Things went well enough, in Athens, except for one thing: Wona still couldn't find a man. She wouldn't take anything less than a full citizen, and citizens had their choice of women of the lower echelons, so there was a good deal of competition. She could, and occasionally did, spend the night with a prospect, and it seemed that she impressed such men favorably, but they were not looking to marry. For one thing, there was the war with Sparta, and everyone who was anyone was making desperate preparations for the resumption of hostilities. It was not a time for making long-range commitments.
Sure enough, in the spring, the Spartan army marched into Attica again. Athens did have ground forces, but they were outnumbered two to one, and could not stand against the invaders. So the Athenian soldiers retreated, delaying the Spartan advance as much as was feasible, while the population of the countryside poured into the city. The people actually dismantled the wood structures, of their homes and used the material to build crude huts within Athens. These had poor ventilation, and were called "swelterings" in summer. It was not yet summer, but already they stank. As more and more people crowded in, the shelters spread onto holy ground normally reserved for the temples, and many squatters took up residence in the temples themselves. The priests didn't like it, of course, but there was not a lot they could do about it. These were, after all, supporters of Athens, seeking succor in their time of need, and theoretically the temples were for the benefit of the people.
Fortunately the competent statesman Perikles, who had lost his position as a strategoi, as a member of the governing board of ten generals, earlier that year, was back. Popular opinion had rebounded in his favor, because his enemies had turned out to be far less capable, if not actually incompetent. Maybe, the common folk thought, this siege would not have occurred if Perikles had been at the helm. So Perikles had returned to power.
Now Jes and Wona saw what it was like from inside. The city doubled in size, and there was hardly room for all the refugees. Extensive camps formed just within the walls, and strangers thronged the market places. Rental units became precious. The landlords raised the rent, knowing that if the renters didn't pay it, someone else would. Prices rose, especially for food.
There was also more crime. Jes had to assume her masculine form and carry a weapon in an obvious manner; otherwise they would have been assailed by robbers who were looking for food and silver, but would not be averse to a bit of rape on the side. Even with the weapon, they had to be careful, and stay clear of certain regions, lest they be overwhelmed by disreputable groups of hungry men. On occasion there were mobs of women, too; they robbed for silver and food and clothing, but didn't rape.
Crockson was very good about it. He hired guards to protect the workers, and sometimes when the mobs were bad, the guards would see the women home. He hired women from the refugees. Jes assumed some managerial duties, because it was not possible for Crockson to monitor the larger number by himself, and she was paid extra. She had not made the deal to stay a year, but she saw how easy it would be to make that deal, should she ever change her mind.
But what she really wanted was to be back home. She hated this crowded city, where the forest was not even visible, and neighbor had to be wary of neighbor. She had thought this would be a fairly brief mission; instead it was dragging out interminably. She couldn't really blame Wona for that; in any other times, the woman should have been able to land a citizen. It was this disruptive war that changed everything. What could be worse?
Too soon, they found out. One of the new workers developed a rash. "You must go home immediately," Crockson said, alarmed.
"But I haven't finished my work," the woman protested. What she meant was that she hadn't been paid yet, and she needed the money.
Crockson gave her several small silver obols. "Go home and get well. There will be work for you then."
"But it is not safe alone on the street."
Crockson was beginning to look desperate. Jes didn't understand why he was making such a fuss, as the woman's illness did not seem to be serious. But she stepped in to help. "I can take you home."
"A woman?" the woman asked doubtfully.
"She will suffice," Crockson said, bringing Jes's outdoor cloak.
Jes did her best to mask her shock. Her club was concealed in the cloak, and he had to be aware of its presence. He had, it seemed, caught on to her masquerade, and not told. The man did have discretion. She had been foolishly sure she was undetected.
Jes donned the peplos, and they stepped out onto the street. Wona remained working, knowing that Jes would return. The moment they were out, Jes paused to redo her hair and make herself into a man. The woman, evidently feeling worse, seemed not to notice.
They walked to the camp where the woman lived. A rough-looking man eyed them, but Jes lifted her club in a nominally friendly salute, and he turned away. Had she been seen as a woman, he would not have. Then she would have had to club him, swiftly, before he could do damage, perhaps attracting attention. Attention, in such a situation, could be deadly, because it summoned ruffians in the manner of hungry sharks. This way was better.
The woman was fading rapidly. Jes had to take her by the elbow to steady her, lest she fall. Crockson was right: this was more than an incidental malady.
They reached the woman's temporary hovel. She collapsed on her dirty straw bed. No one else was there. "You have a family?" Jes asked, concerned.
"Yes. Working. They will be home soon. Thank you."
Not entirely satisfied, but anxious to get away from this unpleasant section and back to work, Jes left her lying there and made her way down the alleys. Obviously Crockson recognized the illness; she would ask him about it.
"It is the plague," Crockson told her grimly. "I have seen it elsewhere. First the rash, then sickness in the gut, and it can get so intense there is blood in the refuse. Many die."
"It is that bad?" Jes did not like the sound of this, as she had been exposed to it.
He nodded gravely. "I think I won't get it, because I survived it before. I never felt worse in my life! There was swelling under my arms and in my groin, and—never mind. I heard rumors of an outbreak a few days ago, but did not want to believe it, and did not want to help spread false panic. After all, there are many illnesses in these crowded conditions, and most are not serious. But now there is no doubt. I have some advice I hate to give you."
"Advice?"
"Get out of here. Out of Athens. So you won't catch it. Believe me, you don't want it. Come back when it's gone."
"But the city is already under siege! How can we—?"
"At night, perhaps. The Spartans can't watch every cranny all the time. If they see you, Wona may have to—you know. Distract the men for a while. But you may be able to get away."
"But my work here—"
"I value your work highly. But you will be of no use to me if you die from the plague. Take your friend and go today. Here is your pay." He gave her a small bag of silver coins. She could tell by the heft of it that it was worth far more than he owed them.
"I think your advice is good," she said. "I think you are a decent man."
"It's a business decision," he said, embarrassed. "And I'm not doing it for the others. I want you to return to run my shop."
She knew better. The silver was really a gift. "Thank you," she said, touched by his generosity. Then she collected Wona, and they left.
But the news of the plague was already circulating. Crockson was not the only one who had heard rumors. It seemed that the fever had appeared in several parts of the city. People were starting to panic. The already-stressed veneer of law was rupturing, and brigands, ready to ply their trade the moment any opportunity arose, were openly attacking people, as if not concerned about any penalties. They were probably correct.
They went to their apartment and gathered up their things. Then, as evening approached, they headed for the nearest gate.
"Magic amulets for sale," a street hawker called. "Protection against the plague."
"I want one of those," Wona said. Before Jes could protest, she signaled the hawker, who came right over.
Jes clenched her jaw. It was the woman's right to waste a coin on magic if she chose to.
They resumed their trek to the gate. It was closed. "Go back," the guard called. "The city is under siege."
They knew that. But the guard wasn't amenable to their logic of going out under cover of darkness. "You think it's some kind of picnic out there?" he demanded. "They're slaughtering first and asking questions second. Go back into the city, you fools."
Jes cursed herself for not realizing that of course it would be this way. She and Wona should have left the city before the plague, not after it struck. Before the siege. They had indeed been fools.
"Maybe we can go to Piraeus and catch a merchant ship," Wona said, horrified. "They're full when they come in, but empty when they go out, aren't they?"
"Maybe," Jes agreed doubtfully, still cursing herself for her lack of foresight.
They made their way to the doubly walled road to the port city. But as soon as they reached it, they saw it was hopeless. The region between the walls was jammed with the temporary structures of the refugees, and they could hear the groans of a number with the plague. There might or might not be a ship out, but they would have to go through the thick of the illness to reach it.
Well, if that was the way it was, they had better brave it now, before it got any worse. "How is it in Piraeus?" Jes asked a guard at the gate between the walled channel and Athens proper.
"That's where this curse started," the man replied. "I'm glad I've got my magic amulet." He touched a wooden charm strung around his neck. "I don't want to die of that thing."
Jes had little faith in amulets for protection. She had experimented with one as a child, and found that she was as likely to get hurt with it as without it. But maybe she hadn't had a good one. "So it's worse in the port city?"
"For sure. The ships are coming back with it too."
That did it. They turned away, and returned disconsolately to their apartment in Athens. It was too late to go back to work, but they would do so the next day. Crockson's generous gesture had not helped them after all.
"I don't want to catch the plague," Wona said, looking nervously around. She dug out the amulet she had bought and put it on.
Jes didn't comment. But she was not easy as she sank into sleep that night.
The next day they went to work. "It was too late to go," she explained to Crockson. "But we thank you." She gave him the bag of silver, which she had never opened.
"May Athene preserve you," he said simply.
Jes did not have a great deal of faith in the beneficence of the gods, either, but it wasn't politic to say so. "Thank you."
More women came down with the plague, and Jes saw them back to their hovels, one by one. But there was hope, because the majority of people did not come down with the malady. Maybe the siege of illness, like that of the Spartan army, would ease without becoming total. Stories abounded, accounting for it. "The Peloponnesians poisoned the cisterns," a woman whispered fearfully. "I don't dare drink from one." She was referring to the mechanism that collected rainwater, because no new wells had been sunk to provide water for the massive influx of people. Jes didn't believe that, because there should be no Spartans inside the city. "It is the wrath of the gods," another woman said. "Especially Apollo. He did it to the Greek host before the city of Troy; now he's doing it to us. The oracle said it would be so!" But Jes remembered no such pronouncement by the oracle. The woman was insistent: "My grandfather recalls it from the time of his youth." She went into a singsong. "The Dorian war will come, and death along with it."
"No, it was 'dearth,' " another woman protested.
"It was both," a third said. "And we will pay the price. We should never have gotten into this war."
With that Jes was inclined to agree. She had learned from Crockson, who had an interest in contemporary politics, that Athens had been arrogant. Sparta had committed sacrilege against the god Poseidon, who had punished the city with a series of earthquakes a generation ago, sending it into decline. Athens had taken advantage of the situation to increase its own power. It had built a large navy to defeat the dreaded Persians, and expanded it thereafter. Other cities in the Delian League were nominally equal, but Athens had increasingly treated them like subject states. Athens had used the money from the League treasury as her own, claiming it was to ensure their protection. Three years ago Athens had banned Megaran traders from Aegean markets and instituted an embargo against Megaris itself. Athens had also intervened in disputes between Corinth and Corcyra, and forbade Potidaea from choosing its annual magistrate from Corinth, as had been the custom. So Corinth had made it clear to Sparta that they must go to war, or face the dissolution of the rival Peloponnesian League. Thus had the war been joined. "And it wouldn't have happened," Crockson concluded, "if Athens had not gotten too pushy. You can't do that to other cities, without building resentment. Now look where it's gotten us."
Indeed, they were in trouble. Jes was sure that the refugees had brought the plague with them. If there had not been war, there would not have been refugees, and then there might have been no plague. But of course it was too late to complain.
The moment the siege lifted, they would leave Athens and seek a husband for Wona in a city that was free of the plague. It wasn't just that the war had siphoned off most of the worthwhile men, but that the plague had caused an almost complete breakdown in order. Jes would have much preferred to walk alone through a forest infested with vicious wild animals, than on a city street. Almost every day she had to use her club, and sometimes her knife, to defend Wona and herself from ruffians. How she longed for the calm island of Euboea!
Then Jes abruptly felt strange. She found herself blinking repeatedly and rubbing her eyes, which were stinging. She felt cold and unsteady. Then she smelled her own breath, which was unnaturally fetid. "Oh, no!"
Crockson heard her exclamation. He came over to check. "Dust blow in your eyes?"
"I think I've got the plague." For she had seen the symptoms often enough in others, during the past few days.
He put a hand on her forehead. "Fever, inflamed eyes, bad breath. I agree. You have the plague."
"I must go home before—"
He shook his head. "I think not. You must remain here."
"But others will catch—"
"We don't know how it spreads, but it isn't necessarily from one person to another, or all my workers would have it now, instead of only a quarter of them. I suspect it is bad water. In any event, if it spreads from person to person, you got it from someone here, so it is my responsibility. I will take care of you. You can stay in the back storage chamber."
"But Wona—she can't go home alone."
"She will remain here too, to bring you food and water and change your clothing." He smiled, very briefly. "I think you would rather have her do some things for you, than have me do them."
Wona came up. "Yes, I will do them. I can't go out by myself."
Jes was too distracted to protest further. She allowed herself to be guided to the back room.
Her fever got worse. She lay on a pallet, shivering though Wona piled blankets on her. Her tongue swelled until she feared she would choke on it, and her throat became so sore that breathing was verging on painful. Wona brought a basin of water and sponged her face, but it didn't make her feel better. Then, by uneasy stages, she stumbled her way into sleep.
She woke sneezing, and each sneeze burned her throat, mouth and nose horribly. The room looked red, because of the inflammation of her eyes. She tried to speak, and her voice was hoarse. "I hate this!"
Wona appeared. "Rest, Jes. That is all you can do."
Indeed, that was all she was capable of doing, other than suffering. Wona gave her water to sip, and she managed some, but had no appetite for food. Wona helped her use the pot, because she was too unsteady to manage it on her own. Then she sank back into a tormented haziness that lasted the night. Her dreams were scattered and senseless, with inexplicable things like the cracking open of bones to reveal horrible jelly inside, and seeing a woman crack open similarly, jelly squeezing out of her, that assumed the form of a baby. But it couldn't be, because they left it there on the ground and walked away. Then a fire blazing across a valley, and she was running right into it, her legs strangely thick. Huge Sam and little Lin dancing together, making people laugh. Paddling strange long boats along an unfamiliar shore. Building a house made of monstrous bones. Ned painting a picture on a big rock. And Ned again, trying to run, and Wona, pursuing him.
She opened her eyes, and there was Wona. "You stole my brother!" Jes exclaimed in a fury.
"Yes. I owe you for that." Wona held a cup of water to her mouth. "Drink."
"I should have killed you!"
"Instead you protected me. You are a better person than I am. Drink."
Jes drank, and faded back out.
She wasn't sure how much time passed, but it could have been several days. The plague reached into her chest, making her have a hard cough. Her chest got tired, but she couldn't stop coughing. She had seen it in others, and wondered why they didn't just stop coughing when it hurt; now she knew.
She thought the malady was passing, but that was illusion. It was merely retrenching. It reached into her belly and twisted her gut. She retched, vomited, and vomited again, spewing out whatever remained inside her, and when that was gone, she continued heaving dry. That wasn't enough, and she kept heaving until it seemed she would turn inside out, finally managing to spit out foul-looking and -smelling bile. Wona cleaned it all up without comment.
But the worst had not yet passed. After more scattered intervals of sleep, she developed the characteristic rash. It was awful. Her skin turned reddish, and was spotted with pustules and small sores. She hated the look of it.
Wona put a hand on her forehead to check her fever—and Jes screamed. She was so hot that she couldn't bear to be touched. "I'm burning, burning!" she moaned.
"But you're not at all hot," Wona protested.
That was what she thought. Jes's heat increased, until she could not bear the touch of anything. Not a blanket, not even the lightest clothing. She threw everything off and lay naked, not caring whether Crockson might come in and see her. In her fevered memory, he had been in and out many times already.
She woke again, intolerably thirsty. Wona was absent, but she couldn't wait. "Water," she gasped.
After a time, Crockson did come in, carrying a jar of water and a cup. "Can you drink it yourself?" he asked, extending the brimming cup.
She snatched it from his hand, spilling some, and jammed it to her face. She gulped it avidly down, but her terrible thirst was not quenched. Crockson poured more from the jar, and she drank this too, and then a third. Still she was not quenched.
"That is enough, for now," Crockson said.
"But I need more—much more," she protested, reaching for the cup again.
He held it away. "You will drown in water, and never get enough. Trust me. I have seen it before. I will give you more later. Now rest."
She looked down, and saw her stomach distended from the water inside her, and realized it was true. This thirst could not be quenched.
"Where is Wona?" she asked querulously. "Why isn't she doing this?"
He gestured to the far side of the chamber. There was Wona, asleep. "She has served you well, but she too needs her sleep," he explained.
"That's more than I expected," Jes said.
"She needs you," he said. "If you die, she is alone without having found her man. So she has done the best she can for you."
It did make sense. "And you—why do you help us so freely?" she demanded. "You know I will not stay to run your shop."
"I like you, Jes," he said seriously. "You are my employee, but I regard you as a friend. There are thousands of people in this city more worthy of dying than you, so I hope to keep you among the living."
"But you are too generous. That bag of silver—"
"You returned it."
"Because we didn't go."
"How many others would have done that?"
Jes couldn't answer, because she couldn't think of any she knew here in Athens.
He stepped back. "Now try to rest. This malady is not yet done with you."
"I can't rest!"
"That is part of it. But you must try. I will bring more water soon." He left the room.
Only then did she remember that she was naked. She hadn't noticed, in her inordinate thirst. She suspected that he hadn't noticed either. It wasn't because she wasn't much of a figure of a woman, especially in this grotesque illness; it was because he had no designs on her.
But what about Wona? Had she bought his favor?
Jes tried to sleep, but could not. She tried at least to rest, and could not. She knew that she would never be able to relax, no matter how tired she became. The plague simply would not allow it.
After a time, Wona stirred. "Oh, you are alert," she said, getting up.
"Did you pay Crockson?"
Wona laughed. "With what? We owe him silver already."
"In your way."
