Soldier of Arete (23 page)

"You'll have to slip past the Thracians outside first," Acetes warned me.

"I know, but how is the palace laid out? Where might they keep Hypereides?"

Cleton gasped for breath. "Square. Hear me, son. I've been in it many times... A wall, not too high. No towers. Inside's courtyard, stable in back. Palace square, too. Hall and kitchen... ground. Sleeping rooms up steps... captives down. Underground. Turn right, five streets."

Hegesistratus tried to remonstrate with me, but I brushed him aside and got out the door before even the black man could halt me.

The streets were dark and oozing with filty mud, so that I had to walk slowly. I had not gone far before I nearly collided with a woman, but it was not until she spoke that I realized she was Elata.

"Latro," she said, "stop, and listen to me. Do you know I cure?"

"Of course," I told her. "I saw you helping Hegesistratus with Cleton tonight."

"And I would cure you, Latro, if I could. I can't, but I do understand how utterly you forget. I think I'm the only one who does, even now, though Io knows better than the rest. You don't remember who Hypereides is, nor do you care. Nor should you. My tree is old already, yet it and I will live for a great many seasons after Hypereides is dead and forgotten. You must guard your seed, Latro. Tonight you're risking it for nothing. Why?"

I did not understand what she meant by her tree, for women do not have that; but I told her, "I am doing it so that I will never be as Cleton is tonight. Let that be enough for you." I kissed her and ordered her to go back before someone harmed her. I, too, had drunk a good deal of wine; yet though she had chewed resin to sweeten it, her breath tasted of more.

A man rode past. He stared, and I saw he wore a helmet and bore a lance; I was glad that he did not stop. I hurried on and had nearly reached the palace when Io overtook me.

"Master!" she called, and caught at my cloak.

I spun around, my fist up. "Have I ever struck you, Io?"

"I don't remember," she said. Then, when I lifted my fist higher, "Yes, master, once or twice. It doesn't matter."

"I should strike you again now. You could have been killed, and now I have to take you back."

"Good." She sounded happy. We turned and began to retrace our steps. "You're the one who would have been killed, master, don't you know that? I'll bet there are a thousand Thracians in there with this Lord Thamyris, and your being dead wouldn't help Hypereides one single bit."

I told her, "If you follow me again, Io, I won't bring you back; I'll take you with me. That will be safer, I think, than leaving you in the streets of this barbarian town alone."

"You ought to stay in the house with me, master, or go with the black man and Acetes."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" she asked. "Nobody'd blame you."

"But they'd know, Io, what I had set out to do, and that I had not done it—had not actually tried. While I myself would not know. I would see how they pitied me, as at times I've seen it today; and I would not know why." Quite suddenly there was a rush of moisture to my eyes, as if some veering wind had carried smoke to them. I did not weep, since men do not do such things; yet my eyes streamed, no matter how quickly I blinked. Today I must guard myself against this self-love, for surely it and wine were what unmanned me.

I believe a tear may have struck Io; she looked up quickly and said, "I can go the rest of the way alone, master. I'll be all right."

"No," I said, and shook my head, though perhaps she could not see the gesture.

When we reached the house, I had to pound on the door with the pommel of my sword before Elata lifted down the bar for us. Io threw her small body into my arms, and I kissed her as I had kissed Elata, knowing her a woman, however young, though I had thought her only a child before. "I won't run after you again," she promised. I nodded and did not tell her how much I hoped she would—how frightened I was.

Recalling the man with the lance, I chose not to follow the dark street I had walked down before, this time turning right at the first corner, then left at the next turning. When I did, I saw that a fire had been built in the middle of this new street, almost to the palace. Several men were standing around it, and it seemed to me that they were warming their hands.

TWENTY-FOUR

The Boar

THE GREAT BEAST IN THE shadows was what struck everyone's fancy—so much is clear. I have listened to Hypereides, the mantis, the Mede, Acetes, and the shieldmen; and every one of them spoke of it. The mantis wanted to know how I had entered the palace. I had simply climbed the wall, which had not been difficult, and I told him so.

