by Gene Wolfe
"Do you remember who he is?"
"Yes," I said. "I know I spoke with him last night, before Hypereides and I came home."
Just then Hypereides himself opened our door. "Ah, you're up. Want to come with me to see them killed?"
I asked him who was to die, other than Artayctes.
"His son, I'm afraid." Hypereides shook his head sadly. "You don't remember Artayctes's boy?"
I cast my mind back. "I have some recollection of seeing a child last night," I told him. "Yes, I think it was a boy, a bit older than Io."
Hypereides pointed a finger at her. "You are to stay here, young woman! Do you understand me? You've work to do, and this will be no sight for a girl."
I followed him out into the street, where the black man was waiting for us; and the three of us set off for the sand spit on which the Great King's bridge had ended. It was there, as half a dozen heralds were still bawling (and as half Sestos was busy telling the other half) that Artayctes was to die. The day was overcast and windy, with gray clouds scudding along Helle's Sea from the First Sea in the north.
"This weather reminds me," Hypereides muttered, "that we must all have new cloaks before we leave here—you particularly, Latro. That rag of yours is hardly fit for a beggar."
The black man touched Hypereides's shoulder, his eyes wide.
"For you, too? Yes, of course. I said so. For all of us, in fact, even little Io."
The black man shook his head and repeated his gesture.
"Oh, ah. You want to know about our voyage—I was about to tell you. Get us to where we can see what's going on, you two, and I'll give you all the details."
By that time the people from Sestos were crowding forward and Xanthippos's troops were pushing them back with the butts of their spears. Fortunately several of the soldiers recognized Hypereides, and we were able to claim a place in front without much trouble. There was nothing to see yet but a couple of men digging a hole, apparently for the end of a timber that they had carried to the spot.
"Xanthippos isn't here," Hypereides commented. "They won't be starting for a while yet."
I asked who Xanthippos was, and he said, "Our strategist. All these soldiers are under his command. Don't you remember Artayctes mentioning him last night?"
I admitted I did not. The name Artayctes seemed familiar, which was natural enough since the heralds had been shouting it as we came; then I remembered telling Io that I had spoken with someone called Artayctes the night before.
Hypereides looked at me speculatively. "You don't remember the fish?"
I shook my head.
"They were pilchards. Do you know what a pilchard is, Latro?"
I nodded, and so did the black man. I said, "A smallish silvery fish, rather plump. They're said to be delicious."
"That's true." (People in the crowd were shouting, "Bring him!" and "Where is he?" so that Hypereides was forced to raise his voice to make himself heard.) "But pilchards are oily fish—fatty fish even when salted. Now I know that both of you are sensible men. I want to put a question to you. It's of some importance, and I want you to consider it seriously."
Both of us nodded again.
Hypereides drew a deep breath. "If some dried and salted pilchards were cast onto the coals of a charcoal brazier—with a good fire going— don't you think that the sudden melting of all their fat might make them move? Or perhaps that oil dripping from the fish onto the coals might spatter violently and, so to speak, toss the fish about?"
I nodded and the black man shrugged.
"Ah," said Hypereides. "I'm of one mind with Latro, and Latro was there and saw them, even if he doesn't remember."
Just then a roar went up from the crowd.
The black man pointed with his chin as Hypereides shouted, "Look! Here they come—worth a round hundred talents apiece, and about to be slaughtered like a couple of goats." He shook his head and appeared genuinely saddened.
The man must have been close to fifty, strongly built and of medium height, with a beard the color of iron. One saw at once, from his dress, that he was a Mede. His son appeared to be fourteen or so; his face was as unformed as the faces of most boys of that age, but he had fine, dark eyes. The man's wrists were tied in front of him.
With them was a tall, lean man in armor who bore neither a shield nor a spear. I saw no signal from him, but the heralds cried, "Silence! Silence, everybody, for Xanthippos, the noble strategist of Thought," and when the chattering of the crowd had been muted a bit, he stepped forward.