"Oh. No. I offered, but he declined. He said he preferred to be your friend." She shook her head, bemused. "He doesn't even want your body, just your respect. He is strange."
"Very strange," Jes agreed. Some day she would find a way to repay Crockson for his kindness.
She managed to eat a little, and of course she drank all the water they would allow her. It was more than she needed, because what she didn't throw up or sweat away she urinated away. More than once she overflowed the pot; it seemed impossible to empty it as fast as she filled it. But her thirst remained.
The violent spasms passed, but Jes did not feel very much better. She must have gotten snatches of sleep, because sometimes it was light in the chamber, and sometimes dark. Wona told her that seven days had passed since she first felt the fever. That seemed impossible; it was either far too long, or far too brief.
The plague stopped bothering her skin so much, and her cough eased. But the malady moved deeper into her gut. Now she had diarrhea, and it was like the heaves, in that it wouldn't stop. It turned black, and she knew there was blood in it, but she couldn't stop it from coming. Wona took the pot out repeatedly, not complaining.
Then Jes lost her strength, as she had not during the violent stage. She became so extremely weak that she could hardly stir herself to move. She lay there and felt her life fading away.
At one point she heard them talking, but she lacked the strength to react. "What can we do?" Wona asked. "She's so near death."
"This is the point at which she will die, if she is going to," Crockson's voice replied. "I am not a doctor, but I think it is the bleeding in the bowels that takes away the life energy. She must heal by herself—or fail to. We can only watch."
"I hate this!"
"So do I. But there can be worse. So though I hope she lives, I would rather see her die, than—"
"Than what?" Wona demanded, alarmed. "What could be worse than death?"
"Some recover, but leave parts of themselves behind. The distemper can fix itself on some particular member."
"I don't understand."
"It ruins the hands, making them permanently useless. Or the feet, so that the person can't walk. Or the genitals, or the eyes, leaving them blind."
"Oh," Wona said, appalled.
"Or even the mind, so that they remember nothing, and neither know themselves nor recognize their friends."
"You are right," Wona agreed. "Better she die, than that."
"But she is strong," he concluded. "I think she will survive, and be herself again." But he did not sound confident.
"May I speak frankly?" Now there was a certain edge to Wona's voice.
"Of course. We have a common cause, in the saving of this person."
"Do we? I am not her friend, but am bound to her until I find a suitable man. She will be very glad to see me placed, so she is free. So the relationship between the two of us is understood. But you—why are you being so generous to us?"
"I am generous to those I feel are deserving."
"By that you mean Jes."
"Well, I mean no offense to you. You are a beautiful woman, and you have done your part."
"I offered my body to you, in payment for our debt to you. Why did you refuse?"
"It would not be right to take such advantage—"
"And you have not taken such advantage of any of the other women who work for you. Many are married, and many are not pretty, so maybe that is understandable. But I am another matter. I owe you, and I am unmarried, and beautiful. You could legitimately take me. Yet you do not."
"You must remain chaste for the man you will marry."
Wona spat in negation. "You know chastity is not a word that ever applied to me."
"Still—"
"Do you hold my nature against me?"
"No, I understand it. You are as you are, and you use what skills you possess to forward your security, just as others do."
"Why don't you marry me? Then Jes will be immediately free."
"But you don't want an old trader, you want a citizen with status."
"I am realistic. You are a good man. You would take good care of me."
"This is not feasible. You must seek a man better suited to you."
"Would you prefer Jes? She is slender where I am not. Some men like their women lean."
"I value Jes as a friend and a fine person. I would not—"
"Because your true passion is not for girls at all," Wona said. "It is for boys."
There was a silence.
"And you took Jes for a boy, at first," she continued relentlessly. "She passes for a stripling man, so that was understandable. But she needed no weapon to impress you."
"It is a respectable association," Crockson said defensively.
"Yes, in the cities. Less so, in the countryside. I am not condemning you, merely making sure I understand. You do for her what you would do for a young male lover."
"Yes. I wish I could have had a relationship with her. But I can love no woman, and she is a woman, no matter how she garbs herself. But if you feel you owe me anything, repay me in this manner: do not speak of this to her. I love her in my own fashion, which is not hers, and my love can never be consummated. I would not for all the world cause her the kind of distress such a revelation would bring her."
"As you wish. I make no claim to being any fine person, but I pay a price when it is fair. I will spare her this."
"Thank you."
"But if you married me, I would be tolerant and discreet. I have no more actual interest in sex with men than you do in sex with women. Except as an exercise in power over them. All I want is a secure, wealthy life."
There was a pause, as Crockson considered. "In another culture, I think I would find your offer attractive. But here in Athens there is not such need for concealment. I can sponsor my lovers openly, so long as I do not pursue the relationship past the age of maturity, which is thirty. The only exception is when I do not wish to hurt one I respect like Jes. I think I am better off single."
Wona sighed. "Surely so."
Jes faded out. But now she had something to think about. What she had learned distressed her. She was more attractive as a boy than as a woman? But what could she do about it?
More time passed. Sometimes she was conscious of being picked up and moved, so that her soiled bedding could be changed, and she doubted that Wona had the strength to do that, so it must be Crockson. Someone was cleaning her body and putting her back down. She lacked the strength to protest, so kept her eyes closed and let it happen. She faded in and out.
Then she woke feeling not as bad. She still lacked the will to move, but thought she could do so if she tried. She heard the others talking.
"It is awful out there," Crockson said. "I have heard the reports. Neither priest nor amulet retards the spread or mitigates the intensity of the malady. Physicians are helpless before it; they themselves are dying from it. All through the city, Athenians are abandoning themselves to despair. The space between the walls leading to Piraeus is a scene of desolation. Every man attacked with the malady loses his courage at once, and lies down and dies without any attempt to seek for preservatives. At first friends and relatives lent their aid to tend the sick, but so many of those attendants perished themselves that soon no man would thus expose himself. The most generous spirits, who persisted the longest in helping others, were carried off in the greatest numbers. So the sick ones are left to die alone and unheeded. Sometimes all the inmates of a house are swept away one after another, no man being willing to go near that house. Half-dead sufferers lie unattended around all the springs and reservoirs."
"But if you are right," Wona said, horrified, "aren't they then giving the plague to the water others must drink?"
"That is my fear. But I found a clean supply, so that no bad water comes into this house."
"That must be why I didn't get it," Wona said. "I know of no reason the gods would protect me."
"The gods protected no one," Crockson said. "I understand that bodies are piled up in the temples. I dare not go there to check myself, of course."
"Why not?" Wona asked ironically.
But he answered her seriously. "You know why not! As if the physical suffering isn't bad enough, those who survive the plague are filled with reckless despair. They have cast away the bonds of law and morality, amidst such uncertainty of every man both for his own life and that of others. Men care not to abstain from wrongdoing, because punishment is not likely to overtake them, and they fear that they will not live long enough to reap any further benefits of life. So they take advantage of that brief interval to snatch what joy they may, however ill-gotten, before the hand of destiny falls upon them. They steal, they kill, they rape—and the women are hardly less loath to participate, so many cannot be raped, being all too eager to experience what they might otherwise never feel. So, for some, it is a weird orgy of despairing pleasure. But I prefer to remain inside, my door barricaded."
"And you shared your hoarded food and water with us," Wona said.
He laughed, not unkindly. "Jes did not eat much."
"If any deserve to live, she does. She hates me for what I did to her brothers, and she had a hundred chances to kill me or leave me to die, but she was true to her word."
"That is another reason why she is so precious to me. I see so few truly honest and decent folk. They are like coins of gold."
Perhaps the dialogue continued, but Jes faded out again. When she woke, it was another day and this time she felt strong enough to open her eyes.
Wona was there. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yes. Weak, but better."
"Can you move your hands? Your feet?"
Jes understood her concern, and shared it. She moved her hands, then her feet, then her head. "I am whole."
"May the gods be praised!"
Recovery was not swift, but as Jes ate and drank her strength seeped back. In due course she was able to stand and walk, and to attend to her own functions. She had recovered without permanent loss, thanks to the care and protection she had received.
It was just as well, because Crockson was running out of food. Soon they would have to go out to get more.
When Jes felt able to walk a distance, and to swing her club, they went out as a tight group. The city was desolate. A stench hung over it. Bodies littered the streets.
But there was some activity. Men were hauling the bodies away. Crockson recognized one. "He is an indifferent sort, never one to do a favor that promised no swift reward," he remarked. "Yet not a criminal either. I wonder what he is up to?"
"Maybe he is being paid to bring in bodies," Wona suggested.
"Hail!" Crockson called to the man. "How is it that you risk this grisly contact?"
"I am recovered from the plague," the man replied. "When I felt the awful weakness, and knew I was dying, I begged Athene to spare me, and promised I would make a better thing of my future than I had of my past. Athene spared me, so now I am doing public service, knowing I will not get the plague again. Do you wish to help?"
Crockson looked at the others, then answered. "Yes, as soon as we have found food."
"Go to the Temple of Athene. They will give you good food if you help them clean up."
So it was that they found themselves, in the ensuing days, hauling bodies out of the temple. Wagons took them to funeral pyres, where the fires raged continuously. They still had to be watchful for maddened or indifferent ruffians, but a kind of macabre order was returning to the city.
"Where are the vultures?" Wona asked.
Jes looked around. Wona was right: there should be scavengers throughout the city, but there were none.
"I think I know," Crockson said. "They preyed on contaminated bodies, and died themselves."
Wona laughed. "Served them right!"
In a few days Jes's strength had largely returned. She knew it would take time for her to achieve her former health, but she could manage well enough for now.
She reconsidered what she had heard during her illness, and found that it no longer bothered her. What did it matter that Crockson, like many Greek men, preferred to associate with boys rather than women? He was not forcing his way on anyone else. She had encountered such boys elsewhere, on occasion, and understood that they valued their associations with wealthy elder benefactors, and often remained friendly with them long after passing on into manhood and founding their own families. There was no force, only agreement. And Crockson had been extremely good to her despite knowing that there could never be the kind of association he had craved. If he had taken her at first for a boy—well, that was a misunderstanding she had invited by her masquerade. He had never reproved her for deceiving him. Thus he was indeed being generous in the manner of a friend, and she respected that.
Should she say anything to him? It would be easy to avoid the subject, but not entirely honest. So she broached it, when there was opportunity for a private dialogue. "I was extremely ill, and I know you cared for me, so that I survived instead of dying or becoming maimed."
"I am glad you recovered."
"I heard what you said to Wona. About boys. Now I understand why you offered me a permanent position."
He looked as if expecting a blow. "I wish you had not."
"I would consider it an honor to be your friend."
He stared at her. "You are not revolted?"
"I was disturbed by the notion that I might be more attractive as a boy than as a woman. That you might have seen me as such. But I learned better, as I pondered your generosity to us. We all are as we are, and there is no fault in that. I thank you for increasing my understanding."
"Oh, Jes, you have gladdened me immensely. I very much want to be your friend."
"Then we are friends. There is no need to speak of this again."
"No need," he agreed, visibly relieved.
The next day Jes decided to go back to work at the looms. Wona had been working on them, when the burden of Jes's care ameliorated. For the time being Crockson had no other workers; they had either succumbed to the plague, or were caring for sick relatives. There was a considerable backlog of weaving to be done.
The siege lifted. It was rumored that the Spartans were afraid that the plague would spread to them. It was now possible to leave Athens.
"You must go," Crockson said before she could bring the matter up. "Wona has escaped so far, but the plague is not over; others fall prey to it daily, in no pattern I can ascertain. If she gets it—her constitution is not as robust as yours—"
"Yes," Jes agreed. "We must go to a city that doesn't have the plague. But we can't leave yet. Neither of us has worked in a fortnight, and we owe you silver."
"Consider it a loan. And take this." He proffered the same little bag of coins he had before.
"But we couldn't possibly—"
"When Wona marries a rich man, she can send you with repayment," he said, pressing the bag into her hand.
"But I might not get the money, or might not survive to return it to you. You are likely to lose it despite my best intentions."
"Please. It is a thing I need to do for you. For what might have been, had it been possible."
She considered that, understanding. "With that understanding, I can accept your generosity. I think, considering what you have done for us, I owe you my life, and would have repaid you as you desire, had it been possible."
"I very much appreciate the sentiment."
"Do you have advice about our destination?"
"Calydon, on the Gulf of Corinth. It is a member of the Delian League, and far from Euboea."
He understood her need perfectly. "And Athens is on the route back from there to my home."
"I hope to see you again, before long," he said.
"Would you take it amiss if I kissed you?"
He looked uneasy. "I prefer to remember you as I once thought you were."
Jes nodded. The magic would be absent, because he knew she was not a boy. "Another time, perhaps."
They made preparations for their renewed journey. Wona donned reasonably nonprovocative apparel, and Jes assumed her masculine form, complete with the two bows and their arrows, and a club and dagger that showed. They would be traveling through some hostile territory, and of course any territory could be dangerous for a woman alone.
But the morning of their start, Wona felt bad. She was blinking and rubbing her eyes. "Oh, no," Jes muttered.
Crockson took one experienced look. "The plague," he said, confirming it. "She did not escape it."
"But I can't get the plague," Wona protested. "It will ruin my looks."
"Not if you are well cared for," Crockson said. "And you shall be. We'll put you in the back room."
"But you have already taken much trouble to take care of me," Jes protested. "I should care for her on my own."
"Making those dangerous trips alone? Leaving her alone? That won't be practical or safe."
Jes knew it was so. So they put Wona in the back room, and began the siege of her illness. Now Jes saw how it was from the perspective of the caregiver. Sometimes when Wona felt awful, she did not look that bad, while at other times she looked far worse than she seemed to feel. Much of the time she was unconscious or delirious, and sometimes she unknowingly said things she never would have uttered when in control. Jes found some of them wickedly fascinating. Wona had evidently had a lurid history before marrying Sam, and she liked to make men react. Her sexuality was merely a tool she used to achieve her objectives. Wona had explained that before, but her confidences of delirium suggested how cynical the process was. Jes wished she herself had such ability.
It also occurred to her that if Wona died, the family problem would be solved. Feeling guilt for the thought, she did everything she could to ensure that the woman survived.
The disease wended its course, and though Wona was extremely ill, it became apparent that she was not suffering any permanent damage. She would recover and be as lovely as before.
But after the stages of the illness passed, Wona remained quite weak. It took her a long time to recover strength. "That is the way of it, with some," Crockson said. "They look well, but their resources are slight. It may be months before she is back to normal."
"Months!" Jes exclaimed. "I have been away from home too long already!"
He shrugged. "Do you wish to remain at home all your life?"
That set her back. "Yes and no. Our family stays together. We try to marry outside, and bring our spouses in to the family. So I want to bring a husband in to the family."
"Then you should be looking for a man to bring in."
That was a difficult point. She knew her prospects in that respect were so slight as to be not worth pursuing. "First I have to get Wona placed."
"But while she is recuperating she does not need constant attention. You could go out to search for your own man."
She laughed bitterly. "What point? I am not man-finding material."
"I think you are. You simply haven't looked well enough."
"How should I look?"
"What do you most want to do or be, in your life?"
"A sailor. On a trieres. I love the ships. I love seeing new shores. I love the water. But—"
"But they don't take women. So sail as a man." She had a tacit understanding with Crockson: neither betrayed the secret of the other, so she could change identities at the shop. He would even check to make sure her details were correct.
"I can fool most people when afoot and on my own, but how long could I do it on a ship? The moment I had to urinate—"
"You would do that on land. The ships put in to shore twice a day."
"Or swim—"
"Few sailors swim. The water's too cold."
"Or when asleep, if my clothing should—"
"Not if you garb yourself carefully."
"Or when there is contact with a man, as there sometimes is in close quarters. There are so many ways—"
"And if you are found out, what then? Will they execute you?"
"Rape me, more likely."
"In the presence of the captain or an officer? That seems unlikely."
"The captain would curse me and put me off the ship without my pay."
"And meanwhile, you will have had your adventure. And have met two hundred healthy men, one of whom you might find worthwhile. And there will always be another ship."
She reconsidered. "You make it sound possible."
"Possible, if dangerous," he agreed. "If your ship saw battle, you might be killed or injured, and injury could betray your nature when they stripped you for care. But maybe you would get through without discovery, if you were careful. If you prepared well."
"How could I prepare?"
"Go down to Piraeus and study the ships. Learn their ways. Then you will know how to avoid mistakes, at such time as you board one."
She nodded. "That might be."
So on her next day off from work, with Wona resting comfortably, she assumed her male guise and walked down to the port city. Now that the siege was gone, most of the campers had departed and the road was clear. Traveling alone, she was able to walk swiftly, getting good exercise. She was glad of it, because she had not yet recovered her full strength either, and this should help.
The port city was in constant activity. There were ships coming in and departing every day. Because it was war time, and the ships were on constant patrol, some were damaged and were being repaired. She was even able to go aboard one as it lay in dry dock, awaiting the attention of the overworked repair crew. It was fascinating. She was able to step more than thirty paces along its curving main deck. She saw the covered places for oarsmen, their stools on three levels beside the holes for the great long oars. The highest was actually a special kind of outrigger; the oarsmen on that file were called thranitai. What phenomenal coordination was required to ensure that no oars banged into each other! No one person would be able to see all the oarsmen at once; there were a hundred and seventy of them, allayed along the length of both sides of the ship. How did they coordinate? It was a detail that hadn't occurred to her, before actually looking at this layout.
