by AM Kirkby
***
There was bad blood now between Melkart and the women; Kallirhoe had made her feelings about his drug-induced orgies quite plain, and Melkart had been vocal about her moving in with Karite. "Silly bitch," he'd said to Egerius; "a good shafting would sort her out. Cock, that's what she needs." Egerius thought back to that night he'd heard them, after dinner, in the dark passage; he wondered if Kallirhoe remembered it at all. But Melkart had let it rankle, even though he was notorious now for taking his pick of the women who joined his group.
Despite the fact that Kallirhoe had so decisively ruled out a liaison – or perhaps because, with that out of the way, they could be friends again – Egerius found himself more and more often heading for their house. He enjoyed the restfulness of the two women's company; he wondered, sometimes, if there was more of the woman than the man in his composition – at least as the Romans divided the world. It was a refuge from his cares; from the ceaseless demands of sour Gaius, from the squabbles of the newer settlers, from Daryush's flinching silence.
Old Collatia was silent in the long autumn evenings; they could see the smoke of the new city's hearths drifting, smudged into the darkening sky. Around the house the low banks where walls had once been were already being taken over by mounds of thyme and scrabbling brambles. One other house still stood, roofless; the great crack in one wall would pull it down before year's end, that was almost certain. After night came, Egerius would bed down outside, if it was warm enough, or pick his way carefully through the low hummocks where houses had once stood, the outlines of vanished streets, and back to the new city.
Sometimes they heard howls, whether of wolves or men they weren't sure. Karite thought it was Melkart's stoners, flying on drug and wine like half-completed shape-changers in the old stories. Kallirhoe said no, it was wolves for sure, Egerius had better look after himself when he went back to his house, and not sleep outside where the wolves would come for him; they could smell a man for miles. Or a woman, come to that.
The howls got closer. Egerius wondered whether to tell Gaius. If the stoners were out of control, something would have to be done. Or if it were wolves, they'd have to organise a hunt; and the livestock would need to be brought in for the winter, to keep them safe.
They were still eating the fruits of summer; Karite had roasted and pickled them in vinegar and honey, or in oil with mustard, and she had preserved cheese, too, in oil with mountain herbs. It was better than the pea or grain porridge most of the workers ate, or the mess of onions and leeks that the Etruscans were used to. Egerius admired the economy of the women's kitchen; the strings of onions and garlic already hung up, the boxes of dried herbs, the small pots for fresh herb through the winter. Even though Karite challenged the very reality of the world they lived in, she still provisioned the household competently against the coming winter; whereas Kallirhoe's sparkling mind didn't run much to practicalities of that sort, though she could plot a course or plan a structure, or calculate exactly the force needed to lever a heavy weight.
They were happy enough, in a strange way, the two women and Egerius, and however many of their students stayed for the evening – sometimes a good number, sometimes none; discussing everything from Corinthian politics or naval warfare to the lives of swallows and where they went in winter, and the difference between Greek and Etruscan proverbs.
"Find a jackdaw next to a jackdaw, we say in Greek."
"It's the same for us; well, nearly. We say; look for one pigeon next to another."
"It's true though; similar creatures seek each other."
Egerius remembered; fish for the water, rivers to the sea, woman to woman.
"And we say: teaching an eagle to fly."
"Or: an eagle does not catch flies."
There was a sudden howl, outside; outside, but close.
"It's too early in the year for wolves," Egerius said.
"Not in Thessaly."
"It is here."
They listened; they couldn't help but listen. It came again, and this time they could distinguish words, or thought they could; but when they mentioned it, they couldn't agree on what the words were. Karite thought it was a herdsman calling for a lost goat; Kallirhoe said it was one of the stoners shouting his own name - "which is quite right: they have all lost themselves," Karite said acidly – and Egerius thought he'd heard "bitch", but said nothing to the two women about it.
"Too early for wolves?"
"They stay in the mountains till the days shorten. They don't come here, not usually, not in summer."
"This is autumn."
"Not even now," he said. "They're too cunning to be caught. And they would be. They'll wait till the snow comes. If it does."
Then they heard it.
"Bitches! Bloody bitches! Come out! Out! Out!"
"Out," like a long howl of pain. A voice stretched out with hurt; was this what men dying in battle sounded like?
"Bloody Greek bitches! Unnatural bitches! Out! Or I'll come to get you!"
"That's Melkart," Karite said. "What in Hades..."
