Soldier of the mist l-1 Read online

  Steel flashed and he cried out, his lips near my ear. Oior was rushing back toward us. I was flung to one side. As I drew breath, I heard bone snap-a horrible sound, but a joyful one because the bone was not mine.

  When I got to my feet, Oior was wiping his dagger on the hair at his belt, and the bowman who had watched the prisoners lay dead, his head twisted to one side.

  "Thank you," I gasped. "Thank you, Oior."

  If he heard me, he gave no sign; his dagger cleaned to his satisfaction, he plunged it back into its sheath.

  Louder I said, "Thank you, Oior. We were friends already; now we are friends forever."

  He shrugged. "A lucky throw. If not… Indeed, the goddess was in it."

  "I have no money, except for what you gave me. But I will tell Hypereides. He will reward you, I'm sure."

  Oior shook his head. "As you are my friend, Latro, do not tell. To the men of this land, the Sons of Scoloti and the Neuri are one. This would bring dishonor upon all. Go to the fire. Hear the man in chains. I will dig a place here for this Neurian with his own knife and pile it with stones so he cannot rise. Tomorrow he will be here, and we will not."

  "I understand," I said. "Oior, even what you did-I'm afraid I may forget. But we are friends forever. Tell me."

  He held his dagger out to me and with his free hand drew the bow from his bowcase. "Put your hand on my bow," he said. "Put your hand on my dagger. So we swear."

  I did as he asked, and he pointed dagger and bow toward the moon. "More than brothers," he pronounced. "Though I die."

  "More than brothers," I replied, "though I die."

  "When you forget, I will tell you, Latro," he said, "and then you will remember. Go now."

  I gathered up the trenchers and cups, and turned to say good-bye to him. I wish I had not, and perhaps I will write of that later, when I find words to tell of what was, perhaps, only a trick of the moonlight.

  Afterward I ran, and I had nearly reached the fire when I heard shouts and groans. A party of sailors was carrying something along the beach. Those who had been sitting about the fire rose and went to them, and I went too.

  Blood still seeped from the dead man's ragged wounds. I turned aside from the sight, and the sailors from the fire crowded around him. In truth, I was thankful I could see him no longer.

  Hypereides and the kybernetes pushed through to look at him. I heard the kybernetes ask where he had been found, and someone said, "At the edge of the water, sir."

  The kybernetes must have felt the dead man's hair, though I did not see him do it. "And dripping wet. Washed up. He went for a swim at an unlucky time, I'm afraid. I've seen things pulled from the sea-" If he finished the thought, I did not hear him.

  Hypereides said, "You, there. Go to the ship. There's a roll of sailcloth in the supplies. Cut off a piece big enough to wrap him in."

  A sailor darted away.

  The black man appeared beside me, asking by signs whether I had seen the dead man, or whether I knew what had befallen him; I could not be sure which. I shook my head.

  Hypereides shouted, "We need an altar, and fast! Get to it, the rest of you. Pile up these rocks. Right here's as good a place as any."

  I think the sailors were happy to have work to do. The altar seemed almost to lift itself from the ground, a heap of stones as high as my waist, as long as my outstretched arms and nearly as wide.

  Pindaros joined us, bringing the woman and Io. "Where have you been?" he asked me. "Io said you were up on the ridge, and she seemed worried about you. I tried to go, but Hypereides wouldn't let me, or our friend here either; afraid we'd run off, I suppose." He lowered his voice. "He was right, too, at least so far as I was concerned."

  I explained lamely, "There was someone Io couldn't see. And other things."

  The woman said, "You and she had better stay with us in the future."

  Hypereides came to speak to Pindaros. "I know some prayers, but if you could compose something special…?"

  "I'll try," Pindaros said.

  "You won't have long to work on it, I'm afraid."

  "I'll do the best I can. What was his name?"

  "Kekrops. He was an upper-bank man, if that helps." Hypereides hesitated. "Something short enough for me to remember after hearing it once or twice."

  "I'll try," Pindaros said again. He turned away, lost in thought.

