by Gene Wolfe
The leaves of the grove have turned to gold, and most have fallen. It must be a lovely spot in spring, but today it seemed forlorn. Nor do I think that Itys receives frequent sacrifices from the people of Pactye— surely they would build him a temple, if he did. When I poked among the ashes of the last fire before his altar, I found them soaked to mud by the autumn rains.
"But we must have fire," Hegesistratus declared. He gave me a coin and sent me to a house from which smoke rose to buy a torch.
"Don't many people come between now and the good weather," the untidy old woman I found cooking there declared as she tied a double handful of dirty straw around a long stick of kindling for me. "And mostly them that does come wants me to give their fire to them for nothing."
I assured her that she would be rewarded by the gods for such a pious act, and mentioned that having given her money, I expected my straw to be well doused with oil.
"You mean lamp oil?" The old woman stared at me as though it were a foreign commodity practically unheard of in this part of the Chersonese. "No use wasting lamp oil on this—why, I've got you some nice grease here that will burn every bit as good. Well, I don't give away much fire for nothing, I might as well tell you. Not unless they're kin to me." She paused, brushing back her straggling gray hair. "Once I did last year, though, because of how the poor mother was all by herself and crying so. Are you the one that's lost your child, young man? How old was it?"
I shook my head and told her that I did not think any of us was missing a son or daughter.
"That's what everybody comes for, mostly—children strayed or dead. Dead, mostly, I suppose. When there's lots of people, they get their fire from each other, naturally."
Her grease was old enough to stink, but it took fire with a roar when she thrust the end of the torch into the flames under her pot. I inquired about Itys, whose name was not familiar to me, and she told me that he had been eaten by his father.
The sailors are talking excitedly among themselves—-I am going over to ask them what has happened.
EIGHT
The Europa Sails at Dawn
THE KYBERNETES TOLD ALL THE sailors that he will cast off as soon as it is light enough to see, and Hypereides sent Acetes and his shieldmen into Pactye to collect those who have not yet returned. When the ship puts out, I do not think that Io and I will be aboard—or the black man, either. I should ask about that when I have finished writing.
The sailors say the Crimson Men's ship has slipped out of the harbor. Earlier this year Pactye was ruled by the Empire, and Crimson Men traded here freely, they having been subdued in the same fashion. Now the Great King's armies have withdrawn, and the citizens of Pactye do not know whether their city is to be independent (as it once was), or subject to Parsa or another place. When Hypereides and I conferred with the councillors, they warned us that there must be no fighting with any of the people of the Empire while we were here, for fear Pactye would suffer for it later. Hypereides promised there would not be; but now that the Crimson Men have left the harbor, they are fair game; and since they spent the summer trading around the First Sea and the Euxine, they should be carrying a rich cargo. The sailors say that if the Crimson Men merely cross Helle's Sea to some port still in the hands of the Great King (Paesus being the most probable place), we can do nothing. But if they try to run down Helle's Sea and along the coast to return to their homes in Byblos, there is a good chance that the Europa will catch them. A trading vessel such as theirs can sail by night as well as by day, while Europa will have to anchor almost every evening to take on fresh water. But a trireme like Europa is a much faster sailer; and when a fair wind is lacking, it can be rowed faster than any trader can sail.
Now I must write about the boy. Hegesistratus, Elata, and Io had laid a small fire while I was gone, using the driest wood they could find. I lit it, and as soon as it was burning well Hegesistratus told us the legend of Itys, son of Tereus, who was a king of Thrace.
This King Tereus was a son of the War God and an enemy of Hill. Thus when Hill went to war with Thought in his time, he came with an army to the support of Thought. There he wooed and won Princess Procne, the daughter of King Pandion. When the war was over and her husband returned to Thrace, she accompanied him and there bore him Prince Itys. All went well until her sister, Princess Philomela, visited the court; Tereus fell madly in love with her and, after picking a quarrel with Queen Procne, banished her to a remote part of his kingdom.
