Soldier of the Mist

CHAPTER XIV-How Strange a Celebration

Pindaros said, "Was there ever anything like it?" He waved at the banks of flowers, with the broken walls beyond them only half restored. "Now it's the city of the Lady of Thought indeed, Latro. The people are here again, yet her owls roost in the ruins. What a poem I shall make of all this!"

Behind him, Hypereides said, "When you write it, don't forget to say I was here, and that I drank my wine and cuddled my wench as of old."

"You're no fit subject for great poetry," Pindaros told him. "No, stop, I'll make you so. For a thousand years, your name will be linked with Achilles's."

I had tallied them in my mind as they trooped in, six in all: Pindaros, Hypereides, the kybernetes, Acetes, and two others I did not recognize, the captains of Eidyia and Clytia. Now Acetes was holding out the bundle he had carried into the house. "Here, Latro, Hypereides said you should have these."

I unwound the sailcloth and found bronze disks for the breast and back, and with them a hooked sword and a bronze belt. It was strange to touch the cool metal of the sword and belt, because I, who remembered nothing else, felt I remembered them, though I could not have told where I had worn them or even when I had lost them. I buckled them on, knowing they had been mine before, but no more than that.

When I had put the disks in the room Kalleos had given me, I returned to the courtyard, where she had greeted her guests and was making them comfortable on the couches she bought this afternoon. "Hypereides," she said, pouring his wine herself, "I've a proposal to make to you."

He smiled. "No one can say he found Hypereides unready for business."

"I told you there'd be nobody here tonight but you and your guests. If you'll look around, you'll see I've kept my word."

"You've cheated me already," Hypereides told her. "The stars are coming. But never mind, I won't ask for my slave back. Only for the black one, whom you took without a by-your-leave."

"Certainly," Kalleos said. "I thought he was a free sailor when I borrowed him. He can return with you in the morning. But Hypereides, a friend of mine dropped in today when he heard I was back in the city. He's as merry a fellow as you'll ever meet, full of jokes and stories, I promise you. If you don't want him to join your party, just say so and I swear you'll never see him. But if you've no objection, I'll be forever grateful. And of course there'll be no charge to him or you. His name's Eurykles of Miletos."

At that moment, one of the women came to tell me the food had arrived, and I went to the rear entrance to help the cookshop owner and the black man unload.

Kalleos came just as we were finishing. "Good, good! They're all hungry. Do you know anything about food, Latro?"

"I don't remember," I told her.

"I suppose not." She looked at the trays I was making up. "At least you're doing well enough so far. The girls will carry them in, understand? You don't go in again unless there's trouble. I don't expect any tonight, but you never can tell. Try to stay awake and don't drink, and everything will be fine. Sometimes a girl screams and sometimes she screams. You know what I mean?"

"I think so."

"Well, don't go in unless one screams. Got it? If all of them start screaming, come fast. Don't draw that sword unless you have to, and don't use it no matter what. Where'd you get it, anyway?"

"From the Swift God," I said, and only when I had spoken realized I did not know what I meant by what I had said.

"You poor boy." Kalleos kissed me lightly on the cheek. "Phye, dear, get some of those lazy sluts in here to take these trays so the man has room to work. Tune your lyre if you haven't already, and tell the flute girls to fetch their whistles. But wait till the trays have been brought in before you start."

"I know," Phye said. "I know."

Turning back to me, Kalleos shook her head. " 'Wine, music, and women-what else does a man need?' That's what your friend the poet asked me. And do you know, I nearly told him. Meat, for one thing; veal and lamb, and they cost me-I won't say, it isn't polite, but a lot. Not to mention some nice fish, three kinds of cheese, bread, figs, grapes, and honey. And tomorrow you'll sweep half of it off the floor. You didn't come free, Latro, let me tell you." She paused, studying me. "You know, I used to be a slave myself. From up north."

I said, "I wondered, because of your coloring. Very few people here have red hair or blue eyes."

"I'm a Budini, or I was. I don't even remember their words any more. Somebody stole me, I think, when I was just a little girl." She paused again. "Do you want to be free, Latro?"

"I am free," I told her. "It's only that I don't remember."

She sighed. "Well, as long as you don't, you're going to have to have somebody around who does and will tell you what to do. I suppose it might as well be me."

When all the food was ready, I went to the courtyard arch to listen to the flutes; but in a few moments Pindaros came out and drew me back into the kitchen. "Hypereides has sold you to Kalleos," he said.

"Yes, I've been working for her."

"That puts me in serious difficulties, as I hope you understand."

I told him that until I found my home and friends I would be as happy in this place as in any.

"Your happiness-permit me to speak frankly-doesn't much concern me now. The pledge I made in the temple of the Shining God does. I promised to take you to the shrine of the Great Mother. I've done my best so far, and I must say the Shining God's rewarded me handsomely: I've heard the playing of a god and your singing. That's a privilege given few, and it's improved my own poetry almost beyond belief. But if I return to my city without fulfilling my vow… "

"Yes?" I asked.

"He may take it away-that's what I'm afraid of. And even if he doesn't, someone's bound to ask about our visit to the shrine. What am I to say? That I've left you here a slave while I raise the money to buy your freedom? What will they think of me? We've got to work out something."

"I'll try," I told him.

He patted my back. "I know you will, and so will I. And if I can get you to the shrine, perhaps you'll be cured. Then we'll worry about your happiness, both of us. Probably you'll want to return to your homeland, as you say, and I'll arrange passage for you on some trading ship. The war's nearly over now, and the merchants will be sailing again."

"I'd like that," I said. "To return home and find people I won't forget."

Over Pindaros's shoulder, I saw the rear door swing back very quietly. For an instant, the black man looked in. When he saw us, he held a finger to his lips, then gestured for me to join him and shut the door again.

"You'd better go back in there," I told Pindaros. "Before you're missed. I'll remember."

"It doesn't matter," he said. "They think I'm relieving myself."

"Pindaros, is your Shining God a very great god?"

"One of the greatest. He's the god of music and poetry, of light, sudden death, herds and flocks, healing, and much more."

"Then if he wishes me to visit this shrine, I will do so. He trusted you to guide me; I think you should trust him to guide us."

Pindaros shook his head as if in wonder. "Is it because you can't remember the past that you're so wise, Latro?"

We chatted for a few moments more, he telling me about the refitting of Hypereides's ships and I telling him of the work the black man and I had done for Kalleos.

"You've accomplished wonders," Pindaros told me. "It's almost as though I were at some dinner in our own city. Do you think they'll ask me to recite?"

"I imagine so," I said.

He shook his head again. "That's the trouble with being a poet: your friends all think you're a public entertainer. Worse luck, I don't have anything suitable. I'll dodge it if I can-propose singing or games."

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

Turning away, he muttered, "I'd a hundred times sooner think of a way to get you to the shrine."

As soon as he had left, I hurried to the rear door. The black man grinned at me from the darkness outside and held up a sleeping child. "Io."

I nodded, for I recalled her from this morning when we were still on Hypereides's ship.

He stepped into the kitchen, where there was more light, and walked his fingers through the air, holding her cradled in one arm.

I said, "All that way? No wonder she's tired. I suppose she followed Pindaros and the rest, staying far enough behind to keep out of sight."

The black man motioned for me to come, and carried her to one of the roofless sleeping rooms. There he laid her on some discarded gowns and put his finger to his lips.

"No," I told him. "If she wakes without knowing how she got here, she'll be frightened." I do not know how I knew that. I knew it as I know many other things. I shook her gently, saying, "Io, why did you come so far?"

She opened her eyes. "Oh, master!"

"You should have stayed with the woman," I told her.

She whispered, "I don't belong to her. I belong to you."

"Something bad might have happened to you on the road, and in the morning we'll have to send you back to the ships."

"I belong to you. The Shining God sent me to take care of you."

"The Shining God sent Pindaros," I told her, "or so he says."

Sleepily, she rolled her head from side to side. "The oracle sent Pindaros. The god sent me."

It seemed futile to argue. I said, "Io, you must be quiet and stay in this room. See, I'm covering you with some of these so you won't get cold. If Kalleos or her women see you, they may make you leave. If they do, go to the back of the house and wait for me."

She was sleeping again before I finished. The black man laid a wooden doll beside her and stretched himself beside the doll.

"Yes," I said. "It's better that she have a protector."

He nodded-and fell asleep himself, I think, before I had left the room.

Now I sit on a broken chair near the courtyard door, where I can hear Phye's songs. There is a lamp here with a good wick and a fine, bright flame, so here I watch the stars and the waning moon; and write everything that has happened today, so I will not sleep. If Kalleos were to beat me, I might kill her; I do not wish that, and I too might die. It is better to write, though my eyes water and burn.

It is later, and Phye no longer sings. Pindaros suggested they play kottabos, and I, not knowing how it was played, stood under the lintel for a time to watch. Pindaros drew a circle on the floor and a line at some distance from it.

Everyone stood behind this line; and as each drained his cup, he threw the lees at the circle.

When several rounds had been played, Eurykles proposed that the loser of the next tell a tale, and Pindaros seconded him. Hypereides lost, and I sit listening to him (though I do not think I shall trouble to record his tale here) while I write.