Then she heard someone coming, and quickly got off the ship. She didn't want to answer any awkward questions.
When she returned, Crockson was grim. "Perikles has got the plague."
"But surely there are others to govern Athens," she said.
"Not the way he does. He is largely responsible for the building of the Parthenon and other temples on the Acropolis. He pledged extra funds from the treasury to the goddess Athene. He has been very good for the city."
"But isn't he as unscrupulous as any other politician?"
Crockson nodded. "Politics is not child's play. Thirteen years ago, when he was facing vociferous criticism for his policies, such as the massive building program, he used a device to eliminate his chief opponent."
"He had him killed?"
"Not physically. Politically. He arranged for an ostracism."
"A what?"
"The people meet in the Agora once a year and take a vote to determine if anyone is becoming too powerful, and is in a position to establish a tyranny. If a majority conclude that the danger exists, they meet again two months later. This time each person brings an ostrakon, a potsherd, along, on which he has scratched the name of the person he wishes to get rid of. The man with the most votes gets ostracized, and is exiled for ten years. That time, Perikles's opponent was exiled. He didn't deserve it; it was a political ploy. But he had no choice; he had to go. So Perikles is not a man to fool with. But that is exactly the kind of man we need in power today. Now that he is ill—if he doesn't recover, Athens will be in bad trouble."
Jes appreciated his point. She hoped Perikles would recover. Unfortunately that hope turned out to be vain; the man remained too weak to get off his bed.
During other visits to the harbor, over the course of the fall and winter, Jes learned a great deal about the ships. They looked massive, but were actually very light. So light that they would not sink when rammed and holed; they would merely bog down in the water, becoming too sluggish to be effective. So nobody drowned when a ship went down, unless he got knocked into the water and couldn't swim. That didn't mean that nobody died; if an enemy force caught a ship, there could be a slaughter. So sea battles were dangerous for the same reason land battles were. Of course each ship carried ten hoplites and four archers whose job was to see that no enemy overran the ship. That might not be enough in a major battle, but probably sufficed for routine missions, such as reconnaissance.
Four archers. Now there was something she could do. She had a good bow, and good aim. Maybe she could sign on as a bowman, after demonstrating her capability.
But then she found a better prospect. Each ship carried one pipeman. That was the one who played the musical beat that enabled the rowers to coordinate by ear. The pipeman sat amidships or toward the front, facing back toward the captain's deck, taking his cue from the captain. The pipeman did not have to be a great musician, she learned, but he had to have a strong sound and a good sense of rhythm. And he had to understand the operation of the ship, so as to give no miscues. The pipeman, almost as much as the captain, was the heart of a well functioning ship.
Jes was no expert piper, but she had played a wooden flute at family festivities and could remember a tune. In any event, she understood that the tunes played for ships were quite crude, performed for the cadence rather than for entertainment. They related to real music about the way a baby's cry did to adult communication. She suspected that this was a job she could do.
She went back to the shop and told Crockson. "Now I believe you are right," he said, pleased. "You have found a way. And I happen to have a flute, given me by one of my lovers; I don't believe he would be offended if I lent it to you."
"Oh, I can buy my own—"
But he was already digging it out, and she couldn't refuse, though it turned out to be a finely wrought instrument, surely of considerable value. He clearly liked the idea of her playing it. So she accepted it, and began to practice.
She was rusty, but soon enough she was getting it straight. They discovered that the loom workers became more efficient when they heard the music, and Wona was more alert. So periodically Jes played instead of working on her loom, and the work went well. She perfected several tunes that she could play with feeling and without hesitation. When she strayed beyond these, she became less apt, so she knew her limits. But the familiar ones seemed to be good enough for this group.
She continued to visit the shipyard and harbor, now listening as well as looking. She learned that though the tunes of the pipemen were simple, there were several different ones, and these were used to guide the oarsmen in different maneuvers. One tune was for straight ahead; another for reverse; others for turning, when the oarsmen on one side had to stroke more powerfully than those on the other side. She practiced these tunes, closing her eyes and imagining that she was playing on a ship as it forged through the water during maneuvers. It was a wonderful feeling.
By the time Wona was well enough to travel it was winter. "It will be cold out there," Crockson said to Wona. "Your prospects would better in spring, when you can don light clothing and allow it to fall open."
"You have an eye for the ways of women," Wona replied without rancor.
"They are in some ways like the ways of young men." Jes would have preferred to get moving, but they did owe Crockson money, though he never pressed them for it, and the winter's work would go far to making it up.
Thus they passed the summer of Wona's slow recuperation, and the fall, and winter, and Crockson's shop did prosper with the management and work Jes accomplished. The surviving women returned, and were augmented by others, and there was a good market for the cloth. Crockson was quite satisfied, and actually Jes found herself satisfied too, because the shop was compatible. It was Wona who wanted to get on with their quest for her man, after their year's delay. However, she was resigned to the situation and, having nothing better to do, did work reasonably well on the loom. Her endurance was not great, but that was also true for some of the other recovering victims of the plague. They rested when they had to, and learned to work efficiently, and accomplished about as much as the healthier but less attentive women. Jes filled in for them during those rest periods, so that there was no actual delay, and the women appreciated that. They liked Jes's style of management, and this contributed to harmony. Crockson, assured that the shop was in order, felt free to go out to make deals, instead of having to watch every worker closely. It was a reasonably comfortable situation.
In the spring it was time for them to move on, before the Spartans besieged the city again; they needed to get well clear of Athens and into neutral territory, or at least some region where they could be anonymous. Wona dressed for travel rather than sex appeal, but remained an appealing figure of a woman. Jes dressed as a young man.
Crockson put on his formal robe to bid them farewell. He smiled, but he looked sad. "I wish you the best health and success," he said.
Wona stepped into him. "Thank you for your kindness to us," she said, and kissed him on the cheek.
Then Jes approached him. "Thank you for your generosity," she said—and kissed him on the mouth.
Then they departed, leaving him stunned. They had rehearsed the little ritual, and realized that it was the best way to handle it. The man would have a memory of being kissed by what looked very much like a stripling youth. Jes realized that if she impersonated a male, she could afford to impersonate him in this manner also, considering the considerable assistance Crockson had been to them. They were departing Athens in reasonable order; it might well have been otherwise, had they worked for someone else.
They left by the Sacred Way, passing without challenge out through the main gate to the west. They followed the road to the coast, where it fringed the Bay of Eleusis. They spent the night in the city of Eleusis, renting a room for the night. They had traveled barely half a normal day's hike, but were being careful, because Wona was not yet up to full strength. It was better to take easy hikes, building up gradually, so as not to risk a relapse of the illness.
When Jes opened the bag of silver coins, in order to extract one to pay the proprietor, she made a discovery that astonished her. She quickly masked her reaction, but Wona caught it. "What's in that bag?" the woman demanded as soon as they were alone.
Jes shook her head, bemused. "Gold." She opened that bag and poured out its contents on the floor.
There were a number of silver coins, and three small gold coins. The three were worth as much as three bags of silver would have been.
"That man really likes you," Wona breathed, awed.
"I had no idea," Jes said, half in chagrin. "I would never have accepted it, if—"
"That's why he gave you no hint."
"But he can't like me that well, because—"
"I am more cynical than you in this respect," Wona said. "I have seen men, and I think I understand them somewhat. Most desire women; some desire men; some desire boys. I think those last bestride separate steeds, unable to accept one or the other completely. So they seek partners of their own gender, that most resemble the opposite gender. When those beardless boys become too much like men, they lose their appeal and must move on. So the passion the elder men feel for them is of limited duration, but perhaps more powerful for that. They love without seeming limit, for those few years, and then love the next one similarly. You are just across the line, being like a stripling male, but female. You thus represent the ultimate in desirability: forbidden love. You are clearly worthy, in form and nature. He wants so much to love you, and tries to persuade himself he can love you, but he cannot. In guilt for this, he treats you even more generously than he would a true male youth. And your tolerance for this he appreciates more than he can say in words. So he says it in gold. This is the way of men who are truly smitten."
Jes was amazed, but recognized the likely validity of Wona's conjecture. It made sense. "But still—so much—"
"You can do him no kinder favor than accepting it. By that token you indicate that you accept him—or would, were you able."
"I do accept him! As he is, though it is not the way I am."
"This is the way he wants it." Wona pondered a moment. "There may be one advantage to this. You will never grow a beard. You will never become a man. You will always be like a stripling boy. His dream boy. So his love for you need never fade. It will endure well beyond the time when it would have faded, were you a real male."
"I do not want to take any advantage of him!"
"Nor do you need to. Merely visit him on occasion, and be his friend."
Jes nodded, relieved by this solution. "That I can do."
They ate some of their food, and retired for the night. But it took Jes some time to sleep. Before this excursion it had never occurred to her that she could ever have a friendship of this nature, but now it seemed appropriate. Crockson was a good man, merely different in one key respect. Her awareness of that type of relationship would remain with her for the rest of her life.
Actually, she had never thought to have as close a relationship with a woman like Wona, either. She now realized that the contempt in which she had held Wona had been based largely on ignorance. The woman did have her points; she was merely unsuited to the type of life the family offered. So Jes had learned much about tolerance, and that was worthwhile.
The next day they crossed the mountains into Boeotia, which was hostile territory. But this was between sieges, so the troops were not out; the two of them should be taken for neutral travelers. They expected to cross it in two days, at their present pace, barring problems.
The road they were on turned out to be ill-chosen; it followed a river into the mountains and faded out. It took them some time to find a trail going their way on the other side.
Then they encountered a group of people walking north. They were carrying food, belongings, and wooden planks. What was going on?
So when they spied a solitary man, they inquired. "The Spartans are coming!" he exclaimed.
"Already? But surely they will be attacking Athens."
"They are turning north, not south! We just got word. We are fleeing to Plataea for protection."
Jes exchanged a glance with Wona. They had been planning to stop in Plataea for food. The city was in Boeotia, but was an ally of Athens; it had bad relations with the chief city of the region, Thebes.
They got off by themselves and discussed it. "If we go there, we may get caught in another siege," Jes said.
"Normally I much prefer a room in the city to a stall in the country," Wona said. "But the last time I got caught in a city, I got the plague. We had better stay well away from Plataea."
Jes agreed. "But where will we be safe from the invaders?"
"Maybe we can go to the water and get a ride on a ship."
"Sparta isn't helpless at sea, in this region. Corinth is her ally, and Corinth has the second strongest fleet in Greece. And Corinth is right there on the Gulf of Corinth."
"But there are Athenian allies along the gulf too, aren't there? We can try for one of their ships."
Jes wasn't sure how feasible this would be, but it seemed to be their best chance. So they traveled northwest, crosscountry, avoiding further contact with other people. They wanted to disappear, so as not to fall prey to the ravaging forces of Sparta.
They had no trouble avoiding the Spartans; their main force had not yet arrived. It had nevertheless been a close call; the women had assumed that they would be well ahead of any such expedition.
They camped for the night in a deserted hay shed, keeping an ear alert for any approach. The discipline they had practiced during their approach to Athens the year before came readily back to mind.
So did other facets. "I need to practice with the club again," Wona said. "And you should practice being a woman."
"I have been a woman for a year, weaving," Jes protested.
"That was drudgery, not femininity," Wona retorted. "There was no point in trying to impress Crockson."
She had a point. Femininity was a talent worth cultivating, just in case Jes ever had occasion to make use of it. Crockson was a good man, but no amount of feminine wiles would impress him. Some other man, however—
So next day, as they resumed their careful trek to the sea, they practiced. Jes made Wona a light club, and Wona critiqued Jes's walk and breathing. Jes was in masculine garb, but as long as no one saw, she could still practice swinging her hips. It helped allay what was a generally dull day, for they did not encounter any Spartans.
The Gulf of Corinth was considered to be a long, narrow inlet into the heart of Greece. But from its shore, it seemed an enormous expanse of water.
There were ships on it, too. But not Athenian. "Corinthian," Jes said. "Enemy vessels."
"Does it make a difference? They have rich men too."
"Maybe it doesn't make a difference to you, but it would to them. They would know you for Athenian, and despise you."
They proceeded along the north shore of the gulf, avoiding roads, because at any time Spartans might appear on them. They foraged in deserted fields, and slept in deserted houses. Until they got beyond the danger region, and area life became normal. But it was normal Boeotian life, and Boeotia was allied with Sparta, so they still couldn't risk discovery.
They passed through Locris, another Spartan ally. They avoided the city of Delphi, though they would have liked to go to see the oracle there; they probably lacked the price of such advice, and it was generally incomprehensible anyway, but the experience might have been interesting. Then they crossed into the territory of Phocis, an Athenian ally, and were finally able to walk openly. Here the ships were Athenian, and not to be feared.
Indeed, when they saw a ship coming to shore for a meal stop, they stood at the beach and waved to it encouragingly. It came in close, its oars in perfect synchronicity, then swung about and faced away from the land. The oarsmen reversed their stroke and propelled the craft backward to the beach, until it slid partly out of the water and came to a stop. The hoplites and archers jumped off, followed by the oarsmen. Half of them headed for the bushes.
Wona started to walk toward them. "Wait a moment," Jes cautioned her. "They have full bladders."
Wona paused, then walked toward the ship, where the captain was the last to disembark. Jes saw that she was using her siren walk. She had quietly rearranged herself to accentuate attractive traits.
"Never mind," the captain called, laughing. "I promised my wife to stay clear of incidental booty. But if you want to deal with any of the men—"
Wona glanced meaningfully back at the bushes. "Too dirty for me. Do you give rides on your ship?"
"Not while on duty. You would distract the oarsmen anyway, and start a fight among the hoplites."
Jes nodded agreement. "My sister is looking for a husband," she said. "We thought this might be a good region."
"Naupactus is," he said. "We're based there, this season, and there aren't enough beautiful women to go around."
"Thank you," Wona said, flashing him a brilliant smile.
"But one word of caution: there has been some plague there, brought by the ships from Athens."
"We have had it," Jes said. "Now we are immune."
"Good for you. You have nothing to fear except the Spartans."
"Not as long as we have bold men like you protecting us," Wona said with another smile.
He laughed again. "Get away from here, siren, before my wife regrets it." He patted her on the bottom and moved out to join his crew.
"It is good to get in some practice," Wona murmured. "That is exactly the type of man I would like to capture, but it's too public."
"Well, he's married."
"That, too. He would bed me, but not marry me; he gave me fair warning."
"I didn't hear him say that."
"Didn't you see him pat me? He's interested."
"Oh. I suppose I don't know all the signals."
"I am teaching them to you one by one, just as you are teaching me the use of the knife and club. It is still a fair exchange, I think."
It probably was. Jes wasn't sure she would ever become proficient at such social interaction, but she would learn what she could.
"As we depart, watch the eyes of the men we pass. A lift of both eyebrows means they notice; a lift of one is asking me. I should be able to bring any one to me."
"Any one—and not the others?" Jes asked. "I don't see how—"
"I will demonstrate. I will bring the third one we pass. Then you must cut in, so I don't have to follow through."
Jes wasn't sure she liked this, but did not object, as she was curious to see how much substance there was to the woman's claim.
The men were strung out as they returned from the bushes. Each raised both brows, and then one. The first two passed on by, but the third one stopped. He was an oarsman, with solidly muscled arms. "Hello, lady," he said to Wona.
"My sister is not to dally," Jes said quickly.
The man eyed Jes somewhat contemptuously. "So you say."
Wona made a moue. "My little brother guards me carefully, lest our father beat him. I would not want that to happen. We must be on our way."
"As you prefer." The man moved on.
"Point made," Jes said when they were clear. She was impressed.
"There are surely similar signals when two men consider combat over a nonessential matter."
"Yes. It is pointless to fight unless you really want to, and sometimes one man can demonstrate ability that cautions the other. It never occurred to me that men and women could fence similarly."
Wona tensed, and spoke without turning her head. "Oops. I did not signal this one. You will have to back him off."
Indeed, a hoplite was forging toward them. He had muscle, weapons, and swagger. "Haven't we met before?" he demanded of Wona.
"No," she said sharply.
"Well, then, we must remedy that forthwith."
"My sister is not to dally," Jes said.
The soldier ignored her. He reached for Wona's arm. She neatly drew it back, clearly trying to discourage him.
Jes tapped her club. "I said—"
Now the man glanced at her. He tapped his own club. "Depart, stripling, before I give you reason."
He was too burly and experienced to handle with a club. So Jes went to the next stage: a demonstration.
Her hand went for her dagger so swiftly that it was a blur. The point came up and the tip almost touched the man's nose. Now she had his full attention. After the briefest pause, she flipped the knife into the air, and caught it again by the hilt, before his nose.
"Maybe some other time," the man said, and moved on.
"I never saw you do that before," Wona said, impressed by herself.
"I never had to, before. I probably couldn't take him in a fair fight, and he knew it, but I could have cut off his nose then, with the element of surprise, so he knew it was merely a warning. He returned a warrior's courtesy by leaving the field to me. But if I had cut him, even slightly, or if any of his companions had seen, we would have had to fight."
"I'm not sure he would have taken you," Wona said. "I have seen you kill."
"There is a difference between battlefield conditions and a formal encounter. I would have had to meet him formally, or a bowman would have shot me. Soldiers don't like ambushes. "
"What bowman?"
"That one." Jes indicated a man standing by a tree. As she did so, and Wona looked, the man waved.
"Then someone did see the encounter!"
"Not a companion. Bowmen and hoplites belong to separate clans, socially. Anyway, the bowman was behind the hoplite, so wasn't visible to him."
