their way out of the city with their possessions to the open fields. The earthquake was, in fact, slight and caused little damage. Probably the land of Eryx sighed in relief at the death of Dorieus, descendant of Herakles, for had he lived he would surely have plunged it to destruction.
As we hurried toward the north gate in the midst of the moaning mass, the orphan girl Hanna, wife of the holy dog Krimisos, ran after us. Pulling at my robe, she said tearfully, “The dog Krimisos is dead. This morning it crept into the darkest corner of its pen, and when the earth began to shake and I wanted to lead it outside, it did not move. But your cat came to me and leaped into my lap in fright.”
She had wrapped the cat in her dress and held it to her so that her lower body was bare. I could not shake her loose for I had enough to do in running toward the gate with the crying boy in my arms. Arsinoe clung to my arm, Mikon panted behind us and the girl clutched tightly at my robe. Our departure from Segesta was not dignified.
No one stopped us. We crossed the open fields as quickly as possible and turned from the road toward the mountains into the evergreen forest. We spent the night under the trees pressed close to one another for warmth. We did not dare to build a fire until we met some Sicca-nians by their sacred rock. They welcomed us and we lived among them for five years. During that time Mikon disappeared, Arsinoe gave birth to a daughter, and Hanna grew into a maiden.
But before telling of that I must describe Tanakil’s fate. After Dorieus’ death Tanakil’s sons strengthened their power in the city and bribed the leaders of Dorieus’ forces to support them so that the city officials had little to say. For the sake of appearances they built a magnificent funeral pyre of oaken logs for Dorieus and before lighting it told their mother that they were tired of her lust for power and would send her back to Himera. Whereupon Tanakil said that life without Dorieus held little meaning and that she would rather share the funeral pyre with him in the faint hope of accompanying him to the underworld.
Her sons did not protest so Tanakil, garbed in her best, climbed the pyre, embraced Dorieus’ body a final time and with her own hands set fire to the logs. Her body burned with that of Dorieus.
All that I learned later from the Siccani and that is all I have to say about Tanakil and Dorieus.
Book Seven
The Siccani
1.
Thus it was that we met the Siccanians by their sacred rock. As was their custom, they explained that they had expected us and had known in advance of our coming. A skeptic might think that their young men had secretly followed our progress, since the Siccani were able to move unseen in their forests and mountains until such a time as they wished to appear.
But the Siccani did, in truth, possess the power to know who and how many people were on their way. They knew where their tribesmen were located at a given time and even what a specific chief happened to be doing at a given moment. In this respect they were like an oracle. Nor were their priests the only possessors of this ability. Most of the people had it, some keenly, others less distinctly, and could not themselves explain it. They erred only seldom, as even an oracle can err, or at least as the inspired words of the oracle can be misinterpreted. Nor did they consider their ability in any way remarkable, but thought that other people had the same ability.
They had anointed their sacred rock with oil and as they awaited our arrival they danced sacred dances around it. Their priest had donned a mask of carved wood as well as a sacred tail and horns. A fire was burning and on the fire were clay pots ready for the donkey which they sacrificed and cooked upon our arrival. They considered the donkey a sacred animal and respected us because we arrived in their midst under the protection of a donkey. Being skilled hunters they did not lack meat but believed that the donkey’s tough flesh gave them strength and patience. Above ail they wanted a donkey’s head to put atop a pole so that they might worship it in their secret rites. The donkey’s skull, they believed, shielded them from lightning. Nor did the donkey resist but meekly submitted to the sacrifice. That also they considered a good omen.
But they feared the cat, found no name for it and would probably have killed it had not Arsinoe taken it in her lap and indicated its tameness. They respected her because she had arrived on a donkey with a male child in her arms. After the sacrifice their priest performed triumphal leaps before the boy, indicated that he was to be placed on the anointed rock and sprinkled donkey blood on him. Then they all shouted in one voice, “Erkle, Erkle!”
Mikon had hoarded a few drops at the bottom of the wineskin, and I doubt whether he would have withstood the rigors of the journey without the wine. He offered some to the Siccanians to win their friendship but after tasting it they shook their heads. Some even spat out the wine. Their priest laughed and offered Mikon a drink from a hollowed tree knot. When he had tasted it he said that it was not the equal of wine. A moment later, however, his eyes widened and he claimed that his limbs were numb, that the roots of his hair were tingling and that he could see through tree trunks to the very depths of the earth.
The Siccanian priests and chieftains brewed their sacred potion at secret rites, using poisonous berries, mushrooms and roots that they gathered in certain cycles of the moon during various seasons. They-drank it at such times as they wished to come in contact with the spirits of the underworld and obtain their advice. I suspect they drank it also to become intoxicated since they had no wine. At least Mikon gradually began to drink it and became fond of it while we lived with the Siccani.
As the sacrificial rites continued, the exhaustion induced by our journey, the proximity of the sacred rock and the feeling of relief at finding sanctuary with the Siccani, who had shown us friendliness instead of hostility, combined to transport me beyond myself. In the silence, as everyone waited for a sign, the hoot of an owl sounded in the dark of the forest, time and time again.
“Arsinoe,” I said, “our son has no name. Let his name be Hiuls after the cry of the owl.”
Mikon burst into laughter, struck his knees and declared, “Just so, Turms. Who are you to give him a name? Let the forest owl give him a name, and as for his father’s name, it is useless to mention it.”
Arsinoe was so exhausted that she could not protest. After we had eaten the tough donkey meat she tried to nurse the boy but the exertion of our dangerous journey and the shock of Dorieus’ death had dried her breasts. Hanna took the boy in her lap, fed him hot broth from the horn of a buck, wrapped him in a sheepskin and hummed him to sleep. When they saw that the boy was slumbering, the Siccanians led us along a secret path to a cave hidden in a thicket of brambles. Reeds had been spread on the stone floor for a bed.
Upon awakening in the gray of dawn and realizing where we were and what had happened, my first thought was of our next move. But as I stepped out of the cave I stumbled over a hedgehog which curled up into a ball at the touch of my foot. I knew the animal was a warning and realized that we must remain among the Siccani. That would also be the safest course, for it would be useless to wander so long as I did not know where to go.
After I had reached the decision an indescribable feeling of relief came over me, as though I had at long last found myself again. I went to the stream to drink and the water tasted glorious. I was still young and strong and full of the joy of living.
But Arsinoe, when she awakened, was not pleased to see the sooty ceiling of the cave, the hearthstones, and the misshapen clay dishes. She reproached me bitterly, saying, “So this is what you have made me, Turms, a pauper and an outlaw. At this moment, with the reeds pricking my body, I again don’t know whether I love you or hate you.”
Joyous laughter bubbled within me despite her words. “Arsinoe, my dearest, you have always asked for security and your own hearth. Here you are surrounded by strong walls. A hearth is a hearth though it consist of only a few sooty stones. You even have a servant, as well as a physician to care for the health of our son. With the aid of the Siccani I will soon learn to obtain food for you and the boy. For the first time in my life I am completely happy.”
Realizing that I spoke in earnest, she fell upon me, scratching and spitting and screaming that I must take her to some Greek city in Sicily to a life worthy of her. Nor do I care to relate how long her fury lasted since all that was unpleasant has vanished from my memory of those times. But by the end of the summer, when she saw how big and robust her son had grown despite the primitive existence, she began to reconcile herself to her fate and to