When Princess Philomela resisted his advances, he arranged that it should be reported that Queen Procne had lost her life during an incursion by a neighboring tribe. Believing that she would become his queen, Philomela submitted; but in the morning Tereus cut out her tongue to prevent her from revealing what had taken place, for he did not wish the succession of Prince Itys, whom he loved as dearly as a bad man can love a son who bears his face, endangered by a son borne by Philomela.
The maimed princess was then sent home to her native city. Although this occurred before the age of letters, it does not seem to me that the loss of speech alone can have kept her from telling others what had been done to her, for such things might readily have been communicated by gestures, as the black man talks with me; and surely her father and many others must have wondered to find she could no longer speak. But how many women who have tongues, similarly wronged, have held their peace from shame! Doubtless Philomela, cruelly forced to silence, felt as they did.
Soon, however, she learned that her sister was still alive and living once more with King Tereus as his wife; and that was too much. Many months she spent in making a royal robe for her sister of the finest stuffs, and into it wove pictures relating her sad story.
With the most admirable courage she returned to Tereus's court, and there displayed her robe to him before presenting it to her sister. No doubt she had held it some distance from the king's eyes, so that the pictures could not be seen clearly; but when Procne examined it in her chamber, she understood at once all that had happened, and with her own hands she murdered their son, Itys. Together the sisters butchered the unfortunate boy, roasted his flesh, and served it to his father that night. Gluttonous and unsuspecting, Tereus emptied the dish; and when he had pronounced it good, they revealed to him that he (like the Time God, Kronos, said Hegesistratus) had devoured his heir.
With drawn sword Tereus pursued the sisters. But Cynthia, who avenges the wrongs of virgins as her own, changed him to a black vulture, Procne to a nightingale, and pretty Philomela to a swallow, a bird whose tail has been cut away in the same way that Philomela's tongue was; thus it is that the one sings only when it cannot be seen, while the other flies too swiftly to be caught; for their foe pursues them always.
And so it is also that Itys, slain by his mother to avenge the crime of his father, brings help to children, who suffer for reasons they are too young to understand.
When Itys's history was finished, Hegesistratus had me stand between the altar and the fire. Murmuring invocations, he cut the necks of the pigeons, scattered their blood upon the flames, poured a libation of wine, and fed the fire with fragrant herbs. When these things had been done, he sang the paean of Itys, with Io and Elata for his chorus.
The fumes of the fire made me want to sneeze and sleep; as if in a dream, I saw the youth Io had pointed out, a boy coming into manhood, with the first sproutings of his beard apparent on his face. His cloak was costly and of the east, his black hair elaborately dressed. There were rings of gold in his ears, yet his manner was furtive; and he appeared surprised when I pointed at him and asked why he had come to our sacrifice without taking part.
Just then Hegesistratus asked if I remembered who he was, and I replied that he was Hegesistratus, the mantis. He asked whether I could run as fast as he; when I declared I could, he asked whether I might not run faster, and I acknowledged it was so. He asked if I also recalled the kybernetes, and whether I thought he could outrun him. I answered that he could not, and he asked me why.
I said
, "Surely you know."
"Yes," he told me. "But I must discover if you do."
"Because you're lame. You were wounded by the Rope Makers, or so you told me once." When I said this, Io looked surprised; I do not know why.
Hegesistratus asked, "And where was I wounded?"
"In the thigh."
He nodded. "What do you think of my new winter boots? Are they well suited to running? Both of them?"
I glanced at them and assured him that they appeared to be of excellent quality (which they did). "But like all footwear they're better for walking than for running. Every man runs his fastest in bare feet."
"That is well said," Hegesistratus admitted. "Now, Latro, do you still see the boy you spoke to a moment ago?"
Elata winked and pointed him out to me, though that was not necessary. I told Hegesistratus that I indeed saw him still.
"Ask him how Oeobazus fares."