"But you saw him. Why didn't he call to the hoplite?"
"Professional courtesy. I carry a bow."
"Which you do know how to use." Wona took a deep breath. "Let's get out of here."
"Gladly." But just as Wona had liked demonstrating her abilities, Jes had rather liked demonstrating hers. There was indeed a camaraderie of arms, and it did facilitate things when armed strangers met. She appreciated the way the bowman had given her the chance to settle her quarrel on her own. He had accepted her, in a way that counted, though they were strangers.
They made their way without further significant event to Naupactus, which turned out to be a small but vigorous city. It had been settled by Messenians, implacable enemies of Sparta who had been exiled from their homeland by Sparta.
They sought an apartment close to the harbor, because Wona wanted the best chance to meet any and all officers. They were able to get one close to an inn that served the personnel of the ships. There seemed to be a high turnover in both workers and clients, because this was a war zone, and Wona was able to get a job as a serving wench: exactly what she wanted.
"But won't they pinch your rear and make lewd remarks?" Jes asked.
"And give me silver if they like me enough," Wona said. "It's a fine way to meet people, and the gossip will be first rate. In a few days I'll know exactly who among the captains is married and who single, and will be able to chart my course."
"But what do I do while you're doing that?"
Wona considered. "We're not destitute, thanks to Crockson's generosity to you, but we can always use money. This is your opportunity as much as mine: get a position on a ship. I don't have to have you constantly at my side, now that I have a good residence and position. If things work well for me, you will soon be free to go home."
"I would like nothing better than to be aboard a trieres," Jes agreed. "Even if only for a few days. If you don't think I'm running away—"
"Jes," Wona said seriously. "You have so much honor it's spreading to me. I am a better person than I have been, because of you. I have no concern about your running away. Just don't get yourself killed!"
Jes was so flattered that she was in danger of blushing. "I'll try not to."
So Jes went down to the harbor each day to inquire whether any ship was in need of a piper.
"I need an oarsman," one officer told her. "But I doubt you have the heft for that."
"True. I have rowed all my life, but only in small craft. I'm not muscular."
"That will come with time," he said. "You're not yet grown."
This was typical. Each ship needed 170 oarsmen and only one piper, so her chances were small. But there were twenty ships here, so one might be able to use her.
On the third day Wona's gossip mill bore fruit. "There's a ship with a bachelor captain—and it's in need of a piper!" she exclaimed. "You can hire aboard, and introduce me to the captain."
"But that isn't the way it's done," Jes protested. "Captains don't socialize with the men."
"Then make it a business deal: you'll be his piper if he dates me. Play your pipe for him; he'll want you."
"And if you play your body for him, he'll want you," Jes echoed. "Maybe it will work."
"This is our best chance yet; it has to work." Then Wona frowned. "Though it does seem almost too easy. Do you think it could be a setup?"
"I don't understand."
"We met that captain before, and now we have been talking with many people. Word of us will have gotten around, just as we pick up word of others. Maybe someone wants to bed me, so he says he's single. Men do that all the time. A captain of a trieres is a wealthy citizen, by definition, so has had ample opportunity to marry. By the time I verify his status, he will have had what he wants from me."
"But the pipeman position—what about that?"
"That's probably legitimate. The word is that the plague took out several crewmen, and there may be a battle soon, so he can't wait for them to recover. But he knows he can hire you; it's me he can't have for hire. So that's what he charges."
"Charges?"
"A job for you—if I let him into my skirt. I'm paying for you."
She could be right, Jes realized. "I can look for some other ship."
"No, take the job. Maybe then you can find out whether he is really single. Then introduce him to me—as we thought before."
On reconsideration, this did seem best. "Very well."
Jes located the ship and approached the trierarch, or sea captain, a weathered, burly man. "I hear you are in need of a pipeman."
The captain squinted appraisingly at her. "One drachma a day, half payable as earned, remainder in Piraeus. Bonus when we see action, if warranted, and a share of whatever plunder. Paid to your father if you die on duty." This was his acknowledgment of Jes's youth.
And nothing said about getting into anyone's skirt. This seemed legitimate. "It will do. Do you want to hear me play?"
"I have a practice run this afternoon, to try out new oarsmen. You will play then."
"I will be there."
The captain nodded. "I am Ittai, of Athens."
"I am Jes, of Euboea."
Ittai walked away. Their business was concluded, for now. Jes was impressed; the man wasn't much to look at, but he spoke to the point. He surely ran a no-nonsense ship. That was the best kind.
She returned to the apartment, then went to the dining hall where Wona worked. "I play this afternoon, tryout," she said as Wona came to bring her bread and wine. "Trierarch Ittai is gruff but competent. He said nothing about skirts. I think he doesn't know I have a sister."
"He surely does know. I like him already. But make sure you get the word on his marital state."
Jes brought the flute Crockson had given her to the ship. Captain Ittai spotted her immediately. "Jes! Report to the helmsman." He turned away, attending to other business. He had the facility, useful in a leader, for recognizing a person in a group, and remembering the name. Jes was further impressed.
The helmsman was easy to spot by his bright robe of command. All the oarsmen had to see the helmsman, who ranked next below the captain, and the boatswain, who implemented his orders. Jes would take her signals from either man, but probably the boatswain unless the helmsman stepped in directly. How well she responded, and how well she played, would determine her future with this crew.
She brought out the flute and held it before her as she approached the busy officer. He was directing new oarsmen to their seats, but oriented on her immediately. "You are of course familiar with the essential tunes?"
"Yes. But I need to know the signals for them."
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he demonstrated the signals for each one, and she fixed them in her mind. She had not anticipated this awkwardness; of course an experienced pipeman would know the signals. "The boatswain will indicate the cadence, so," he continued briskly, making a circular gesture in the air with one forefinger. "Pick it up and keep it until he changes it This means accelerate it." He elevated one palm slowly. "And diminish it." His hand turned over and moved slowly down. "During distance travel at constant velocity, the melody can be your own, but vary it occasionally so the grunts don't get bored. Take your place."
He assumed that she knew where her place was, as any experienced pipeman would. Fortunately she did. She walked the gangplank to the gangway along the center of the ship, and made her way to the main mast. There was a built-in stool just behind it. She sat on this and rested.
Her heart was pounding. She was actually on a trieres, as a crewman! She knew what to do, but the reality of actually doing it was fantastic. She gazed at the backs of the oarsmen, sitting at three levels. Those on the lowest tier of oars were farthest into the center of the ship, and those on the highest tier were almost against the hull. They were fitting in so close together that they almost touched, but each had free play for his oar.
The ten hoplites boarded together. Each was well armed with knives and spears, and all looked tough. They were, of course, the most privileged class aboard, aside from the officers. They spread out along the length of the gangway, glowering at the oarsmen and sailors. They were there to protect the ship—and not just from external enemies. Any oarsman who got rebellious would find himself skewered.
The commander of this guard took a central position, which meant he stood close to Jes. He looked down at her and grimaced. It was clear that he did not like her. That made her nervous, because he was a large, powerful, and possibly dull man.
When all the oarsmen were seated, the seamen hoisted the two sails and took the ship out to deep water. Sails were normally used when there was no hurry, and evidently the captain did not want to risk a foul-up in the harbor. So he was taking the ship out to where he had some privacy, to work out the kinks. Once the new crew members were functioning properly, he would take it under power back into the harbor.
Sure enough, when they were well clear of the harbor, the helmsman strode to the center of the ship, right near Jes. He raised his hand so that both the bow officer and the boatswain could see it. Then he brought it down. The boatswain made a loop with his hand. Jes started playing the Prepare melody on her flute, as loudly as she could without distorting the notes. It was not the strong beat of traveling, just a preliminary. The oarsmen could not see the boatswain well, but they could all hear the music. They unhooked their oars and lowered them to the water.
Then, in time to the beat of the boatswain's fist, Jes went into the Forward rowing beat. "Go!" the boatswain yelled, and the oarsmen pulled together. Now it was her flute that governed them; she suspected that many had their eyes closed, depending on it alone.
The ship moved forward, which meant in the direction of the backs of the oarsmen, and Jes's back too. It was not their business to see where they were going, but to propel the ship as efficiently as possible.
The helmsman let them row for a while, as he walked up and down the central gangway, looking at individual oars. "Pick it up!" he snapped at one whose oar was lagging a trifle. "Shorten your stroke!" at another.
The boatswain lifted his palm, slowly. Jes accelerated the cadence, slowly. She continued her slow increase until the boatswain put his hand out again, level. Then she leveled it at that pace.
The boatswain lifted his hand, not in a signal, but in a warning of a coming signal. He made sure he had Jes's eye. Then, suddenly, he rammed his fist down.
She played extra loud, slowing the beat precipitously. The oarsmen followed.
The commander of the hoplites turned to sneer at her. What was the matter?
The helmsman was right beside her. "Wrong," he said, calmly. "That was a 'Dead Halt' signal he gave you. Try it again."
Oops. She had indeed misunderstood.
They got the ship moving rapidly forward again, while the helmsman cautioned individual oarsmen on their errors. Then the boatswain gave her the warning, and the dead halt. This time she blew a single loud note and stopped.
The oars froze in place, rapidly braking the ship.
The cadence resumed, slower than before. Then there was another maneuver. "Starboard," the boatswain shouted. "Double cadence!" And he signaled Jes with a short, sharp jerk of the hand.
This time she wasn't sure what to do. She hesitated, while still playing. Again the hoplite commander grimaced, as if in the presence of an utter fool. "Mark and keep the beat," the helmsman murmured.
She played one beat loud and high, and kept the existing beat. At that, the oarsmen to her left, the ship's right, suddenly increased their pace, while those on the other side maintained theirs. The ship swerved. They were making a turn.
She saw the helmsman signal the boatswain. "Port—half cadence reverse!" Now he was describing the orders, instead of depending on Jes to play the right tune. The helmsman was standing right by her, murmuring instructions. That was not the best sign. They had all too quickly caught on to her inexperience.
The boatswain gave Jes the Mark gesture. This time she was on it immediately, playing her pipe loud and low, following with the correct tune. The oarsmen to her right abruptly lifted and reversed their oars, stroking backward.
The ship, propelled at double speed forward on its right, and half speed backward on its left, fairly whirled around, turning almost in place.
The boatswain brought his fist sharply down. Jes played a loud note and stopped. The oars stopped in place, dragging against the water, and the ship halted its turn.
The helmsman nodded with satisfaction. The maneuvers were falling into place. He walked away, to her immense relief, because that meant he did not expect to have to instruct her further. She had more than enough black marks already.
They practiced for the rest of the afternoon. Jes made other mistakes, and each time she did was rewarded with a glare from the hoplite commander, but made sure never to repeat one. She was gaining confidence. She could handle this job.
At last they stroked back to port. The men were given leave to disembark, but the helmsman spoke briefly to Jes. "Wait." So she waited, hoping she was not in trouble. She had made several mistakes, but surely they allowed for that, on the first day out. She hoped. She watched the men file past the ship's purser, who gave each a small coin: the day's half-pay.
After a time the captain came down. "I am told you lack experience, but play well." Actually he had heard her himself, but was going through channels, taking the helmsman's report.
"I missed several signals, sir," she confessed, embarrassed. Was he going to fire her?
"You have an excellent sense of the ship. Have you had other experience?"
"None on a trieres. I have rowed my own little boat all my life. I like the sea."
"That explains it," Ittai said. "Your position is confirmed. Go to the purser."
Relief flooded through her. She had not realized how worried she had been, until that acceptance came. "Thank you, sir."
"I feared I would have to settle for incompetence," he said gruffly. "In that I was disappointed." He walked away.
She got up and went to where the purser sat. He glanced up at her. "Name and post?" Of course he already knew her post, but was also following the forms. That was the way of a well run ship.
"Jes. Pipeman."
He handed her three silver coins.
She looked at them, startled. "This is too much! I was told half a drachma."
He checked his list. "That is the correct amount. One drachma. None is held back pending completion of the tour, because you have joined it halfway along. Plus two obols, for maintenance of your equipment. You are not actually being paid more." Then he smiled, briefly, becoming human. "But you evidently have the trierarch's favor, if not the hoplite's. You piped well."
"But I made mistakes!"
"Perhaps he expects you to live up to his expectation."
"I—I will try." She was amazed by this development. The fact that they were paying her full wage now meant that they had no hold on her; she could leave at any time without penalty. So though the pay was standard, this was indeed a sign of the captain's favor.
Back at the apartment, she told Wona about it. The woman nodded. "I told you that your playing would impress him. You are good, Jes—very good. You must have made the crew row unusually well."
"It did seem good. But the oarsmen are experienced. I assumed—"
"Did you find out his marital status?"
"No. I hardly talked to him."
"Well, I did. He is single. His wife died in the plague. I think this tour with the ship is a relief for him, because he doesn't have to face his empty home. I want an introduction."
"I will try," Jes said.
The next day was more practice. This was mostly, Jes suspected, to build the oarsmen up so they could row all day, and sustain speed in battle conditions. Today, too, the full crew was aboard, including the ten hoplites and four archers. The hoplites were ranged along the gangway, sitting on anchored stools, staying very still, because any movement could disturb the equilibrium of the craft and interfere with the efficiency of the oars. They were there to defend the ship from enemy boarding, and to fight on land when the ship was beached, but Jes suspected that they had a secondary purpose: to maintain discipline among the oarsmen. If any oarsman seemed inclined to protest anything, a sharp glance by a hoplite served to quell the notion. The four archers were grouped at the stern around the trierarch and helmsman, and would be bodyguards for them during combat. The seamen were completely idle while the ship was being rowed, but when the lunch break came, they sprang to their positions at bow and stern, hauling on the lines that anchored the foresail and mainsail. It was clear that a good wind could take the ship any distance, but for battle that was not feasible, because the ship needed to move rapidly in any direction.
"Ho!" an oarsman cried during the afternoon session.
The nearest hoplite scowled in his direction. "What?"
"There's a leak on my foot."
The hoplite caught the eye of the helmsman. "Leak," he called, pointing.
The helmsman signaled the boatswain, who signaled Jes: glide to a halt. She slowed her beat until the boatswain gave her the complete Halt signal. The oars lifted from the water, and the ship drifted.
Now the shipwright appeared from belowdecks and made his way to the indicated spot. Sure enough, a jet of water was coming in. The commander of the hoplites grimaced steadily in Jes's direction, as if blaming her for this mishap. Why did he hate her so? But the shipwright quickly pegged and tarred the leak, and bailed out a few buckets of bilge-water. The ship was reasonably tight again.
At the end of the day, Jes dallied after the men had been paid, nerving herself for what she had to do. Captain Ittai spied her. "You have a problem, piper?"
"No, sir." She took a breath. "May I speak candidly, sir." It was a request, not a question.
"You may."
"My attractive sister would like to meet you."
He laughed. "Now why would you have to speak for her?"
"She asked me to. She is seeking—"
"Clear enough. But at the moment I am not looking for female company."
"I will tell her, sir." Jes turned away, embarrassed.
"Hold, piper." She turned back. "Are you comfortable with this?"
"I would rather never to have brought it up," she said, striving not to blush. "I apologize."
"So I thought. But you had to do what you were told to do. It occurs to me that I was perhaps hasty. My wife is never going to return, and my nights are lonely. Take me to your sister."
Jes tried to control her surprise. "As you wish, sir."
"About the hoplite commander," he said. "His name is Kettle, the son of Pot, a repatriated slave. He is not the brightest of men, but he makes up for it by the ferocity of his combat and his loyalty to those he respects. The prior pipeman, taken by the plague, was his friend. He resents any replacement."
Oh. That explained that aspect. "I will try to do well enough to please him, in time."
"Only your abject failure would please him. But he is a good man, and dedicated to the welfare of the ship. He knows there must be a pipeman. You need have no fear of him."
"What about away from the ship?" she asked nervously.
He shook his head. "Then stay away from him. He will not come after you, but it would not be wise to provoke him."
They walked to the hall where Wona served. "She works here," Jes explained. "I can tell her—"
"No. I am hungry anyway. We shall eat."
"Sir?"
"You and me and your sister."
"Yes, sir," Jes agreed faintly. She was not at all comfortable with this developing situation. For one thing, she really liked her position as piper, and didn't want to risk forfeiting it because of some social complication. The trierarch was clearly accustomed to being obeyed by those he encountered, and Wona did not necessarily respond well to such imperatives. Sparks could fly—and Jes could be caught in the middle.
They took a table. Wona soon came over. She gave no sign that she knew Jes. "Your best wine and bread, for three," Captain Ittai said, proffering a silver coin.
Wona flashed a smile at him. "Immediately."
"You will join us."
"Oh, I am not allowed to—"
"This is Captain Ittai," Jes said quickly.
Wona, startled, nodded. She must have mistaken him for a lesser officer, not expecting so high a personage to walk right into her hands. She would get permission from the proprietor, who surely did not have many trierarchs as patrons.
"She is attractive," Ittai agreed, watching the swing of Wona's hips as she departed.
Jes felt awkward. "There is no need for me to remain—"
"Stay. I have not been with a woman in some time. I am not adept at trifling dialogue. When it lags, you provide it."
Worse yet. "Yes, sir." Her tension did not ease.
Wona returned with an excellent meal. "I thank you, captain," she said, flashing him a smile as she took the third seat. "I have wanted to meet you."
"So your brother informed me."
