Hope of Earth

by Piers Anthony

  Jes appreciated his point. She hoped Perikles would recover. Unfortunately that hope turned out to be vain; the man remained too weak to get off his bed.

  During other visits to the harbor, over the course of the fall and winter, Jes learned a great deal about the ships. They looked massive, but were actually very light. So light that they would not sink when rammed and holed; they would merely bog down in the water, becoming too sluggish to be effective. So nobody drowned when a ship went down, unless he got knocked into the water and couldn’t swim. That didn’t mean that nobody died; if an enemy force caught a ship, there could be a slaughter. So sea battles were dangerous for the same reason land battles were. Of course each ship carried ten hoplites and four archers whose job was to see that no enemy overran the ship. That might not be enough in a major battle, but probably sufficed for routine missions, such as reconnaissance.

  Four archers. Now there was something she could do. She had a good bow, and good aim. Maybe she could sign on as a bowman, after demonstrating her capability.

  But then she found a better prospect. Each ship carried one pipeman. That was the one who played the musical beat that enabled the rowers to coordinate by ear. The pipeman sat amidships or toward the front, facing back toward the captain’s deck, taking his cue from the captain. The pipeman did not have to be a great musician, she learned, but he had to have a strong sound and a good sense of rhythm. And he had to understand the operation of the ship, so as to give no miscues. The pipeman, almost as much as the captain, was the heart of a well functioning ship.

  Jes was no expert piper, but she had played a wooden flute at family festivities and could remember a tune. In any event, she understood that “the tunes played for ships were quite crude, performed for the cadence rather than for entertainment. They related to real music about the way a baby’s cry did to adult communication. She suspected that this was a job she could do.

  She went back to the shop and told Crockson. “Now I believe you are right,” he said, pleased. “You have found a way. And I happen to have a flute, given me by one of my lovers; I don’t believe he would be offended if I lent it to you.”

  “Oh, I can buy my own—”

  But he was already digging it out, and she couldn’t refuse, though it turned out to be a finely wrought instrument, surely of considerable value. He clearly liked the idea of her playing it. So she accepted it, and began to practice.

  She was rusty, but soon enough she was getting it straight. They discovered that the loom workers became more efficient when they heard the music, and Wona was more alert. So periodically Jes played instead of working on her loom, and the work went well. She perfected several tunes that she could play with feeling and without hesitation. When she strayed beyond these, she became less apt, so she knew her limits. But the familiar ones seemed to be good enough for this group.

  She continued to visit the shipyard and harbor, now listening as well as looking. She learned that though the tunes of the pipemen were simple, there were several different ones, and these were used to guide the oarsmen in different maneuvers. One tune was for straight ahead; another for reverse; others for turning, when the oarsmen on one side had to stroke more powerfully than those on the other side. She practiced these tunes, closing her eyes and imagining that she was playing on a ship as it forged through the water during maneuvers. It was a wonderful feeling.

  By the time Wona was well enough to travel it was winter. “It will be cold out there,” Crockson said to Wona. “Your prospects would better in spring, when you can don light clothing and allow it to fall open.”

  “You have an eye for the ways of women,” Wona replied without rancor.

  “They are in some ways like the ways of young men.” Jes would have preferred to get moving, but they did owe Crockson money, though he never pressed them for it, and the winter’s work would go far to making it up.

  Thus they passed the summer of Wona’s slow recuperation, and the fall, and winter, and Crockson’s shop did prosper with the management and work Jes accomplished. The surviving women returned, and were augmented by others, and there was a good market for the cloth. Crockson was quite satisfied, and actually Jes found herself satisfied too, because the shop was compatible. It was Wona who wanted to get on with their quest for her man, after their year’s delay. However, she was resigned to the situation and, having nothing better to do, did work reasonably well on the loom. Her endurance was not great, but that was also true for some of the other recovering victims of the plague. They rested when they had to, and learned to work efficiently, and accomplished about as much as the healthier but less attentive women. Jes filled in for them during those rest periods, so that there was no actual delay, and the women appreciated that. They liked Jes’s style of management, and this contributed to harmony. Crockson, assured that the shop was in order, felt free to go out to make deals, instead of having to watch every worker closely. It was a reasonably comfortable situation.

  In the spring it was time for them to move on, before the Spartans besieged the city again; they needed to get well clear of Athens and into neutral territory, or at least some region where they could be anonymous. Wona dressed for travel rather than sex appeal, but remained an appealing figure of a woman. Jes dressed as a young man.

  Crockson put on his formal robe to bid them farewell. He smiled, but he looked sad. “I wish you the best health and success,” he said.

  Wona stepped into him. “Thank you for your kindness to us,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

  Then Jes approached him. “Thank you for your generosity,” she said—and kissed him on the mouth.

  Then they departed, leaving him stunned. They had rehearsed the little ritual, and realized that it was the best way to handle it. The man would have a memory of being kissed by what looked very much like a stripling youth. Jes realized that if she impersonated a male, she could afford to impersonate him in this manner also, considering the considerable assistance Crockson had been to them. They were departing Athens in reasonable order; it might well have been otherwise, had they worked for someone else.

