Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(35)
Remembering that he needed to learn about the warship’s construction while he was here, Aristocles ignored the men and instead scanned the deck, running his eyes over the timbers and mast. But he realized swiftly that with the lower decks sealed by boxlike coverings placed over the hatches there was only so much he could learn. The mast was tall and as thick as a man’s waist; it would have been a mighty tree in life. The oars were all down below. Kargan had risked little by inviting the consuls to this departure feast, for this beast’s skeleton and muscles were all hidden from view.
Aristocles made a quick count and saw that while the top deck appeared crowded, with one hundred and twenty oarsmen alone – slaves, all of them, knowing the Ileans – only a small proportion of the crew was present. The ship would be crowded below decks.
He nodded as a slave handed him a wooden cup filled with wine, but Aristocles felt unsettled. It was strange to be feasting, while just a few feet below this very deck, over a hundred miserable souls huddled on their rowing benches, resting before their work began with the dawn.
‘Now it is my turn to serve you wine,’ Kargan’s voice boomed as he seated himself near Aristocles, pushing aside one of the other consuls in the process.
And with those words, the banquet began.
The drum’s rhythm and volume increased. Conversation became loud and laughter more frequent. The only light was the dim crimson glow of the coals in the iron bowls, illuminating faces with reddish tones, lending an eerie feeling to the festive mood.
Food came after the wine. Aristocles ate his fill – it would be rude to do otherwise – but then his heart sank as more slaves brought yet more food. It was Phalesian fare, sourced from the agora, and as good as anything Aristocles ate at his own table. Well-trained slaves handed out a cold assortment of olives, nuts, fresh and dried cheeses, flat bread, figs, roasted goat, pig ears, and smoked fish. Some unfamiliar spices had been liberally sprinkled over the meats, but Aristocles found the flavors surprisingly pleasant.
Kargan ate everything, and insisted Aristocles do the same. He drained his cup with every mouthful and waited expectantly, watching and scowling, his glare becoming ever more fierce until the first consul’s wine cup was empty. It would then be refilled immediately.
Checking on his daughter, Aristocles saw that an Ilean officer was regaling Chloe and Nilus with a bawdy tale. Some of the humor appeared to be lost on the Phalesians, and when the Ilean laughed uproariously Chloe merely smiled, while Nilus looked bemused.
Kargan and Aristocles spoke of Phalesian cooking and Sarsican wine – the warship’s commander said that for the banquet he’d gone to the market and asked the wine sellers to supply him with the same wine they sold to the first consul. They talked about the weather in Ilea and the places the wealthy went to escape the heat of summer. Aristocles tried to discuss music, but the mind-numbing repetition of the drums appeared to be enough for Kargan’s senses.
‘More food!’ Kargan shouted.
The wine was taking its toll, and Aristocles was wondering whether the time was before midnight or after when Nilus leaned forward. ‘How long will this go on?’
Kargan overheard him. He grabbed Nilus’s upper arm and pulled him over, so that Nilus tumbled on top of the swarthy master of the Nexotardis in a tangle of white cloth.
‘This is a real banquet,’ Kargan roared into Nilus’s ear. ‘It will go on until the last star vanishes, of course. More wine for the consul!’
Nilus righted himself and rearranged his tunic as well he could given his unfocused eyes and the way his fingers kept grasping on empty air. His round face was bright red.
Still the wine kept coming.
Kargan started to dance with his men, performing a strange jig with arms spread and fingers clicking together in time to the drums. Hopping from foot to foot, shifting around a circle formed with four others, he started to sing with such gusto that Aristocles wondered if the entire city behind the harbor could hear him. The four other dancers knew the words and formed a humming chorus like the chant of a priest.
Chloe was now seated on Aristocles’ left, and as the drums finally faded away Kargan again sat down heavily on his other side. Across from them Nilus’s head was nodding as he struggled to keep awake. The symposiums the consuls and merchants hosted often went late, but never was such a quantity of wine consumed.
‘Now,’ Kargan said. He turned his dark eyes on Aristocles. ‘I am asking you seriously. The sun king desires gold above all else. We have silver. How much do you want for the ark? Name your price.’
Aristocles stiffened and saw that Nilus was suddenly awake and scowling. He reminded himself that he was Phalesia’s first consul and tried not to appear offended.
‘It is not – and will never be – for sale,’ Aristocles said. ‘But if it’s gold you want, we have many fine jewelers—’
Kargan barked a laugh and clapped Aristocles so hard on the back that he spilled wine over his tunic. ‘I had to try.’ He turned his head from side to side and frowned. ‘Music! Where is the musician?’
‘He fell asleep, lord.’
‘Throw him overboard! The stars are still out!’
Kargan lurched as he stood up and then walked three steps to the rail, facing outward, then began to urinate noisily over the side.
‘Perhaps we should make our way—’ Nilus said.