But first I described how the black man had saved me when I circled the watchfire. That made Hypereides happy and the black man, too. He showed us how he had snapped the Thracian's neck before he could draw his sword. I did not tell anyone that he had run ahead of me hoping to stop me; it would make Hypereides like him less. Nor did I say anything at all concerning Elata or Io. I told him instead of the other things that I did before pulling off my boots and making my dash for the wall. They are lost now, no doubt, with our horses and a great many other good things that we left behind us in the house. I remember that I considered discarding my cloak as well; now I am glad I did not, but I could not have climbed the wall wearing my boots.

Polos desires me to tell him many things about swords; I have explained that I must write this first. I will strive to be brief.

The black man had warned me I might be killed, pointing at the dead Thracian and to me, and opening and shutting his hands to indicate how many Thracians he felt might be within the wall, which was a very great number indeed. I did not dare answer him aloud for fear the other Thracians would overhear me, and so I spoke as he, with my fingers, saying it might also be that they were few and I would kill them all.

He grinned at that—I saw his teeth flash in the darkness. Then he went away; he is my brother.

Though my hands had spoken so boldly, they trembled when I crouched in the shadow of a house to take off my boots. Because they stood against a cold sky bright with stars, I could see the Thracians upon the wall, the black outlines of their helmets and the sharp heads of their javelins. If I were to talk to Polos of swords and fighting now, as he wishes, I would tell him how important it is to stand for a time in the place of your enemy; I do not believe any man can win who does not do that, save by the favor of a god. Thus I supposed myself Thamyris and penned within the palace wall.

The lords siding with me I could not station upon the wall, because they would not consent to it; they would mount the wall only if there was an attack. On the other hand, I would require a force of picked men who would rush to counter any such attack. Very well—the lords would be that force. Peltasts could guard the wall through the tedious watches of the night, and sound the alarm.

But I, Latro, knew that peltasts are simple men, however hardy— just as I myself am a simple man. Simple men would keep their eyes on the men around the fires.

Thus I needed a distraction that would draw their eyes to a fire some distance from me. If the black man had remained with me, I would have asked him to provide it. As it was, there was no one to help me except the dead Thracian. Crouching very low, I dragged him to the back of the wood piled for the fire I had been skirting when he discovered me; there I stood a log upright and drove his knife into it. I was afraid someone would hear me, but the men around the fire were talking and the fire crackling. It was not easy to make his flaccid hand grasp the hilt, but by slipping the pommel into his sleeve I managed it.

Then I went quickly to the other side of the palace, not by shunning the light of each watchfire in turn, as I had before, but by going a short distance into the city (so that I kept well away from all the fires) and returning to the wall again. Soon, I knew, someone would go for wood and discover my dead man, and he would be filled with amazement when he saw that this man had (as it would appear) fought with a log and died. He would want the others to see everything that he had seen— and the peltasts upon the wall would hear him.

I had expected to wait for some time; but though everything happened, I think, as I had anticipated, I had scarcely reached a house near the palace wall before I heard shouts. Hesitation would have doomed my plan, for the peltasts would quickly return to their posts. I dashed to the wall and began to climb.

The top was the most hazardous point; I leaped as soon as I saw a roof below me, though I had no means of knowing how strong it might be. When I struck the thatch, I heard a pole snap under me, and the thatch sagged; but it muffled the sharp crack, save for the horses beneath. I slid down the roof and dropped to the ground, and though that distance was considerable, the courtyard was muddy and soft; I knew I was safe for a time then, since the men upon the wall were certain to look outward.

The palace stood dark before me. Hidden by the shadows of its broad eaves, I traced its wall, my fingers groping the rough ashlars. Soon they discovered a deep-set doorway, and within it a low and narrow door, of wood bound with bronze. Softly I put my shoulder to it, pushing with all my strength. It budged less than a hair's width; but when I relaxed, it seemed to me that it swung toward me, though only very slightly. Groping, I found a ring at one side. I pulled; the creaking of the hinges startled me so much that it has not been until this present moment, while I sat writing this, that I realized how foolish I had been.

