show his strength. The Rope Makers say the oaks are his, but that can't be. If they were his, would he destroy them?'
'I don't know,' I said. 'Perhaps.'
'The trees are hers,' Cerdon whispered. 'Only hers. That's why the Rope Makers make us cut them down, make us dig out their stumps and plow the fields. The whole Silent Country was covered with oak and pine, when we were free. Now the Rope Makers say the Huntress rules Redface Island-because she's the Descender's daughter, and they want us to forget our Great Mother. We haven't forgotten. We'll never forget.'
I tried to nod, but my head was too heavy to move.
'We've been slaves, but we're warriors now. You saw my javelins and my sling.'
I could not remember, but I said I had.
'A year ago, they would have killed me if I touched them. Only they had arms, and the arms were guarded by armed Rope Makers, always. Then the Great King came. They needed us, and now we're warriors. Who can keep warriors slaves? They will strike him down!'
I said, 'And you wish me to strike with you,' because it was plain that it was what he had come for.
'Yes!' His spittle flew in my face.
'There's no Rope Maker with you now.' I sat up, rubbing my eyes. 'Is there? Is this the country of the Rope Makers?'
'They have no country, they have only their city. The Silent Country is ours. But no, we're not there. It's far to the south, on Redface Island.'
'Then why go back? You have friends and weapons.'
'Our wives are there, and our children. No, you must come with us. You must find the Great Mother and touch her. We will kiss the ground at her feet then, because to kiss the ground is to kiss her lips. We will drive the Rope Makers back into the sea, and she will be our queen. I have your sword, and I'll give it to you again if you'll lead us. You will be her chief priest.'
'Then I'll lead you,' I said. 'In the morning, when we're rested and ready to march.'
'Good! Good!' Cerdon smiled broadly, and I saw that some blow had deprived him of three teeth. 'You won't forget?'
'I'll write it in this scroll.'
'No,' he said. 'Don't write it, someone may see it.'
But I have written anyway, so I will not forget. This is everything Cerdon said and all I said.
When he had gone to another place and stretched himself to sleep, the serpent woman came, saying, 'Won't you give him to me?'
'Who am I,' I asked, 'that I should say yes to you, or no?'
'Give him something of yours,' the serpent woman instructed me. 'Bathe him or touch him. If you only touch him, it may be enough to make him real.'
'He's real now,' I said. 'A man of blood and bone, just as I am. You aren't real.' What she had said had made me think about those things.
'Less than his dreams,' the serpent woman hissed. A tongue of blue fire with two points emerged from her mouth when she spoke. 'What is it you wish? Perhaps I can bring it to you.'
'Only to sleep,' I said. 'To sleep and to dream of home.'
'Touch him for me then, and I will go away. The fauns bring dreams, and should I meet one, I will order him to bring you the dream you wish.'
'Who are you?' I asked her, for I was still thinking of such matters.
'A daughter of Enodia.' Her eyes sought out the refulgent moon, riding just above the horizon cradled in a woman's slender arms.
'Is that who holds the moon?' I asked. 'I see her, and I would not call her dark.'
'Now she is the Huntress,' the serpent woman hissed, 'and Selene. You may see more of both than you like before you're done.'
Then she was gone.
I tried to sleep again, but Sleep would not come, though I saw him standing with closed eyes at the edge of the firelight. In a moment, he turned away to walk among the shadows. I thought then of writing in this scroll but felt too tired. Holding it as near the flames as I dared, I read it for a time.
Pindaros came. 'I see you can sleep no more than I,' he said. 'That's an evil thing, for slaves. A slave must learn to sleep whenever he can.'
'Are we slaves?' I asked.
'We are now. No, worse, for we are the slaves of the slaves of the Rope Makers. Soon they will take us to their masters, and then perhaps we'll only be slaves of the Rope Makers. That will be better, if you like, but I won't celebrate it.'
'Will we have to twist their ropes for them?'
Pindaros chuckled. 'They don't really make rope,' he said. 'Or anyway, no more than anyone else does. If we're very unlucky, we'll be driven into the mines. That's the worst thing that can befall a slave.'
I nodded to show I understood.
'I don't think that will happen to me. The People of Thought may destroy our shining city and take my property-they hate us-but I have friends even in Thought, and certain talents.'
'You're worried about the little girl and me.' I looked across the fire at the sleeping child.
'And Hilaeira, and the black man too. If I'm freed, I'll buy freedom for all of you if I can. But it might help if you could sing for the Rope Makers as you sang today to the playing of the god. They love choral music, and they don't much value soloists; still no one could resist that, and no one would keep such a singer a slave. Can you do it?'
Hoping to please him, I tried; but I could not recall the words I had sung, nor any tune.
'It will be all right,' Pindaros said. 'I'll get us all freed some way. You don't remember, I know; I could see it in your eyes. It was a miracle, and you've forgotten it.'
'I'm sorry,' I told him, and I was.
'You haven't offended me.' He sighed. 'And I'm sorrier for you, Latro, than for any other man I know.'
I asked whether he recalled the words.
'No,' he said. 'Not really. But I remember how they sounded, that great rushing swing like waves beating upon a cliff that ended in larks and thunder. That's the way poetry ought to sound.'
I nodded because he seemed to expect it.
'As my own never has. But after hearing your song, I think I may be getting a bit closer. Listen to this:
'Arrows have I for the hearts of the wise, Straight-drawn by Nature to bear off the prize, But lift I my bow to the crowd on the plain, The fools hear but wind, and some fool must explain.'
'Do you like it?'
'Very much,' I said.
'Well, I don't. But I like it better than anything I've done before tonight. In our shining city, there are-there were, I ought to say-half a dozen of us who tried our hands at verse now and then. That was the way we put it, 'tried our hands,' as though there were no difference between composing poetry and weaving mats beside the fire. We met monthly to sing our latest lines to one another, and pretended not to notice that none of them was ever heard again. If mine had seemed the best to me when our dinner was over, why, I was the cock of the walk- in my own eyes-for the month that followed. How proud I was of my little ode for the Pythia's games!' I said, 'I suppose everyone's vain in one way or another. I know I am.'
Pindaros shrugged. 'Your good looks are real, and so is your strength, as you proved just today. But as for us-now I see that we were only noisy boys, when we should have been men or been silent. After hearing the god this afternoon, it may be that I will be a man someday. I hope so. Latro, I wouldn't boast to you like this-and that's what it is, boasting-if I didn't know you'll forget everything I've said.'
'I'll write it down,' I told him.
'To be sure!' Pindaros laughed softly. 'The gods have their revenge, as always.
