Authors: Gene Wolfe
Io sighed. "I wish Hegesistratus were here."
Pasicrates darted a glance at her and said, "Then read it for us, sophist."
Themistocles cleared his throat. "Simonides has favored me with his interpretation already. We'll reserve it, at least for the present, I think."
Pasicrates said, "In that case, O noble Themistocles, I'll favor you with mine. Tower Hill links Hellas—your mainland to the north with our own Redface Island to the south. The spring is the heart of Tower Hill. Its damming by the stone indicates that Tower Hill will be vanquished. The splitting of the stone, which permitted the spring to flow freely once again, indicates that Hellas itself shall be split in two. When that takes place, Tower Hill will flourish as before."
I did not wholly understand this, but I saw that Simonides and Themistocles appeared uncomfortable; so I asked Pasicrates who he believed would vanquish Tower Hill.
"Certainly not Rope—it's our principal ally. If I thought your little slave knew anything about the politics of her city, I'd ask her whether Hill could be the one; but I've got to admit it doesn't seem likely. It's an inland agricultural center like Rope. Hill wouldn't have much reason to attack a seaport so far away."
Io asked Simonides, "Would it be the Earth Shaker who sent Tower Hill this omen?"
He shrugged. "From a strictly rational point of view, it's alterations in the courses of underground streams that cause the earth to tremble. As far as we know, any god might make use of those tremors to send an omen—certainly the Earth Shaker might. Or any of the chthonic deities."
Io nodded, half to herself. "What about the ghosts?"
Simonides told her, "It's well established that disturbing tombs frequently produces such manifestations; and many tombs must have been disturbed last night"—he nodded toward the black man's wife— "as we have heard."
Pasicrates said, "When I led the contingent sent by my city to the siege of Sestos, I heard that the barbarians had ravaged many tombs, taking not only the offerings left before them, but the grave goods, too. I did not hear that any of them had been punished for it."
"What about the loss of Sestos?" Themistocles asked dryly.
"If you like," Pasicrates conceded. "Certainly it was a very strong city, and it fell very quickly. I'm told that we had not yet boarded the ship that took us home when we received word that the city had surrendered."
Io asked, "What do you mean, you heard?" I could see she was afraid of Pasicrates, yet she spoke up bravely. "You were there. I was there, too, and I remember you."
"I was ill," he told her. "My wound had brought a fever."
Themistocles said, "It was not you, then, who ordered the Rope Makers home. Or was it?"
Pasicrates shook his head.
Polos asked, "You can't hold a shield anymore, can you?"
Pasicrates smiled at him and looked as though he wished to tousle his hair. "I can still use my shield—it was made for me by one of our finest armorers and has straps with buckles. I'll show it to you when we get to Rope."
That, I think, is all that was said at the table that I may need to know tomorrow. After the meal, Io said she was going to walk beside the lake and asked me to come with her. The shore is marshy in spots, and there are lofty reeds, though one sees also where these reeds have been harvested for thatch; there are many frogs. I asked Io whether she was afraid of the birds.
"No, master," she said. "Or maybe yes, a little bit." She had brought her sword.
"They're not here," I told her, "or at least not many, or there wouldn't be so many frogs. Water birds with long, sharp bills always like frogs."
Io nodded and sat down on a fallen tree. "Aren't your feet sore, master? We went a long way today, and you never once rode in the cart."
I admitted they were, but said that if she wanted to walk farther I would go with her.
"The truth is I don't want to walk at all, master. I only wanted to get you away so nobody could hear. I know you still remember what Pasicrates said about the ghost in his room. What do you think he was going to say when he stopped talking?"
I considered the matter for a moment. "That he was afraid. Most men would be afraid of a ghost, I think, and most would not be ashamed to admit it. Pasicrates might be."
Io spat out the hair she had been chewing. "I don't think so. I mean, he'd probably lie about that, like you say, master. But I don't think that was what stopped him. If he'd been going to say he was afraid at all, he would have said it when he told about hearing Callia screaming, or when he first saw the ghost." Io slid from the log and picked up a long stick. "Look, master. I'm the ghost. I have a spear and a big shield, and I'm going to try to kill you."