  The dead man was laid before the altar and a fire of driftwood kindled upon it. Ten sailors who had sworn they had good voices and no blood guilt sang a litany to the sea god:

  "Horse-Breaker, Earth-Shaker, Wave-Maker, spare us! Ship-Taker, Spring-Maker, Anchor-Staker, care for us!"

  And so on.

  When they were finished, Hypereides, in full armor with his blue crest upon his helmet, cast bread into the fire and poured wine from a golden cup.

  Third brother of the greater gods, By destiny, Death's king, Accept for suffering Kekrops's sake, The food, the wine we bring. He labored for thy brother, Thy brother used him sore. Accept a sailor cast adrift, Beached on thy river's shore."

  Some beast howled nearby, and little Io, sitting on my right, pressed herself against me. "It's only a dog," I whispered. "Don't be frightened."

  The black man reached across her to touch my shoulder. When I looked at him, he shook his head and bared his teeth.

  Hypereides finished the poem in a thundering voice I would not have believed he commanded.

  "Yet should the old man slacken, You'll find no better oar, To row such souls as Ocean rolls Unto Death's bitter shore."

  "By all the Twelve," whispered Pindaros. "He remembered the whole of it. I wouldn't have bet a spit on him."

  Hypereides then cast beans, mussels, and meat into the fire, with other things. Two sailors rushed forward with leather buckets of seawater to quench it. Two more quickly wrapped the dead man and carried him away.

  "It was a wonderful poem," I told Pindaros.

  He shook his head. The men around us were rising and drifting back to the big fires nearer the ships.

  "Surely it was. See how many of them are crying."

  "They were his friends," Pindaros said. "Why shouldn't they weep? May the Gentle Ones snatch you! Poetry must shake the heart." There were tears in his own eyes; and so that I would not see them he strode away, his chain dragging after him in the sand.

  My thoughts were still upon the fight on the ridge, and I glanced at the ragged skyline it showed against the stars. A tall figure with a staff stood there with a shorter figure, like a boy, beside him.

  The woman who had sat beside Pindaros took my arm. "Come, Latro, it's time to go."

  "No," I told her. "You take Io. I'll come soon. I think this is someone I should speak with."

  She and the black man followed the direction of my gaze, but it was clear they saw nothing. Holding the chain that bound her leg in one hand, the woman took Io's hand in the other. They and the black man hurried off, followed by a bowman who was not Oior.

  Alone, I watched the tall figure come down from the ridge. After him trailed the smaller one, who seemed often to stumble. A light surrounded the tall figure; the lesser one had no such luminosity but seemed translucent, so that I sometimes dimly glimpsed the rocks and trees behind him. Neither cast a shadow in the moonlight.

  When the tall figure had come near, I saluted him, calling, "Hail!" By then I could see that his hair and beard were gray, his face stern and dark.

  "Hail," he answered, and lifted his staff. His voice was deep and hollow.

  I asked him, as politely as I could, whether he had come for Kekrops, and offered to lead him to the body.

  "There is no need," he told me, and he pointed with his staff to the foot of the altar, where Kekrops had been laid out. I was startled to see that the body was still there; it rose despite its wounds and stumbled across the sand to him.

  "You fear the dead," the tall figure told me, seeing my look. "You need not; no one will do you less harm."

  The smaller figure had left the s
lope of the ridge; while we spoke, it crossed the beach toward us. It was a bowman dressed like those on our ship, and I asked the tall one if he was the man who had tried to kill me.

  "Yes," he said. "But he will not do so now. Until he is freed, he is my slave."

  "He is a murderer," I said. "I hope you will punish him for what he did."

  The bowman shook his head. It swung loosely, like a blossom on a broken stalk.

  "He cannot speak," the tall figure told me, "unless you first speak to him. That is my law, which I lay upon all my slaves."

  I asked the dead bowman, "Didn't you kill Kekrops? Can you deny his murder when he stands beside you?" Now that I must write that, it seems strange. I can only say it did not seem so then.

  "Spu killed only in war," the dead bowman murmured. He held a finger to his eye. "Spu would kill you, Neurian, in justice for him."

