Soldier of the mist l-1 Read online

  "Wonderful!" exclaimed her mistress, and that very night they carried out their plan with complete success.

  The next night the lady waited until her husband was asleep, put the doll in their bed beside him, and enjoyed a succession of fascinating adventures in the city that left her a great deal wealthier than she had been before.

  All went well for some time, she adventuring almost every night and her husband never complaining, though she noticed the clay doll was losing its proper shape. Early each morning when she returned, she would pat it until it looked as it had when she and the maid had formed it. But every night when she took it out again, she found that the clay had shifted downward in a most alarming fashion; and at last she told her maid the problem.

  "Alas, my lady," said the maid. "I feared this might occur. In Babylon, we fire these figures in a potter's furnace-then there's no further trouble. But since you had no money and I didn't know of a potter here who'd be likely to cooperate without it, I neglected that step."

  "What are you talking about?" said her mistress. "What's the matter with the doll?"

  Her maid sighed. "It's a condition in which you would not, I think, wish to find yourself, my lady. If nature is allowed to take its course, there will soon be two clay dolls instead of one."

  "How horrible!" said her mistress. "What can we do? Can't we bribe a potter to fire it now?"

  "My lady," said her maid, "it would only crack later. I believe the best thing would be for us to bury the doll again in the place where we dug it up. You'll have to sleep with your husband-at least for a time-but that can't be helped. Do you by any chance remember the spot?"

  "Why, yes," said her mistress. "It was under the apple tree."

  "Then that would be the best place to put it," said the maid.

  And so they did, and the woman began sleeping with her husband once more.

  One day one of his rivals in business, a man as penurious as himself, found him moping about the market. "What's the matter?" he said. "Has someone cheated you?" For he would have been sorry indeed to hear that the husband had been cheated by anyone other than himself.

  "No," said the husband. "It's my wife."

  "Ah," said his rival. "There's a great deal of that going around these days, you know."

  "Not long ago," said the husband, "she was as passionate as any man could wish. But now… "

  "I can well imagine," said his rival. "Not that I've ever experienced the same thing myself."

  "It's like embracing a woman of clay," said the poor husband. "And all I can think of is how I used to go to dinner parties and have a fine woman every night. I thought that when I married it would be better-because I used to have to give a party myself now and then, and it was so costly-but honestly I think the old days were better, and in fact I know it."

  "Then all you have to do is return to them," said his rival. "Send her back to her father."

  "And refund her dowry?" asked the husband. "You must be mad!"

  "Then I can teach you a spell that will serve your turn," said his rival, who had no faith in such spells himself. "At least, my grandfather swore by it. You must find a blossoming tree in green and ardent health."

  "Why, the apple tree in our garden has been blooming for days," said the husband. "I declare, you've never seen a tree doing better."

  "Exactly the thing, then," said his rival. "You must lop off a limb and hide it under your bed. Whenever you want to go out and amuse yourself, take out the limb and put it in the bed in your place, saying,

  "Stick I cut, so brave and bright, Stick be straight and strong tonight!"

  "Believe me, as long as your wife doesn't light the lamp, she'll never know the difference." Then the rival went away, chuckling as he wondered whether his grandfather's spell would work.

  But the husband ran home, and noting that the apple tree in his garden was still in flower, he immediately ordered his gardener to saw off its largest limb.

  "It'll be the death of it," said the gardener, shaking his head.

  "I don't care," said the husband. "It quite spoils the symmetry all natural objects should possess; so cut it off."

  And thus it was done, and the husband carried the limb to the bedroom he shared with his wife and put it beneath the bed.

  That night, the woman noticed that her husband's hair smelled of apple blossoms, which it certainly never had before. "Why, he's trying to make himself attractive for me," she said to herself. "And who knows what may come of that… I should encourage him."

  She gave him a kiss on the cheek, one thing led to another, and she was embraced ardently all night, until at last she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  At dawn her husband returned, put the limb under the bed once more, and lay down congratulating himself.

