temple of the Shining God does. I promised to take you to the shrine of the Great Mother. I've done my best so far, and I must say the Shining God's rewarded me handsomely: I've heard the playing of a god and your singing. That's a privilege given few, and it's improved my own poetry almost beyond belief. But if I return to my city without fulfilling my vow… '
'Yes?' I asked.
'He may take it away-that's what I'm afraid of. And even if he doesn't, someone's bound to ask about our visit to the shrine. What am I to say? That I've left you here a slave while I raise the money to buy your freedom? What will they think of me? We've got to work out something.'
'I'll try,' I told him.
He patted my back. 'I know you will, and so will I. And if I can get you to the shrine, perhaps you'll be cured. Then we'll worry about your happiness, both of us. Probably you'll want to return to your homeland, as you say, and I'll arrange passage for you on some trading ship. The war's nearly over now, and the merchants will be sailing again.'
'I'd like that,' I said. 'To return home and find people I won't forget.'
Over Pindaros's shoulder, I saw the rear door swing back very quietly. For an instant, the black man looked in. When he saw us, he held a finger to his lips, then gestured for me to join him and shut the door again.
'You'd better go back in there,' I told Pindaros. 'Before you're missed. I'll remember.'
'It doesn't matter,' he said. 'They think I'm relieving myself.'
'Pindaros, is your Shining God a very great god?'
'One of the greatest. He's the god of music and poetry, of light, sudden death, herds and flocks, healing, and much more.'
'Then if he wishes me to visit this shrine, I will do so. He trusted you to guide me; I think you should trust him to guide us.'
Pindaros shook his head as if in wonder. 'Is it because you can't remember the past that you're so wise, Latro?'
We chatted for a few moments more, he telling me about the refitting of Hypereides's ships and I telling him of the work the black man and I had done for Kalleos.
'You've accomplished wonders,' Pindaros told me. 'It's almost as though I were at some dinner in our own city. Do you think they'll ask me to recite?'
'I imagine so,' I said.
He shook his head again. 'That's the trouble with being a poet: your friends all think you're a public entertainer. Worse luck, I don't have anything suitable. I'll dodge it if I can-propose singing or games.'
'I'm sure you'll think of something.'
Turning away, he muttered, 'I'd a hundred times sooner think of a way to get you to the shrine.'
As soon as he had left, I hurried to the rear door. The black man grinned at me from the darkness outside and held up a sleeping child. 'Io.'
I nodded, for I recalled her from this morning when we were still on Hypereides's ship.
He stepped into the kitchen, where there was more light, and walked his fingers through the air, holding her cradled in one arm.
I said, 'All that way? No wonder she's tired. I suppose she followed Pindaros and the rest, staying far enough behind to keep out of sight.'
The black man motioned for me to come, and carried her to one of the roofless sleeping rooms. There he laid her on some discarded gowns and put his finger to his lips.
'No,' I told him. 'If she wakes without knowing how she got here, she'll be frightened.' I do not know how I knew that. I knew it as I know many other things. I shook her gently, saying, 'Io, why did you come so far?'
She opened her eyes. 'Oh, master!'
'You should have stayed with the woman,' I told her.
She whispered, 'I don't belong to her. I belong to you.'
'Something bad might have happened to you on the road, and in the morning we'll have to send you back to the ships.'
'I belong to you. The Shining God sent me to take care of you.'
'The Shining God sent Pindaros,' I told her, 'or so he says.'
Sleepily, she rolled her head from side to side. 'The oracle sent Pindaros. The god sent me.'
It seemed futile to argue. I said, 'Io, you must be quiet and stay in this room. See, I'm covering you with some of these so you won't get cold. If Kalleos or her women see you, they may make you leave. If they do, go to the back of the house and wait for me.'
She was sleeping again before I finished. The black man laid a wooden doll beside her and stretched himself beside the doll.
'Yes,' I said. 'It's better that she have a protector.'
He nodded-and fell asleep himself, I think, before I had left the room.
Now I sit on a broken chair near the courtyard door, where I can hear Phye's songs. There is a lamp here with a good wick and a fine, bright flame, so here I watch the stars and the waning moon; and write everything that has happened today, so I will not sleep. If Kalleos were to beat me, I might kill her; I do not wish that, and I too might die. It is better to write, though my eyes water and burn.
It is later, and Phye no longer sings. Pindaros suggested they play kottabos, and I, not knowing how it was played, stood under the lintel for a time to watch. Pindaros drew a circle on the floor and a line at some distance from it.
Everyone stood behind this line; and as each drained his cup, he threw the lees at the circle.
When several rounds had been played, Eurykles proposed that the loser of the next tell a tale, and Pindaros seconded him. Hypereides lost, and I sit listening to him (though I do not think I shall trouble to record his tale here) while I write.
CHAPTER XV-The Woman Who Went Out
Phye's tale had not yet begun when a shout of laughter woke me. No doubt she had missed the circle purposely, or perhaps one of the men had pinched her as she threw, or jostled her arm. I give here as much of it as I recall:
Once there was a woman whose husband was very rich but would never give her any money. They had an estate outside the city and a fine house in it, with many slaves and so on, but her gowns were still the gowns she had brought from her father's house, and her husband would not buy her so much as a comb.
One day when she lay weeping on her bed, her maid discovered her there. Now her maid was a Babylonian and as clever as all the people of that city are, and so she said, 'My lady, I can guess easily enough why you weep. It's because all the other ladies hereabout have lovers to entertain them, and buy them silver bracelets and curios from Riverland, and talking birds that tell them how beautiful they are even when their lovers aren't around to do it. While you, poor thing, have only that ugly old fool your husband, a skinflint who never gives you so much as a sparrow.'
'No,' said her mistress, 'it's because he never gives me any money.'
'That's what I said,' said her maid. 'For we women, men and money are the same thing, after all. Have I ever told you how we girls get our dowries in Babylon?'
'No,' said the mistress again. 'But please do, even if it isn't a very good story. Because hearing even a poor story would be better than lying on this barren bed crying away my life.'
'Why, it's no story at all,' said her maid, 'but the plain truth. When a girl in my city approaches the age of marriage, she sells herself to whatever men she likes for as much as they'll pay. In that way the best looking soon accumulate a great deal of money and so get a handsome husband, and soon after, many comely children. By the same token, homely girls get none, and thus it is that we Babylonians are the best-looking people in the whole
