Soldier of Arete (35 page)

I had not thought of that. It made me admire this girl all the more, though I cautioned her against judging a maimed man by his scars—I think it must be his appearance that has turned her against the prince. She wanted to take my hand while we walked, but I pretended I did not notice and kept it closed so that she would not see the blood smeared on my fingers.

When we reached this place (seven stades, Pasicrates says, outside the city) only the chariot I am to drive was waiting for us. I took its reins and gave the team a little light exercise, without letting them reach their full speed or anything close to it. They seem good enough, responding well to the reins and the whip, but rather lacking the mettle I would have liked to see.

Polos told me it was marvelous to listen to me describe in so much detail how King Leonidas had been killed by a javelin. No one was near enough to hear us, so I confided to him that the javelin had not in fact been thrown—that the man who had killed Leonidas had stood above him with the javelin in his hands and driven it through the king's armor and into his back. (I do not understand how I have come to know this, and yet I am absolutely certain it is true.)

Polos looked puzzled. "Wouldn't the point have gone right through his breastplate, too? Couldn't you stick something with a javelin harder than you could throw it?"

"That's true," I said, "if you're only practicing, jabbing your point into a tree or something of that kind. But in a real fight, a thrown weapon always strikes harder. Something makes us hold back, if only a little, when we strike another man. To strike hard at the back of one who has already been knocked down is particularly difficult."

Although the blood appears fresh, it cannot be wiped away, ever on the papyrus.

I should say here that after I read, I carried this scroll with me in order that I could read and write when time allowed it. The queen and her chariot still have not appeared; thus I write. This is a very pleasant spot, a wide expanse of level, open ground, with a few large trees that shade the horses, and us, beside this clear, cool stream. The breeze is soft, the air wonderfully clear.

I thought I heard a shepherd piping and went to see; it was only Io, playing pipes she says Aglaus made for her. I saw that he had cut them from green rushes, cementing them with beeswax and binding them with split willow twigs. Io had named him for me this morning; now I asked whether she was not ashamed of our having a servant so poor and common looking, with many missing teeth, for I know women are often very sensitive concerning such things.

Io laughed and said we were about to get another, because Polos's milk teeth are coming out. Her own are nearly all gone. She grew serious, saying that she liked Aglaus very much though there was something about him that reminded her of Elata. I do not recall Elata; I tried to conceal it, but Io saw that I had forgotten her and told me that she is the wife of Hegesistratus of Zakunthios, another mantis.

"I liked her, too," Io said. "But I was afraid of her."

Polos shouts.

THIRTY-SEVEN

The Dead Man's Stare

HIS FACE AND OUTSTRETCHED HANDS appear to me whenever I close my eyes. He tries to speak to me, I know, yet I cannot catch his words. I will write instead, though I had to beat Cyklos' slave before he would bring the lamp; I will write until I fall asleep on this stool, my back propped by the wall.

The queen and the boy they call a king came in her chariot. The driver was a slave, short but muscular; a most cunning man, I think, about horses. He wanted to know how much I had driven. When I told him I could not be sure, he winked at me and thumped my shoulder with his fist.

Queen Gorgo spoke with me. There cannot be two such women in the world! She asked whether I recalled our meeting in the temple of Orthia. When I explained that I sometimes forget, she told me gently, "But you must remember our meeting at my house, yesterday."

"Of course," I told her. "No man could ever forget a queen so lovely and so gracious." It was a lie, and I blushed for it even as the words left my lips. As quickly as I could, I turned the talk to her horses, which are all grays, very beautiful and finely bred.

"I think they're probably the best in Hellas," she told me. "We've raced them against my nephew's before, and they've always won easily; but now he says that his can't lose as long as you drive for him. Are you going to cast a spell on my horses? Or on your own?"

I told her I knew nothing of such things.

She nodded slowly, and her eyes were sad. "You remind me of Leonidas; you're a plain fighting man. You've something of his energy, too, I suspect. It's a good thing for Rope that there are such men as you, but not for your wives and mothers."

While I spoke with Gorgo, Polos had been scrutinizing her team. He told me how eager they were to run, and how confident of victory. Of the one I was to drive he said, "They know they aren't going to win. They only want to finish the race and go back to the pasture."