I cannot say how the boy came to have word of Oeobazus, nor how Hegesistratus came to learn of it, unless someone mentioned the boy to him this morning in the market. But I called, "Boy! Stand nearer our fire. What can you tell us about Oeobazus, the Rope Maker who rove the cables of the Great King's bridge?" I knew who this Oeobazus was because the mantis had talked of him with our captain in the cookshop.
"Oeobazus is not a Rope Maker," the boy replied. "He is a Mede."
"But you know him," I insisted.
He shrugged. "He is a Mede. We can't trust them as we do our own people."
Hegesistratus told me, "You must repeat everything that he says, Latro." And so I did. When I had finished, Hegesistratus said, "Ask where Oeobazus is now."
It was not needed, for the boy could hear him as well as I. He shut his eyes for a moment. "He is on a horse."
"He rides," I told Hegesistratus.
The mantis stroked his jaw. "Is he alone?"
"No," the boy replied, addressing me. "Many ride with him, tall warriors with lances. A hairless man who looks very strong holds the noose about his neck." Seeing that Hegesistratus had not heard him, I repeated all this.
"His hands are bound?"
The boy nodded. "The cord is passed through the girth of his horse."
"Latro!"
Startled, I looked around and saw our captain, Hypereides, who had just come up. He waved, and I waved in return, getting my chest full of smoke in the process. I fell to coughing, and had to leave the fire.
Hegesistratus called a greeting and moved to a place from which Hypereides could see him. I do not know what happened to the boy; I have not spoken to him since. When Hypereides drew nearer, he asked how our sacrifice had gone and whether the omens had been favorable.
"Very much so," said Hegesistratus, "provided we follow the advice of Itys."
"Wonderful!" Hypereides crouched before the fire to warm his hands. "And that is... ?"
"You and your crew must round Helle's Cape to rendezvous with us on the Thracian coast. We—Itys specifically indicated the four of us here, and your black slave—must track Oeobazus in Thrace."
Hypereides winced. "I'll be sorry to lose you."
Smiling, Elata said, "Let us hope the separation will not be a long one."
He nodded gloomily at that and stared into the fire. "As regards myself—and Europa and the crew—I can understand Itys's advice well enough. We certainly can't abandon the ship, and if Oeobazus is in Thrace—"
"He is," Hegesistratus told him. "Itys confirmed it."
"Then the only thing we can do is report it to Xanthippos and get there as fast as we can. But the five of you will be running a terrible risk." He glanced over at Io. "The child must go, too?"
Io said, "If Latro's going, I have to go with him."
Hegesistratus nodded. "Yes. She must."
"All right, she can go. She and Elata won't actually be in as much danger as you and Latro and the black man." Hypereides sighed. "They'll give you two fighters, at least. They're both good—at least I've seen the black man fight myself, and a poet, Pindaros was his name, told me one time that he meant to compose some of his verses about Latro. You won't be able to do much in the way of fighting yourself, I'm afraid, with that wooden foot and your wound only half-healed."
(It was only then that I saw that Hegesistratus's right foot, which I had supposed booted, was indeed no more than a wooden peg; and I resolved to kill him when I can.)
He would not agree. "My wound's closing fast, and though I might not be of much use in a phalanx or on the storming deck of your warship, put me on horseback and I'm as good as any other man."
Hypereides stood up, rubbing his hands. "Horses cost a lot of money. You'll need at least—"
Hegesistratus waved the offer away, saying that he would pay for them. But after we returned to Sestos, the black man drew him aside and took him to see five horses. This I know because I followed them, though they did not see me. Surely it was to buy these horses that Hegesistratus sent the black man away, and that was long before we went to the grove of Itys. Besides, the boy with whom I spoke was not Itys, or so I think, but merely a common, living boy, perhaps from some foreign ship. Nor did he say the things that Hegesistratus told Hypereides he did.
Hegesistratus is betraying us, and for it I shall kill him when the ship has gone.