Things progressed rapidly, as Wona utilized her considerable array of charms. Jes did not need to attempt to fill in dialogue; Wona kept it going without seeming difficulty. When the good meal was done, the captain invited Wona to spend the evening at his residence, and she accepted. They departed together, leaving Jes to finish off what remained of the bread, which she was glad to do. It was good to eat really well, for once.
So it had been a success, after all. Wona had finally found a suitable man, and she would make sure he did not escape. But Jes's feelings were mixed. Because while she was glad to see the near end of her long mission, she was not easy about inflicting a woman like Wona on the captain, who seemed to be a decent man. Yet maybe it would be all right, because Ittai had the wealth to afford a woman like that, and would not expect her to do manual labor. If she had children by him, there would be servants to care for them. Wona was a bad deal only for a poor man. In any event, the trierarch was surely capable of making up his own mind.
She consumed the last crumb, pleasantly full for the first time in several days, and went back to the apartment. She still had most of Crockson's largess remaining in her hidden purse-bag, but she was hoarding that for a time of real need. She was existing for the moment mostly on scraps Wona brought back from the inn.
She lay on her pallet and slept. Her sleep was undisturbed; Wona did not return to the apartment in the night.
The next day the activity on the ship was normal. They continued to practice maneuvers, becoming ever faster and sharper. The helmsman nodded with satisfaction as the ship became a finely functioning unit.
At the end of the day, the trierarch approached Jes. "It was a good introduction." He turned away.
Later, back at the apartment, Wona echoed the sentiment. "I believe he is the one. He is wealthy, mannered, undemanding, and in a few months his term of service will end and he will retire to a rich estate. What more could a woman want?"
"Love?" Jes asked.
Wona laughed. "Maybe eventually. A man has to earn my love."
"How does he do that?"
"By treating me the way I like, for several years. It is not smart to sell love cheaply."
Jes didn't argue, but she winced internally. She would have liked to have love on any terms, and wealth hardly mattered. Captain Ittai was a good man, and Wona was using him. It didn't seem fair. But it was not her place to object. She had, after all, introduced them.
She thought of Sam, who had been similarly used. Did Ittai have a sister? A little brother? Would they suffer?
She put such thoughts from her mind and focused on the training at the ship. She liked being its pipeman, and she liked being part of a smoothly functioning crew. The men treated her courteously despite considering her a stripling, because she was doing the job well. They accepted her, and that was worth a great deal. When they participated in coordinated maneuvers with the other ships of the fleet, their ship often was assigned the lead position, and she knew that was because it was among the fastest and surest. And that was because the oarsmen were responding well to her piping.
She didn't even mind spending many nights alone. She had lost her earlier dislike of Wona, after the woman cared for her well during the plague, and they had taught each other some worthwhile things, but the memories of Sam and Ned remained. She could survive quite well without the woman's company.
"He is a real catch," Wona remarked on one of the nights she was home.
"He is a good man," Jes said.
"That, too." Wona glanced at her. "He likes your piping."
Jes nodded. At least it seemed that her job was not in peril. But she remained uneasy about the relationship of the two. Wona could bring such grief to a good man.
"Something's up," Wona said another evening. "There is going to be a battle. The gossip is rife."
Jes discovered that the fear she had expected to feel at such news was lacking. "We have a good ship, a good crew, and a good fleet. We are ready for battle."
"They have fifty ships."
Jes stared at her. "Fifty?" There were only twenty ships in Phormio's fleet.
"From Corinth, stroking this way. Most are troopships. They are going to Acarnania."
Troopships. That was better. They would be heavily laden, and sluggish in the water. No match for the Athenian vessels in speed or maneuverability. But if contact was made between the ships, those troops would overrun the scant troops on the Athenian side. This was dangerous.
The next day Captain Ittai assembled the crew and confirmed the news. "The Corinthians are attempting to sneak past our blockade of the gulf," he announced. "They have forty-two troopships and five fast ships. We have to stop them. We shall do so."
"Yes!" the members of the crew agreed. But their enthusiasm was tempered by realism. They were overmatched, and this was likely to be a grueling campaign, with substantial losses.
They set out eastward, toward the mouth of the gulf. The masts of the enemy fleet were visible by the southern shore. The enemy was proceeding in plain sight by daylight, seemingly contemptuous of the lesser Athenian fleet. They knew that if Phormio tried to engage them near the south shore, the maneuverability of his fleet would be limited, and any ships that were disabled would be subject to attack by Spartan forces on that shore. Only in the open sea, far from land, could the Athenians make their superiority in fast ships count. The Corinthians were not giving them that chance.
All day they paced the slow enemy fleet, staying north, but not engaging. In the afternoon the Corinthians passed the narrowest section, alert for attack, but Phormio did not attack. Was he letting them get away?
By nightfall the Corinthians landed at their harbor at Patrai, where it was not possible to attack them. The Athenian fleet landed on the north shore and bivouacked. This would have been a problem for Jes, because she could not urinate in the bushes in the way of a man. But it was dusk, and she was able to lose herself in the shadows for the necessary time.
Supplies arrived from Naupactus: food, bedding, even a hardy corps of prostitutes. Jes was relieved to see that Wona was not among them. This was too much like a final fling before execution.
They ate well, and sang some rousing songs. But Jes knew that it would take more than such encouragement to prevail on the morrow, when they would have to fight—or suffer the shame of letting the Corinthians have their way.
Jes had learned, from the attitude of the crewmen and the gossip Wona culled, that Phormio was considered to be the smartest admiral Athens had. The ships of Athens were generally conceded to be the fastest and best-managed in Greece. But there were limits. Twenty against forty-seven? Expertise could not make up for lack of power. The Corinthian admiral was surely no fool. If he maintained a tight formation, how could anyone stop it from going where it wished? The main Athenian technique was ramming; when a ship jammed into another ship from the side, the ram would puncture and disable it. But if one Athenian rammed one Corinthian ship, the men of a second Corinthian ship would grapple, board, and destroy the Athenian ship before it could pull free of the wreckage. So even with a perfect score, they could take out only twenty enemy ships—while losing all of their own.
It was time to sleep. Jes headed with her blanket for a suitable spot, then spied Kettle, the hoplite commander, there, and quickly changed course. But he saw her, and sneered before turning disdainfully away.
It was one gesture too many. Jes was tired and her temper was worn. So she did something foolish. She changed course again, and went to lay her blanket down near the man.
He stared darkly at her. She stared back. "Have you something to say, Hoplite Kettle?" she inquired.
He reached for his spear. But before his hand could grasp it, she had her knife out and cocked, ready to throw.
His jaw dropped. "You threaten me, stripling?"
"I merely suggest that I intend to sleep in peace, sir." He was not in her chain of command, but he was an officer, so she gave him that token courtesy of recognition.
Kettle lifted the spear. He was sitting on the ground, but could throw it hard and accurately from that position.
She refused, again, to be intimidated, though she was distinctly nervous. She had to make her stand now, or forever be wary of him. "If you will hold up your shield, sir, I will show you my aim."
He made a sound of contempt, and lifted his shield part way.
She hurled the knife into its center, hard.
Kettle looked. It was clear that she could as readily have put the knife into his face. She had given fair warning that she was not to be held in contempt. He laughed and jerked it out, flipping it back to her hilt-first. "Sleep in peace, pipeman." He lay down and closed his eyes, not at all concerned.
It was a small and dangerous victory, but perhaps she had won a modicum of respect. At least he had addressed her by her title.
The trierarch was going among the men of his crew as they settled for the night, talking briefly with each before moving on. He came to Jes. "Bed down now," he said. "We may be roused early, and must be ready."
"Yes sir," she agreed uncomfortably.
"You have doubts?"
"I fear for our success."
He squatted beside her. "Jes, do you question my competence?"
"Oh, no sir! I didn't mean—"
"At ease; the question is rhetorical. Of course I am competent in my position, as you are in yours. I will perform well tomorrow, and so will you. Admiral Phormio is not merely competent; he is a genius as a strategist. If it is possible to destroy the enemy fleet, he will enable us to do it."
"But is it possible, sir?"
"Not only possible but probable. We are bound to take some losses, but theirs will be far heavier. Have faith in that."
"I will try, sir."
He leaned close. "Jes, I know the admiral's strategy. It is brilliant and feasible. All we need is discipline and performance in our crews. I have faith in both the strategy and the crews. I ask you to accept my word: we have victory within our means. Do you accept that?"
Somehow she had to believe. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Welcome." He tousled her short hair and stood. He glanced at Kettle. "Good to see you guarding my piper, commander. I will stand in great need of both of you, tomorrow."
The hoplite nodded noncommittally.
And now Jes did believe. The situation made no more sense than before, but Captain Ittai had made her confident that their fleet had the advantage. Somehow his confidence and his touch of camaraderie had transferred his faith to her. He had transformed her fear into assurance.
She knew that he was doing the same for every other crewman. Intellectually she remained in doubt about the outcome of the coming engagement, but she no longer feared it, and she was now quite sure of the leadership of their ship. Captain Ittai was quite a man.
One thing still bothered her, though. Her brother Sam was quite a man too—and Wona had made a fool of him. How great was Jes's guilt for bringing Wona to the trierarch?
So even if the Athenian fleet was completely victorious, with no losses, what mischief lay ahead?
A hand tapped her shoulder. "Pipeman." It was Kettle, but this time he didn't sound angry. He could have dropped a clod of dirt on her face, by "accident," but hadn't; he had his own honor. If he ever attacked her, it would be with the same fair warning she had given him. "Up, pipeman. Clear your bladder and go immediately to your post."
It was still dark. She did as directed. All around her she heard others doing the same.
The helmsman checked the roster. The ship slid into the water. Other ships were moving similarly. "Faint pipe," the helmsman said. Jes played just loud enough to be heard in the hush. She knew her music was vital, because the oarsmen could not see the boatswain in the darkness. Neither could she, but the helmsman was directing his orders to her. As dawn came, the full fleet was rowing almost silently out to sea.
And there, in the middle of the channel, was the Corinthian fleet. It had been trying to sneak past without notice. Admiral Phormio had anticipated that ploy, and acted to catch the enemy ships away from the shore, in open water. That was where he wanted them, Jes knew.
But that fleet was still more than twice the size of this one, and packed with fighting men. What strategy could prevail against it?
Yet as the two fleets closed on each other, it was the enemy who blinked. The Corinthians formed their ships into a large circle, their bows pointing outward. The smaller supporting vessels and merchantmen, which weren't counted as part of the fighting fleet, were sheltered within that circle. But also there, oddly, were the five fast ships—the only ones that might match the Athenian craft in speed.
Then she remembered her history: a formation like that had been used successfully against the overconfident and surprised Persians at Salamis. The fast ships would rush to support the outer circle wherever it was attacked, so that it would not be breached. They would have only a short distance to go, and would be almost instantly in play. So this made maximum use of them. It was a good formation. If the Athenians tried to envelop the circle, in the standard tactic of periplous, the vulnerable beams of their ships would be exposed to a sudden outward rush by the Corinthian rams. That could virtually destroy the Athenian fleet in one move.
So what could be done? The enemy position seemed impregnable to attack by even a much larger fleet. What was the source of Captain Ittai's confidence in victory? Jes played her pipe, automatically following the directives of the boatswain, while her mind struggled with the mystery. Were they simply going to try to hold the Corinthians in place indefinitely, so they could not get where they were going? That didn't seem feasible; the enemy should be able to wait as long as the Athenians could.
The Athenian fleet formed into a single line, and circled the enemy formation at a distance. The Athenian ships were too far out for a sudden thrust to be effective; by the time an enemy ship got there, the Athenian ships would have changed position, and the Corinthian formation would be broken.
The enemy admiral was too smart to fall for that. He kept his ships in place, not only pointing outward, but making constant adjustments so as to orient on the closest Athenian ships. The Athenians would have to approach to have effect, and then they would be vulnerable to the outward rush. This was like circling an angry bear: its swift paws would strike when anyone came within range.
The Athenians did not approach. Instead they circled continually around the Corinthian formation. It seemed to be an impasse.
Then Jes realized that the circling wasn't static. With each pass, the Athenian fleet was slightly closer. The approach was so gradual that there was no point at which the Corinthians could act to resist an attack, but an attack seemed constantly imminent. So the enemy oarsmen had to keep stroking and backing, staying clear of their neighbors without allowing a gap to open in their defensive ring, aiming outward.
As the Athenian ring tightened, individual ships would change course slightly, as if about to turn inward for a thrust. The enemy ships oriented on them, ready to counter. But no thrust was made. The Corinthians were clearly becoming uncomfortable. This was becoming a war of nerves.
The helmsman walked along the gangway, speaking to the oarsmen in a low tone. When he came close to Jes, she overheard his message: "Maintain present cadence. Do not respond to the piping. Wait for my signal. Ignore the piping." Then he turned to Jes. "Play the full repertoire, loudly, until I signal Stop."
She abruptly went into the Turn melody, loudly. They were now close enough to the enemy formation so that the nearest ships could hear the music. They knew its meaning. They thought the attack was starting. One ship started to move forward, before countermanding. Then it had to reverse and recover its position. But others were out of position, and there was almost a jostling of oars before they got it straight. There was a low chuckle among the Athenian oarsmen. They liked the joke.
Jes realized that the Corinthian oarsmen lacked the skill to maintain such a difficult formation for long. They were being cruelly teased. But still, even a ragged formation was more than the Athenians could safely penetrate. So all this was doing was making the enemy angry. Something more was needed.
The helmsman signaled Jes to silence, and walked the gangway again. "Resume honoring the pipe," he told the oarsmen. "The joke is over." He made sure they understood before moving on. Then he signaled Jes to play the normal Forward tune. They continued in their line, circling the enemy formation.
The wind freshened, as it normally did at dawn. And suddenly Phormio's strategy became clear. The Athenian vessels had no problem, being under oar and with room to maneuver. But the Corinthian ships were in a compact formation, pointing in every direction; they could not turn to ride with the wind. They were getting blown out of formation, or sideways into each other. The deckhands had to use poles to push them apart. As the wind continued to gain strength, this got worse. They tried to take evasive action to avoid their neighbor ships, but there was nowhere to go. Seamen and oarsmen were shouting at each other, and soon cursing each other. They were no longer listening to the words of command, or to the boatswains. The oarsmen, not well trained, could not recover their stroke in the increasingly choppy water. The helms became unresponsive.
Now, at the worst possible moment for the enemy, Admiral Phormio gave the signal to attack. Jes saw him waving his flag on the flagship, and saw Captain Ittai acknowledge. Then Ittai turned and spoke to the helmsman. Now was the time.
The boatswain gave Jes the Turn signal. She went into the melody, and the ship swung sharply around. Almost simultaneously, all the other ships of the fleet did the same. Like ferocious birds of prey, they swooped in.
The enemy ships were helpless. Their flagship was caught broadside, unable to turn in time, and Jes heard the crash as it was rammed. Her own ship did not catch one in ramming position, but did manage to sheer off a row of oars. The Corinthians were in utter confusion, not even trying to fight.
There was a brief period of intermeshing. The oarsmen kept rowing vigorously, while the hoplites stood and hurled their spears at the enemy craft. Some even threw from a seated position, surprising her with their power and accuracy. Then the Athenian ships passed each other in the center and moved on out to clear water. They turned, ready for additional ramming runs. But the Corinthians were already reorganizing, in their fashion: to flee back to Patrai. Not one ship tried to fight.
It became a rout and pursuit. Ittai's ship overhauled a troopship, and made a wide sweep so as to come at it from the side and ram it. But by the time the position was right, they were close to shore. The enemy troops jumped into the water, deserting their ship as they swam for land. So did the oarsmen and hoplites. In a moment the Corinthian ship was deserted. So there was no point in holing it. They drew up alongside, carefully, and transferred a limited crew to take it away. It had just become an Athenian ship.
Most of the enemy ships escaped, but when the action was done, one had been sunk—it wasn't as light as the fast ships—another disabled, and twelve captured. It was a stunning victory, with no Athenian losses.
They made their leisurely way home, towing some of the ships that they hadn't manned. The men were still under orders, but they were smiling and joking, and the officers made no objection.
During a break, Captain Ittai ambled by Jes's station. "Now you know," he said with satisfaction.
"Indeed I do, sir," she agreed.
Kettle, nearby, nodded. He had not scowled at her all day.
There followed a bout of repairing and refurbishing, as they got the captured ships into shape. They would not be used for some time, because they lacked captains and crews, but they bode well for the future of the Athenian navy in these waters. The crews were given leave time for a few days; they had earned their rest.
Then Captain Ittai approached Jes when she reported for duty, as she had to to be sure of her pay. "We are not going out today," he said. "But come aboard anyway. I have been meaning to tell you something, and to ask you something."
She joined him on the otherwise deserted ship, uncertain what this was about. He gave her the helmsman's vacant seat in the stern, and took his own. From this deck they had a good view of the surrounding harbor.
Ittai looked around, seeming vaguely uneasy. "May I speak candidly?"
"Sir?" Because of course a captain had no need to ask permission of any crewman for anything.
"I have in mind a matter that does not relate to business. It is personal and private."
Oh. "Of course, sir. I will not repeat it elsewhere."
"Thank you." He hesitated, then plunged in. "I will not be marrying Wona."
Oops. "If I offended you by introducing—"
"No offense. She is a beautiful woman, and most obliging in the female way. She made me realize that I am after all ready to consider marrying again. But she is also vain, faithless, lazy, and inconsiderate of those of whom she believes she has no need. I believe I would regret marrying such a woman, who is not at all in the class of my former wife."