I asked, "How can they know they won't win? Did they tell you that?"

Polos shrugged, and appeared every bit as downcast as if he were one of the horses himself. "They only say that the man who drives always makes them gallop too fast, so that they're winded before the race is over."

I dropped to one knee, bringing our eyes to a level. "Tell them I won't ask them to do their best until the last stretch of the last lap. Nor will I shout until then. When I shout, the race will be practically over. Then they must show their heels, and afterward they'll be walked back to their pasture. Can you do that?"

"I think so. I hope they'll understand and remember."

We raced three times around the field, which was large, as I have said. The finish—and the start—was the great oak under which we had rested. Gorgo stood there to judge the race; she held up fingers to give us the count of laps, although that was not really needed. When her driver saw that I did not force my horses to their utmost, he took a comfortable lead and held it. I permitted him to do it, even though Prince Pausanias shouted for me to drive faster at the end of the first lap, and also at the second.

Perhaps I should not write it, but it was a great joy then to drive as I did—very fast and yet without any straining for more speed— through the clear, warm morning. No dust rose from the soft grass, and the tall trees and low walls of piled stones seemed to spin past us in a sparkling dance.

I do not know whether Polos can actually speak with horses; such things seem impossible to me. But as we swung through the third turn at the far end, I felt all four steady themselves for the final dash. We gained a bit on Gorgo's chariot then.

Half the lap passed... two-thirds.
"Now!"
I roared it with every shred of wind my lungs would hold and cracked my whip like lightning over the heads of the team. They bounded forward like four stags.

When we had brought both our teams to a halt, Queen Gorgo's driver spat all the ugly words he could lay tongue to into my face— some of them words I have never learned. Until Pasicrates stepped between us, he pretended that he was about to strike me with his whip. Prince Pausanias paid less heed to him even than I, grinning at Gorgo, who much to my surprise smiled at him in return. As for pretty Io and little Polos, they fairly capered with delight; and even Themistocles and Simonides were wreathed in smiles.

Then Gorgo's driver threw himself at her feet, talking very fast and pointing to her team. I could not understand all that was said, but I knew that he was begging her to propose a second race. It is never good, as I explained to Io, to make a horse run twice in the same day, though it must often be done in war. Indeed, it is best to give a horse several days in which to rest after a hard run.

But the prince readily agreed to hold a second race before the first meal. Their drivers walked both teams until they no longer sweated, examined their feet, and at last permitted them to drink a little. I asked Polos whether our horses understood that they would have to run again. When he nodded, I asked him to explain to them, if he could, that it was not my doing, that when I had promised them they would be returned to pasture after the race, I thought it true.

Polos positively glowed with pleasure, saying, "They don't mind. They want to race again."

I would not have held them back if I could, but I did not urge them forward. Of their own will they thundered around the meadow, keeping pace with Queen Gorgo's until the final turn. Then, as her chariot drew well ahead of mine, it threw a wheel. Her driver fell, and was dragged half the length of the course by the grays. For a moment it seemed we would trample him, but my team answered, swinging right. He was stunned, however, and when I saw Pasicrates cut the reins from his wrist, I thought him dead; but before we left, he stood and walked.

We ate the first meal here. The food was not good, but Io says the food at the barracks is worse. We eat there at times, she says. She wants me to ask the queen to let us dine with her, though I have told her Cyklos would surely be offended, and rightly. Io asked Aglaus where the black man was, but he could only tell us that he had gone out alone shortly after we went to speak with the prince.

As I left with Hippoxleas to go to the practice, I happened to pass the room where the black man sleeps with his wife; and I overheard him addressing her, his voice that in which an officer gives his orders in battle. We had not gone far when both came running after us. Gasping, the black man's wife asked whether I could wear my sword when I was made a resident of Rope; and when Hippoxleas declared that all weapons were absolutely forbidden, she drew me aside almost rudely, while the black man prevented Hippoxleas from going with us.

"There'll be trouble tonight," the black man's wife told me breathlessly. "He wants me to wedge the table against the door, and not open until I hear his voice. He's going to the ceremony—he'll bring your sword with his, wrapped in his cloak. He'll throw it to you if you need it."