  "We must go," the tall figure told me. "It is not right that they should remain on earth, and I have much to do. I have lingered only to tell you that my wife's mother sends her to speak with you. Do not forget."

  "I'll do my best not to," I promised.

  He nodded. "And I will remind you of it when I can. I do not understand mercy, and thus I am as I am; but perhaps she will be merciful to you, and I can learn from her. I hope she is at least just." He took a step forward, and it seemed to me that he stood upon a stair I could not see. With each step, he sank more deeply into the ground; the sailor and the bowman followed him.

  "Good-bye," I called. And then to the bowman, I cannot say why, "I forgive you!" He smiled at that-it was strange to see the dead mouth smile-and touched his forehead.

  Then all three were gone.

  "There you are!" It was the kybernetes, with a sailor carrying a javelin in tow. "You shouldn't go off by yourself, Latro. It's dangerous for you." He lowered his voice. "I've just learned that one of the bowmen plans to kill you. A man of mine who knows a bit of their gabble overheard them talking. Do you remember this stick?"

  He pointed to the sailor, and I shook my head.

  "I chose him because he's a stout fellow and he watched you before. His name's Lyson. He's not to leave you… and you're not to leave him, understand? Those are my orders."

  "Was the bowman who wants to kill me named Spu?" I asked.

  "Why, yes," the kybernetes said. "How did you know?"

  "I was talking to him as you came up. He was a simple, decent man, I think."

  The kybernetes looked at Lyson, and Lyson looked at the ground, shaking his head.

  The kybernetes cleared his throat. "Well, if you meet Spu again before we find him, try to remember that he may not be so friendly the next time. I just hope Lyson's with you-and he'd better be."

  Now Lyson is indeed with me, though he sleeps. Only I am left awake, and the black man, and the sentries Hypereides has set around us and the ships. A moment ago, a lovely young woman left the largest ship, and seeing that I saw her, halted to speak with me. I asked who she was.

  She smiled at that. "Why, Latro, my name's been on your lips half the day. Would you like to see me fatter, with red hair? I can do that, if you wish."

  "No," I told her. "You are so much more lovely than your picture on the sail."

  Her smile faded. "Yet plain girls are luckier. Ask your little Io."

  I did not understand her, and I believe she knew it; yet she did not explain. "I only stopped to tell you I am going to the Great Mother," she said. "I was her priestess once; and though I was taken from her long ago, it may still mean something to her, if only a little. Because you've loved my beauty today, I'll ask her to be kind to you."

  "Is she merciful?" I asked, remembering what the tall lord of death had said.

  Europa shook her head. "Sometimes she is kind," she told me. "But we are none of us merciful."

  She has walked into the ridge, which opened a door for her. There is another woman on the ship now. I see her pace the deck in the moonlight, as if deep in thought. She wears a helmet with a high crest, like Hypereides's, and her shield writhes with serpents.

  Her face recalls to me the face of Oior, Oior's face not as I saw it at any other time, but as I saw it when I looked back upon leaving him and saw him bent over the dead bowman. When I had met him on the beach and when we had talked at the top of this narrow ridge of land, his sun-browned face had been as open as the faces of the sailors, though without their vivacity and native cunning, a face as strong and as simple as the face of a charger or a bullock. It was a face much like my own, I think, and I liked him better for it.

  And yet when I turned back to look at him as I descended the slope, it had changed utterly, though all its features were the same. It had become the face of a scholar of the worst kind, of the sort of man who has studied many things hidden from common men and grown wise and corrupt. He smiled to see the dead bowman, and he stroked the livid cheek as a mother strokes her child.

  I must remember that.

  CHAPTER XII-The Goddess of Love

  The Lady of the Doves once blessed this place. Her statue was thrown down by the barbarians and both its hands broken off. When we came, the black man and I set it upon its base again-an act of piety, so says Pindaros, that must surely win us her favor. Though her hands lie at her feet with her doves still perched on their fingers, she is a most lovely goddess.

  But there are a great many earlier things I wish to record here while I still remember them.

