“But,” objected one of the travelers, “pirates can just as well pursue us in a Myoparian they have captured as in any other vessel.”
“May I be permitted to speak, Master,” said a native-born Athenian slave, turning to Glaucus. He was a young man with a refined, intelligent face, whose natural beauty was not even destroyed by hair closely cut after the slave-fashion.
Glaucus nodded assent.
“I think the steersman is right,” said the youth. “If that vessel is as fleet as is said, yet holds back, there is surely some evil intended, which will not appear until the time seems favorable.”
So the talk went on and the most contradictory opinions were expressed. The dispute was not yet over at the approach of sunset.
The western sky was radiant with golden light and far above the ship a few thin clouds, which formerly had scarcely been noticed, were clearly relieved against the deep azure as they assumed a bright crimson hue, which made them resemble light feathers. Even the sea shared the sunset splendor and mirrored the fiery glow, against which the long billows looked like dark, moving streaks.
The Samian made little headway. The sail flapped feebly to and fro; there was not wind enough to fill it, and ere the sun had sunk beneath the sea the last faint breeze had died away.
The rowers were now obliged to take their seats; the celeustis began the monotonous chant that marked the time, yet nimbly as the oars moved, the great ship advanced slowly.
It was far different with the small vessel, whose distance seemed gradually to decrease, and there could soon be no doubt that it was gaining upon the Attic ship. Ere long those on the latter could see the white foam washing under the Myoparian’s bow—a sign of the speed with which she was moving—and soon after they perceived that she was strongly manned and had all her oars out. From that time the vessel approached so swiftly that it seemed to grow every moment.
Suddenly one of the Lydian merchants exclaimed in a loud voice: