The Arrows of Hercules

Three – TARAS

The red sun dipped behind the Hills of Poseidon as the Muttumalein nosed into the shelter of the Sickle, the curved peninsula embracing Messana's harbor. The yellow sail came flapping down; grunting sailors heaved at the oars. When the ship was tied up, the passengers filed ashore and separated, with handshaking, back-slapping, and waving.

Zopyros, thrusting his way through the swarm of donkey boys, beggars, pimps, guides, drunken sailors, broken-down whores, and idlers, picked out a likely-looking stripling and asked:

"Do you know where Xanthos son of Glaukos, the landlord, lives?"

"Kai malista!"

Zopyros gave the boy a sheet of papyrus and a bronze penny, with a promise of another when the message was delivered. The boy ran off with the letter, which Zopyros had composed to give Korinna's family time to prepare themselves before the travelers appeared with Nestor's body.

Zopyros and Sophron picked up the litter bearing the body and, followed by Korinna, the slave, and two hired porters, set out. The slave and the porters staggered under the baggage of the entire party. At Xanthos' house, Sophron rapped and shouted:

"Fai!"

The door was opened by a servant. A fat, elderly man appeared in the opening. Korinna threw herself into his arms, talking and weeping. At last she pulled back and introduced Zopyros to her father.

"Come in, O Zopyros," said Xanthos. "Give your cloak and shoes to the servant."

Others hovered behind Xanthos: a couple of servants; a slight, black-haired youth who was Korinna's brother Glaukos; and a small, middle-aged woman, her mother Eirene. While Korinna's parents fussed and wept over their daughter, Zopyros and Sophron set down the corpse at one side of the courtyard. Then Glaukos showed Zopyros to a room.

Some time afterwards, Zopyros was summoned to the courtyard. Eirene and Korinna had disappeared into the women's quarters, and Zopyros knew he was not likely to see them again save for some very special occasion. Xanthos clasped Zopyros' hand.

"Thrice welcome, O Zopyros!" wheezed Xanthos. A big belly pushed out the front of his cloak, and bushy tufts of curly gray hair stood out from the sides of his large bald head. Several amulets hung around his neck. He moved slowly and ponderously and seemed to have trouble with his breathing.

"I'm sorry to meet you on such a sad occasion," said Zopyros.

The Messanian replied: "My brother had led an active life, and his time had come. When I got your letter, I imagined dire things about my daughter. But I have questioned her and Sophron, and I believe you acted honorably."

"I am an honorable man, sir."

"Good! Many would deem her utterly abandoned, traveling about thus with a strange man for a protector. Even though she's not a virgin, we adhere to respectable standards in this house. But man cannot fight the gods, and you did what had to be done."

When his servants had served the dinner of sow's udder stuffed with pepper and salted sea urchin, Xanthos poured a small libation and prayed. Then he said: "As we eat, tell me of your adventures."

Zopyros talked as he ate, now and then stopping long enough to gulp a bite. He told of the narrow escapes of the Tarentine mission on its way to Cumae, of the battle with the pirates, and of the doom of mad Captain Ethbaal. After the wine had been mixed, he led the talk around to the matter that had been in his mind:

"Sir, have you thought of marrying off your daughter again?"

Xanthos looked at his guest from under heavy lids and smiled faintly. "Naturally! One must do what one can for one's own. Of course there are certain—ah—difficulties."

Glaukos grinned so that his teeth showed in the dusk. "Father means, Master Zopyros, that the lousy ready-for-aught won't give back my sister's dowry. Under our law he'd be compelled to, but safe in Motya he can tell us to go futter the moon."

"That's not the only difficulty," said Xanthos, looking sternly at his son. "Why do you ask such a question, young sir?"

Zopyros' throat seemed to have grown a lump that all but strangled him. At last he stammered: "Be-because I—ah—I wondered if you might consider me as a son-in-law. Of course I realize that it's a bit irregular—my family ought to make the arrangements with you —but they're in Taras, and—ah—ah—" His voice died away in an ineffectual gasp.

Xanthos nodded sagely. "I thought you had some such idea in mind. As you say, it's irregular for persons of our class; but then so is Korinna's present status. So let's not look down our noses at each other." The stout old man smiled. "I suppose you're in love with my daughter."

"Yes, sir, I certainly am!"

"Well, any wise man will tell you that love before marriage is a mistake; the love that follows a marriage prudently arranged by your parents is the only kind you can bank on. But, in view of Korinna's lack of dowry, I'm not inclined to split hairs. What would your father say?"

"I don't know, yet."

"Who is he? What sort of family have you? What is their property? What their ancestry? I might as well tell you that my lineage is as noble as the noblest, and my wife's is nearly as exalted. I trace descent from three gods and two heroes. How about you?"

"If you must know, sir, I'm part Persian. My father ..." Zopyros told of his family and their business in Taras.

Xanthos said: "We have here a lot of irregularities to set off against each other. Your Persian blood does not disturb me, since the Persians are after all the most aristocratic of the barbarians.

Your father sounds respectable enough; but his estate is in business, not land, which is, of course, proper kind of property. Mine is in land.

"I wouldn't let Korinna go to you utterly destitute, although you need not expect the sum you would get if she were a virgin bride. Unless, perhaps, you can manage to steal her portion back from the god-detested Elazar. Tell me about yourself."

Zopyros, smiling, spread his hands. "What shall I tell you, sir? If I tell you how good I am, you'll deem me a braggart; if I tell you how bad, you might believe me."

"Go ahead and let me judge. For instance, what is your attitude towards religion?"

"I'm a Pythagorean, albeit I fear a somewhat imperfect one."

"Hm. A heretical school, but one about which I am inclined to be broad-minded, in view of their high ethical standards. I notice that you ate the meat served you."

"That's what I meant by being imperfect. The Man urged his followers to use their reason, and my reason has never been able to take his rules of eating very seriously."

"How would you describe your own character?"

"Well, sir—ah—I have, I suppose, my good and bad points like other men. I'm a competent engineer, and I think I shall always be able to make a decent living. I try to fulfill my promises and *meet my obligations. I'm temperate in my vices and have never been convicted of a crime. On the other hand, I don't pretend to be a great hero, or a beauty, or an athlete, or a leader, or a demagogue. Most men of your class, sir, would not even consider me a gentleman, because I work hard and don't mind getting my hands dirty."

"What's your politics? Are you a sound conservative, with due respect for the ancient and divinely established order of things? Or are you a wild-eyed radical who wants to pull down the better sort of people to his own base level?"

"I pay little heed to politics. I had rather follow my trade and let others work themselves into a frenzy over political questions."

"People," said Xanthos, "are generally satisfied to mind their own business when it is worth minding."

"Thank you, sir; I'll remember that the next time somebody rebukes me for lack of civic spirit. But, to be honest, it's lack of aptitude. One cannot be first in everything. To me, stone and wood and bronze are quiet, trustworthy things that do what you expect of them. But people—phy! One never knows what they'll do next. Some men, like my friend Archytas, are born with an instinct for handling them; but not I. I'm cut out for minding my own affairs and letting the world go by, instead of leaping in and snatching the helm from the helmsman on the slightest pretext. However, I do my best."

"According to Korinna," said Xanthos, "you leaped in effectively enough in Italy. At least, by Hera, you admit to some faults, instead of merely boasting, like one of Homer's heroes, of your own ineffable virtues! Now tell me more about your lineage. Just the last few generations, please; do not bother to trace it back to the time Apollon impregnated some remote female ancestor on a hillside, back before Theognis was born. I hardly expect you to display a more exalted pedigree than Korinna's."

Zopyros tried not to smile. "As I said, I'm of mixed descent. My great-grandfather was the satrap Bagabukhsha, or Megabyzos as Hellenes say it, the head of the Daduchid clan and one of the most powerful men of the Empire. You may have heard of his fantastic career under the Xerxes and the first Artaxerxes."

"Indeed?" said Xanthos. "That is interesting. Have you kept up with the Persian branch of the family? Such a connection might be useful if one were forced to flee to the empire, as befell the great Themistokles."

"No, sir; I don't know any of those people. If I were traveling in the realm of the Great King, I suppose I could look them up. Noble Persian families almost never die out or get killed off, because of all the wives the grandees have."

"True; but let us get back to your family."

Zopyros resumed his tale: "One time when Megabyzos was in revolt against his royal master, his son Zopyros fled to Athens. There he married Thia, the daughter of an Athenian citizen. How the Athenian permitted his daughter to wed a foreigner I don't know, but you've heard how impetuous Persians are in matters of love.

"Anyway, Zopyros soon lost his life leading Athenian troops in battle, leaving my grandmother Thia with a small child. When my father grew up, he was apprenticed to Rhatoses, an Egyptian engineer living in Athens. When Father attained an age to set up in business for himself, he removed to Taras in order to obtain citizenship, bringing my grandmother with him. In Taras he married Agatha, daughter of Bessas, son of Myron of Miletos.

"This Myron had served at the court of the Great King. There the Xerxes sent him and his friend, a Persian named Bessas, to find the headwaters of the Nile. They had an extraordinary journey, fighting an ape the size of a buffalo and meeting other strange adventures. It was on this journey that Myron conceived the idea that the earth is round, an idea many philosophers now hold. When his mission was over, he migrated west and ended his days in Taras as a respected philosopher.

"Although Myron was in his fifties when he arrived in Taras, he nevertheless married a middle-aged widow and begat a son, whom he named for his old comrade-in-arms Bessas. And Bessas' daughter Agatha is my mother. My father has often told me, with much amusement, how back in Persia there was a bitter feud between this Bessas and his friend Myron on one hand, and the Daduchids on the other. To this day, when he and my mother have an argument, he'll say: 'Now, my dear, you're not reviving that old feud between our families, are you?' "

"Your lineage is more interesting than mine," said Xanthos, "even if it is not pure Hellenic. There's one thing more. I want my grandson."

"Oh?"

"Yes. At my age a man thinks about death, and I mean to have my ghost properly served by a line of legitimate descendants. Oh, yes, I know"—he waved Zopyros to silence—"you hope to beget more children on the girl. But the Fates have their own way with such intentions, and a live descendant here and now is worth several yet unborn. Besides, I want to give the poor little bastard a proper Greek name and education.

"Korinna has told me about the Sibyl's prophecy. So we'll toss that requirement into the scale pan. Get the hoy, and you'll find me reasonable in matters of property. Otherwise, no hymns to Hymen."

Zopyros' heart sank. "I told you I'm no hero. Did Korinna also tell you I have promised to return to Taras?"

Xanthos flipped a hand. "Of course you must, if you promised. The other matters can always be settled in good time."

"I was hoping to wed her now and take her home with me."

"Why, you immoral young scoundrel! Without the customary discussion between your family and me, your father's permission, formal betrothal, and so on? Draw your chariot back to the starting line! But then, the young are always impatient in such matters. I understand, even if I can't approve."

Xanthos swallowed the last of his wine, set down his kylix, and yawned. "I must arrange for my poor brother's funeral. Glaukos, why don't you take our young friend to Kylon's?" To Zopyros he said: "That's our leading tavern. Since Kylon rents the lot from me, I have a vested interest in his trade. Everybody said he was crazy to build so big a place—seats for twenty, and you can squeeze in forty if nobody breathes deeply. It's the biggest tavern this side of Athens; and everybody, including myself, thought he'd be bankrupt in a month.

"But Kylon had a scheme. He offers free grog to sea captains who spend an evening answering questions, and telling the news of far places. So he packs 'cm in, night after night, and is coining money. Some of his girls aren't bad, either; you might pick yourself one. After keeping your paws off my daughter for the last ten-day, your yard must be as stiff as a pikestaff."

Kylon's was crowded indeed. As Glaukos and Zopyros pushed through the mass, men spoke to Glaukos, commiserating with him on the death of his uncle. Three young men clustered around, and Zopyros learned that they were the late Nestor's sons-in-law. Soon the four young Messanians put their heads together and began talking in low, solemn tones about property and inheritances.

"Look, Zopyros," said Glaukos, "I shan't drink, because it wouldn't look well with Uncle Nestor still unburied. But that's no reason why you shouldn't enjoy yourself. If you wriggle through there, I think you can get a seat on that window sill before somebody else grabs it. I'll join you later."

Zopyros started towards the window in question, but another man got there first. While he stood in perplexity looking about, a voice with a Punic accent said:

"Come here, Master Zopyros! My friend and I can squeeze apart to make a place for you."

It was Asto, the mate of the Muttumalein. As Zopyros, ignoring scowls and muttered threats from the men crowded aside to make room for him, wormed into the space they made for him on the bench, the Phoenician continued: "O Zopyros, this is Evnos the Karian, a ransomer by trade. I've carried him hither and yon about the Inner Sea on his errands of mercy. Evnos, meet Zopyros son of Megabyzos, a Tarentine engineer."

"Be in good health!" said Evnos. He was a stocky, barrel-chested man with a large wide head, a hooked nose, and a close-cut, bristly black beard. Though not handsome, he seemed friendly. "Yours must be a fascinating trade,"

Zopyros shrugged. "It's a living. Yours sounds far more exciting. How did you ever get into it?"

Evnos gave a gap-toothed smile. "In the worst possible way: namely, by being a slave myself."

"Oh?"

"That's right. I can't be bothered trying to hide the fact. I'm beyond such petty affectations. One winter we had a famine in Karia, and my parents, who were poor country folk, sold me to a slaver. You needn't look shocked. It saved my life, when all the rest of my family died of hunger. It was the only way they could assure me of one good meal a day. Necessity is a hard master."

"But then how did you come into your present occupation?"

"Well, I had three masters in the next few years. One was pretty good, but the other two were real temple-robbing bastards. Especially the last one—the Athenian."

"What was the matter with him?"

"He was the foulest-tempered man I have known, and every time he got a little drunk he took it out on his slaves. I was lucky—he only knocked out a couple of my teeth. One of my fellow slaves he blinded in one of his rages. Still, in the long run his vile temper got me my freedom."

"How so?"

"After he'd beaten one of us to a pulp, he'd feel sorry and treat us kindly for a while. It made him uncomfortable to see us around all marked up. Conscience, I suppose. So he let me work for other men and keep half my pay. In a few years I bought myself off.

"At about that time, a kinsman of my last master wanted me to go to Syracuse to redeem his son, who was held prisoner in the quarries after the defeat of the Athenian invasion. So I did. Then another such bit of business came my way, and one thing led to another. I had been moved around quite a bit during these experiences, and I'm pretty good with languages. So travel doesn't frighten me. Now I journey all over the Inner Sea, arranging for people to ransom relatives who have been captured in war, or seized by pirates, or kidnapped and sold by slavers. If such a calamity should befall you, I am the best man in the Inner Sea to rescue you."

"Are the ransomees grateful?"

"Sometimes, although you'd be surprised how many try to wriggle out of paying the last installment of my fee. Still, I don't complain. When I was a barefoot country boy I always wanted to travel and, by the gods, I've had my share! I've seen strange things, and moreover I get home so seldom that my family really appreciates me when I am there."

"Where do you live?"

"In Syracuse. You understand, I have certain—ah—arrangements in other cities as well, but my wife and children are in Dionysios' metropolis."

"What was your strangest adventure?"

"Let me think. I suppose it was the time I was on my way to ransom a captive from one gang of pirates, and another gang captured me."

"By Zeus on Olympos, man, tell me!"

Evnos: "A rich family in Corinth hired me to redeem their breadwinner, one Chromes, who had been taken by Cilician pirates on his way to Cyprus. This gang was headed by a Numidian named Zamar, with headquarters in Kelenderis.

"I sailed from Corinth with a good stout bag of tetradrachmai at my belt. My captain was a Phoenician, Sadid of Cyprian Soloi, on his way to his home port. The awkward thing about ransoming is that you can't buy passage to the pirates' lairs on a real merchantman, because no merchant skipper in his right mind goes within ten leagues of such a place. So you have to make the last stage of your journey in some little cockleshell of a fishing craft, sailed by a fisherman more than half mad, because otherwise he would never have undertaken such an errand. Although most pirates leave such humble craft alone, you are dealing with strange and unpredictable people."

"I find all people strange and unpredictable," said Zopyros. "But go on."

"Well, Sadid meant to cut across the Pamphylian Sea to Cyprus. But a southern duster drove us within sight of Cape Anemourion, and a sixty-oared hemiolia pounced upon us. Captain Sadid, though, didn't mean to give up without a fight. He had a big stout ship fitted with a dolphin. Do you know what that is?"

"You mean one of those leaden weights slung from a boom at the top of the mast?"

"Exactly. When the hemiolia hove to alongside, Sadid had the boom swung out above the pirate's deck, and he cut the rope that held the weight. Down went the dolphin. But alas! At that instant a wave carried the ships apart. Hence the dolphin, instead of smashing a hole in the hemiolia's bottom, fell into the sea between the ships.

"Of course then the perfume was in the soup. The pirates swarmed aboard, screeching like harpies. When Captain Sadid went down fighting, those of his sailors still on their feet gave up. I can't blame them, because they were outnumbered four to one. But surrendering did them no good. The freebooters killed every one of them, to teach them not to resist honest pirates. I shall never forget the sight of their heads rolling back and forth across the deck, bumpety-bump, as the ship wallowed.

"They bundled us passengers into their galley, raped the women, searched us, killed a couple who resisted, looted the merchantman, set fire to it, and shoved off. Naturally, they grabbed my bag of money. However, before the boarding, I had torn up my spare shirt to make a bandage and tied the bandage around my left arm, with a fistful of silver hidden in it. During the fight I managed to get some blood on the bandage. Although they searched me pretty thoroughly—hoisting my shirt to make sure I hadn't shoved anything up my arse—they never thought to unwind the bandage.

"A Phoenician, Yerubaal, headed this band. When we got to Captain Yerubaal's home port of Nagidos, he quartered us in the village. I protested against being detained and having my ransom money confiscated. I argued that ransomers ought to be inviolate, like priests and physicians, and that such highhanded actions as his would ruin the ransom business, to even/body's loss. But Yerubaal was a tough old temple robber. He only laughed, and slapped his big paunch, and quoted proverbs to the effect that a fish in the net is worth ten in the sea. He added that I had better hold my tongue if I wanted to have one to hold.

"It takes a long time for a pirate to send out ransom demands and receive replies. While the ten-days passed, I became friendly with the people in whose hut I was quartered; especially with the boy in the family, who was fired with ambition to become a real throat-cutting pirate like his father. From him I learned that Kelenderis—my original destination—was only two hundred furlongs or so from Nagidos. Moreover, there was bad feeling between Yerubaal and Captain Zamar, who was holding my client Chremes.

"I won't go into all the details, but in the end I bribed the stripling to carry a letter to Zamar, telling him of the fate of the money meant for Chremes' release. Soon Zamar's hemiolia anchored at the mouth of the river. His pirates swaggered ashore, Zamar shouting a demand to speak to Yerubaal.

" 'Here I am,' said Yerubaal. 'What do you want, prick-face?'

"The two captains were very different. Yerubaal was fat and jolly, a great eater, drinker, talker, joker, and boaster. Zamar, on the other hand, was tall, lean, and dark-skinned, with a solemn manner.

"I want my ransomer, Evnos the Karian, and the money he brought to redeem one of my captives,' said Zamar.

" 'Futter you!' said Yerubaal. 'By Tanith's teats, what I have, I keep! Besides, that money has already been paid into the common fund.'

" 'Your conduct is whipworthy and unethical, you branded sodomite!' said Zamar. 'If you don't give me the man and the money, by the gods I'll take them!'

" 'Go ahead!' said Yerubaal with a grin. 'You've never seen me run from a fight yet.'

"Zamar looked around at his men, who were drawing swords and poising javelins, and at Yerubaal's men, who were doing likewise. All the captives and the villagers were spread out behind Yerubaal's gang to watch. In fact, some of the prisoners began laying bets. Then Zamar held up a hand to check his own men and said:

" 'For a long time, sow-belly, I've wanted to cut out your stinking heart; but there's no reason why half our brave lads should die in the cutting. If you're not afraid, I'll meet you in single combat, winner take all.'

" 'By Milkarth's iron yard, that suits me!' said Yerubaal, and he ran at Zamar with sword and shield. Round and round they went with a great clatter—cut, thrust, duck, parry, guard, advance, and retreat. They were well matched. While the Numidian had the advantage of reach, the Phoenician was the stronger and was also quick and agile for a man of his girth. The watching pirates capered and screeched like a horde of monkeys.

"I never did find out which of the two captains was the better, because one of Yerubaal's men rushed forward and stabbed Zamar in the back. Before Zamar had time to fall, one of his men in turn hurled a javelin into Yerubaal's back. Down went the two captains, and the men of their bands rushed together in the fiercest fight I have ever seen.

"The bands, too, were evenly matched. There was a grand mellay, with everybody spearing and slashing, stabbing and kicking, biting and clawing, and blood all over the place. When neither side seemed able to win, some god sent me an idea. Whenever a man fell near the outskirts of the fight, I bravely darted forward, seized his weapon, and handed it to one of my fellow captives. Soon they were all armed.

"After a time, there were only six or seven of Yerubaal's men on their feet, and four of Zamar's. All were so winded they could barely stand and pant, and all had blood running down their dirty hides from their wounds. " 'All right,' said I to the other prisoners, 'let's get 'em!' "We swept forward in a line, every man of us with a sword or spear or ax and most of us with shields as well. Although we were not trained fighters, we were fresh and outnumbered the remaining pirates two to one. It was a slaughter. The pirates had hardly the strength to raise an arm. We chopped them down like saplings, except for the last couple, whom we saved for torture.

"So ended the careers of Yerubaal and Zamar and their merry men. We burned Yerubaal's ship and the smaller craft in the harbor and set out along the coast in Zamar's ship. Luckily there were seafaring men amongst us. We elected one of them captain, and between his management and god-sent winds we got to Tarsos without further trouble. Some of the gentlemen among the captives moaned at getting their hands blistered on the oars, but we had no mercy on them.

"We stopped at Kelenderis and took off Zamar's captives, including my man Chremes. And do you know, that whoreson knave tried to get back the ransom money? We debated the matter before the assembled crew. He claimed that I was entitled only to my fee, that the bulk of the ransom never had belonged to me and therefore reverted to him on Zamar's death. I argued that his family had given me the money to free him, and if he was freed it was none of his business how I disposed of the money.

"The crew voted that I should keep the money, only giving Chremes enough for ship fare back to Corinth, with a little extra for emergencies. Since this was only a few drachmai, I didn't mind. The rest paid for my house in Syracuse. And now, Master Zopyros, let me talk business with you."

"With me?"

"Yes. I'm not on a ransoming journey now, but—"

"Here's the sea captain for tonight," interrupted Asto. "He's Abdanath of Tyre. Now hush up and listen to the news, my flap-tongued friends."

Abdanath of Tyre, standing in the small cleared space and sipping wine from a beaker, said: "Excellent sirs! I have just come from Tyre, with stops at Rhodes, Athens, and Syracuse. I still have some fine purple-dyed Tyrian garments, precious Acaean glass, Athenian painted pottery, and Chian wine—"

"Yes, yes, but let's have the news!" said a man. "The commercial pitch can follow."

Abdanath bowed towards the speaker. "To hear is to obey, my lord. Know, then, that the Spartans have made peace with the Eleans and have declared war upon the satrap Tissaphernes. They have invaded the lands of the Great King in Lydia. It is said that six thousand Greek mercenaries are marching to join them. These are the remnant of the ten thousand who invaded the Empire under Prince Cyrus and had to cut their way out, across half the breadth of Asia, after Cyrus fell at Cunaxa.

"King Agis of Sparta has died and been succeeded by King Agesilaos. King Archelaos of Macedonia has been killed in a hunting accident. His young son Orestes has been slain by his guardian, Aeropos, who has usurped the throne. And the Athenians have arrested a philosopher named Sokrates on charges of spreading subversive ideas."

There was a mutter in the audience— "Isn't that what you'd expect of the fornicating fools?" Athens had been widely hated in Sicily since the great invasion fifteen years before, and the Siceliots welcomed a chance to gibe at the former mistress of the Greek world.

Captain Abdanath continued: "The Egyptian Tamôs, who was the Great King's governor in Ionia, has fled to Egypt and there been murdered by another satrap. There is much unrest in Egypt, and a famine in Thrace, and the price of olives is up in Hellas ..."

The audience began asking questions, mostly about local politics in the cities of the East and about the prices of various goods. Evnos spoke in a low voice to Zopyros:

"As I was saying, I have a bit of business with you. Would you like a secure position, at a higher rate of pay than any other engineer in these parts? And a chance to make inventions, work out original ideas, and gain immortal glory?"

"That sounds good," said Zopyros. "But I should have to ask my father. I'm in partnership with him. Who's offering these liberal terms? Dionysios?"

"Exactly. Now that his power is secure, Dionysios has great plans for improving and beautifying Syracuse and its dependent cities, and for augmenting their military might. The trouble is to find men with enough training to do a really good job. One can always hire ordinary masons and carpenters, who will turn out adequate copies of the temples at Segesta and the walls at Akragas, or shipwrights who can whittle out a conventional trireme. But Dionysios wants something more. He wants men of genius—men with original ideas. So I've been sent to recruit such men. Whom besides yourself would you recommend in Taras?"

"My friend Archytas," said Zopyros promptly. "He's better at mathematics than I, although I have the edge over him in the actual handling of materials. Besides, he can get along with anybody."

Zopyros thought fast. He would be much closer to Korinna in Syracuse than in Taras. Once established in Syracuse, he might gain Xanthos' consent to his wedding the girl without first rescuing the child. Or even—Zopyros winced at the thought but then faced it squarely—the Fates might offer an opportunity to do what Xanthos demanded and escape with a whole skin. In either case, logically speaking, his chances would be better in Syracuse. Of course, his parents might cavil ...

Zopyros kept his musings to himself. To Evnos he said: "I'll talk about this offer with my father. If he approves, I may well appear in Syracuse in a month or two."

"And don't forget to pass the word to your friend Archytas. Tell him fame and fortune await him in Syracuse! I would do so myself, except that I'm on my way to Athens on Abdanath ship, and we shan't stop at Taras."

Abdanath had finished, and Kylon brought out his dancer and his singer. As the girls performed, some heavy drinkers became noisy. Presently two men had stripped and oiled themselves and, having chased Kylon's girls off the floor, fell to wrestling in the middle of the room. Another man tried to dance the kordax on a table and fell off with a crash. As the uproar became deafening, Glaukos shouted in Zopyros' ear:

"If they're all going to scream like Illyrians, I think we had better go home."

"All right," said Zopyros, and his two bench mates agreed. As they reached the muddy street, a Messanian lounging in the doorway lurched unsteadily against little Asto. The Messanian backed off and said:

"Sorry, I—" Then his expression changed. "Another polluted Phoenician, eh? Someday we'll show you baby-burning sodomites a thing or two! Work night and day so we can't compete with you, will you? Cut prices below ours, will you? You'll get yours! Wait and see! Unless you'd like a free sample?" The man balled his fists.

"And would you be looking for a fight, now?" said a voice with a familiar lilt. Segovax the Celt had pushed out the doorway behind Zopyros and his party.

"And who in Herakles' name are you?" said the Messanian.

"That I will be pleased to show your honor," said Segovax, blowing on his large right fist and rubbing his left hand over it as if polishing it, "if you will be finding me a quiet place, where we can discuss the matter like gentlemen ..."

The Messanian's friends seized him by the arms and pulled him back into Kylon's. They jabbered into the drunken man's ears: "Take it easy!" "Sober up, you god-detested fool!" "Don't start a fight with foreigners, or we shall all end up in the House!"

"Thank you, O Segovax," said Asto, taking his hand off his dagger. Zopyros could see, even in the feeble lamplight, that the small Phoenician's face had gone pale under its swarthiness. "That's the trouble with being a traveling man. Some bully decides to clean all the filthy foreigners out of his fair city, and if you're the nearest one in sight he naturally picks on you."

"He's right," said Evnos the Karian. "I run into that kind of thing now and then, too. That's but one hazard of our callings. Good night, friends."

The party broke up. The Phoenician, the Karian, and the Celt went one way; Zopyros and Glaukos the other. Glaukos said:

"Don't tell my father you're so chummy with Phoenicians. He hates them as bitterly as that man in the doorway."

"From what your sister tells me, he didn't used to."

"No; but that experience changed his mind. Not that I criticize you. I understand how you, in plying your trade, have to mix with all sorts of barbarians. But Father is of the older generation. He will never understand us progressive-minded moderns."

Zopyros found himself with a day to kill before the next ship left for Taras. If he had been able to spend the time with Korinna, he would have been happy to prolong his stay. But, with the girl shut up in the women's rooms at the back of the house, he was impatient to get away, to start negotiations between his father and Xanthos. Patient waiting was not his style. Watching him pace and fidget, Glaukos said:

"Aren't you the restless one, though? Most people are glad of a day off from work and care. Let's take the dog for a walk around the city wall."

The wall of Messana measured a mere fifteen cubits high and four cubits thick. Moreover, it was badly crumbled in places, so that strollers had to watch their step for fear of a dangerous fall. Zopyros said:

"A determined foe could overrun this wall with scaling ladders alone, without these new siege engines we hear about. Why doesn't your Council hire competent engineers—like my father's firm, for instance—to build them a proper one? If there's another big Carthaginian war ..."

Glaukos shrugged. "Long ago some oracle—I forget if it was that of Delphoi, or Cumae, or what—told us:

In this city shall men of Carthage he hearers of water.

So you see that, if the Carthaginians attack, we shall overcome and enslave them."

"Hm. People have gotten into trouble before this, by trusting in oracles instead of in strength. Croesus of Lydia, for instance."

"True." The young man looked troubled. "I'm not so keen on omens and oracles myself, though I have to be careful what I say at home."

"Your father must be a man of some influence in the city. Why don't you put him up to agitating for a new wall?"

Glaukos held up his hands. "He's the biggest omen-monger of the lot! He never does anything without consulting the priests of several temples. A saying like the one I quoted to you might have been given him by the Far-Shooter in person. I admit the oracles seem to work for him, since his business enterprises have prospered."

"If General Nikias hadn't taken omens so seriously, his Athenians would never have been trapped and destroyed at Syracuse."

Glaukos shrugged. "No doubt, but such arguments would get nowhere with Father. How about a cockfight this evening?"

Next morning Zopyros and Korinna, surrounded by the latter's family, stood on the wharf at Messana. They faced each other, not touching, with tears slowly running down their faces.

"Come, come," wheezed Xanthos. "It's not so tragic as all that. It is not as if I had said you might never marry."

"Oh, let him kiss her, Xanthos," said Eirene. "It can't do any harm, and the lad may never get back to Messana."

"Who can foresee what the gods have in store for us?" said Xanthos. "Go ahead, Zopyros."

Zopyros embraced the girl, strained her to him for a long instant. Then he picked up his gear, slung it over his back, and climbed over the rail of the Atalanta of Syracuse. As the ship drew away from the wharf, he remained at the rail, waving with his palm turned inward, until the figures on shore grew too small to distinguish.

The Atalanta wallowed across the Tarentine Gulf under fair spring skies. Zopyros, wrapped in his cloak, dozed on the deck and dreamt. He dreamt that he stood on the forested lower slopes of Aetna. As he watched, the mountain spat fire and smoke and presently turned into a naked, hairy giant with a single red-glowing eye in the middle of his forehead. The clouds formed a wreath around his shaggy head. Then a deep voice behind Zopyros said:

"I need your help, little man."

Zopyros turned and saw the demigod Herakles, complete with lion skin. Although twice as tall as a mortal man, Herakles was still but a pygmy compared to the Kyklops. Herakles continued:

"The gods have laid another labor upon me, to slay the giant Polyphemos. For that task my regular bow, which Apollon gave me to use against the Stymphalian birds, were too small. I have made an arrow of suitable size"—he held up an arrow as long as himself, like a ship's yard with feathers—"but I have no way to shoot it. It would need a bow twenty or thirty cubits long, and that were too large even for one of my stature. But Apollon tells me that you are a clever lad, as mortals go, and can devise a means to launch this arrow. Quick, now; the Kyklops approaches!"

And indeed the giant was coming on, treading down trees with his huge horny feet and swinging a club made from a tree trunk.

"Hasten!" growled Herakles. "The world will be lost if you use not that wit wherewith the Averter of Evil credits you!"

Zopyros tried desperately to think, while the Kyklops drew closer. Then something snapped. He cried:

"Cut the branches from one of these pines, O Herakles, but leave a cubit or two on a pair near the top. Then cut off the trunk just above this pair of stubs, so that the tree shall have the form of a fork. Hook the head of your arrow into that fork, pull it back until the tree trunk is bent into a curve, and let it go!"