  We came into the Bay of Peace about midmorning, I believe, though that is lost in the mist. The first thing I can recall clearly from this day is seeing the huts stretching far up the hillsides of Peace, many unroofed.

  It was on that island, so Hypereides told me, that the poor of his city found refuge when the Great King's army came, and where they remained for the most part even after the Battle of Peace, for fear it might come again. Now that a decisive victory has been won on land, they are abandoning their huts and returning to the city.

  There are three bays on the east coast of the island, and the city of Peace is on the southernmost. The richest families that came to Peace are there, having paid heavily for their lodgings. We put in at the middle bay, Hypereides hoping, as he said, to ferry some poorer folk back.

  "Besides," he told me, "this is where we were before the battle. The families of a lot of my men are here, and other people who helped us out in various ways."

  Pindaros, who was listening to Hypereides with me, put in, "You were wounded in the battle that freed them to go home, Latro. But since you were on the wrong side, you'd better not tell anybody that."

  "And you'd better not go ashore at all," Hypereides told him. "Once they hear that Cowland tongue of yours, they're apt to stone you. Didn't you fight, too? You can't be much more than forty, and you look able enough."

  Pindaros grinned at him. "I'm thirty-nine, Hypereides-the best time of a man's life, as I'm sure you remember. But as for fighting, you know what Archilichos wrote:

  "Some lucky lout has got my noble shield. I had to run, and dropped it on the way; So 'tis with us who fly the reeking field. Who cares? Tomorrow's loot is what I lost today."

  Hypereides shook his finger at him. "You're going to get yourself in trouble, poet. There are many in the city who won't honor your supple mouth. Or tolerate it, either."

  "But if I should get into trouble, good master, why, you're in trouble too. So why don't you free me? Then in the next war you may be my prisoner instead of I yours. I'll treat you royally, I swear."

  We were under oar already, for the wind was in the southwest and the strait runs due south; thus it was easy to bring all three ships into the wind to enter the bay. By that time I could see the crowd on shore, and the kybernetes came forward to suggest we stow our mast and sail.

  Hypereides wet a finger and held it up, "There's not much of a blow. Don't you think it might swing north later?"

  The kybernetes shrugged. "I've seen it happen, sir. I wouldn't count on it."

  "Neither would I, but let'
s not count it out, either. Besides, these fellows should welcome the chance to sweat a bit and show their wives how hard they're working."

  "There's something in that. But if I were you, Hypereides, I'd put a couple of soldiers at the gangplank. Otherwise you'll get enough women on board to capsize her."

  "I've already ordered it," Hypereides told him. "Still I'm glad you mentioned it. It won't hurt to lie to for a bit here, will it? I've got a speech to make to the crew."

  "We'd have to, to unship the mast."

  "Good." Going aft to face the crew, he waved for their attention and bellowed, "Up oars! In oars! Waterman, you can pass the dipper while I'm talking. Men, how many of you have families still on the island? As far as you know?"

  About half the hands went up, including Lyson's.

  "All right. We don't want to lose a lot of time here, so those who don't, stay on your benches. The kybernetes will call the ones who do to the gangplank by oar groups, one from port, one from starboard. That's no more than six at a time, ever. If you see 'em-that's wives, children, parents, or your wife's parents, and nobody else-tell 'em to come to the gangplank and the soldiers will let 'em board. If you don't see 'em, they're probably back home already, so go back to your bench so the next oar group can come up. I have to go ashore-"

  There were a few muttered groans.

  "-to consult with the authorities. Acetes and his men will keep order; if you know what's good for you, you'll do as they say. While they're on this ship, your wives and families are your responsibility. Keep 'em in hand or they'll be put ashore, and not on the mainland, either. Otherwise nobody's to leave the ship till we get to Tieup. I should be back by the time your families are on board and the kybernetes has found places for 'em and got 'em settled down, and as soon as I'm back, off we go. I want to make Tieup before nightfall, you hear me?"

  That brought a rousing cheer.

  "And I won't be denied! So get some rest, because you may have to break your backs before we do. Now-Out oars! Mind the count!" He beat the rowing rhythm with one hand on the other as the flute boy readied his instrument.