"People of Sestos," he said. "Aeolians! Hellenes!" He spoke loudly, but as if this commanding voice were natural to him. "Hear me! I do not come before you to speak for Hellas!"
That surprised the crowd so much that it actually fell silent, so that the birds could be heard crying above Helle's Sea.
Xanthippos continued, "/ wish that I did—that we were come at last to a time when brother no longer warred against brother."
That drew a resounding cheer. As it died away, Hypereides grinned at me. "They're hoping that we've forgotten they were fighting us not so long ago."
"Yet speak I do—and I am proud indeed to speak—as the representative of the Assembly of Thought. My city has returned to yours the greatest blessing that any people can possess—liberty."
Another cheer for that.
"For which we ask only your gratitude."
There were shouts of thanks.
"I said I could not speak for the Hellenes. Who knows what Tower Hill may do? Not I. Who knows the will of the wild folk of Bearland? Not I again,
O citizens of Sestos. And not you. Those few Rope Makers who were here took ship before your city could be freed, as you know. And as for Hill, who does not know how savagely its spears seconded the barbarian?"
That brought a growl of anger from the crowd. Hypereides whispered, "Strike again, Xanthippos. They're still breathing."
"Many of my brave friends—and they were friends of yours, never forget that—lie in the great grave at Clay. They were sent there not by the arrows of the barbarians but by the horse of Asopodorus of Hill."
At this the crowd gave a little moan, as though a thousand women had felt the first pangs of labor. I reflected that it might well be true, that in years to come men might say that something new had been born today on this narrow finger of the west thrusting eastward into Helle's Sea.
"And yet my city has many more sons, men equally brave; and whenever you may have need of them, they shall come to you with all speed."
Wild cheering.
"Now to the business at hand. We stand here, you and I, as servants of the gods. I need not recount to you the many crimes of this man Artayctes. You know them better than I. Many have counseled me that he should be returned to his own country upon the payment of a rich ransom." It seemed to me that Xanthippos darted a glance at Hypereides here, although Hypereides appeared insensible of it. "/ have rejected that counsel."
The crowd shouted its approval.
"But before justice is done to Artayctes, we will act as only free men can—we will hold an election. In my own city, where so many urns and serving dishes are made, we cast our votes on shards of broken pottery, each citizen scratching the initial of the candidate he favors in the glaze. In Sestos, I am given to understand, your custom is to vote with stones—a white stone for yes, a black one for no, and so forth. This day, also, you shall cast your votes with stones. The boy you see beside him"—Xanthippos pointed to him—"is the blasphemer's son."
There was a mutter of anger at that, and a man on my left shook his fist.
"You of Sestos alone shall determine whether he lives or dies. If you will that he lives, move aside and let him flee. But if instead it is your will that he die, stop him, and cast a stone. The choice is yours!"
Xanthippos motioned to the soldiers standing with Artayctes and his son, and one whispered in the boy's ear and slapped his back. Xanthippos had assumed that the boy would try to dash to freedom through the crowd; but he ra
n away from it instead, down the narrowing finger of sand and shale toward the sea, I suppose with the thought of swimming when he reached the water.
He never did. Stones flew, and a score of men at least got past the soldiers and ran after him. I saw him fall, struck on the ear by a stone as big as my fist. He got up and staggered a few steps more before being struck by half a hundred. Although I hope he died quickly, I cannot say precisely when it was that his life ended; certainly many stoned his body long after he was dead.
As for his father, after he had watched his son die, he was laid on his back upon the timber and spikes were driven through both his ankles and both wrists into the wood; when it was done, the timber was set upright in the hole that had been dug for it and rocks and sand piled around it to keep it so. Some of the women present flung stones at him also, but the soldiers forced them to stop, fearing that their stones would strike the five soldiers Xanthippos had stationed to guard him.
"Come," said Hypereides. "The real action's over, and I've a good many things to see to. Latro, I want you to buy us those cloaks we were talking about. Can you manage that if I give you the money?"