I snatched at the stick, which snapped between our hands.
"That's right," Io said. "You'd try to grab the shaft." She threw aside the broken stick and resumed her seat beside me on the log. "I think that's what Pasicrates did. He probably caught it, too—he's really quick."
"With his right hand? That would have been very difficult, Io. He would have had to reach across the ghost's shield."
She shook her head. "With his left hand, master. I think that was what he was about to say. He looked at the place where it had been, remember?"
"Do you mean that he was lying? He didn't see the ghost at all?"
"No, master. I mean that when he fought it, he had a left hand." She said nothing more, staring at the sun-bright clouds across the waters of the lake.
"A ghost hand, because the other was a ghost?"
"You don't remember Hegesistratus, do you, master? Did you read about him today?"
I told her I had not.
"He was a mantis, a really good one. He knew a whole lot about ghosts and gods, and right after we met him he said that people who'd been killed with your sword might be particularly likely to come back. It was you that cut off Pasicrates's hand, master. With your sword."
It is very late now, but I do not think Polos is asleep. I cannot sleep either, so I have lit this lamp. Far away, on the mountainside, someone pipes. When I lie down and close my eyes, I seem to see the capering figures that ring the majestic red urn in my memory palace—one of them pipes, too. I think that it is better I remain awake for a time and write more.
I should have written that this Pasicrates was waiting for Io and me when we returned. He said that he had errands in the town and asked me to tell Polos to obey him; Io shook her head, but after I saw the stump of his arm I did as he wished. When Polos returned tonight, he trembled and would not speak.
I went to the room where Pasicrates sleeps. He swore that he had not struck Polos. I saw that he hates and fears me very much, and that he hates himself, too, for that; I pitied him, though perhaps I should not have. I asked if we were not going to Rope, and if it was not his city—I felt sure it was, because he had said he would show Polos his shield there. When he said that we were, and it was, I told him I would kill him if he hurt Polos, though we stood in the marketplace of Rope. Once more he swore that he had not hurt him.
We woke Themistocles; he said I should not harm Pasicrates (which I knew already in my heart, I think), and sent me back to this room, where Polos and Io and I sleep with the black man and his wife.
The moon is high. I have read many sheets of this scroll—much about Hegesistratus and many times about Pharetra. My eyes burn and weep.
THIRTY-THREE
Bull Killer
THE GOAT MAN NAMED HIM—
Kain-Tauros.
Now I fear him, though he is only a boy, and smaller than Io. I drew her aside and asked her about him. She said he is my slave, at which my jaw fell.
"You forget, master. Do you know that? Usually you do."
I nodded, having found already that I could not recall how we came here.
"You were in a big battle. You were wounded." She guided my fingers to the scar. "Before we came here we were in Thought and then in Tower Hill, and before that we were in Thrace—that was where you got Polos. You got me last summer when we were in Hill."
I promised her I would free them both and let them return to their families; but she said she does not remember hers, and his is very far away.
After that I called him to me. I said that I could see he was not happy, that a slave's lot is never a happy one, and that if it was I who had enslaved him, I regretted it; in any case, I said, I would set him free whenever he wished.
He stared at me. His eyes are big with night, like Io's, and they soon filled with tears. He said that it was better for him to be the slave of a good man who would teach him, and feed and protect him, than for him to run wild and perhaps be caught by a bad one; but that I had not always protected him, that I had lent him to a bad man. He pointed this man out to me; it was Pasicrates, the one-handed man who ran so swiftly before his thigh was torn by the boar. I promised Polos I would never lend him to anyone again, and told him that if I forgot my promise he was to remind me. I asked what Pasicrates had done to him, but he ran away. Io says that she does not know. I think that she suspects, however; and so do I.
I have read what I last wrote in this scroll. There was no lake where we woke this morning; thus I believe I have neglected to write for at least a day.
