It is a point of honor, I should add, among the boys not to cry out, though I cannot say what would befall a boy who did. It has been many years, I think, since such a thing occurred, and perhaps it never has. The boys who die in silence are received as sacrifices to the goddess. (How sad it is to count the places at which such sacrifices, the most pleasing of all, are still made and to find the fingers of one's hands more than sufficient!) Those who live are honored above all the rest and carry her favor for the remainder of their days.
I spoke to this Pasicrates as eloquently as I could and with all the charm I command, which some have not hesitated to call great. And I will not deny that it would please me very well to have the love of so handsome a youth, and one who is sworn to the goddess, as I am myself - though whether such a thing would please her as well, I cannot say.
But I can say, and I will, that it appeared to me that Pasicrates was not wholly insensible to the attractions of my person. (Unlike yourself, dear Latro, though I hesitate to write it.) We look upon these people, who live only for war and are forever training for battle, and think how comely they are. But what must they think, who hear for the first time, from our lips, the trumpets of eloquence and the deep-mouthed tocsins of philosophy? Must not they think us as far above common men as we think them? So (as I dare to hope) does the messenger of the great regent think your poor friend -
Eurykles of Miletos
Chapter 26 Pasicrates
The regent's messenger has restored my scroll to me. He sought me out this morning and asked whether I recalled meeting with him the night before. I do not remember that now; but I must have when we spoke, since I told him I did.
He said, "Then you know I'm Pausanias's runner."
I nodded and said I was surprised he did not leave our plodding march to return with word from Eutaktos.
"The only order I brought was that he should continue the search if he has not found you, and return with all speed if he had. It's you Pausanias wants to see, not me. If I were to run back, could you keep pace with me?"
I confessed I did not know but said I would try.
"Then we'll race to the tree on that hill and see who shows the best heels."
He no sooner spoke than he was off like an arrow. I followed as fast as I could, and my legs are longer than his; but I never overtook him, and he had time to halt at the tree and turn to study me before I came pounding up.
"You might run to Megara at that," he said. "But look at this poor tortoise." It was Basias, the man whose tent I share, doing his best in his cuirass and greaves and waving his sword.
Pasicrates called, "You can't touch us with that! Get a longer blade!" Seeing that we were not deserting the column, Basias slowed to a walk.
"Want to sit here?" Pasicrates asked. "They have to tramp up this hill anyway." His face had that relentless regularity we find so attractive in a statue's, but his eyes seemed as cruel as a stoat's. As though I had not seen their look, I threw myself down in the shade.
"How did you lose your memory? Do you know?"
I shook my head.
"Perhaps the child does, or that Eurykles."
"Who are they?"
"Friends of yours that Eutaktos brought along. I talked to them yesterday. Come to think of it, Io was there when I talked with you - the little slave. She's yours, she says."
I said, "I remember the child, but not her name."
"What about Eurykles?"
I shook my head again.
"When I got here, I wondered why Eutaktos had bothered with them. I understand now."
We spoke no more after that until Basias reached us.
"Just a foot race," Pasicrates told him. "I don't think my job's in danger, but Latro can replace me if I'm wounded."
Basias nodded, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his finger and flinging it away. "Wrestler, too."
"You've tried him?"
Red-faced and panting, Basias dropped beside us. "Beat him. Five falls, though. He's strong."
"He looks it. How much do you know about him?"
"Forgets. Got a slave girl. I've got his sword. That's all."
"I see. Latro, what's my name?"
"Pasicrates."
"Right. How'd you know?"
"You told me," I said.
Basias explained, "In the morning he remembers everything after we camped. But it goes. By noon he won't remember anything before he woke."
"And the child remembers for him?"
"He had a book. It says read this each morning, but we can't read the rest. Eutaktos had me take it."
"I want you to give it back - I'll have a word with Eutaktos. Latro, if you had your book again, would you read it for me?"
I said, "If you want to hear it."
"Or for Pausanias, the regent of Rope?"
"Of course."