Herakles began lopping branches with his ax, climbing as he cut. In a few heartbeats the tree was bare save for the pair of stubs near the top.

"I cannot reach the top from the ground, even with my stature!" said Herakles, dropping back to earth with an impact that shook the ground. "How shall we bend the tree?"

The Kyklops came closer, his fiery eye shooting gleams through the forest. Trees crashed down before his tread.

"A rope!" cried Zopyros. "Use the tail of your lion's skin!"

Herakles swung the tail—which seemed to have grown to the needed length—and whipped the end around the top of the polled tree. Then his mighty muscles creaked as he hauled in the improvised rope. The tree trunk bent like a bow, quivering with stress.

When it was pulled back to within easy reach from the ground, Herakles tied the loose end of the lion's tail around another tree trunk. He placed the head of his huge arrow in the fork of the polled tree.

"Now," he said, "stand you by with the ax, and when I say, 'Now,' cut the rope. Are you ready?"

"Ready," said Zopyros. He no longer dared to look at the Kyklops, so close the monster loomed.

"Now!" roared Herakles.

Zopyros brought down the ax. The rope parted; the tree whipped up with a swish. Away soared the monstrous arrow ...

And Zopyros found himself sprawled on the deck in a tangle of cloak. A roll of the ship, more severe than most, had tumbled him over.

The Atalanta threaded her way along the channel between a pair of rocks—the Choirades—and Cape Phalanthos. The low, flat Messapian plain spread out before her. Instead of the frowning fence of the Apennines that faced the sea off most of the coasts of Italy, here but a few low ranges of hills were to be seen, far inland. Ahead lay Taras, a streak of color against the olive brown of the coast. The afternoon sun shone brilliantly on the red of roof tiles, the white of marble and whitewashed walls, the buff of mud brick.

Straight ahead, the rocky hill of the acropolis rose from the isle where stood the old city. This island plugged the entrance to the Little Sea behind. A wall of brick ran around the island a few cubits above the water level. To the right, on a hump of land, the huge temple of Poseidon, with massive Doric columns, loomed above the wall. Smaller temples marched up the main hill to its summit.

To the right of the temple of Poseidon, the land dipped beneath the sea to form the East Passage, deep enough only for small craft and crossed by a wooden bridge. Beyond the East Passage spread the suburb, in its turn protected by a brick wall. The ship angled to port, towards the deeper North Passage.

Down came the sail. Under oars, the ship forged through the North Passage into the Little Sea, the finest harbor in southern Italy. The Atalanta tied up at the wharf along the inner side of the island acropolis.

When Zopyros stepped ashore, the shadows of late afternoon were lengthening. Since it was a long walk to his home, he allowed himself the luxury of hiring a porter to carry his bag of belongings. He strode ahead, using his spear as a walking stick and dodging other pedestrians. Many of these were slaves or free workers bearing heavy burdens, some so bulky that Zopyros had to flatten himself against the wall to let them pass. The city smells of sweat, produce, cookery, and decaying waste matter filled his nostrils.

The streets of the old city, too narrow and crooked for wheeled traffic, formed a chaotic tangle. They were paved with a rough surface of lime and pebbles; but in many places this had disintegrated, leaving stretches of mud into which garbage and ordure had been trodden. The brick walls of one-story houses, which crowded in from either side, were practically blank, save for massive wooden doors and an occasional high, small, barred window. The walls of the more prosperous houses had been whitewashed; the others remained in their natural mud-brick buff.

A few months before, Zopyros and his father had presented the Assembly with a proposal for rebuilding the city in accordance with a master plan, such as the great Hippodamos had made for Peiraieus, Thourioi, and Rhodes. The rebuilt streets would gradually have become wide and straight, crossing at right angles as in some ancient cities of the East. A unanimous roar of protest from the property owners of Taras, however, had instantly squelched this ambitious plan.

The streets grew a little wider and straighter after Zopyros crossed the bridge to the suburb. At last he came to the familiar door of his home. He knocked and called: "Pai!"

Soon he was smothered in his family's embraces. Zopyros' father who, although gray and not so tall, strongly resembled his son, shouted towards the kitchen:

"Fetch some wine!"

"Did you catch cold?" asked his mother Agatha. "Tell us your adventures!" begged his brother Perseus, a smaller edition of Zopyros, not yet bearded.

His sister Thia, a buck-toothed, gangly girl of twelve, said: "What about this beautiful widow whom Archytas says you went off with?"

"One at a time, dear ones!" cried Zopyros. Presently they were all seated about him in the courtyard, listening to his account of his journey after he had separated from the Archon's party. When he told of his arrival in Messana and his reception by Korinna's family, his father said:

"I suppose, son, that your relations with this young lady were— and are—motivated by simple friendship?"

Zopyros blushed, choked, and stammered. "N-not exactly. As a m-matter of fact I should like to marry her."

"So my passionless logician has at last allowed himself to be swayed by sentiment? Your mother and I have thought that it was time we started looking for a wife for you, son. I'm sure we can find a more suitable match here in Taras. Besides, from what you tell me, this girl has had a somewhat—ah—colorful history." He held up a hand as Zopyros started to protest. "I know, you'll tell me it wasn't her fault. But marriage is a business proposition, and one must look at it from all angles. It has hazards enough without needlessly adding to them, as by wedding a wench from another city, with whom one's own city may someday be at war. Besides, think how hard it would be for Xanthos and me to make the financial agreements, shuttling between two cities!" Megabyzos tossed his head back in the negative. "No, I can't see this marriage as good for the family. I won't rule it out for the present, but I certainly cannot approve."