This house is in Bearland, where no field is ever flat; its mountains rise all around us, many and steep but very green. No one plows here, which seems strange to me. The women work small gardens with wooden spades, and short hoes whose blades are the shoulder bones of sheep. Their men herd sheep and goats, with a few cattle and horses, and hunt. We, too, hunted today; it was then that I saw him. This is how it came about.
This morning, after Io had named those in our party for me, Themistocles instructed me to put on my helmet and mail. I wore my sword as well, and though I have no shield, I carried a pair of javelins. The black man was equipped much as I, with a long sword; but Pasicrates had not so much as a knife—Io says it is because he ran all the way from Rope to meet us.
We had not gone far before we found the road blocked by a landslip, which Pasicrates swore must have taken place since he had passed that way. If we had not had the mule cart, we could have clambered across the mud and stones, perhaps; but to clear them away would have taken many days. There was nothing for it but to turn back and try to find our way south by another route, one that Pasicrates did not know; and before the sun was higher than the mountains we were thoroughly lost.
Then Pasicrates urged that we turn back yet again, because the road seemed to become worse with every stade we walked; but Themistocles and Simonides wanted to press forward until we met a traveler who could advise us. Their words were becoming warm when Tillon noticed a ditcher at work and crossed the fields to him.
The argument stopped; and Bittusilma, by smiling at each in turn, got them to agree that we would take the ditcher's advice, whatever it should be. For a time all of us stood watching him as he spoke with Tillon and Tillon with him, though it was much too far for us to overhear anything they said.
Before long Tillon returned, bringing the ditcher with him. "He was born near here," Tillon explained, "and he says he knows all the roads between here and the Silent Country—he's traveled a great deal. He says he'll guide us for his food and a spit a day."
Themistocles took out an obol and gave it to him. "Here's your first day's wage, to show I mean what I say. As this good man told you, we're on our way to Rope, and we're in a hurry—you'll get two more as soon as we reach the Silent Country."
The ditcher, who was muddied to the hips and still carried his mattock on his shoulder, took the coin and mumbled thanks.
"Now, do we go forward or turn back?"
"You're in a hurry, so you got to push ahead, the main road bein' blocked. There's other ways, but all about as bad as this or worse."
Themistocles and Simonides were triumphant; Pasicrates asked angrily about the road ahead.
"Worse'n this," the ditcher told him. "But we can get that cart through."
Simonides inquired about lodging for tonight, at which the ditcher shook his head. "There's gentry. I can show you where their houses is. Whether they'll take you..."
He led the way, and we walked beside him; we were soon well ahead of the rest of the walkers and the cart. "This is Latro, my master," Io told him. "I'm Io, and this is Polos."
He grinned and nodded to all of us. "Aglaus." He has lost several teeth.
Io ventured to ask whether his own master would not be angry with him for leaving his work.
"Happy to be rid of me," he told her.
"Where do you live?"
"You mean a house? Haven't got one."
"We don't either," Io said.
I explained that I was not a Hellene, spoke to him in this tongue, then asked whether he had ever encountered anyone of my nation.
He shook his head. "Not many foreigners comes to Bearland. What comes out's less than that."
"Bandits, you mean?"
He nodded. "The one-handed man, he's a real Rope Maker?"
Io said he was.
"They'll leave you be, then."
Polos asked who these bandits were, but Aglaus pretended he had not heard him. He asked Io, "Do you like that man with the money?"
"Not as much as I do my master and the black man, or Polos. But he seems to be a good man, and he's a friend of Hypereides's, our old captain."
Aglaus nodded, absorbing this. "The old man?"
"Themistocles is his master, I think. They don't
say
that, but it seems to me that's how it is. He's not mean, though, and he's really trying to help Latro."
"The lady?"
"I like the black man a lot, and he likes her."
"I'd heered there was people like him, but I never seen one till now." Aglaus chuckled. "I don't suppose it hurts. Wonder how we look to him."
"I don't know," Io admitted. "I never thought about it." She pondered the matter for a hundred steps or so. "I bet we look sick to him. Did you notice the scar on his cheek?"
Aglaus nodded. "Can't not see it."