He had Wona precisely targeted! Jes could not in conscience argue the woman's case. "I am sorry, sir."
"Don't be. There are many men who would be quite satisfied with such a woman. Perhaps I was spoiled by my wife, who was no beauty, but a creature of sterling personal qualities."
This remained awkward. "Surely so, sir."
"So I wanted to make clear to you my decision in that respect, before asking you my question. Wona and I have no future, regardless."
She looked at him questioningly. What else was on his mind? This hesitancy was unlike him.
"As I mentioned before, I am not adept at social relations," he said after a pause. "I command men, but I do not know how to speak to a woman in a truly courteous manner. I am a man of the sea."
She waited. She felt much the same when dealing on a social level with men, but she couldn't say that.
"So I ask you to understand that no affront to you is intended, and to hear me out before you answer."
"Of course, sir."
He set himself, and spoke again. "I know you are a woman."
Oh, no! He was going to fire her. He would have to, because women were not allowed on warships. So he was apologetic because he didn't like having to do it.
She held her chin up, determined not to cry. "If I may ask—how did I give myself away?"
He smiled. "You didn't. You play your part so well that I could not be sure, though I fancy myself an astute judge of crewmen. I marveled that a stripling should pipe so well, with such feeling for the sea and oars. Usually it takes a man some time and experience to develop that spirit—yet you lacked experience. Your explanation of rowing alone sufficed, but the matter did not quite leave my mind. It was a minor mystery. Then when you introduced me to Wona—"
"She told you?" Jes asked, appalled.
"No. She did not betray you. She does have loyalty to you, a person she respects beyond others. But I made a connection. There had been a story of a beautiful woman traveling in the company of a stripling brother who nevertheless could handle weapons; it was said that he killed several Persian raiders last year, and did not brag of it. That was why that story remained in my memory, another minor curiosity. As a manager of men, I have an awareness of details that don't quite mesh; sometimes there is a larger pattern. I concluded that you must be that stripling."
"I did not realize how news travels," Jes said ruefully. "I take no pride in killing, but I had no choice."
"So I gathered. One of my suppliers is a trader named Crockson. He—"
"Crockson!"
"I do not know him personally, but I know of him. He fancies stripling males, and treats them well. He is currently without one. There was a story that one with a beautiful sister came to work for him, but that he did not take that particular stripling as a lover. Not, I think, because of refusal, for he gave that stripling money and a flute, and the lad played well."
Jes brought out her flute. "Yes, it is his flute. He helped me practice, and had me study the ships, so that I could do—as I did."
"That third memory finally enabled me to see the larger pattern. But though I could fathom a reason why you were not his lover, I still wasn't sure. So I verified it."
She looked at him questioningly.
"One of my bowmen has exceptional night vision. I asked him to spy on you in the night, during the bivouac. He reported that you found it necessary to squat to urinate. He was instructed to tell no one but me, and he obeys instructions. I was then satisfied with my diagnosis."
He had certainly been careful and competent in his investigation! "I—I will go without fuss, sir, so as not to embarrass you. I—"
"No. You are an excellent pipeman, and I want to keep you. You did not panic under stress in the battle. It is my prerogative to hire whom I please, regardless of gender. But it would be better if the remaining crew did not know. The oarsmen, in particular, have their superstitions, and the hoplites might seek to take advantage, the moment you left the protection of the ship."
"Yes, sir." She thought of Kettle, the commander of the hoplites, who would surely be furious to learn he had been backed off by a woman. She had been on the way to earning his grudging respect; this would destroy it.
"So keep your secret, and so will I, for the duration of your service on my ship."
"Oh, thank you sir! I love it on your ship. I—"
"Do not be grateful yet. There is worse. I don't know how to make this sound appropriate, so I won't try. I want to marry you."
Stunned, she stared at him. "What?"
"By the time I had ascertained your gender, I had learned a good deal about you. You are a fine person. You possess all the qualities Wona lacks. You have courage, integrity, constancy, discretion, and ability. And I think you could learn love. You are the kind of woman I want. A woman who could replace my wife without seeming inferior."
"But I'm not beautiful!" she blurted.
"You are not buxom, agreed. Your face is not pretty. But you are slender and graceful. In any event, you are quite attractive to me in personality, and I think in body too, were you appropriately garbed and coifed. Much lies in the way a woman presents herself."
That was true, as Wona had taught her. She could act like a woman, if she tried. But she was still so amazed by his offer that she could not truly believe it. "I—I can't—"
"I realize I am old," he said. "And stout. I can't blame you for not finding me desirable as a man. But I can offer you an excellent life in other respects. A life that will continue well after I am gone. That should be some compensation."
"Oh, it isn't that, sir. I respect you as a man. I just never thought—"
"In any event, there is no need to make an immediate decision. All I ask is that you consider the matter for a fair period, and give me your answer, of whatever nature, before this tour is done."
"I think I am dreaming this," she said. "But even in a dream, I have to say that I came here with Wona to find a husband for her, not for me, and I am honor bound not to desert her until she finds a suitable man."
"I will obtain another officer for her. One who will satisfy her, and be satisfied by her. You can assure yourself on that score before saying anything further to me."
"And I—I never even thought of marriage. Not to a man of your stature. I—I like being a crewman. I don't think I could be a gracious woman, confined to a house. I would always want to put on mannish garb and go out for more adventure."
"If that is the price of you, I will gladly pay it. I would ask only that I be allowed to accompany you on your adventuring, so as to be assured of your safety." Then he frowned, reconsidering. "Unless you are saying that your taste is not, after all, in men."
"Oh, no, sir! I want to be with a man when—I mean, I try to look like a stripling male, but that's to enable me to go about my business safely. I am a woman. I long to be—to be a woman with a good man. To be desired as a woman."
"I am very glad to hear it. Then I trust we are agreed: You will continue your position here, in male guise. But you will also think about the role I offer you as a female."
"I will certainly think about it. But—may I speak candidly, sir?"
He laughed. "There is another level? Speak; I will not be angry."
"You—in your position—you can command women, any women you desire. You can—can command me. As a woman. I am young and inexperienced in this respect, but I—I would do whatever you asked, just to keep my position on your ship. And I would not—not find it unpleasant, though I would lack the ability Wona has. You surely know this. You could use me and discard me, without commitment. Why do you speak of—of marriage?"
"That is easy to answer. Because I don't want easy passion, or experience. I can get that from women like Wona. I want a true relationship. I want love. That cannot be compelled, and I would not compel it if it were possible. You are young, but you understand honor. I know you would not speak love to me unless you meant it. If—if it is your desire to marry me without the commitment of love, I will accept that, hoping love will come in due course. But I would much prefer to have your love, and give you mine. I realize that this makes me a foolish man, but it was the way it was with my wife. So you must come to your own conclusion, and if you realize that you can never love me, I will let you go without rancor. But I sincerely hope that is not the case."
Jes found herself flattered as well as surprised by his offer. But marriage? It was so far beyond any notion she had ever entertained that she simply could not assimilate it. "I will think about it, sir," she finally said.
"Thank you." He stood, in that manner dismissing her. "In the interim I will see about placing Wona."
"Thank you, sir." She turned to go, and felt him pat her bottom. She remembered what Wona had said about that: proof that a man was interested. That little token impressed her almost as much as his words did. It wasn't a purely intellectual thing.
She made her way numbly to the apartment. What was she to do? What Ittai asked seemed inconceivable, yet she knew he was serious. She had to decide, and give him an answer. But what would be her answer? She was not close to a conclusion.
Wona showed up when her shift was done. Jes wasn't sure what to say to her, so said nothing. That turned out to be easy, because Wona was full of news of her own. "I met this new man," she said. "He says word got around about Trierarch Ittai's new woman, so he wanted to see for himself. He's a citizen too, and younger and handsomer than Ittai. I'm free tonight, so I'll give him a try." She perfected her appearance and breezed out.
Jes had not had to say anything. That seemed best. Evidently Ittai had been as good as his word, and spoken to another officer. Wona was not even aware that she had been passed off. She thought she was just being her normal faithless self, choosing among options.
The training sessions resumed. It was clear that the war was not over, and the power of Sparta and Corinth had been set back, not broken. There would be other encounters. In fact, the enemy had not given up its designs on Acarnania and was determined to dislodge Phormio and open the blockade. More Peloponnesian ships were being mustered. Phormio, alarmed, sent to Athens for more ships. Word was received that a fleet of twenty fast trieres was on its way. But then they were diverted south to Crete, and were indefinitely delayed there.
"The idiots!" Wona exclaimed as she relayed this gossip. "Don't they know we have a war on here?" Apparently she was coming to identify with the war effort, now that she was dating a younger and more communicative officer.
Jes was concerned too. The news was that a fleet of at least seventy-five ships was coming, and these were not an expeditionary force loaded with gear and troops, but were cleared for action. They were intent on destroying the Athenian fleet. And they had a new and talented commander named Brasidas. Not only was this fleet larger and deadlier, its commander would not be making the foolish mistake of allowing the wind to mess up his formation. This time the odds seemed truly overwhelming.
"Oh, by the way," Wona said as she made ready to go out. "I believe this young citizen I am presently seeing will do. You may go home now."
Amazed by the suddenness of it, Jes could only protest. "But you aren't married yet."
"I will be, in due course. He has asked me to join him in his quarters, and I know when a man is serious. Only idiocy will deny me this rich union, and I am not stupid in this respect. I will never let him go. So I thank you for your patience, and you are no longer my brother."
"But what of Trierarch Ittai?"
"I told him I had found another. I think he was not sufficiently taken with me, after the first couple of nights. Maybe it's guilt about his dead wife; he doesn't believe he should be allowed that much pleasure. No fault of yours, Jes; it was a good introduction you made. But I have a much better prospect now."
Amazing. Wona had no idea what was on Ittai's mind. "Then—then I wish you well," Jes said. "But I will remain to finish out my service, because I like being a member of the crew of a trieres."
"Obviously so. I'm glad this service you did for me is not a complete waste for you. Fare well."
"Fare well," Jes echoed as the woman breezed out.
At the door, Wona paused. "But take his offer, Jes." Then she was gone, leaving Jes stunned. That had been happening to her, recently.
Captain Ittai was summoned for a strategic conference by the admiral. He took along one crewman as an aide. Jes. She walked behind him and kept silent, taking and holding his peplos when they entered the assembly chamber. He said nothing to her about anything personal. She knew he was giving her a chance to overhear important business, and she appreciated that.
She also wondered how Wona had caught on to the relation between Ittai and Jes. Then she realized that the trierarch might have confided to the other officer that he had another woman in mind for himself, so the other would not be concerned about the chance of Ittai wanting to take Wona back. And Wona could have wormed that fact out of the man. Since Ittai was seeing no other woman, Wona could have added up the ciphers and come to a correct conclusion. Probably Jes had given unconscious hints when she spoke Ittai's name, too.
For the idea of the trierarch was growing in her mind. She had never experienced wealth, but it certainly did not seem like an evil. She did appreciate his company. And his offer was most flattering.
But now there was more important business. She put away her idle thoughts and paid attention.
Admiral Phormio minced no words. "Admiral Brasidas is encouraging his men by claiming that their lack of skill is compensated for by greater daring and numbers. He also reminds them that whereas in the previous action their fleet was not prepared for battle, in the coming action they will be seeking it. He is correct." He paused. "They have seventy-seven ships. We have twenty. We are at a severe disadvantage. I shall not stage the contest in the gulf if I can help it, nor will I move into it. I see plainly enough that a confined space is a disadvantage to a few ships, even if they are used with skill and are faster, against many ships inexpertly used. The fact is that one cannot properly move against a ship to ram it, if one cannot get the enemy in one's sights from some way off, and if one cannot retire if need be in a difficult situation. There are no opportunities for carrying out a breakthrough or a sharp turn, which are the maneuvers of a faster-moving fleet; but in a confined space it would be necessary to turn the sea-fight into a land-fight, and in those circumstances the larger fleet wins."
That certainly covered it, Jes thought. But what did he propose instead of those bad alternatives?
"Now I want you to have your men stay near the beached ships in good order," Phormio continued after a pause. "Make sure they act on the words of command with alacrity, particularly since there will be little room between the fleets for embarkation and attack. They must be able to get off the beach and into a defensive formation quickly. In the battle they must regard disciplined movement and silence as the most important things. These are necessities in most warlike operations, and not least in fighting at sea. And they must repel the onslaughts of the enemy in a manner worthy of their former actions."
Jes was disappointed. She had hoped to learn of some brilliant strategy, and all she was hearing was elementary instruction.
Then the admiral talked with individual captains. "Ah, you brought your pipeman," Phormio said, nodding at Jes. "Your ship is, I believe, the most readily maneuverable in the present fleet, thanks to your piping and the responsiveness of your oarsmen."
"Perhaps, sir," Ittai agreed, pleased.
"If we should have to retreat, you will cover the rear."
"Yes, sir."
Jes was appalled. That meant that they would be the last ship, in front of the first ships of the superior enemy fleet. It was a likely death sentence.
"It is a position of honor," Ittai told her, as the admiral moved on to another captain. "One ship may save several others, by interfering with the pursuit. But it must be able to maneuver very cleverly, if it is not to be destroyed."
It was an honor that could destroy them. Jes brooded on that as they made their way from the meeting. Finally she could stand it no more. She broached a subject she had never, before this month, dreamed she would.
"Sir, I fear we are going to die. Do you wish me to—to be with you tonight?"
"Under duress? No."
"I—I am volunteering. I would be pleased to—to do it. If you wish it."
"Do you love me?"
"No, sir. I am only intrigued. But there may be no other—"
"Jes, there is nothing I would like better than to be with you tonight, or any other night. But it is your love I desire more than your body. I will not have you when you are hostage to the fear of death. Sleep in peace."
"But I am considering—it is not that I dislike you, sir—I think I would like to be with you. I just don't feel worthy of marriage to you. So maybe it is better to—"
"A compromise," he said gently. "Be with me, but without any touching. We will talk and sleep separately."
"Yes, sir." Her feelings were mixed. She had really hoped to have sex with him, but couldn't say that. He assumed that she was offering to oblige him solely from a sense of obligation, so he was being decent.
His quarters were far more comfortable than the room she rented with Wona, a clear signal of his wealth and status. There was an older woman there. "Serve my pipeman and me a good meal," he told her. She nodded and set about her business.
Jes realized that he had been serious about the nature of this night. He had a maidservant, and he wasn't sending her away. That was reassuring, but also frustrating.
They ate well, served by the maid, and talked of incidentals. "I miss Athens," Ittai said. "But as it was, not as it is now, ridden by the plague. I believe I shall retire to some outlying province, where the crowding is less. Perhaps I shall purchase a boat that can be rowed by two or three, and explore the by-paths of the shore."
"That sounds beautiful, sir." She spoke the truth, but remained in doubt, because she didn't know whether she could agree to share such a future with him. What he offered was ideal in every respect, yet somehow she could not accept it.
Ittai did not look directly at her. "Do you suppose a woman of the provinces would appreciate a life like that?" he inquired. "I am thinking of marrying one, but I am not of the provinces, and don't know what such a person would wish for."
He was being careful to protect her identity, lest the maid overhear. She appreciated that, too. "I think she would," she agreed cautiously. "I am of the province of Euboea, and though the women there mostly stay at home and work, there are some who do like the sea."
"But would such a woman care to do it with an old city man?"
"I don't know." And there it was, again. What was holding her back? Why couldn't she take what was offered, which was so much better than any future prospect she might have?
He shrugged. "Perhaps because she would think that the offer was not sincere. Or that he would tire of her, and make her a kitchen servant while he took a mistress, as some men do."
"Oh, no sir!" she said. "I—I don't think she would think that. I don't—don't know what she would think."
"She's a mercenary fool," the serving maid muttered. "And so are you."
Ittai smiled. "You must forgive my maid. She has been in the family for decades, and has forgotten her place."
"No I haven't," the maid said. "I just don't want to see you ruin your later life with that wanton wench from the provinces. Why can't you settle on a decent woman?"
She was thinking he meant Wona! Jes began to like this servant, who obviously had been treated well. There were men who beat servants for speaking out of turn, and it was clear that Ittai did not. This servant had a motherly or sisterly protective interest in his welfare.
"I shall have to seek a decent woman," Ittai agreed. "One my maid approves of. It would not be safe in the household, otherwise."
"Hmpf." The servant moved away, theoretically annoyed at being mocked.
They finished the meal. "The piper will stay the night, and go to the ship with me in the morning," Ittai told the maid. "He will use the spare room."
That room turned out to have an internal toilet and a fabulously soft bed with a voluminous quilt. Jes had never before experienced such affluence. And this was just his temporary lodging while he was on duty away from home. Such a life could be hers—if she could simply accept it. So why couldn't she?
And the answer came to her: because she was not a creature of affluence. She had toyed with the notion, but now that she saw the reality, she knew it was beyond her. She liked the lean country style of living. Having servants, getting soft—it just wasn't her way. Such a life would drive her crazy.
And so at last she knew her decision. She would have to decline. That would be painful, but rational.
Yet she could not quite settle on that, either. So she went out of the room and sought the trierarch. "I—"
He saw immediately that she had something serious on her mind. "Shall we take a walk while the maid finishes here?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir."
They left the house and walked along the beach until they were alone. "You have decided," he said.
