The black man reached across her to touch my shoulder. When I looked at him, he shook his head and bared his teeth.
Hypereides finished the poem in a thundering voice I would not have believed he commanded.
'Yet should the old man slacken, You'll find no better oar, To row such souls as Ocean rolls Unto Death's bitter shore.'
'By all the Twelve,' whispered Pindaros. 'He remembered the whole of it. I wouldn't have bet a spit on him.'
Hypereides then cast beans, mussels, and meat into the fire, with other things. Two sailors rushed forward with leather buckets of seawater to quench it. Two more quickly wrapped the dead man and carried him away.
'It was a wonderful poem,' I told Pindaros.
He shook his head. The men around us were rising and drifting back to the big fires nearer the ships.
'Surely it was. See how many of them are crying.'
'They were his friends,' Pindaros said. 'Why shouldn't they weep? May the Gentle Ones snatch you! Poetry must shake the heart.' There were tears in his own eyes; and so that I would not see them he strode away, his chain dragging after him in the sand.
My thoughts were still upon the fight on the ridge, and I glanced at the ragged skyline it showed against the stars. A tall figure with a staff stood there with a shorter figure, like a boy, beside him.
The woman who had sat beside Pindaros took my arm. 'Come, Latro, it's time to go.'
'No,' I told her. 'You take Io. I'll come soon. I think this is someone I should speak with.'
She and the black man followed the direction of my gaze, but it was clear they saw nothing. Holding the chain that bound her leg in one hand, the woman took Io's hand in the other. They and the black man hurried off, followed by a bowman who was not Oior.
Alone, I watched the tall figure come down from the ridge. After him trailed the smaller one, who seemed often to stumble. A light surrounded the tall figure; the lesser one had no such luminosity but seemed translucent, so that I sometimes dimly glimpsed the rocks and trees behind him. Neither cast a shadow in the moonlight.
When the tall figure had come near, I saluted him, calling, 'Hail!' By then I could see that his hair and beard were gray, his face stern and dark.
'Hail,' he answered, and lifted his staff. His voice was deep and hollow.
I asked him, as politely as I could, whether he had come for Kekrops, and offered to lead him to the body.
'There is no need,' he told me, and he pointed with his staff to the foot of the altar, where Kekrops had been laid out. I was startled to see that the body was still there; it rose despite its wounds and stumbled across the sand to him.
'You fear the dead,' the tall figure told me, seeing my look. 'You need not; no one will do you less harm.'
The smaller figure had left the slope of the ridge; while we spoke, it crossed the beach toward us. It was a bowman dressed like those on our ship, and I asked the tall one if he was the man who had tried to kill me.
'Yes,' he said. 'But he will not do so now. Until he is freed, he is my slave.'
'He is a murderer,' I said. 'I hope you will punish him for what he did.'
The bowman shook his head. It swung loosely, like a blossom on a broken stalk.
'He cannot speak,' the tall figure told me, 'unless you first speak to him. That is my law, which I lay upon all my slaves.'
I asked the dead bowman, 'Didn't you kill Kekrops? Can you deny his murder when he stands beside you?' Now that I must write that, it seems strange. I can only say it did not seem so then.
'Spu killed only in war,' the dead bowman murmured. He held a finger to his eye. 'Spu would kill you, Neurian, in justice for him.'
'We must go,' the tall figure told me. 'It is not right that they should remain on earth, and I have much to do. I have lingered only to tell you that my wife's mother sends her to speak with you. Do not forget.'
'I'll do my best not to,' I promised.
He nodded. 'And I will remind you of it when I can. I do not understand mercy, and thus I am as I am; but perhaps she will be merciful to you, and I can learn from her. I hope she is at least just.' He took a step forward, and it seemed to me that he stood upon a stair I could not see. With each step, he sank more deeply into the ground; the sailor and the bowman followed him.
'Good-bye,' I called. And then to the bowman, I cannot say why, 'I forgive you!' He smiled at that-it was strange to see the dead mouth smile-and touched his forehead.
Then all three were gone.
'There you are!' It was the kybernetes, with a sailor carrying a javelin in tow. 'You shouldn't go off by yourself, Latro. It's dangerous for you.' He lowered his voice. 'I've just learned that one of the bowmen plans to kill you. A man of mine who knows a bit of their gabble overheard them talking. Do you remember this stick?'
He pointed to the sailor, and I shook my head.
'I chose him because he's a stout fellow and he watched you before. His name's Lyson. He's not to leave you… and you're not to leave him, understand? Those are my orders.'
'Was the bowman who wants to kill me named Spu?' I asked.
'Why, yes,' the kybernetes said. 'How did you know?'
'I was talking to him as you came up. He was a simple, decent man, I think.'
The kybernetes looked at Lyson, and Lyson looked at the ground, shaking his head.
The kybernetes cleared his throat. 'Well, if you meet Spu again before we find him, try to remember that he may not be so friendly the next time. I just hope Lyson's with you-and he'd better be.'
Now Lyson is indeed with me, though he sleeps. Only I am left awake, and the black man, and the sentries Hypereides has set around us and the ships. A moment ago, a lovely young woman left the largest ship, and seeing that I saw her, halted to speak with me. I asked who she was.
She smiled at that. 'Why, Latro, my name's been on your lips half the day. Would you like to see me fatter, with red hair? I can do that, if you wish.'
'No,' I told her. 'You are so much more lovely than your picture on the sail.'
Her smile faded. 'Yet plain girls are luckier. Ask your little Io.'
I did not understand her, and I believe she knew it; yet she did not explain. 'I only stopped to tell you I am going to the Great Mother,' she said. 'I was her priestess once; and though I was taken from her long ago, it may still mean something to her, if only a little. Because you've loved my beauty today, I'll ask her to be kind to you.'
'Is she merciful?' I asked, remembering what the tall lord of death had said.
Europa shook her head. 'Sometimes she is kind,' she told me. 'But we are none of us merciful.'
She has walked into the ridge, which opened a door for her. There is another woman on the ship now. I see her pace the deck in the moonlight, as if deep in thought. She wears a helmet with a high crest, like Hypereides's, and her shield writhes with serpents.
Her face recalls to me the face of Oior, Oior's face not as I saw it at any other time, but as I saw it when I looked back upon leaving him and saw him bent over the dead bowman. When I had met him on the beach and when we had talked at the top of this narrow ridge of land, his sun-browned face had been as open as the faces of the sailors, though without their vivacity and native cunning, a face as strong and as simple as the face of a charger or a bullock. It was a face much like my own, I think, and I liked him better for it.
And yet when I turned back to look at him as I descended the slope, it had changed utterly, though all its features were the same. It had become the face of a scholar of the worst kind, of the sort of man who has studied many things hidden from common men and grown wise and corrupt. He smiled to see the dead bowman, and he stroked the livid cheek as a mother strokes her child.
I must remember that.