"Good. I don't think I'll have you do it yet, because there might be something there he wouldn't wish me to know. We'll see tonight when we reach Megara. Basias, what about Eurykles? Does he help Latro too?"
"A bit. Not so much as the child."
"What do you think of him?"
Basias grinned. "He better stay out of sight in Rope. The women'll kill him."
"He bothers me," Pasicrates said half to himself.
"Hit him and he won't."
"Not like that. Latro, among us it's customary for each older man to have a younger friend. You understand? It's a good system. The younger man learns more. If he gets into trouble, he's got someone to speak for him. This isn't the same thing."
Absently, I asked what it was. I was watching a scarlet wildflower nod in the breeze; it seemed charged with meaning.
"Like a man with a daughter. Except that the daughter's the man himself."
Basias said, "Bet you've plenty after you."
"Certainly." Pasicrates had been lying on his back on the sparse grass. Now he sat up. "I'm Pausanias's protege, and they like that. That's why it seems so familiar. And yet so strange. I wish he were a slave."
Basias asked why, but Pasicrates did not. answer After a moment he said, "His hands are cold. Have you noticed?"
Not long after, the marchers caught up with us and we fell in with the rest. I moved among them looking for the child Pasicrates had mentioned, and soon found her. To test my grasp of what I had heard, I said, "I have good news, Io. I'm going to get my scroll back."
"That's wonderful, and you knew my name!"
"Pasicrates told me."
"And he said Eutaktos is going to let you have it again?"
"Yes. Except that I don't think Eutaktos knows it. Pasicrates will order him to."
Io looked doubtful. "Eutaktos is a lot older."
"I know," I told her.
When we had walked a few more stades, a tall woman in a purple cloak handed me this scroll, with the stylus I am using thrust through the cords. "Here, Latro," she said. "The lochagos ordered Basias to return it. I'd been keeping it for him, and I said I'd bring it." She slipped an arm through mine.
"It was Pasicrates," Io whispered to her.
"Really? He's quite a handsome youth, but not as handsome as your master."
"What does that have to do with it?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking." She squeezed my arm. "You know, Latro, in a way you're rather fortunate. If you wished to change your name, all you'd have to do would be to tell your friends to call you by the new one next morning; then you'd never know you had once been someone else. I don't suppose you know whether you've ever done it?"
"I don't think so. Do you want to change yours?"
She nodded. "It means 'well talked of,' which is good enough, I suppose; but I'd like something better. What do you think of Drakon?"
"Shouldn't it be Drakaina?"
The woman laughed, and Io said, "That's good, master."
"Do either of you know where we are? Pasicrates said we were going to Megara."
Before they could reply, Basias dropped back to walk between Io and me. "We're turning off at this fork," he announced. "The three of you, me, Eutaktos, and Pasicrates. We're to see the regent while the rest make camp."
We hurried down a dusty road that looked no more important than the other; but when we reached the summit of the next hill, the whole scene changed as a nightscape does at the rising of the sun.
A thousand tents stood in orderly rows upon a rolling plain. Beyond them, a city lifted white walls; beyond those spread sparkling blue water dotted with foam where the salt-sharp wind ruffled countless waves; and beyond the tumultuous sea rose the dim blue bulk of an island.
Io shouted for joy. "Look! Look! Is that Peace? We went there on Hypereides's ship, only he wouldn't let us off. Is it?"
Basias mussed her brown curls. "That's right. You've an eye for the lay of the land, little girl. If you were an Amazon, you'd make a strategist someday."
Io pulled at my chiton and pointed at the sea. "Latro, that's Peace Bay. Hypereides told us. It's where the ships from Thought beat the barbarians."
Pasicrates whirled on her like a panther. "Our ships fought there too, and our Strategist Eurybiades commanded the combined fleets!"
I said, "Don't shout at her. She didn't know, and neither did I."