  This went on for several nights, until at last, in the very heat of love, the woman said, "Although you're stout and strong all night, dear, I notice you're always exhausted in the morning. You'd better get some rest when we're finished."

  To this, the limb replied, "I wilt not, stepmother." Which so surprised the woman that she lit the lamp.

  You may imagine her delight then, for she saw in her bed not the withered old husband she had expected, but a blooming youth with fair red cheeks. She blew out the lamp at once, and for some time they came together each night as happily as any pair could.

  It was not to continue. One night she rolled over meaning to embrace her lover and found, to her great disgust, that she was caressing her husband instead. Thereafter the same thing occurred more and more frequently, for her husband had discovered that he was no longer so young as once he had been, and he was sorely pained by the inroads his nighttime adventures were making in his fortune.

  But when her husband had occupied the bed every night for nearly a month, the woman smelled apple blossoms again.

  Then, kissing her lover, she exclaimed, "If only he were dead! I'd have his money, and we could live together for the rest of our lives. You wouldn't be niggardly to me, would you, darling?"

  "Never, stepmother," said her lover. "Every spring I would furnish our house new, and each fall I would shower upon you the fruits of the earth."

  That sounded promising, and by this time the woman had convinced herself that "stepmother" was only her lover's pet name for her, he being at least in appearance somewhat the younger. Thus she said, "Do it, then! Do it tonight!"

  "I will, stepmother."

  And the next morning the man and his wife were found dead by the gardener, hung with the same rope. A noose had been tied in each end and the rope thrown over the largest limb of the apple tree in the garden.

  The gardener and the lady's maid were accused of murdering them and tried on the Areopagus; but their deaths were ruled a double suicide, and husband and wife were buried beneath the apple tree.

  There was laughter and applause when Phye's tale was told, and Hypereides said, "I'll have to be careful not to tell that one to my crew around the fire some evening. Do you know, I think half of 'em would swallow the whole rigmarole as solid fact. Why, on this past voyage, there was talk of a werewolf aboard."

  The kybernetes shook his head ruefully. "It's our mixing with the Orientals that's done it, Captain. We used to be a reasonable people, believing in the Gods of the Mountain and nothing else. Now there's more gods up and down the Long Coast than along the River in Riverland. A god for wine, and all sorts of nonsense."

  "Are you saying," Pindaros snapped, "that you don't credit the God in the Tree? I can tell you, sir, you're badly mistaken."

  Kalleos intervened. "Gentlemen! Aristocrats! It's a rule of this house that there are to be no religious arguments. Tolerant discussion, if you like. But no fighting."

  "I assure you," Pindaros said stiffly, "that I speak from personal experience."

  "So do I," Kalleos told him. "I've seen men who've been the best of friends for years at each other's throats. The gods are stronger than we are, so let them do their own fighting."

 
"Words of wisdom," said Eurykles. "Now if I may shift the conversation to what I hope will be a somewhat less touchy topic, it's my opinion that such tales of magic as Phye has just amused us with should not be discounted wholly, Hypereides. It's quite possible for we poor mortals to peep a bit into the future, for example-and I do not refer exclusively to quizzing some god or other at an oracle."

  "Perhaps," Hypereides admitted. "I've heard some things along that line that make a man think."

  "Lo!" exclaimed Eurykles, regarding Hypereides with admiration. "There's the mark of an open mind for you, friends. Your true man of reason never accepts or rejects without evidence, unless the thing is foolish on the face of it, like that business with the apple branch."

  The kybernetes chuckled. "And the clay doll."

  "No, no!" Eurykles raised a hand. "I won't say it can be done. But there's certainly something real behind it. Spirits can be summoned from a grave, and I urge you as reasonable men not to mock what you don't understand." He drained his cup. "My dear, I'd like quite a bit more of that."

  "Trinkets!" said the kybernetes.

  "What, sir?" asked Eurykles thickly. "Do you deny that such things can be? Why, I myself, in the practice of my profession-" He belched. "Excuse it. I have often called the dead to stand before me while I questioned them."