I told him I would, if there were cloaks for sale in the city.
"I'm sure there must be. Take him and Io with you so that they can pick out their own. Nothing too grand, mind you; they would only get you into trouble. Get something bright for me, though. Not red, because that's what the Rope Makers wear—not that anybody would take me for a Rope Maker, I imagine. Not yellow, either; the yellow ones fade so quickly. Make it blue or green, rich looking if they have something like that, and suited to my height." He is half a head shorter than the black man and I. "And make certain it's thick and warm."
I nodded, and he handed me four silver drachmas. The black man touched his shoulder and pretended to tug at a rope of air.
"Ah, the voyage! You're right, I promised I'd tell you about that. Well, it's simple enough. Do both of you know about the Great King's bridge?"
I said, "I remember that the heralds said this was where it ended.
I imagine that the Great King's army must have marched up the same road we came down to get here."
"Right you are. It was a bridge of boats, scores of them, I would think, all tied together by long cables, with planks laid over their decks to make a road. It was here for nearly a year, according to what I've heard, before a big storm finally broke the cables."
We nodded to show we understood.
"The People from Parsa didn't fix it, but they stored the cables here in Sestos. They must have been very costly, and of course they could be spliced if the Great King ever ordered the bridge rebuilt. Xanthippos wants to take them back to Thought to show off. They should cause quite a stir, because nobody at home has ever seen cables anything like their size." Hypereides held out his arms to indicate the circumference of the cables, and even if he was doubling their diameter, they are very large indeed.
"Well, as you can imagine," he continued, "the first thing that everybody's sure to ask is who made them and what happened to him. Xanthippos had me look into that, and I found out that the boss was a fellow called Oeobazus, one of the barbarians who let themselves down from the city wall with Artayctes. And last night, when you and I talked to him, Latro, Artayctes said that they had intended to go north, maybe as far as Miltiades's wall. Xanthippos would like to have this Oeobazus to trot out for the Assembly as well as the cables, so we're to go after him as soon as Europa's ready."
I asked when that would be.
"Tomorrow afternoon, I hope." Hypereides sighed. "Which most likely means the day after. The men are touching up her caulking now, and they ought to be finished today. Then we'll have to load the stores. But there's still some to get, and I'm not getting them by standing here talking to you two. So go and see about those cloaks, like I told you. When you've done that, pack up everything—we may not come back here, I don't know."
He hurried off toward the docks after that, and the black man and I returned to Sestos and the house in which we had slept to fetch Io.
We found it empty, however.
THREE
The Mantis
HEGESISTRATUS INTERRUPTED ME, BUT NOW I write again. It is very late now, and all the others are asleep; but Io has told me that soon after the sun rises I will forget all that I have seen and heard today, and there are things that I must set down.
When the black man and I returned to this house and found Io gone, I was anxious about her; for though I cannot recall how it is I came to have such a slave, I know I love her. The black man laughed at my gloomy face and said by signs that he thought Io had followed us to see Artayctes killed, and I was forced to admit he was probably right.
Accordingly we left the house again and went to the market. Several of the shops fronting on it offered cloaks for sale. I bought rough, undyed ones for the black man, Io, and myself, new cloaks made without washing the oil out of the wool and woven so tightly they would shed rain. I knew that such a colored cloak as Hypereides wanted would be costly, so we bargained for a long time over ours, the black man (who is a better bargainer than I, I think) speaking much to the shopkeeper in a language I do not understand. I soon realized, however, that the shopkeeper knew something of it, though he feigned otherwise. And at length even I was able to catch a word or two—zlh, which I believe is "cheap," and sel, "jackal," a word the shopkeeper did not like.
While they were haggling, I was searching for a cloak for Hypereides. Most of the brightly dyed ones seemed too thin for winter to me. At last I found a thick, warm one of the right length, bright blue, woven of fine, soft wool. This I carried to the shopkeeper, who must have been very tired of arguing with the black man by then. I showed him our four silver drachmas and the four cloaks, and explained that the four drachmas were all the money we had.