I told her to take Io and Polos into the room with her, but she said, "Aglaus can protect them better than I could, and he'd kill me if he found Aglaus with me."

I will say nothing of the practice; it was easy enough, and I cannot recall anything that need be noted here except, perhaps, that Queen Gorgo directed it.

After the second meal we assembled, as before, to await the rising of the moon. We stood in silence, as we had been taught at the practice; and on the rare occasions when anyone dared to speak, he was hushed at once by several young Rope Makers. The slave standing next to me in the darkness (a wiry little rogue from what I could see of him) nudged me once or twice as though to assure himself, as well as me, that this was no dream. I had overheard these slaves talking among themselves at the practice and knew they were those who had fought best in the war, chosen by their fellows.

The full moon rose at last, hailed by the deep tones of the Men's Chorus. There can never have been another so beautiful as that silver shield upon the arm of the goddess!

Hardly had the men's voices fallen silent than we heard the bellowing of the bulls. Trotting they came, one black and one pied, each with two strong men to hold the shining chain through its nostrils. Priestesses cast fresh logs on the fire, and when its flames shot twice the height of a tall man, King Leotychides dispatched both bulls, which knelt in reverence to the goddess as they died. Together, Queen Gorgo and Tisamenus (the prince's mantis) examined them, she announcing each finding in her strong, clear voice.

Afterward each of the judges spoke, praising Themistocles. It was while he was replying, loudly cheered by all of us, that I happened to bump slightly against the young Rope Maker who was to sponsor the wiry slave. It was far from violent, and indeed I doubt that he gave any heed to it; but my arm told me that he had a dagger beneath his cloak. I thought then that he had been warned as I had, and had felt it wise to bring a weapon, though he risked the displeasure of the gods.

Themistocles was crowned by Leotychides and Pleistarchos, and our voices echoed to the heavens. Surely there is no point in listing here all the gifts he received, for there were very many; but I will say that the prince gave him the finest of all, a chariot of silver, set with precious stones and drawn by the horses I drove twice to victory. That was the final gift, and I saw how widely his eyes opened when he received it. There is a certain look that a man wears when he finds he has risen to a height he never dreamed of, and Themistocles of Thought wore it then.

As for me, my face must have made my amazement plain, for Hippoxleas whispered, "Is anything wrong?"

I shook my head, and did not tell him that I recalled that chariot, having seen it elsewhere.

Aglaus touched my arm, and when I turned to stare at him, pointed out the black man among the spectators, with Polos and Io before him. The moon was higher now, and the sacred fire lit the whole scene; I could see the cloth-wrapped bundle the black man held, which he had been too prudent to bring close to the young Rope Makers.

We bathed in the cool waters of the Eurotas, as we had also at the practice, but this time we did not resume our old clothing; our guides consecrated us with a perfumed unguent and clothed us anew in white.

When this was done—and it did not take long—we formed our double column. There was considerable confusion, though we had practiced it again and again. I wanted to bawl orders as though upon the drill field, and I saw the same wish on the faces of Hippoxleas and a dozen others; still we kept silent, and it may be that the column shaped itself more smoothly because of it.

No doubt the march around the city should have tired us. I cannot speak for the rest, but I was not conscious of the least fatigue. The clear voices of the women, the graceful and ever-changing figures of the dancers, and the solemn scenes at temple after temple buoyed all our spirits, I think. In the flickering torchlight the carven faces of the gods smiled upon us. Lustily our voices answered those of the women as we praised each god in turn.

Sooner than I would have believed possible, our procession was over. Another temple, I thought, and it did not surprise me to find that it was upon the banks of the Eurotas, for the last two we had visited had stood there also. But it was the temple of Orthia, to which we had returned; and there I presented to an ancient image of the goddess the silver figurine Hippoxleas had carried for me, and cast away my guttering torch. Those who had not already made offerings now presented similar figures, though theirs were of lead. Mine depicted the goddess winged; wearing a tall headdress, she stood before her sacred tree. Those of the slaves that I saw were of beasts of the chase or small soldiers bearing bows or slings.