"But she at least will remember," Pasicrates snapped, "because I shouted at her. Mild lessons are soon forgotten, and in the end the kind teacher is the cruel teacher - he doesn't teach. Enough! I'll tell Pausanias you're coming." He runs so well I think only the finest horse could overtake him. Before we had gone another hundred strides, he was flashing among the tents.
Io's dusty cheeks were streaked with tears. I picked her up and tried to comfort her. "I'm all right, master," she said. And then, "He was right, I won't forget. Not even his name."
"Eurybiades?"
She shook her head. "Pasicrates." ' To distract her, I said, "Look how many tents there are! A whole army's camped here, with thousands of soldiers. Have you and I ever seen any army in camp before, Io?"
The woman whispered, "This is nothing. You should have seen the encampment of the Great King. It was like a city on the march - but no city on earth could have equaled it, except perhaps Babylon."
Eutaktos must have sharp ears, because he overheard her. "I saw that camp, and my slaves looted the pavilions of the satraps. If your Great King were here with us, he would not think this camp nothing."
Pausanias's tent is larger than all the rest, embroidered and hung with tassels of gold. I think it must have been part of the loot Eutaktos spoke of. When we came near, I could hear voices; one, I think, the voice of Pasicrates, the other harsh and flat, the speech of a young man accustomed to giving orders and to concealing any emotion he might feel while giving them. I heard Pasicrates say, " ... a spy of the Great King's."
The other answered, "A spy is a stone that can be thrown back."
Eutaktos coughed, I suppose to let those within know we had arrived. After that I could distinguish no more words.
There are two sentries at the door, tall men no older than Pasicrates; they will not permit us to approach it. We stand to one side - or rather, Eutaktos and Basias stand so, their hands on their sword hilts. Io, the woman, and I are sitting on the ground, where I write these words, having seen by reading how good it is to write so that what has happened is not lost.
I have read of the Lady of the Doves; and I feel I then visited a realm at once higher and smaller than our own. What was it she wished of me? For I feel sure there was something. Did she obtain it? Even after reading what I wrote twice, I cannot say. I am sure she was a friend to the woman Kalleos; but was Kalleos a friend to me?
The Lady of the Doves said I would not forget her, though I forget everything. She was not wrong; when I read of her again, my flesh stirred at the memory. For love, she was surely the only woman, or all of them.
But I must put her memory aside and think of what I will say in the tent. Soon, I think, Pasicrates will come out and take us in to the regent.
Chapter 27 Pausanias
The regent has furnished his tent with plunder. He sits upon scarlet cushions, and there are carpets rich with griffins, black bulls savaged by golden lions, and men strangely dressed, with black and curling beards. The air is perfumed by lamps of gold.
Pasicrates announced, "O royal Pausanias, this is the man Eutaktos the Lochagos brought. I have examined him, and I am satisfied he is indeed the one shown you in your dream, so far as I am able to judge."
The regent stared at me. His face is terrible with scars, but it seemed to me it would have been terrible without them, as hard and cruel as iron. Perhaps a smile touched his mouth; a scar drew up one cheek, so I could not be sure.
"The man I saw wore a chaplet of withered blossoms. Fellow! Were you wearing such a chaplet when my shieldmen discovered you?"
"I don't remember," I told him. "But I may have written of it. May I look?" I held up this scroll.
The regent's lips drew back from his teeth, which are large and not quite white. "Good. Very good.
And the flower?"
Pasicrates said, "It was still there when I examined the book, Highness. The lochagos may have put it there, but I doubt that he did."
The regent pointed. "Open that to the stick."
I did as he ordered, holding the scroll so he could see the writing. As I unrolled the last sheet, a dried lupine dropped into his hand.
Pasicrates cleared his throat. "Perhaps I ought to add, Highness, that the lochagos says they appeared to have had a dinner party the night before in the house where he found this man. There would have been flowers, naturally, and chaplets for the guests."
The regent waved this aside. "I'm satisfied. I wish Tisamenus were here, but this is the man, or we'll never find him. He looks like him as well. I couldn't see that scar in my dream, but no doubt the chaplet covered it."
I asked, "You dreamed of me?"
