"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 amidships 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 ship now. And he hadn't so much as a knife at hand!

X.

HE CREPT forward toward the sound of splashing. 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 worship?" 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 worship 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."

"Barbarians," the Roman muttered.

To Joe's surprise, Dr. Krom was still alive. The old man wept without shame as he faced aft. Ma Trimble was lifted aboard with much grunting and wheezing.

She stood a moment facing aft in silent awe. "Sonny,"

she asked, "what are the extra stars for?"

"What about your girls?" Joe asked. "I've only seen eight or ten so far.

Chins, b.r.e.a.s.t.s and abdomens quivered as Ma Trimble laughed. "Stop worrying sonny," she said. "Most of your swab jockeys've settled down with one or another. The

odd girls decided they'd rather take their chances with the Romans. Of course, I can call 'em over."

"Oh no!" Joe said quickly. Thank G.o.d the Alice wouldn't be quite so crowded now.

There were nineteen persons aboard: himself, Gor- son, Guilbeau, Cook, Rose, Villegas, Schwartz, and Freedy. Raquel was there, along with Ma Trimble and seven of her girls. Ten men and nine women. Who was the odd man? Twenty-four hours ago Joe would auto- matically have considered himself the odd man.

Cookie was the only man without a companion. Even Dr. Krom was paying archaic, old world courtesies to Ma Trimble's trembling bulk.

"How come no girl?" Joe asked the gaunt Tennessean.

"Already got a wife."

"She'd never know," Villegas hinted.

"I would," Cook said.

Joe regarded him with new respect.

Red Schwartz had latched onto one of the more spectacular blondes. "All here but one," he said.

Joe also remembered McGrath. "Yeah," he said glum- ly. All but one. But it wasn't quite true. The imam had not been of the Alice's original company but Joe had a special affection for the old man-an affection which extended to the young Moors who had so lightheartedly accepted their new master. They had died for the Alice.

The imam's aged heart had beaten its last in the gal- ley's under bunk. Chained three oars aft, Dr. Krom had seen this worn part discarded from the galley's immense, inefficient engine and wondered if he would be next.

Joe unsnapped the main halliard from his captives'

wrists. "One of my men is dead," he said. They sat, not bothering to look at him. Joe worried at their bonds with a pair of scissors. Cookie went below for a knife.

Eventually the line parted. The hostages stood un- surely, rubbing their swollen wrists. The Roman's ar- rogance was returning with his circulation. "A Roman

has kept his word," he sneered. "Now we shall see if a barbarian keeps his."

Joe fingered a welt high on his shoulder and won- dered how many stripes it had taken to still the old imam's heart. "I keep my promises," he said, and pushed them overboard. They were still tethered to the mizzen mast and the line was short enough to hold their feet out of water. After some preliminary splashing they arched themselves and held their heads above water by grasping their ankles.

Joe surveyed them dispa.s.sionately, noting with in- terest how the planes and angles of the Roman's face blurred into new and softer lines as he understood he was about to die.

The moon hung low in the west now. Almost morning, Joe guessed. The galley still drifted with all oars shipped, a hundred yards away. Both ships had drifted until the island lay three or four miles east. The hostages'

heads drooped lower until only their faces were out of water. A wavelet washed over and they coughed, strug- gling to raise their heads for a clean breath. Cookie came on deck with the knife.

It was over. He had his ship back and most of his people. "Cut them loose," he grunted.

Cookie slashed. They struck out for the galley, swim- ming clumsily because they were still bound together by the feet. Dr. Krom appeared beside Joe. "I don't wish to interfere," he said deferentially, "but we really should be leaving. Do you remember those test tubes?"