Io came to me just as I lay down to sleep, saying that she was cold. I wrapped us both in my cloak and laid hers over us. When I asked her age, I heard her hesitate before answering as she pondered the greatest age I might accept. I will not write here the age she gave me, for I know it to be false. It was not long before I discovered what she wished, and I would not give it to her, though many would, I think. I asked whether she was glad we were going to Thrace with Hegesistratus and Elata, and she said she was. When I asked why, she said that Thrace is on the road to Hill, and Pindaros is probably in Hill, and that the best thing for me would be to find Pindaros, who might take me to some place where I would be cured. When I heard that, I was happy that I had written so carefully all that was said of this Pindaros.
Then I slept for a time. When I woke, Io was weeping. I asked why she wept, and she said it was because she had been a temple slave in Hill, and if she returned, she would surely be punished very severely. I asked her whether my own home was in Hill, though I did not think it was. She confirmed that it was not, only hers. If that is so, I have no desire to go there. I will travel the world until I find a place where the people know me and tell me I am of their blood.
Nor will I put Io in more danger than I must.
PART TWO
NINE
Elata Says
I MUST READ THIS EACH morning when I rise, and write each day before it is too dark; thus it will become a habit. Though I forget that I am to do it, I will do it still.
This morning, when I saw the three women, I did not know their names, nor why they danced. The others were still asleep when Elata returned to our camp. I did not know then that she was one of our party; but she told me that she was, and after I had counted our horses I knew that it was true. Besides, the others accept her as I have seen since. She told me that she danced alone because she loves to dance, and riding leaves her stiff and sore.
But I had seen the other dancers. I praised their grace and asked her where they had gone. She said then that they are the river's daughters, and that their home is in the river—she offered to take me there if I wished so that I might see it for myself. One who wears the belt of manhood, as I do, should not be afraid; but I was as frightened as a child when she said it, and I would not come with her.
She laughed at me and kissed me; and even though she is so small, it seemed when I held her in my arms that she was larger than I. She says this river is the Melas, the boundary of the country of the Apsinthians.
I asked then why they danced, and she said it was because the rains had come. "You don't remember how much wine I drank the night I met you, Latro. I drank because I was burning with thirst." She smiled at me, her head to one side. "Now the rain has
returned, and it is the season of growth. Would you like to lie with me again?"
I was still frightened, but I nodded. Just then one of the sleepers stirred, and she laughed and backed away. Perhaps she was only teasing me, and I have never lain with her. Yet I feel it is not so.
The sleeper sat up, rubbed his eyes, and said, "Good morning, Latro. I am Hegesistratus. Will you help me with my boots?" I said I would if he required my help; and he told me he did, that they were very difficult to pull on, and that I helped him every morning. I feel sure this is true, though I do not remember it and his boots slipped onto his feet easily enough. He said that he would be happy when the warm weather returned and we can wear sandals again. So will I; boots are very uncomfortable whether one walks or rides.
The girl woke then. She says her name is Io, and she told me something of the rest and where we are going. She said that we hope to take prisoner a Mede called Oeobazus for the city of Thought. I nodded at all she said; but I know that there is not much love for Thought in my heart, and a great deal of sympathy for this man Oeobazus.
The black man rose and went to wash in the river. Because I was afraid for him, I went with him and washed, too. Elata came with us, perhaps because she feared I would tell him of the other dancers, for she held her finger to her lips when he was not looking. She let her gown fall to the ground and dove into the rushing waters, but the black man and I only waded in up to our waists, and Io (who had come with us, too) merely washed her hands and feet.
Last of all, Hegesistratus came, I think because he feared for Elata; but because he had come, he had to take off his boots and wash his feet. When he had dried them, he put on his boots again without my help. I do not know what this may mean. Can it be a sign of submission to assist a comrade, a man older than myself, in pulling on his boots? I cannot believe it—those who submit walk beneath a yoke.