  They left by the Sacred Way, passing without challenge out through the main gate to the west. They followed the road to the coast, where it fringed the Bay of Eleusis. They spent the night in the city of Eleusis, renting a room for the night. They had traveled barely half a normal day’s hike, but were being careful, because Wona was not yet up to full strength. It was better to take easy hikes, building up gradually, so as not to risk a relapse of the illness.

  When Jes opened the bag of silver coins, in order to extract one to pay the proprietor, she made a discovery that astonished her. She quickly masked her reaction, but Wona caught it. “What’s in that bag?” the woman demanded as soon as they were alone.

  Jes shook her head, bemused. “Gold.” She opened that bag and poured out its contents on the floor.

  There were a number of silver coins, and three small gold coins. The three were worth as much as three bags of silver would have been.

  “That man really likes you,” Wona breathed, awed.

  “I had no idea,” Jes said, half in chagrin. “I would never have accepted it, if—”

  “That’s why he gave you no hint.”

  “But he can’t like me that well, because—”

  “I am more cynical than you in this respect,” Wona said. “I have seen men, and I think I understand them somewhat. Most desire women; some desire men; some desire boys. I think those last bestride separate steeds, unable to accept one or the other completely. So they seek partners of their own gender, that most resemble the opposite gender. When those beardless boys become too much like men, they lose their appeal and must move on. So the passion the elder men feel for them is of limited duration, but perhaps more powerful for that. They love without seeming limit, for those few years, and then love the next one similarly. You are just across the line, being like a stripling male, but female. You thus represent the ultimate in desirabili
ty: forbidden love. You are clearly worthy, in form and nature. He wants so much to love you, and tries to persuade himself he can love you, but he cannot. In guilt for this, he treats you even more generously than he would a true male youth. And your tolerance for this he appreciates more than he can say in words. So he says it in gold. This is the way of men who are truly smitten.”

  Jes was amazed, but recognized the likely validity of Wona’s conjecture. It made sense. “But still—so much—”

  “You can do him no kinder favor than accepting it. By that token you indicate that you accept him—or would, were you able.”

  “I do accept him! As he is, though it is not the way I am.

  “This is the way he wants it.” Wona pondered a moment. “There may be one advantage to this. You will never grow a beard. You will never become a man. You will always be like a stripling boy. His dream boy. So his love for you need never fade. It will endure well beyond the time when it would have faded, were yôu a real male.”

  “I do not want to take any advantage of him!”

  “Nor do you need to. Merely visit him on occasion, and be his friend.”

  Jes nodded, relieved by this solution. “That I can do.”

  They ate some of their food, and retired for the night. But it took Jes some time to sleep. Before this excursion it had never occurred to her that she could ever have a friendship of this nature, but now it seemed appropriate. Crockson was a good man, merely different in one key respect. Her awareness of that type of relationship would remain with her for the rest of her life.

  Actually, she had never thought to have as close a relationship with a woman like Wona, either. She now realized that the contempt in which she had held Wona had been based largely on ignorance. The woman did have her points; she was merely unsuited to the type of life the family offered. So Jes had learned much about tolerance, and that was worthwhile.

  The next day they crossed the mountains into Boeotia, which was hostile territory. But this was between sieges, so the troops were not out; the two of them should be taken for neutral travelers. They expected to cross it in two days, at their present pace, barring problems.

  The road they were on turned out to be ill-chosen; it followed a river into the mountains and faded out. It took them some time to find a trail going their way on the other side.

  Then they encountered a group of people walking north. They were carrying food, belongings, and wooden planks. What was going on?

  So when they spied a solitary man, they inquired. “The Spartans are coming!” he exclaimed.

  “Already? But surely they will be attacking Athens.”

  “They are turning north, not south! We just got word. We are fleeing to Plataea for protection.”

  Jes exchanged a glance with Wona. They had been planning to stop in Plataea for food. The city was in Boeotia, but was an ally of Athens; it had bad relations with the chief city of the region, Thebes.

  They got off by themselves and discussed it. “If we go there, we may get caught in another siege,” Jes said.

  “Normally I much prefer a room in the city to a stall in the country,” Wona said. “But the last time I got caught in a city, I got the plague. We had better stay well away from Plataea.”

  Jes agreed. “But where will we be safe from the invaders?”

  “Maybe we can go to the water and get a ride on a ship.”

  “Sparta isn’t helpless at sea, in this region. Corinth is her ally, and Corinth has the second strongest fleet in Greece. And Corinth is right there on the Gulf of Corinth.”

  “But there are Athenian allies along the gulf too, aren’t there? We can try for one of their ships.”

  Jes wasn’t sure how feasible this would be, but it seemed to be their best chance. So they traveled northwest, cross-country, avoiding further contact with other people. They wanted to disappear, so as not to fall prey to the ravaging forces of Sparta.

  They had no trouble avoiding the Spartans; their main force had not yet arrived. It had nevertheless been a close call; the women had assumed that they would be well ahead of any such expedition.