Not long ago, I wrote that one must stand in one's enemy's place; but I myself had failed to do it when I hoped (as I had) to enter by some window. Thamyris would have been a fool to bar his doors—it would only have impeded his lords as they hurried to defend the wall. In the same way, the king who had built the palace would not have had its doors open inward; such doors only obstruct those who would rush out, and they are easily broken by rams.

I found myself in a smoky corridor lit here and there with cressets. Halfway along its length, there was a door on either side, and I saw that a wide chamber, more brightly illuminated, awaited me at the end.

One of the doors was barred within. The other gave access to a dark room where bundled lances, spears, and javelins leaned in corners, and wooden figures wore helmets, swords, and leather shirts much like my own, heavy with scales and plates. From one I borrowed an oval shield faced with bronze, and after stumbling over a sheaf of javelins, I severed the thongs with my sword and selected two. I understood then that the gods intended I should fight for my life—why else would they thus equip me? I took a helmet as well (I have it still), a high one with an august crest like the spread fingers of a webbed hand.

When I left the storeroom, Thamyris was standing at the end of the corridor as though waiting for me. "Come," he said, and motioned to me.

I did not know who he was, for if I had seen him before I had forgotten it; but I did as he asked. He vanished from the end of the corridor as soon as he saw I obeyed him; and when I entered the megaron, he was seated upon his throne. Though the megaron reeked of smoke, another scent underlay it. Some time passed before I recognized that second odor.

"Come closer," he said. "Have you come to kill me?"

I told him that I certainly had not—that I did not even know who he was.

"I am Thamyris, son of Sithon," he said. He was old, his long beard faded to a solemn white, though his glance still held a spark. Something huge twitched, though only very slightly, in the shadows behind him.

"I'm called Latro," I told him, "and I've come here to kill no one— only to free your captive, the Hellene. Give him to me and allow us to leave unmolested, and I swear we will do no one here the least harm."

"You are called Pleistorus in this land," he told me. "By many other names in others. As for your Hellene, I care nothing for him—he was the bait that hooked you, nothing more." He clapped his hands, and two armed men stepped from the shadows. When I saw them, I thought that it had been one of them I had seen move. "Bring in your foreigner," he told one. "He may be of further use."

The man addressed hurried away; the other waited beside the throne with sword drawn.

"This is my grandson Nessibur," the old man on the throne said, nodding toward him. "He will succeed me as King of Thrace."

I congratulated him.

"Are you not going to say that I am not yet so much as king of Apsinthia? Or that Apsinthia is only one small kingdom among fifty?"

I shook my head and told him I knew nothing of the matter. The truth was that I was not thinking of it at all, but of the name he had given me. I have since asked Io, who says that it is only the name of some Thracian god.

"Latro!"

It was the prisoner, a bald, round-faced man whose hands were bound behind his back. Seeing that, and thinking it best to act boldly, I shouldered the lord who had brought him aside and cut him free.

"Thank you," he said. He shook his hands and slapped one against the other. "I'd like to have one of those javelins of yours, but I'm afraid I couldn't hold on to it."

The man who had brought him asked whether his sword should be returned to him.

Thamyris laughed. The laughter of old men is often shrill cackling, I know; yet there was something worse in his, the wild mirth of those who have felt the hand of a god. "Why not," he asked, "when he cannot grasp it? Pleistorus, were you not about to tell me that Thrace—and even the Apsinthian throne"—here he struck its armrest loudly with his open hand—"is beyond
my
grasp?"

I shook my head again, adding, "I've no desire to be rude, Thamyris, and don't know whether Apsinthia, or Thrace, is beyond your grasp or within it. If they are what you wish, then I wish you well in them."

The captive said, "You're Lord Thamyris, sir? My own name is Hypereides. I hail from Thought, but I've been assisting the noble Acetes, the strategist appointed by Prince Pausanias, the regent of Rope— the Rope Makers are our allies, as I imagine you know already. I assure you I'm not a spy or troublemaker of any kind, and I have friends here who'll be happy to vouch for me."