(That was not strictly true, as I know the black man has some money of his own; but he would not have spent it for the cloaks, I feel sure, and he probably did not have it upon his person.)
If he would let us have all four cloaks for the drachmas, I said, well and good—we had a bargain; if he would not, we would have no choice but to trade elsewhere. He examined the drachmas and weighed them while the black man and I watched him to make certain he did not substitute worse ones. At last he said that he could not let all four cloaks go at such a price and that the blue one alone should bring him two drachmas at least, but that he would give us the gray cloaks we wanted for ourselves for a drachma apiece if we would buy it.
I told him we could not spare the smallest cloak, which we required for a child—after which we went to a different shop and started the entire process again. It was only then that I realized, from things that the second shopkeeper let drop, just how nervous such merchants here have become because they do not know whether the soldiers from Thought will go or stay. If they stay, these shops may hope for very good business indeed, since most of the soldiers have some plunder and there are a few who have a great deal. But if the soldiers go home and the People from Parsa return and lay siege to the city, the shops will have no business at all, because everyone saves his money to buy food during a siege. When I understood this, I contrived to mention to the black man that we would sail tomorrow, and the price of the green cloak I was examining dropped considerably.
Just then the keeper of the first shop we had visited came in (the owner of the second looking as though he hoped someday to murder him) and said he had reconsidered: we could have all four cloaks for the four drachmas. We returned to his shop with him, and he held out his hand for the money. But I thought that he deserved to be punished for making us bargain so long; thus I began examining the cloaks yet again, and while I was looking at the blue one I took care to ask the black man whether he felt it would do for Hypereides on the coming voyage.
The shopkeeper cleared his throat. "You're sailing, then? And your captain's Hypereides?"
"That's right," I told him, "but the other ships won't put out when we do. They'll
be staying here for a few days more at least."
Now the shopkeeper surprised me, and the black man, too, I think.
He said, "This Hypereides—is he bald? Rather a round face? Wait, he told me the name of his ship. Europa?
"Yes," I said, "that's our captain."
"Oh. Ah. Well, perhaps I shouldn't tell you this, but if you're going to get that cloak for him, he'll have at least two new ones. He came in after you left and gave me three drachmas for a really choice scarlet one." The shopkeeper took the blue cloak from me and held it up. "That one was for a bigger man, though."
I looked at the black man and he at me, and it was plain that neither of us understood.
The shopkeeper got out a waxed tablet and a stylus. "I'm going to write out a bill of sale for you. You can put your mark on it. Tell your captain that if he wants to return the blue cloak, I'll show him the price and give back his money."
He scratched away at the tablet; and when he had finished, I wrote Latro alongside each line in the characters I am using now, keeping it close so it would be sure to blur if he held a heated basin near the tablet to erase it. Then the black man and I carried the cloaks here and packed everything. I hoped from moment to moment that Io would return, but she did not.
When it was done, I asked the black man what he intended to do, and he made signs to show me that he was going to his room to sleep awhile. I told him I would do the same, and we parted. After a few moments, I opened the door of my room as quietly as I could and crept out just in time to see the black man slipping out his own with equal stealth. I smiled and shook my head, he grinned at me, and together we walked back to the sand spit where the Great King's bridge had ended, in the hope of finding Io.
That at least was the black man's only motive, I believe; as for me, I confess I went with a double purpose, for I meant to set Artayctes free should the opportunity present itself.
As we drew near the place, we met the last idlers from the crowd returning home; several told us that Artayctes was dead. One seemed a sensible enough fellow, so I stopped him and asked how he knew. He told us that the soldiers had pricked him with their spears without result, and at last one had driven the head of his spear into his belly to determine whether his blood would spurt; it had only leaked away like water from a sponge, so it was certain that the action of the heart had ceased.