies were divers -why hadn't he been prepared for something like this? They were probably all around the s.h.i.+p now. And he hadn't so much as a knife at hand!

X.

HE CREPT forward toward the sound of splas.h.i.+ng. A head popped up and Joe raised the belaying pin.

”Permission to board sir?” the head asked. Joe re- leased breath in an explosive sigh. Gorson had swum around to the enlisted men's side. He clambered over the rail, faced aft, and saluted. Then he faced Joe and saluted again. ”Good to see you, sir,” the chief said.

Joe returned his salute and nodded.

”Mr. Rate,” the chief asked, ”aren't we going to show the flag?”

The question took Joe by surprise. ”Quite right,” he said after a pause. ”See to it.”

As Gorson turned Joe saw fresh welts across the bos'n's back. There was also a crease across his head where the whiplash had gouged a furrow and reopened his mangled ear.

The bos'n found the flag stuffed in a pile of blankets.

He was running it up when two more heads bobbed up on the enlisted men's side. ”Permission to board, sir?”

Villegas asked. Freedy followed him. As they faced aft and saluted Joe began to understand what power these ceremonials had over the minds of men.

While Villegas was rowing back for a load of non- swimmers more heads popped up. Rose, Cookie and

Guilbeau climbed dripping over the enlisted men's side and saluted. As befitted a civilian, Lapham came over the officer's side and faced aft, seeming to be all knees and elbows. He blinked rapidly and blew his nose be- fore facing Joe. ”Ready for duty, sir,” he said in a strange quavering voice.

Another head popped up along the enlisted men's side. It was Raquel. Unbound black hair lay wetly over her back and shoulders. The coa.r.s.e woolen dress clung beautifully. ”Permiso to boar', sair?” she asked.

Joe swallowed and returned her salute. Raquel glanced briefly at the dangling Roman and his oar- master, then turned back to Joe with an enigmatic look.

Joe had forgotten them. He went forward and un- latched the winch until they could sit again.

The Roman studied Joe with a new respect ”What is that b.l.o.o.d.y rag you wors.h.i.+p?” he asked.

”A symbol,” Joe explained, ”of the slow-footed, b.u.t.ter- fingered, bungling Great White Father whose stupidity we curse daily.”

”A strange way to wors.h.i.+p one's G.o.ds.”

”Yes, isn't it? Takes an experience like this to under- stand what's really going on when you stand at atten- tion while the squadron's father image runs up a b.l.o.o.d.y rag.”