"Yes, sir. I—I think I could not endure the life you lead. I—I wish you were poor!"
"That is a novel rejection."
"I am trying to be rational, so as not to hurt—not to make a decision I would later regret. But I do feel I owe you, sir. I—I would like to—to spend this night with you, and go my way tomorrow."
"So as to give me some payment for my courtesy."
"Yes. And to taste what might have been."
He walked in silence for a time. Then he spoke in a very low and controlled tone. "I dislike gambling, but sometimes it becomes necessary. I am declining your offer."
"Sir?"
"I suspect that your mind is not yet firmly decided. I am refusing your small offer, for the sake of the large one I want from you. Were I sure of your resolve, I would accept this night, for my desire for you grows stronger by the hour. But I do not care to win one ship, if it costs me the battle. I want you to take more time to be sure of your decision."
"But we may die!" she cried.
"And if we live, we may live fulfilled. What is a night, compared to a lifetime?"
"But I know your life-style is not for me. Please, sir—"
"Think for a moment, Jes. If you bear a baby—do you want to be out on a mountain? Or would you prefer to be in comfort inside, with your needs attended to?"
"I—" She paused, realizing what she was saying. "I think I do not want to bear a baby. I would not be a fit mother. Children need constant attention."
"And they can have it. In a poor home, the mother is bound. But in a wealthy one, there are servants to relieve the mother. You could have a child and still be free to row across the sea, returning at the end of day. I offer you not restriction but increased freedom."
He had a point. "I—I will consider further, sir."
"Thank you, Jes."
They returned to the house, and slept apart. Jes discovered that she was relieved, not because she had not given her body to him—he surely knew what to do in that respect, so she would not have been unduly awkward—but because the prospect of marrying him had not been ended. He was correct: she was as yet of two minds about the matter, and could not be sure she would decline again. But it did seem likely.
In the morning she woke early, as she normally did, and used the facilities to wash herself. Then she discovered something she had missed before: a feminine dress. One of Wona's, probably, purchased for her by the trierarch, now forgotten.
She stared at it for some time. Then she lifted it from its peg and pulled it on. It fit her somewhat loosely, but a few adjustments fixed that. She stood before the metal mirror, admiring herself as that rare creature, a woman. She turned about, watching the skirt flare outward.
Then a strange urge overtook her, and she did something she feared she would regret. She walked out of the room, wearing the dress.
The maidservant was already working at the hearth. She turned as she heard Jes, then her eyes widened. "Keep my secret," Jes told her, and marched on into Ittai's room.
She stood in the center, waiting until his eyes opened. Then she began to dance. She did know how to do it, having shared in family activities from childhood on. She whirled, making the skirt flare out and up, showing her legs right up to her bare crotch. She moved her knees and hips in the way Wona had taught her, making her body flex. She made graceful leaps, landing softly. She stepped forward and back, as if she had a partner.
And then she did have one. The trierarch joined her, matching her steps. Then he held her and turned her. Then he kissed her.
"Will you marry me?" he asked.
"No. I am still thinking."
He stepped away from her.
"But I offer myself to you, this day."
"I want that. But I want more."
"How can I decide, if I know only part of you?"
At that he chuckled. "You are teasing me, you lovely creature."
"No! I really am trying to decide. But it's not fair to make me decide without knowing—what it would be like."
He nodded. "Perhaps it is my groin speaking, but you have a point. So I will gamble again, bedding you without commitment. Come to me, if you really wish it."
She hauled off the dress, flung herself into his embrace. They turned around, kissing, and then they were on the bed, and she was under him, wrapping her legs around him, and he was suddenly pushing into her with a sharp pain. She bit her lip, realizing that it was like this, the first time.
He pumped, and pumped again, and grunted as he swelled inside her, and erupted, and relaxed, panting. His weight was heavy on her, but she could handle it. She hugged him close, and stroked his head with one hand, loving being a woman despite the stinging in her groin. In any event, that discomfort was fading.
"You didn't tell me you were a virgin," he said, admonishing her.
"I said I lacked experience," she reminded him.
"All women say that. I apologize; had I realized, I would have been far more gentle. There was no art in this, only my burgeoning desire for you, that I could not hold back. Another time, I promise, it will be different."
"No, it was better to do it without art, the first time. I am glad to have this slight pain, of you."
He kissed her face, wherever his lips would reach. "Oh, Jes, I know I can love you, if you let me. You are—everything."
"Don't speak in the passion of the moment," she said. "Such decisions are not wise at such times." She was actually speaking for herself, because she knew that if he asked her again to marry him, she would agree, regardless of the wisdom of it. He, not she, had had the sexual climax, but it was her passion that was burgeoning. She reined in her emotion, as she would during a battle. She still needed time to consider.
He got off her. "Then I will make one statement I know is rational," he said. "That was the best bedding I have had since I lost my wife." He turned away, evidently embarrassed to have made the comparison.
"Thank you." She could not trust herself to say more. She knew she could not rely on anything she felt at this moment. She got up, recovered her dress from the floor, pulled it on, and returned to her own room to clean up. Again.
"I'm glad you are a woman," the maid muttered as she passed.
The woman had feared the trierarch would take a boy to his bed? "So am I," Jes agreed.
The bleeding wasn't too bad, but she feared it could spot her uniform and betray her on the ship, so she stuffed in some cloth and hoped for the best. Then she donned her uniform, made sure she looked masculine, and went out to have breakfast.
"My maid approves of you," Ittai said as they ate.
"How does she know I am worthy of approval?"
"I don't know, but her judgment is infallible. After she critiqued Wona, I realized she was correct."
So that was how he had targeted Wona so accurately. A woman could see through a woman in ways a man could not.
After that, they went without further comment to the ship. Ittai addressed his crew in the manner Admiral Phormio had recommended, and the routine cautions seemed to have good effect, because they all knew that a severe test of their skills was coming up. They had shown that they could row rings around an enemy fleet, and they hoped to do so again.
But there was one significant difference, this time. In the prior battle, the Spartan fleet had had to travel to a particular destination, and the Athenians had been able to make an ambush of their choosing. This time they had to defend their base of Naupactus. Should the enemy advance on that city, their own fleet would have to stand and fight, regardless of the odds against it. They were pinned down. It seemed very bad to Jes. If only those other twenty Athenian ships had arrived in time! With forty good ships against seventy-seven, they might have made a good fight of it. But as it was, the enemy could bring almost four ships to bear on each Athenian ship—and this time the Spartans were fast, cleared for action, and competently commanded. They would not be giving away any easy advantages.
However, it was not Jes's place to brood about strategy. She just had to focus on her piping, and do the best she could. And hope that disaster was not close upon them. So she fixed instead on her feeling for Captain Ittai, but it had not yet settled into any measurable format. Her body longed to be in his embrace again, but her mind derided this as the folly of a girl without experience. A man in combat who was swept off his feet would soon be dead; similarly a woman who lost her bearings in passion would make a bad decision. Wona's cynicism was surely well justified. Jes still needed time to get perspective. So she returned to consideration of the tactical situation of the ships.
The Spartan fleet was there, practicing maneuvers. The ships were so numerous that from a distance they seemed to form a dense cluster. Several came out to look at the Athenians, and they were indeed fast. The description did not apply to their actual speed in the water, but rather to their type; sometimes a speedy "slow" ship was faster than a poky "fast" ship. But these were fast in both senses of the word, and perhaps almost a match for the Athenian ships.
The enemy did not offer combat. It was merely showing off, teasing the defenders. The Athenians could not afford to attack; they would go right into disaster. So all they could do was watch and wait. There was no point in remaining out in the water, they needed to conserve their strength until the Spartan fleet made a move. So Admiral Phormio ordered his ships to land, where they beached. Now his cautioning about staying close to the ships counted; at any time there could be action, and any delay at all could be disastrous.
For several days the Spartan fleet practiced its maneuvers. Even from the distance of the full width of the gulf, they were impressive, and more so when the Athenian fleet moved up for a closer look. There was nothing clumsy here. But the Athenian crews were becoming restive; they did not like holding off from action so long.
Jes did not return to the trierarch's house, though she longed to. Slowly her disciplined mind was gaining ground, reminding her of the difference in their stations, and of the enormous change in her situation an association with him would mean. As if in the distance, the sensible decision was taking shape.
During one of the frequent pauses, Jes happened to be near Captain Ittai; perhaps it was by his design. "The admiral is determined not to be drawn into the narrow confines of the gulf for battle," he murmured, not facing her. "But I fear he will have no choice."
"My fear, too," she agreed.
"At times I wish I had accepted your offer. Then, if I die, I would at least have had that much."
"Sir?"
"Or did I forget something?"
He was teasing her. She liked it. "Perhaps it was only a dream."
He nodded. "A phenomenal dream. So there is no help for it but to win this battle and survive. Then perhaps we can try reality."
"Yes, sir." Once more, it was all she could utter.
He moved on, but her sensible decision was now out of sight over the horizon. His little ways charmed her. She tried to remember Wona's cynicism, but that, too, was far gone. Prospects for close combat she could assess; the sense or nonsense of love defeated her.
The next day at dawn the Peloponnesian fleet moved out. It formed into four columns and turned east, into the gulf. The fastest ships were on the right wing.
"Damn!" the helmsman swore.
So the enemy was going for Naupactus. This was serious mischief.
The Athenians hurriedly embarked and moved east along the north coast, while the supporting force of Messenians made a similar move along the land. The Athenians formed into a single line, stretching out their formation so that the enemy could not make a sudden lunge and cut them off, beginning an envelopment. Ittai's ship was in the middle; it would not seek the rear until it had to.
The Spartan fleet abruptly turned from its "line ahead" formation to "line abreast," four ranks deep. It was a savage and brilliant maneuver, and it almost ended the battle right there. But the eleven leading ships of Phormio's fleet stroked valiantly forward. "Play, piper!" the helmsman shouted as the boatswain lifted his palm.
Jes played, speeding the cadence, as the enemy fleet bore down. The ships ahead were pulling clear, thanks to their speed, but it looked as if Ittai's ship was about to be caught. A Spartan ship's ram was coming right at it.
"Go!" the helmsmen cried, shooting his own hand upward.
Jes increased her cadence as rapidly as she could without outstripping the best beat the oarsmen could match evenly. The oarsmen, spooked by the threat of the ram, responded with a final surge of power. The ship pulled just clear of the enemy vessel, so close that some of the opposing oars collided.
The boatswain brought his hand down part way. Jes slowed the cadence, allowing the oarsmen to get their stroke back. Now the ship pulled rapidly away from the enemy, because of the time it took for the Spartan ships to turn and pursue.
Jes, facing back, could see the carnage behind. All nine ships caught by the sudden charge were driven in flight toward the land; they had no room and no time to maneuver to get into fighting position. They were quickly overrun and made useless. The Athenians dived into the water and swam to land; any who didn't escape were killed.
With one exception: the Spartans managed to encircle and capture one ship with its crew intact. The Athenians on that one did not dare move, lest they be summarily slaughtered; enemy bowmen had them completely covered.
The Peloponnesians wasted no time; they tied ropes and started towing away the empty ships. The one captured entire they required to row itself where they directed; only by obeying could its crew hope to survive. The spoils of war were already being taken.
But the battle was not yet done. The Messenian land force arrived and went immediately into action. The Messenians hated the Spartans, and were eager for battle. They charged into the sea in full armor, overtaking several of the captured ships as they were being towed, and threatening the enemy crews. There were far more Messenians than Spartans, but the Messenians could not effectively reach the ships in deeper water. They did board several of the towed ships, and recaptured them in fierce fighting on the decks. They also recovered the ship with the full crew, a significant prize. Jes had not before fully appreciated the importance of land support; she had thought it was only to assist the crews as they took their meal and comfort breaks. Not so!
Meanwhile she continued playing the Straight Ahead tune. They were the last in a line of eleven ships, now being closely pursued by twenty fast Peloponnesian ships. It was apparent that the enemy ships were not quite as fast as the Athenian ships, not because of any inferiority of design, but because their crews were not as well honed. The ten ships before Ittai's were pulling slowly away, reaching the harbor at Naupactus in time to range themselves in the "Line Abreast by the Temple of Apollo" formation, ready for defensive action. Their bows faced seaward as they waited for the onslaught.
All except Ittai's ship. The boatswain was signaling with his palm down, bidding Jes to slow the cadence. She did, cautiously, and now the ship lost distance ahead of the pursuit. The enemy fleet, believing that it could catch the laggard, was putting forth all due effort, and the twenty ships were spreading out as the faster crews outpaced their neighbors. Soon the leaders would flank Ittai's ship and attack it from either side with bow and spear.
What was the captain thinking of? She remembered Admiral Phormio's directive that Ittai perform rearguard action, and this he was doing—but the force behind was overwhelmingly greater, and would soon destroy the single ship. What was to be gained by offering up this sacrifice?
Well, maybe it wasn't entirely futile, because one Leucadian trieres was now significantly outpacing the others. It might be possible to fight it alone, before the others caught up. Still, even if they won, it was only one ship, with many more rapidly closing. Much more was needed, if there was to be any chance to save Naupactus.
Their ship reached the harbor barely ahead of the Leucadian. Jes could hear the Peloponnesians singing the paean for the final attack. Normally the crews were silent; noise was the mark of an ill-disciplined crew. But this was the exception; they were working themselves up for the final slaughter.
Ittai's ship passed a merchant ship that was anchored in deep water, as such vessels normally were. Such noncombatants were normally ignored in battle; they were part of the booty, not capable of fighting.
But as they passed it, the boatswain gave the Hard Right Turn signal. Surprised, Jes played it, and the oarsmen obeyed automatically. The ship made an exceedingly tight turn, going behind the merchanter, as if hiding. There was laughter from the pursuing ship.
But there was no Slow Cadence signal. What were they doing? The ship continued its turn, looping entirely around the merchant without slowing more than it had to to make the turn.
And suddenly there was the pursuing ship—exposed in profile. The boatswain gave the Straight Ahead signal, followed immediately by the Ram signal. Jes played the tunes, and the oarsmen evened their strokes and propelled the ship ahead. The Leucadians were unable to move out of the way; they could only watch in amazed dismay as their doom closed on them.
Just before the strike, the boatswain signaled Lift Oars. Jes played the tune, and the ship completed the maneuver on inertia. They all braced for the impact.
It came. Jes would have been thrown from her seat, if she had not braced herself. The collision holed the enemy ship, immediately disabling it. Ittai's crew cheered.
Then the Withdraw signal. Jes played, and the oarsmen reversed their stroke and hauled the ram back out of the hole, leaving the other ship floundering and filling with water. It would not sink, but it was useless for combat. The crew could not even desert it, because this was Athenian water, and any swimmers would be easy targets. So they just sat and waited in evident despair. How quickly their fortune had reversed!
The following Peloponnesian ships were similarly dismayed. Their line had become ragged in the close pursuit. So their leading ships backed their oars and halted, waiting for more ships to catch up. However, some did not halt in time, and ran aground in the unfamiliar harbor. Their enthusiasm for pursuit had blinded them to common sense.
Now Phormio made a single shout. The ten remaining ships of the Athenian fleet surged forward in attack. The distance was small; in a moment they were on the stalled enemies. The Spartans were in a poor position to defend themselves. The integrity of their fleet had been lost, and they had little room to maneuver. They had foolishly surrendered their momentum, close to the Athenian line. Because of all the mistakes they had made, and their state of disorder, the advantage of their superior numbers had been forfeited.
Ittai's ship turned and rejoined the Athenian formation. It was no longer the laggard. Jes played the Forward tune, and they closed on the enemy in proper style. She felt exhilarated by the elixir of battle, not at all afraid. This was glorious!
The Peloponnesians fought only briefly, before turning to flee. That was yet another mistake on their part. The Athenians had easy pickings, choosing their targets. They went after the easiest ones and let the others go. Their discipline, maneuverability, tactics, and courage in adversity had enabled them to win the day despite the enormous odds against them.
All that remained was mopping up. Their ship went after one of the grounded ships, taking advantage of its inability to maneuver. Troops on the ground were wading out to capture it, but it seemed about to free itself and escape.
Instead of ramming a ship they could capture and salvage, they cut off its escape and crowded against it from the sea side. They grappled it, holding it firm. That prevented it from avoiding the Messenians, who came on, waving their spears and shouting.
But the ship did not surrender quietly. Their hoplites made a desperate lunge, leaping aboard Ittai's craft and engaging its hoplites. For a moment there was fierce fighting.
An Athenian hoplite fell in front of Jes, wounded in the leg. The enemy hoplite stood over him, raising his spear for the finishing thrust.
Jes acted without thinking. She drew her knife and hurled it at the enemy soldier's face. The blade penetrated his left eye. He screamed and fell backward off the ship.
But another was coming. Jes dived for the Athenian hoplite's shield. She hauled it up and held it over the man's body, protecting him from further injury.
Then Kettle appeared. He intercepted the enemy hoplite and dispatched him with a single thrust of his spear.
The Messenians arrived, and the remaining crew of the captured ship surrendered rather than be slaughtered. The fight was over.
The commander of the hoplites turned to Jes. "You have lost your knife," he said. "Take mine." He drew his dagger and offered the hilt to her.
She accepted it, realizing that by this token he had finally accepted her position on the ship. He must have seen her defend the wounded soldier.
There was a pause while the other ship was secured. Jes looked around—and saw that Captain Ittai was down. The helmsman and boatswain were attending to him, while the bowmen looked crestfallen; they had not succeeded in protecting him. Yet how could they? He had been struck by an arrow.
