Do I Look Like I Went to Nautical School?!

“My lord, all ships have set their course westward, just as you commanded…”

The Trojan general knelt, his arm pressed firmly across his chest in a gesture of respect.

Aeneas, about two heads shorter than the old general, stood awkwardly before him, his plumed helmet sitting crooked on his head.

Commanded? I haven’t commanded anything here at all...

He straightened the helmet while clearing his throat.

“Uh, thank you, Korydros. Then please continue as planned…”

The soldier rose and thumped his chest proudly.

“Yes, my lord!”

When he finally left the cabin, Aeneas sighed, removed his helmet, and sat down on a stool.

He reached for a jug of wine and was just about to pour it into his cup when a voice echoed across the deck.

“WAVE PORTSIDE!”

A few seconds later, the wine was no longer in Aeneas’ cup but splashed across his arm and the creaking wooden floorboards.

He groaned.

“Ughn, why does this always have to happen to me?!”

Aeneas turned toward the large mirror beside him and examined himself.

Dark blond hair fell in loose strands down his youthful face, yet his blue eyes already looked weary and exhausted.

“And I only just turned seventeen…”

This is all that damned Paris’ fault. If that idiot hadn’t abducted Helena, Troy would still be standing, and I wouldn’t have to found some new fricking kingdom at the edge of the world!

The ship rocked more violently now, and with great effort Aeneas dragged himself onto the large bed in the center of the room, collapsing onto it with a grumble.

“I didn’t even get to finish at the gymnasium.“ He buried his face in the pillow. “And I’ve never even had a proper summer romance either… not even holding hands...” He sighed. “No country. No home. No girlfriend.“

Suddenly, there was a knock at his cabin door.

“My Lord Aeneas?”

He immediately jolted upright, stumbled over the bed, and hurriedly put his helmet back on, striking a majestic pose.

“Y-Yes? Uh, I mean… Enter!”

He snapped his head up as Korydros stood before him again, this time with a worried expression.

“Please forgive the disturbance, my lord, but we, uh… are you certain we should maintain our course?”

“Ye-,” Aeneas cleared his throat again to make his voice sound deeper. “Yes, good Korydros. The course must be maintained. How else are we to found a new home for our people?”

The general scratched the back of his head.

“Well, that may be so, it’s just…” He gestured outside. “Perhaps you should see for yourself…”

Aeneas raised an eyebrow.

What now? Can’t they handle anything themselves?

“Very well…” he said at last, stepping outside slowly.

Saltwater lashed against his face on deck, and the swell was so strong he could barely keep his footing.

“Our lord and leader, Aeneas of Troy!” his commander announced, and the nearby hoplites bowed as one, fists pressed to their chests.

Others struggled desperately with the rigging and sails.

When Aeneas lifted his gaze, he saw nothing but black clouds increasingly swallowing the western sky.

“Well, my lord, it appears we’re sailing straight into a storm…”

Aeneas blinked.

Inside, however, he exploded.

I CAN SEE THAT MYSELF! Then do something about it instead of dragging me out here as if I could solve this problem!

“That does not look promising, Korydros. Might we perhaps sail around the storm somehow?”

The general only shook his head.

“I'm afraid it's already too late for that. We can now only decide how we are going to respond to it.”

Aeneas ground his teeth.

We decide? You mean I decide!

“And what options do we have to choose from?”

Korydros thought for a moment.

Then began his monologue.

”Well, one possibility would be to reef the mainsail down to storm canvas and brace the yard at an angle to the sea, then put the rudder hard to windward to take the trireme broadside to the wave crest. Then it’s all to the thranites, zygites, and thalamites for a full three-bank stroke, backing water on the lee side if it broaches, pulling starboard to checksheerkeepingtheshipapointortwooffdead beforethegalesoitscudsunderbarepolesAlternativelywecouldrunofftopandtackle,strikeallsailandlettheshipsrunbeforetheseawithafollowingwinwhichwouldincreasethechancesof...”

Aeneas had already stopped listening after the first three words and simply nodded along with a polite smile while the storm drew ever closer.

What is he talking about?… What is he talking about?!… WHAT. IS. HE. TALKING. ABOUT?! I don’t understand a single thing, nothing but nautical gibberish! If he knows so much about this, why can’t he just decide for himself what to do? Why in the blazes do I have to decide?! Damn it, I just want to go back to Troy. But there is no Troy...

“Well, my lord, what do you think?”

Aeneas stroked his chin, actually thinking about what he would do if he survived this nightmare.

“Hmm... I think… the third option would be best.”

Korydros raised an eyebrow.

“Are you quite certain, my lord?”

WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME THAT AS IF IT’S THE WORST OPTION?!

“Yes, quite certain! Instruct the entire fleet accordingly!”

The hoplite hesitated, glanced around uneasily, then swallowed.

“Very well. If you command it, then I shall relay the order…”

Why does it feel like I just ordered our collective suicide?

Korydros picked up the speaking trumpet, drew a deep breath, and shouted through it:

“REINFORCE STARBOARD AND MAKE FOR THE COAST! PREPARE FOR A CONTROLLED GROUNDING!”

“Controlled grounding?” Aeneas repeated in disbelief.

Half confidence, half fright reflected on Korydros’ face as he stepped back to his lord after issuing the command.

“It is indeed a daring maneuver, my lord. You must truly be loved by the gods to consider that a good idea!”

Aeneas said nothing.

He simply turned around and walked back into the cabin.

A moment later, his voice rang out through the storm.

“THE GODS MUST HATE ME!”