"I know." Kallirhoe scowled, and got up.
"What are you doing?"
"What do you think?" She'd taken a stick from where it leant against the wall, and was beating it into the palm of her other hand.
"No. I'll go. He has nothing against me." Egerius thought for a moment, then held out his hand. "I could do with more force than just that of argument."
Kallirhoe hesitated for a second before handing him the stick. "I don't know how strong it is. It supports my weight when I'm walking; it might not stand up to blows."
"It'll do."
Outside, night had come; the moon was low in the sky, gray clouds drifting across its face. There were few stars tonight; the clouds were low. Melkart, if it was Melkart, was invisible. Egerius listened; there was no sound. Melkart must have heard him come out. Should he shout, let the Phoenician know he was there?
He heard an impact somewhere far out and to his left, and what might have been a stifled curse, or an animal grunting. He took his decision. He knew there was a fig tree, not far away from the house, that grew bushy and thick; he'd hide himself there. If Melkart went away again, he'd never know Egerius had been there; well and good. If he came closer to the house; well, Egerius would have to deal with it.
He edged further and further towards where he thought the tree was, but a cloud hid the moon and he must have lost his direction in the sudden darkness, before his eyes got accustomed to it, or perhaps he had got the distance wrong, for just as he decided he should turn a little further to his right, he stumbled over one of the roots and felt the broad leaves slap his face. He hoped Melkart hadn't heard that, nor his gasp of surprise. Slowly, he felt his way through the foliage, wedging himself deeper into the thick shade, between two branches; branches bent and sprang, but he made as little noise as he could, still listening for Melkart's presence.
"Come on out, Greek bitches! Come and get what you need!"
He must be closer than Egerius had thought; but he was still invisible. Egerius waited; his breathing, his heartbeat, the rustle of the leaves around him when he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, all seemed ridiculously loud – how could Melkart not have heard him?
Then the skeins of cloud parted, and the moon shone again thinly. Melkart was almost directly in front of Egerius, so close he could have reached out and touched him. He must have moved since he'd yelled at the women; must be moving towards the house. If Egerius did nothing now, Melkart would get to the door before Egerius could get back there; unless he wandered away again, but that was a bet Egerius didn't feel safe making. There was nothing for it; he'd have to reveal his presence.
"Melkart," he said, firmly, but he stayed within the cover of the leaves.
Melkart stood still; only his head moved as he turned it slowly to search for the source of the sound. Egerius heard him grunt softly at the back of his throat. Then:
"Egerius?"
He stepped
out of the shelter of the fig tree.
"Melkart."
"Ah."
"You can't do this, you know."
"Can't do what?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
"Do I? I wonder."
"You can't go yelling at the women. Stop persecuting them."
"Persecuting? I tell things the way they are. That's what philosophy is all about."
He said the word, phil-o-so-phy, as if it were incredibly difficult, very important to get it accurate; as if it were a word in a foreign language. Which, Egerius thought, in fact it was.
"You have to stop it. You're hurting their feelings."
"Well what about my feelings? Kallirhoe led me on. She made me think... "
"She never did. Never, Melkart, and you know it."
"She tempts me. The way she looks at me."
"Melkart, I've seen the way she looks at you. With disgust, man, disgust. Don't you understand?"
"They want me. Both of them."
"You don't understand."
"I understand well enough. Leave them alone, Melkart."
"Are you fucking them? Both of them?" Melkart began to laugh. "Both of them? You filthy bastard. You won't even share. Two women, and none to spare..."
"Leave them."
"Or what? I can do what I like. It's not your business. You don't own me."
"True. But you'll see what I'll do. Leave them, Melkart. I won't tell you again."
Was it entirely bluff? He wasn't sure; he could ask Gaius to scare Melkart off. Or perhaps better, he could starve the stoners out. Just let it be understood no one had to feed them, to let any of them beg a meal from the common stock; they didn't keep themselves, they had no reserves, and now the orchards were bare and even the wild berries were thinning out, picked by the Collatians or pecked by the birds, they'd go hungry. He wouldn't command; he'd just let it be understood that anyone who wanted could refuse to give, and leave it to the greed or grudge of each individual...
"I'm fed up with this," Melkart said. "I'm going to bed."
Egerius took a half step forwards.
"Yes, my own bed. Since you asked."
"I didn't."
"You implied. My own bloody bed."
"Good."
"Lavinia's keeping it warm. I hope. Silly bitch."