  The kybernetes laughed. "Since I've no wish to be asked to leave by the lady of this house, I offer no comment."

  "You don't believe me, but your captain here is a wiser man than you. Aren't you, sir?"

  "Perhaps not wholly," Hypereides said.

  "What?" Eurykles reached into the neck of his chiton and produced a leather purse. "Here I have ten birds. Yes, ten little owls nesting together. They're here to testify that I can do what I say."

  "And it's easily said," said the kybernetes, "where we are now. But it can't be proved."

  "There's a burial ground not far from here," Eurykles told him. "Surely this good wine-and I wouldn't in the least object to another drop, my dear-has given you the courage to come along with me."

  "If you're proposing a bet," said the kybernetes, "I'd like to see what's in there."

  Eurykles loosed the strings and shook out the jingling coins, arranging them in a row with one uncertain finger.

  The kybernetes examined them and said, "I'm not a wealthy man, but I'll cover three, with the provision that I'm to judge whether a ghost has been produced."

  Eurykles shook his head, nearly falling from his couch in the process. "Why, what protection would I have then? You might faint or run, but declare afterward… " He seemed to lose his thoughts, as drunken men often do. "Anything," he finished weakly.

  Kalleos said, "I'll hold the money and judge. If you admit there was a ghost, you lose. Or if you run or faint, as Eurykles says. Otherwise, you win. Fair enough?"

  "Absolutely," the kybernetes told her.

  Eurykles mumbled, "That's only three. What of the other seven? Hardly worth my while."

  The captain of Eidyia announced, "I'll cover one."

  "And one for me," said the captain of Clytia.

  "And the rest?" Eurykles looked at Pindaros. "You, sir? I'll make my fortune tonight, if I can."

  "I haven't a copper," the poet told him. "As Kalleos will testify. Even if I did, I'd be betting with you rather than against you."

  Hypereides said, "In that case, I'll cover the remaining five. Furthermore, I'll bet two with you, Pindaros-on trust. I go to Hill now and then, and the first time I do, I'll come by to collect."

  "If you win," Pindaros told him. "Kalleos, if we're going to the burial ground, may I ask that we have Latro for a guard? The streets are dangerous by night, and we've all had a bit to drink."

  CHAPTER XVI-In the City

  Only soldiers are supposed to carry arms, so Kalleos told me. She gave me Gello's old gray cloak to cover my sword.

  Eurykles had said the burial ground was not far from Kalleos's house, but it seemed far to me. I wondered whether I would be able to find the house again, or if the others could find it, for they were all somewhat drunk, and some were very drunk. Of the women, only Phye had come with us, Kalleos saying she would not walk so far to see a god, far less a ghost, and the rest admitting frankly that they would be frightened out of their wits if Eurykles won his bet.

  Kalleos had provided two torches. I carried one and Phye the other. It was good she had it, for there were stones and fallen bricks everywhere, and yet the remaining walls (and many still stand) cast shadows that seemed blacker for the faint moonlight around them. I walked at the front of our procession. After me came Eurykles to direct me; Kalleos had given him a fowl for a sacrifice, and he carried it under his cloak, from which it voiced faint protests. In what order the rest walked, if there was any, I do not know, except that Phye brought up the rear.

  When we reached the burial ground, Eurykles asked Hypereides whether there was any person there with whom he wished to speak. "If so," he said, "I'll attempt that first, as a courtesy to you. I reserve the right to raise another to settle our bet if I'm unsuccessful with the first. Have you a parent buried here, for example? Or anyone else whom you wish called home from the realm of shadow?"

  Hypereides shook his head, and I thought he looked frightened.

  I whispered to Pindaros, "Isn't it strange to see so many people in this place?"

  "All of us, you mean," he said.

  "And the rest." With my free hand I indicated the others who stood about us.

  "Latro," Pindaros whispered, "when your mistress's friend Eurykles performs his ceremony, you must help him."

  I nodded.

  "If there's someone standing close by who seems attentive to the ceremony, but who did not come with us from Kalleos's house, you must touch him. Just reach out and touch him. Will you do that?"

