The sail appeared like a single tooth on the horizon's gum line. Cassandra watched it with the detached interest of someone whose problems had recently escaped theory.

  "Probably a trader," someone said. "Early for the season."

  The tooth grew a neighbor. Then another. Then the horizon needed serious dental work.

  "That's the entire Greek fleet."

  Silence. The singing stopped mid-verse.

  "Row," Anaktoria commanded.

  "That's what we've been doing!"

  "Row differently!" She was already turning the ship, searching for wind that might favor them. "Mikos! How many oars do they have?"

  Her navigator squinted. "Fifty to our twenty. Per ship."

  "So we're faster?"

  "If by faster you mean faster at getting caught, then yes."

  The first Greek ship was close enough now to make out individual rowers. They moved in perfect synchronization, oars cutting water like a knife through hope.

  The Greeks switched rowing teams mid-stroke without losing rhythm.

  "Ideas?" Anaktoria asked.

  "Live free or die hard?"

  "Helpful ideas."

  The ram hit them at an angle, grinding, splintering against the hull. Wood shrieked. Bronze screamed. Half the crew left their benches involuntarily.

  "That's new water," someone said, watching the sea invite itself in.

  "Bail!"

  "With what?"

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  "Your hands! Your helmets! Your acceptance of drowning!"

  The first grappling hooks bit before anyone found a bucket. Then the planks slammed down. Single file bridges, Greek engineering at its most murderous.

  The first wave wasn't impressive. Conscripts with spears and the enthusiasm of men who'd rather be farming.

  "Surrender and you'll be treated fairly!" one shouted, spear shaking.

  The pirate looked at the spear, the conscript, the water.

  "Counter-offer." He kicked him in the groin.

  The conscript folded. His friends advanced over him, right into the Mediterranean.

  "Hold the planks!" Anaktoria's blade was already working. She moved through combat like a seamstress. Precise, efficient, leaving red threads. "Don't let them spread!"

  But more ships were hooking on. More planks. The violence was getting crowded.

  "Behind you!"

  "Thanks, I know."

  Damon held one section by himself. Duck, thrust, step back.

  "This is stupid," he muttered, opening another throat.

  The second wave was different. Matching armor. Practiced movements. Shields locked.

  "Oh look! Soldiers," someone said.

  The pirates fell back step by step. The deck, slick with unnamed fluids, became treacherous. Someone slipped, grabbed a Greek for balance. They went over together.

  "We're running out of ship!"

  Then the third vessel arrived.

  The planks were wider, bronze-reinforced. The soldiers who crossed them moved mechanically, and their armor spoke of government funding.

  "Spartans."

  Temperature drop. Even the conscripts paused.

  They didn't need to rush. They advanced like tide. Inevitable, implacable, bored. Their shields formed angles that left no room for argument.

  A pirate swung at the nearest Spartan. The blade rang off armor like a dinner bell. The Spartan glanced at the scuff, backhanded the pirate overboard, kept walking.

  They reached the deck and began killing everyone. Calmly. Men clearing inventory. Step, thrust, step. Shield bash. Repeat.

  Anaktoria fought magnificently, finding gaps that barely existed. But for every Spartan dropped, two stepped over the body. She was growing concerned.

  Then Menelaus arrived.

  No announcement. Heroes in stories announce themselves, but this was just his Tyrsday. He stepped between two Spartans who made room automatically.

  He moved through combat like walking through his house. A pirate rushed left; Menelaus shifted and the man found the sword. Another tried right; shield-edge to throat, didn't look. His blade wasn't special, just sharp and held by someone who'd been killing he'd owned one.

  "That's Menelaus," Mikos said helpfully.

  "Really? I thought it was a murder hobo."

  Menelaus's left eye twitched. Then he killed them both.

  Anaktoria and Damon were pressed stern-ward, six pirates still standing. The Spartans formed a semicircle. No rush. They had a minute left at most.

  Menelaus stepped through his men, examining survivors like checking fruit.

  "Captain Anaktoria. I heard you were competent."

  "Usually men buy me wine first. Then I kill them."

  "Ah yes. Clever." He moved forward, unhurried. "Pity."

  That's when Cassandra's brain decided to save everyone.

  "WAIT!! STOP stabbing! I know how the Trojan War ends!!"