'This village, the fields, and all of us. I helped bring the Rope Maker to your tent for Kichesippos. You didn't recognize me.'
'No,' I admitted.
'I knew you didn't. Now I must go, but I'll come tonight. Don't forget.'
'What about… ' I nodded to indicate the dead man in the smithy.
'I'll see to it,' he said. 'No one will care but us.'
When I returned to the grove where the shieldmen had eaten, they were forming their column while a few tardy slaves covered fires or stowed pots. We marched bravely through the village to the music of the flutes; but when we reached this river, we found the bridge in flames. Though the slaves soon put out the fire, the roadway had been destroyed, and it was decided to camp here for the night. Everyone is weary after the march through Bearland anyway, and they say the bridge will be repaired tomorrow.
Basias's slaves had to carry him in a litter this morning, as well as carrying our tent and the other things. I asked if it was not too much for them. They said it was not-it was no more than they had borne when they left the Silent Country to fight the Great King, because they had to carry ten days' rations. I offered to take one end of the litter; I believe they would have liked to accept, but they were afraid they would be punished.
I asked whether Basias owned a village, and whether they came from there. They said he owned only a farm. All three live on it and work the land. It is south of Rope, and they believe they will be ordered to take him there until he is well. He has a house in Rope too, but they think the farm will be better. If he dies, the farm will pass to a relative.
They did not seem afraid to talk to me; so I told them I had gone into the village, and the people there would not. They said it is different and better in the army, and that no one will inform on them for speaking to a stranger when they must pitch the tent for him to sleep in and cook his meals; but that it would be well if I did not speak to the slaves of others. I think perhaps Basias is a kinder master than the regent, though perhaps it is only that he is not so rich. A man who has only a farm and three slaves cannot afford to lose even one.
I went into the tent then and talked to him, telling him about the burning of the bridge, because I was growing more and more curious about this strange land. Although I cannot say what customs of other nations are, I feel certain those I have known have not been like this; there is no sense of familiarity in anything I hear.
He was weak, but I think not in much pain. Io says he is feverish sometimes and thinks himself a boy again, talking of his old teachers; but he was not like that when I spoke to him.
I told him of the bridge, and he said the slaves across the river had done it hoping we would take some other route-that the slaves here would want us to pass through as quickly as possible. Naturally I did not tell him about Cerdon or what happened in the smithy. He asked about the fields we had passed, and whether they had been plowed for the fall sowing. I was surprised, thinking he would have seen them himself as we marched; but he said he had slept most of the morning, and he could not see much from his litter anyway, because of those who walked beside it. I told him the fields were still in stubble, perhaps because so many men were with the army.
'Time to plow,' he murmured. 'Before the rains.'
'You won't be able to plow for a while, I'm afraid. I'm sure your slaves can manage it, with you there to direct them.'
'I never plow. I'd no longer be a Rope Maker, see? But it's got to get done. On the Long Coast the shieldmen have farms and slaves, and work their farms too. I wish I could. We need another hand, but I have to drill.'
'The war's nearly over,' I told him. 'That's the way people talk, at least.'
He rolled his head from side to side. 'The Great King'll come back. If not, we'll go there, loot Susa and Persepolis. Or there'll be a different war. There's always another war.'
He wanted to drink. I brought water from the slow, green river and mixed it with wine.
When I held the cup for him, he said, 'I won't wrestle you any more, Latro. You'd beat me today. But I beat you once. Remember that?'
I shook my head.
'You wrote when we were through. Read your book.'
Soon after that I left him, sitting before the tent in the sunshine to do as he had suggested. Not knowing where I might find the account of our wrestling, or even whether it was there, I opened this scroll halfway and read of how I had seen Eurykles the Necromancer raise a woman from the dead. I was glad then that it was day; and every few lines I lifted my eyes from the papyrus to watch the peaceful river slipping past and the thin black smoke from the timbers the slaves had pulled from the bridge.
After a time, Drakaina came to sit by me. She laughed when she saw my face and asked what I was thinking.
'What a terrible thing it must be to have memory-although I wish it.'
'Why, if it is so terrible?'
'Because not having memory, I lose myself; and that is worse. This day is like a stone taken from a palace and carried far away to lands where no one knows what a wall may be. And I think every other day has been so for me as well.'
She said, 'Then you must enjoy each as it comes, because each day is all you have.'
I shook my head. 'Consider the slaves in that village we passed. Every day for them must be much like the day before. If only I could find my own country, I could live there as they do. Then I'd know much that had happened the day before, even if I could not remember it.'
'A goddess has promised you'll soon be restored to your friends,' she said. 'Or so I've been told.'
Joy shook me. Before I knew what I did, I took her in my arms and kissed her. Nor did she resist me, and her lips were as cool as the brook of shining stones where once I washed my face and paddled my feet.
'Come,' she said. 'We can go to Pasicrates's tent and tie the flap. I have wine there, and his slaves will bring us food. We need not come out until morning.'
I followed her, never thinking of my promise to Cerdon. The tent was warm and dim and silent. She loosed the purple cords that held her cloak about her neck, saying, 'Do you remember how a woman looks, Latro?'
'Of course,' I told her. 'I don't know when I've seen one, but I know.'
The cloak fell at her feet. 'Then see me.' She drew her chiton over her head. The swelling of her hips was like the rolling of a windless sea, and her breasts stood proudly, domed temples roofed with carnelian and snow. A snakeskin was knotted about her waist.
She touched it when she saw my eyes upon it. 'I cannot remove this. But there is no need.'
'No,' I said, and embraced her.
She laughed, tickling and kissing me. 'You don't recall our sitting side by side on a hillside of this very island, Latro. How I hungered for you then! And now you are mine.'
'Yes,' I said. And yet I knew already that it was no, though I burned with desire. I longed for her as a dying man for water, a starving man for bread, a weak man for a crown; but I did not long for her as a man for a woman, and I could do nothing.
She mocked me and I would have strangled her, but her eyes took the strength from my hands; she tore them away. 'I'll come to you when the moon is up,' she said. 'You will be stronger then. Wait for me.'
Thus I sit before our fire and write this, hoping someday to understand all that has happened, watching the pale moth that flutters about the flames, and waiting for the moon.
CHAPTER XXX-The Great Mother
The terrible goddess of the slaves appeared last night. I touched her and everyone saw her. It was horrible. Now the camp is stirring, but there is no need to write quickly; the market will be full before the bridge is mended. I will have time to read this again and again, so that I will never forget.
Cerdon crept to the fire while I sat staring at the flames, and crouched beside me. 'There are sentries tonight,' he whispered. 'We must be careful. But the Silent One has gone, and that's more than I let myself hope for.'