Agatha added: "You can trust us to seek your best interests, Zopyros darling."

Zopyros was silent for a moment, biting his lips. Then he spoke: "Another thing, Father. The Dionysios offers high pay to engineers and skilled craftsmen who come to Syracuse to work on his projects. I've been urged to go there—"

"Zopyros! I wouldn't think of such a thing. We have more contracts than we can handle now, and—"

"But it would be good for the firm, to have an entree to the most powerful man in Great Hellas—"

"You've only just got home," said Agatha, "and already you're talking about going away again!"

"I know what you have in mind!" said Megabyzos. "You want to be near that girl—"

"But, dear ones!" cried Zopyros. "It's an opportunity; and Perseus is old enough to help—"

"Nonsense!" said Megabyzos loudly. "He hasn't even begun his apprenticeship—"

They were still arguing, shouting and gesticulating, when a furious rapping cut off the dispute. The porter admitted Archytas, sweating and disheveled, with a small bag in his hand.

"Zopyros!" he said in a hushed voice. "They're after us! Get ready to flee the town. Right away!"

Zopyros frowned in puzzlement. "Are you crazy? Who is after us?"

"Kteson the demagogue and his gang! They'll get you, too, because you're vice-president."

"What in the name of the Dog are you talking about?"

"This started when I ran for the Council. The election is in a ten-day. When it looked as if I should win Kteson's seat, Kteson brought a charge of treason against me."

"I never thought the people would take that silly charge seriously," said Megabyzos.

"They did, though!" said Archytas. "Kteson told the Assembly our poor little Pythagorean Society was plotting to set up oligarchic rule and stop everybody from eating beans. The next step, he said, would be to make the Tarentines live on barley porridge. So today he pushed through an indictment against both of us, as president and vice-president of the club; and his bravos are out on the streets now, looking for us."

"Oi!" cried Zopyros, and all his family burst into exclamations.

"What's the quickest way to get out of town?" said Archytas.

Zopyros: "Captain Phaiax's Atalanta sails for Syracuse tomorrow, if he can complete his loading. And, luckily, I haven't yet unpacked my gear. We'll hide in his cargo overnight. Father, it looks as though some god meant us to try our luck with Dionysios, willy-nilly."

Megabyzos sighed. "Who can fight against Fate? I shall miss you, son. And how shall I ever catch up on my work?"

Zopyros took the shield out of his duffel bag. "Mother," he said, "is there a clean shirt that I might have? Thia, can you get us something to eat on the way? A loaf, a cheese, and a sack of dried peas would do ..."

Wearing the hoods of their cloaks pulled down over their faces, Zopyros and Archytas hurried towards the waterfront on the northern side of the suburb. They had almost reached the shore when a voice cried:

"Ea! You two!"

Zopyros hurried on as if he had not heard. There came a sound of running steps. A man brushed past them, turning to peer under the hoods.

"Aren't you Zopyros and Archytas, the Pythagoreans?" said the man. "Yes, I'm sure you're Archytas! I've seen you making speeches in the market place. In the name of the Assembly, I arrest—"

"And who in Milkarth's name are you?" roared Zopyros in a thick Punic accent. "I'm Elibaal of Sidon, and this is my first mate. Out of the way, you greasy, boy-loving Greek!"

"You don't fool me! You don't fool me!" cried the man, capering in his excitement. "In the name—"

While Zopyros was speaking, Archytas had slipped around behind the man and dropped to hands and knees. Zopyros gave a quick glance up and clown the crooked alley in which they stood. Nobody was in sight for the moment, since most Tarentines were indoors eating their dinners. Zopyros pushed the man in the chest, so that he fell backwards over Archytas. Then, as the fellow started to struggle up, Zopyros whacked him over the head with the hilt of his dagger. The man collapsed like a ruptured bladder.

"Jolly good!" said Archytas. "But I do hope you haven't killed him. That would ruin my political prospects for good."

"No; just put him to sleep for a while. At least, I hope so."

"Maybe we'd better shove him into a corner where he won't be seen so quickly."

"No time for that. We're almost to the harbor, and some small-boat fishermen tie up at the foot of this street. Come on!"

They hastened on. Archytas had to trot a few steps now and then to keep up with his companion's long strides. At the end of the street, they found a fisherman tying up after his day's fishing. Since his catch had been meager, it was easy to hire him to row them westward towards the Atalanta's wharf. They told him to swing wide of the shore.

While the fisherman rowed, the two young men sat in silence, casting fearful glances shoreward lest a boat put out after them or a group of armed men appear on shore to cut them off. The sun dipped behind the temple of Poseidon. Zopyros said:

"Pull in there, behind that Rhodian."

"Why don't you have him drop us at the At—" began Archytas.

"Shut up!" Zopyros began talking broken Oscan. "If we climb from this craft directly aboard our ship, the fisherman will know exactly where we went. Then, if anybody questions him, he'll put them on our track. We shall run less risk if we disembark a plethron or two away and walk along the shore."

At last they came to the wharf that Zopyros had designated. They climbed ashore, heaving their duffel bags over their shoulders. They were not conspicuous, because men in traveling gear were always going to and fro on the waterfront. As they strode along the street, the odors of a cookshop wafted to their nostrils. Archytas said in a plaintive voice:

"Can't we stop for at least one good cooked meal before boarding?"

"Dear Herakles! You'd think of your belly if you were writhing in the Hydra's jaws. Come along!"

As the sun set, leaving a band of green and gold along the western horizon, they boarded the Atalanta. Captain Phaiax, loading bales of Tarentine wool, was surprised to see them. But, when they paid their fares to Syracuse, he asked no questions. He was used to that sort of thing.