  They camped for the night in a deserted hay shed, keeping an ear alert for any approach. The discipline they had practiced during their approach to Athens the year before came readily back to mind.

  So did other facets. “I need to practice with the club again,” Wona said. “And you should practice being a woman.”

  “I have been a woman for a year, weaving,” Jes protested.

  “That was drudgery, not femininity,” Wona retorted. “There was no point in trying to impress Crockson.”

  She had a point. Femininity was a talent worth cultivating, just in case Jes ever had occasion to make use of it. Crockson was a good man, but no amount of feminine wiles would impress him. Some other man, however—

  So next day, as they resumed their careful trek to the sea, they practiced. Jes made Wona a light club, and Wona critiqued Jes’s walk and breathing. Jes was in masculine garb, but as long as no one saw, she could still practica swinging her hips. It helped allay what was a generally dull day, for they did not encounter any Spartans.

  The Gulf of Corinth was considered to be a long, narrow inlet into the heart of Greece. But from its shore, it seemed an enormous expanse of water.

  There were ships on it, too. But not Athenian. “Corinthian,” Jes said. “Enemy vessels.”

  “Does it make a difference? They have rich men too.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t make a difference to you, but it would to them. They would know you for Athenian, and despise you.”

  They proceeded along the north shore of the gulf, avoiding roads, because at any time Spartans might appear on them. They foraged in deserted fields, and slept in deserted houses. Until they got beyond the danger region, and area life became normal. But it was normal Boeotian life, and Boeotia was allied with Sparta, so they still couldn’t risk discovery.

  They passed through Locris, another Spartan ally. They avoided the city of Delphi, though they would have liked to go to see the oracle there; they probably lacked the price of such advice, and it was generally incomprehensible anyway, but the experience might have been interesting. Then they crossed into the territory of Phocis, an Athenian ally, and were finally able to walk openly. Here the ships were Athenian, and not to be feared.

  Indeed, when they saw a ship coming to shore for a meal stop, they stood at the beach and waved to it encouragingly. It came in close, its oars in perfect synchronicity, then swung about and faced away from the land. The oarsmen reversed their stroke and propelled the craft backward to the beach, until it slid partly out of the water and came to a stop. The hoplites and archers jumped off, followed by the oarsmen. Half of them headed for the bushes.

  Wona started to walk toward them. “Wait a moment,”Jes cautioned her. “They have full bladders.”

  Wona paused, then walked toward the ship, where the captain was the last to disembark. Jes saw that she was using her siren walk. She had quietly rearranged herself to accentuate attractive traits.

  “Never mind,” the captain called, laughing. “I promised my wife to stay clear of incidental booty. But if you want to deal with any of the men—”

  Wona glanced meaningfully back at the bushes. “Too dirty for me. Do you give rides on your ship?”

  “Not while on duty. You would distract the oarsmen anyway, and start a fight among the hoplites.”

  Jes nodded agreement. “My sister is looking for a husband,” she said. “We thought this might be a good region.”

  “Naupactus is,” he said. “We’re based there, this season, and there aren’t enough beautiful women to go around.”

  “Thank you,” Wona said, flashing him a brilliant smile.

  “But one word of caution: there has been some plague there, brought by the ships from Athens.”

  “We have had it,” Jes said. “Now we are immune.”

  “Good for you. You have nothing to fear except the Spartans.”


  “Not as long as we have bold men like you protecting us,” Wona said with another smile.

  He laughed again. “Get away from here, siren, before my wife regrets it.” He patted her on the bottom and moved out to join his crew.

  “It is good to get in some practice,” Wona murmured. “That is exactly the type of man I would like to capture, but it’s too public.”

  “Well, he’s married.”

  “That, too. He would bed me, but not marry me; he gave me fair warning.”

  “I didn’t hear him say that.”

  “Didn’t you see him pat me? He’s interested.”

  “Oh. I suppose I don’t know all the signals.”

  “I am teaching them to you one by one, just as you are teaching me the use of the knife and club. It is still a fan-exchange, I think.”

  It probably was. Jes wasn’t sure she would ever become proficient at such social interaction, but she would learn what she could.

  “As we depart, watch the eyes of the men we pass. A lift of both eyebrows means they notice; a lift of one is asking me. I should be able to bring any one to me.”

  “Any one—and not the others?” Jes asked. “I don’t see how—”

  “I will demonstrate. I will bring the third one we pass. Then you must cut in, so I don’t have to follow through.”

  Jes wasn’t sure she liked this, but did not object, as she was curious to see how much substance there was to the woman’s claim.

  The men were strung out as they returned from the bushes. Each raised both brows, and then one. The first two passed on by, but the third one stopped. He was an oarsman, with solidly muscled arms. “Hello, lady,” he said to Wona.

  “My sister is not to dally,” Jes said quickly.

  The man eyed Jes somewhat contemptuously. “So you say.”

  Wona made a moue. “My little brother guards me carefully, lest our father beat him. I would not want that to happen. We must be on our way.”