“It is a challenge without honor,” I said. “The animosity borne to me by your Rutilius of Ar has nothing to do with Cos and Ar, with politics or war, with defense or security, nor with justice or law. It is personal, and from the past. I know of things of which I gather I am not to speak, and it is because of this that your Rutilius of Ar seeks my blood, that he may have nothing more to fear from me. He knows I am no match for him. Thus, he would conceal a murder beneath a veil of equitable arbitration, of fair contest, mask a murder under the mantle of a duel. If he would kill me let him do so now, publicly, in cold blood, dishonorably cutting down an unarmed man, one who holds him in contempt. So let my death soil him, and cling to him in the eyes of men, marking him, proclaiming him for what he is in fact, a wretch, a dissembler, a fugitive, a criminal, a coward, a butcher.”
“I do not know this Cosian,” said Seremides. “Nor do I understand him. It seems he has me confused with another. That is neither here nor there. But, if he will not fight, if he is so craven and cowardly, so much a frightened urt, so enamored of his worthless existence, so unwilling to risk it in fair, open combat, that is his choice. Certainly I cannot, in cold blood, slay an unarmed man. Doubtless he understands that, and thus tries to purchase his worthless life, counting on my honor. Such a killing, however in order, he doubtless realizes would not be permitted by my honor, an honor which I hold sacred, and have never betrayed. Too, it would be embarrassing for me to allow the blood of such a piteously craven urt to stain, however briefly, an honorable blade, that of Rutilius of Ar.”
Some of the men about smote their left shoulders, in approval.
“Yes, yes,” said others.
“Do not go on deck after dark,” said a fellow to me.
“But,” said Seremides, “if he is to crawl amongst us, as the slithering ost, unnoticed but deadly, tiny and poisonous, must he not in some way purchase his passage?”
“Yes,” said more than one man.
“That was my intention,” said Lord Nishida.
“I have no money,” I said.
“One purchases one’s passage with steel,” said Seremides. “I earned my berth by slaying six men.”
“True,” said a fellow, “six.”
“Passage is dear on this vessel,” said a fellow, “not free.”
“The Cosian has proved he is afraid to fight,” said another.
“At the ringing of steel, the laughter of blades, he would hide,” said another.
“Over the rail with him,” said another.
“Berths are limited, Cosian,” said Seremides. “They are to be earned, and in such a way that the best occupy them. Let the slow and clumsy perish, let the swift and skillful live. Let the weak die, let the strong survive. It is the way of nature, that of the tarn, of the sleen and larl. If one is added, let one be subtracted.”
I shrugged. “Give me a blade,” I said.
“Excellent,” said Lord Nishida. “It is as I and Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, intended.”
I had thought the tarnsman bore me no ill will. Now I was to be matched, to the death.
A blade was brought, nicely balanced. It was a not unfamiliar sensation, having such an instrument of war again in my grasp. Surely I preferred it to the oar. I touched the blade to my sleeve, and saw the threads part. I looked about. One or two men looked uneasy. One stepped back. I smiled. I was now, again, a man among men.
The tarnsman smiled.
“Bring the thief and wretch, Philoctetes, from his cell,” said Lord Nishida. “He has fed enough.”
The cloaks of some of the men moved in the wind. The yards above, carrying their large square sails, creaked, turning, as the sails took the rising wind, moving from a gray north.
In a few moments the prisoner was on deck, and given a weapon, rather as mine. We stood a few feet from one another. He was in a ragged blue tunic. He stood unsteadily.
“My dear Callias,” said Lord Nishida, “you behold before you a trustless rogue, Philoctetes, a miscreant and felon, a liar, a cheater at stones, one who robs men at night, who steals food, obtaining extra rations for himself, a villain who would cut a throat for a copper tarsk.”
“I trust that he is skilled,” I said.
“Enough,” said Lord Nishida. “He may not have the skills of one who stood first spear, but we deem his skills adequate for our purposes, that of adjudicating a war right to a berth. I advise you not to take him casually. A lucky stroke might fetch him freedom.”
I moved the blade about.
It had been long since I had held such a weapon.
Lord Nishida, the tarnsman, and others, moved back, further enlarging the space at our disposal. The boards of the deck were white, and closely fitted, stone cleaned.
Philoctetes seemed unsteady.
“Has he been fed,” I asked.
“Yes,” said Lord Nishida.
I faced Philoctetes. “Are you ready?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“You wear the blue of Cos,” I said.
“It is my right,” he said.
“You are Cosian?” I said.
He shrugged.
“My Home Stone,” I said, “is that of Jad.”
He regarded me. “That, too,” he said, “is mine.”
“You must,” said Lord Nishida, addressing me, “be prepared to forswear your Home Stone.”
“One of us is to die?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Lord Nishida.
“Have you forsworn the Home Stone?” I asked Philoctetes.
“No,” he said.
“Then,” said I, “stand at my back and we will die together.”
“You are serious?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, turning my back to him, facing those about, my sword ready. I saw several of the men about look at one another, and then draw their weapons.
“You are Callias?” asked Philoctetes.
“Yes,” I said, puzzled. I could not see him behind me. I did not sense him at my back.
It occurred to me, suddenly, that the back of my neck was open to his blade.
“Hail, Callias!” I heard, from Philoctetes. “Hail, Callias!” cried men about, and the swords which had been drawn were lifted, in salute. I spun about and saw that Philoctetes did not now seem as he had before. He stood straight, and powerful, solid on his feet. He had wiped something from his face, a pale salve or such, and it seemed ruddier now. The blade he had returned to a fellow behind him. “Hail Cos,” he said, and we embraced.
“Excellent,” said Lord Nishida. “It came about as I had expected.”
“I could not kill one whose Home Stone I shared,” I said.
“We thought not,” said Lord Nishida.
“I did not forswear my Home Stone,” I said.
“From yesterday,” said Lord Nishida, “we did not think you would, but we did not know.”
“Philoctetes played his role well,” observed Tarl Cabot.
“What if I had forsworn my Home Stone?” I asked.
“That would have been a great disappointment,” said Lord Nishida. “Our journey is long and dangerous, and we will have need of men who will not forswear their Home Stones.”
“What if I had fought?” I asked.
“You would not have fought,” said Lord Nishida, touching the unusual, curved hilt of one of the swords in his sash, “for I would have cut off your head, before the blades could touch.”
“Welcome,” said Tarl Cabot, “to the ship’s company.”
I looked about, but Seremides had left the deck.
I heard the snapping of canvas overhead.