  Eurykles continued, "None of you, then, have any particular person in mind?"

  All three captains shook their heads; so did the kybernetes.

  "Then I'll search for a grave that appears to offer a good subject. I shall attempt that subject, and upon the result the whole of our bet depends. Is that understood?"

  They murmured their agreement.

  "Good. Phye, come with me, I must look at the graves and read the stones. You, boy, whatever your name is. You come too."

  For some while we moved from grave to grave, our feet rustling the dry stalks of the grain that had been planted there, Eurykles hesitating a long time over many of the graves, sometimes tracing the letters in the stones with his fingers, sometimes scraping soil from the grave to sniff or taste. A wandering wind brought the odors of cooking and ordure from the city, and the smell too of freshly dug earth.

  Phye screamed and dropped her torch, clutching Eurykles for protection. The fowl flew squawking from his cloak, and he slapped Phye, demanding to know what the matter was.

  "There!" she said, and pointed with a trembling arm.

  Lifting my torch higher, I saw what she had seen and went over to look at it.

  A grave had been opened. The grave soil was thrown back in a heap, the withered remains of the funerary wreaths lay upon it, and the coffin had been pulled half out of its place and smashed. The body of a young woman, thus exposed, lay with feet and legs still within what remained of the coffin. The shroud had been torn away, leaving her naked except for her long dark hair. The smell of death was on her; I stepped away from it, feeling I had known it before, though I could not have said where or when.

  "Take the reins!" Eurykles ordered Phye. "This is no time for your womb to dance." She only sobbed and buried her face in his cloak.

  Acetes said, "Something terrible has happened here. What we see is desecration." His hand was on his sword.

  "I quite agree," Eurykles told him. "Something has happened, but what is it? Who did it?"

  Acetes could only shake his head.

  I stroked Phye's hand and asked whether she was feeling better. When she nodded, I got her torch and relit it for her from my own.

/>   Eurykles told the others, "I'm only a foreigner in your city, but I'm grateful to my hosts, and I see my duty plainly here. We must discover what has occurred and inform the archons. My own talents and training-most of all the favor with which I am regarded by the chthonic gods-lay an obligation upon me. I will raise the spirit of this poor girl, and from it we will learn who has done this, and why it has been done."

  "I can't," Phye whispered.

  Faintly though she spoke, Eurykles heard her and turned. "What do you mean?"

  "I can't watch. I can't stay here while you do-whatever you're going to do. I'm going back." She drew away from him. "Don't try to stop me!"

  "I won't," Eurykles told her. "Believe me I quite understand, and if I could be spared I'd take you back to Kalleos's house myself. Unfortunately these other gentlemen-"

  "Have entered into a wager they regret," one of the captains said. "I'll go back with you if you want, Phye. As for the bet, I stand with my old master, Hypereides. If he wins, so do I. I lose if he loses."

  "No!" Phye glared at him with so much hatred in her eyes that I thought she might fly at his face. "Do you think I want your filthy hands under my gown all the way back to Kalleos's?" She spun on her heel and strode off, her torch zigzagging as she threaded her way among the silent people.

  Eurykles shrugged. "I was wrong to allow a woman to come with us," he said. "I can only apologize to the rest of you."

  "That's all right," Hypereides told him. "If you're going to do something, let's get on with it." He drew his cloak more tightly about him.

  Eurykles nodded and said to me, "See if you can find that bird, will you? It won't have flown far in the dark."

  A small cypress grew a few steps away. The fowl was roosting in its branches, where I caught it easily enough.

  When I returned to the men waiting beside the opened grave, Eurykles had a knife. As soon as I gave him the fowl, he cut its throat with a quick slash, pronouncing words in a language I did not understand. Three times he walked around the grave with slow, bobbing strides, scattering the fowl's blood; as he completed each circuit he called softly Thygater, which I suppose must have been the woman's name. As he made the third circuit, I saw her eyes open to watch him; and remembering what Pindaros had told me to do, I crouched and reached into the grave to touch her.