Something tore apart within her breast. Before she knew it, Jes was there, throwing herself down by the captain even as the helmsman pulled out the arrow in his shoulder. "Oh my love, don't die! Don't die!" she cried, her tears flowing. She kissed his pale, still face. "I love you! Don't die!"
Ittai's eyes opened. "Does this mean you will marry me?" he asked with a weak smile.
"Yes! Yes!" All her doubts had dissipated. She no longer cared where or how she lived, as long as it was with him. He was an honorable, valorous, decent man, and fully worthy of love.
"Good." His eyes closed, and he sank back into unconsciousness.
"It is a flesh wound, painful but not lethal," the helmsman said. "We will take care of him." Indeed, he held a bandage in his hands.
Then Jes realized where she was. She looked up at the boatswain and bowmen, all of whom were staring. "It's a woman!" one of the bowmen said.
"A woman!" the nearest oarsman echoed, amazed. "Bad luck!"
She had given herself away. Now she was in trouble.
The helmsman stood up straight. "On the ship, the captain makes the rules. I serve the captain."
"We all serve the trierarch," the boatswain said, and the four bowmen nodded agreement. But the oarsmen were scowling rebelliously.
Kettle was close. "I see no woman," he said. "I see our pipeman, who has served the ship well in two hard battles." He glared at the thranites, his hand on his blood-soiled spear. "And will continue to serve. As will the rest of us."
The oarsmen looked away, not daring to challenge him.
The helmsman smiled. "Pipeman, return to your station."
Jes got up and went back to her chair. The boatswain gave her a signal, and she began to play her flute. The oarsmen, encouraged by the glares of the hoplites, bent to their task. The ship moved out.
The Athenians captured six enemy ships, and recovered all of their own. This battle, like others, showed the reasons for the Athenian command of the Greek seas: Their crews were highly disciplined and competent, and their captains refused to accept the logic of numbers or a tactically unfavorable situation. No ship panicked. They retreated when they had to, but not in disarray, and reacted quickly and decisively to take advantage of a sudden change of fortune. Even when they lost almost half their force, they did not give up. Their tactical professionalism was decisive. They wielded the ram with a deadly precision that was beyond that of the opposing forces.
The captain of the Leucadian ship, Timocrates the Spartan, killed himself as his ship began to fill with water. The Spartan fleet still outnumbered the Athenians, but it retired to the south, surrendering control of the gulf to Phormio. Thus the blockade of Corinth remained in place for years, crippling that city's economy.
The plague, which was probably typhoid fever, ravaged Athens for two years, skipped a year, then returned for one more year, as virulent as before. It reduced the orderly existence of the city to chaos. The rule of law became fragile or absent, as few people there thought they would live long enough to pay the price of their actions. Perikles fell victim to the plague, surviving it, but he never regained his strength and was reduced to lying abed wearing a protective charm.
In the end, in 404 B.C., Sparta defeated Athens, but the prestige of Athens remained until the city was sacked six centuries later. The power of Greece in time gave way to that of Rome, to whom it bequeathed much of its culture. The greatness of classical Greece is honored even today.
In the year A.D. 36 Herod Antipas was tetrarch, or governor, of the Roman territories of Galilee and Peraea. A Roman procurator governed the main part of the province of Judea. Thus Herod was, by default, the preeminent Jewish authority of the time. But he was not considered to be a good man. In A.D. 27 he had John the Baptist killed, fearing his influence among the people, and Herod was the one who saw to the execution of Jesus Christ. He married the daughter of the king of the Nabataeans, Aretas IV of Petra, This was a good alliance, because Nabataea was a powerful kingdom that controlled most of the Arabian peninsula and the principal trading routes connecting Egypt and the Mediterranean to Persia and the Far East. Its wealth derived originally from myrrh and other spices, but grew to encompass a wide range of trade goods, including silk from the orient, "gauze" from Gaza, "damask" from Damascus, as well as grain, gold, and wine. The Nabataeans spoke the same language, Aramaic, and were usually close friends with the Israelites. A spring serving Petra was reputed to be the one called forth when Moses struck the rock, though the authenticity of this belief is uncertain.
So King Herod had every reason to maintain good relations with Petra. But the man seems to have been a fool about women. He traveled to Rome, where he encountered his niece Herodias, wife of his half-brother Herod Philip. That led to significant mischief.
BRY WAS HELPING LIN TEND their terraced garden. It was little, but it was vitally important, and every day they had to carry crocks of water up to irrigate it so it wouldn't burn away in the hot sun. Without it, they would soon be hungry, because they had almost no reserves of grain or meat. They existed largely by the tolerance of the king of Nabataea, who accepted them as immigrants from the north but had not yet seen fit to grant them citizenship. At such time as they had citizenship, and the right to graze sheep and goats on a section of Nabataean pasture land, they would be much better off.
They carefully poured out the water so that it ran between the rows, none of it being wasted. Then they stood, straightening their tired backs. Water was heavy, especially when hauled uphill.
Bry straightened and looked around. He saw something in the distance. "Lin! A caravan!"
She was as excited as he was. Caravans passed regularly through Khirbet Tannur on their way between the capital city of Petra and points north, but that did not mean they were a daily occurrence. They always stopped to make an offering—it was not nice to call it a toll—at the Shrine of Atargatis, the goddess of love, beauty, fruitfulness, vegetation and much else. Also of war, and the underworld. It would be very bad form to incur her ire.
"Maybe it's Jes," Lin said.
But Jes had been gone more than a year. She had left with Wona, and would not return until that faithless wife had been placed, preferably far away. Maybe in Jerusalem, in Judaea, or maybe in Gaza. Maybe even somewhere in Phoenica, really far away. So it was bound to take time. But Bry worried secretly, as the months passed without her return. There were so many dangers along the way!
Lin glanced sharply at him. "Don't say it."
That brought him out of his morbid reverie. "Right. Maybe it's Jes. She's due."
Without further word, they left the garden, scrambled down the steep path, and ran for the shrine.
The shrine stood alone inside the juncture of two canyons that branched out from the Dead Sea, seven leagues to the northwest. It was on an isolated stone rise, visible from the primary caravan route through the area, though still below the rim of the canyon. It was a singularly impressive structure, facing east and dominating that region of the canyon. It was left open to the sky, with a broad flat stone platform for worshippers and supplicants to stand on, flanked by two stone obelisks triple the height of a man, carved from the native rock of the ridge. One pillar represented the god Dushara, ruler of the mountains, and of all this land, and the other Al-Uzza, goddess of springs and water, so vital in this dry land. But the Shrine Tannur was for the goddess Atargatis; the others were merely guests at this site. The altar was for offerings to her.
The caravan made good time, because it was arriving at the base of the shrine the same time Bry and Lin did. Lin gave a scream of sheer joy. "Jes!" she cried, running to fling herself into her big sister's arms.
Bry was just a bit more cautious. He had no doubt of Lin's identification, for he recognized Jes too, despite her male attire. But she was in the company of strangers. If she was concealing her identity or gender, they could be causing her real mischief.
But his concern turned out to be unwarranted. Jes set Lin down and strode forward to hug him too. "You look wonderful! Both of you! How are—?"
"They're all fine!" Lin said. "Sam brought home a new wife, Snow. She's nice. He thought she would marry Ned, but Flo said—"
"Of course," Jes agreed, probably not grasping all of that but satisfied that it was all right. "Wona has remarried. And I am married too."
Bry and Lin froze, astonished. "You?" Bry asked.
A portly older man standing nearby laughed. Jes turned to face him. "This is my husband, Captain Ittai, retiring from the sea. This is his caravan."
Bry stared at the array of camels, horses, and attendants. A number of them were armed.
"Our caravan," the man said, putting his arm around Jes as she came to him.
"But—" Lin started.
Jes leaned toward her. "Yes, he's rich," she whispered loudly enough to carry through the canyon. "And these are my siblings, Bry and Lin," she said to the captain.
"I am glad to meet both of you," the captain said.
They still could not believe it. "How—?" Lin asked.
Captain Ittai smiled. "It is a long story, but I will make it short. Jes signed on aboard my ship as a man, but I penetrated her disguise—"
"That wasn't all you penetrated," Jes said archly.
"And after that, we just had to marry," he concluded smugly. "So here we are, to rejoin the family."
Lin tried again. "But Jes is so—"
"So much more woman than I may deserve," the captain said, patting her bottom. "She wanted to love me and leave me, but I persuaded her it wasn't fair to take advantage of an old man like that."
It was becoming clear that the two were not going to tell their full story all at once. "Sam is doing construction nearby," Bry said. "And Ned is designing it. Flo—"
"Why don't you go to let them know we are here," Jes suggested. "While we make our offerings to Atargatis. Then we can go together to meet Flo and Dirk. We have something important to discuss with them."
"More important than getting married?" Lin asked. She still seemed as amazed as Bry was that angular Jes could have accomplished such a thing. She was acting almost like Wona.
"Well—" Jes said, glancing at her husband.
"Equivalently important," Ittai said. "And somewhat urgent."
"Oh, come on," Jes teased him. "We did it just an hour ago. It can't be that urgent."
"This is weird," Lin muttered.
"I'll tell Sam," Bry said to her. "You tell Flo."
"Yes." They ran off in different directions, while Jes and the captain climbed the long steps to the shrine.
As it happened, Sam and Ned were together, consulting about the placement of a significant block of stone. This was to be a shelter for high-ranking travelers, well above the base of the canyon. It was being built on commission by the king of Nabataea, and the family was allowed to occupy land in this vicinity and to farm on it as long as progress on the construction was satisfactory. Bry knew it was, because Ned was good at designing things, and Sam was good at heavy work. Still, the favor of kings was notoriously fickle, so nothing was certain until they were granted citizenship.
"Jes is back!" Bry cried as he saw them. "And she's married! A rich captain!"
He saw Sam and Ned exchange a significant glance. But they didn't doubt him openly. They concluded their business and accompanied him back to the farm.
Jes and her old rich husband were already there. Flo was better prepared, having been briefed by Lin. But there was another surprise. "You have an urgent mission," Flo told Bry. "Talk to your sister while we get things ready."
Without waiting for him to react, Jes took him by the elbow and led him to a shady spot by the wall. "Flo says you're the only one who can do it. You know the terrain, you speak the dialect, and you're small enough to slip by unnoticed."
"Do what?" he asked blankly.
"Travel to Galilee alone."
"What?"
"My husband is Judaean. He has contacts there, especially relating to events of the sea. He learned that when King Herod Antipas of Galilee traveled to Rome, he met his niece Herodias, said to be a most attractive young woman. She was married to his half-brother Herod Philip, but didn't like him, so she agreed to marry Herod Antipas if he would get rid of that Nabataean princess. He was so smitten with her that he agreed, and he is about to do the deed."
"But that's Princess Aretania, King Aretas's daughter!"
"Precisely. She will die, if she doesn't get out of there in a hurry. Herod will be there in another three days. She must be warned before he gets there."
The gravity of it sank in. "You want me to go warn her."
"Yes. We hate to ask this of you, Bry, but—"
"But I don't know the princess! And she doesn't know me. Why should she accept the word of a stranger?"
"I wish we had an official letter to give you, Bry, but if we did, you still couldn't risk carrying it. If you were caught with anything like that—" She shook her head. "You will simply have to be persuasive. Her life depends on it."
"But I'm not even a citizen! And her father—"
"We will proceed on down to Petra while you go north. Our mission is ostensibly to request a land grant, which will likely be granted, considering my husband's wealth. But we will seek immediate private audience with the king, and tell him what we know, and what you are doing. We'll ask him to send a force to the border to escort the princess when she crosses it."
"But—"
"You will have to get her safely across it. Can you do that, Bry?"
His head was spinning with the suddenness and urgency of the mission. "I guess I'll have to."
And so he found himself traveling alone that night, instead of sleeping, for night was the best time to move swiftly. It was cool, and there was no one to observe. He had a pack that Flo had prepared, with figs, bread, hard cheese, and strips of dried goat meat. He had a change of cloaks, so as to be able to shift his appearance quickly. And he had his message.
He knew the way well, for he had spent his young life in the vicinity of the Dead Sea and Galilee. Drought and changing politics had forced his family to move south, seeking a better situation, but he hadn't forgotten the old haunts. He could follow the trail all the way north to Peraea. After that it would be less familiar, but he could find his way.
He walked swiftly through the starry night, using his staff to check any dark objects in his path. He didn't tire; the urgency of his mission propelled him. He passed the city of Kerak and by morning he was at Dhilban, ten leagues north of his starting point. This was excellent time, but he reminded himself that it was illusory, because now he faced the heating day, and the possible curiosity of strangers.
He continued as long as he could, slowing. Now fatigue was catching up with him. He had done a lot of errand running, but this was a much longer haul than any before. At the border of Peraea he found a private grove and hid in it, lying down to sleep during the heat of the day.
He was lucky. The palm trees kept the sun off him, and no one spied him. It would have been too much to say he was refreshed by his hot sleep, but at least he wasn't utterly worn out. As evening came he ate sparingly from his pack, took a good drink from a local well, and resumed his trek.
The border of Peraea was not well guarded, for this was a time of relative peace. Merchants and tradesmen crossed all the time. He walked down the road as if he had business ahead, and no one challenged him. But he was now in potentially hostile territory.
The road moved along the northeastern shore of the Dead Sea. The barren land sloped down to the salty water, with massive pieces of dark basalt rock lying scattered as if by a giant's hand. Salt crusted everything near the shore, turning it white. If Bry slitted his eyes, those coated rocks looked almost like clouds in air. But he knew it was a dead region; there were no fish, no plants, because of the poisonous thickness of the brine. There once had been life here, though, because he saw the seashells lying high up on the slopes.
The darkness closed in, and he could see the sea no more, but he could hear its waves lapping the shore, and smell the thickness of the air. He would be glad to get beyond this desolate region.
In due course the sea curved west, away from the road. The Jordan River came in from the north—and along its banks the ground grew green again, for it was fresh water. There were grass, and wheat, and olive trees, and the air became sweet. The smell of plowed fields wafted in on the night breeze. What a relief!
The river ran straight north, following the cleft between mountain ridges, and the road ran straight beside it. Bry's fatigue actually diminished as he walked, because of the pleasure of the environment. He was making good time. Still, he had a long way to go, and little time. He had to get there before King Herod did!
By dawn he was near the northern border of Peraea. The two sections of Herod's domain were discontinuous, with a portion of Decapolis between. Herod, an arrogant man, did not necessarily get along well with his neighbors, so it would normally be better to travel through Samaria instead, going around Decapolis. But that would take him a full day out of his way. So he had to risk the direct route. But not by day.
He found another grove, selected a secluded spot hidden within it, ate, and slept. Bry was good at finding paths, and good at hiding, having done both all his life; no one discovered him.
In the evening he resumed his trek. He had about half a day's travel left, if he could find the way.
He had no trouble locating the city of Beisan; it was right across the river. The bridge was guarded, as it represented access to the city from a foreign territory, but the guards were evidently asleep. Good enough; he moved silently across and to the gate.
It was closed for the night. He couldn't get in without waking the guards, and he didn't want to do that, for any number of reasons. So he slid around to the side, circling the city until he reached the gate on the other side. That was closed too, but before long it should open to admit routine vegetable venders bringing their wares from the surrounding fields. Cities were hungry things, and needed huge amounts of food. So Bry settled down against the wall to nap until the day began. Any activity at the gate would wake him.
Sure enough, soon there was the approach of hooves. Several mounted men charged up to the gate. "Open for His Majesty King Herod Antipas!" one demanded loudly.
The sleepy guard was unimpressed. "I see no king. Where is your authority?"
"Here, you lazy scoundrel." The man handed across a scroll.
The guard perused the scroll, then gave the order. This was indeed the advance party for the king.
Bry scrambled up. The king was already arriving? He barely had time to warn the princess.
He walked around to the gate. Sure enough, it remained open, because there wasn't much point in closing it when dawn was so close and the king would soon arrive. He walked in unchallenged.
The houses were densely packed inside the city: simple cubic flat-roofed dwellings with dung-colored walls. The palace wasn't at all difficult to locate: it was a two story stone structure of considerable size, containing chambers for the city elders to gather after the day's work, and where citizens could come to receive judgment and make legally binding declarations. This was where the princess would stay.
Now came the hard part: getting in to see the princess, before the king arrived. He couldn't take a day to scout out the situation and find the best way; he had to do it immediately.
He decided that a bold course was best, in this situation. He went to a public scribe and bought a small blank scroll. Few folk were literate, but he could write a few words, He wrote four, then made a deliberately indecipherable signature, and rolled and sealed the scroll so that it looked official. Then he put on his better tunic, brushed his hair back, and approached the main entrance.
The guard here was not asleep. He wore the badges of some rank, and had arrogance to match. "What's your business, boy?"
"I bear an important message for Princess Aretania."
"What is the message?"
"It is only for her ears."
"Don't fool with me, boy! I will be the judge of what is or is not important. Now speak, or get out of here."
"As you wish. I was told to allow no one but the princess to see this, on pain of severe punishment, but I'm sure you have the necessary authority." He handed the sealed scroll to the man.
The guard considered the scroll. Messages to royalty were special; a person could readily get his head lopped off for snooping. So he did not open it. Instead he snapped his fingers for a servant. "Take this message to the princess."
The servant took the scroll and disappeared into the depths of the palace. Bry waited, doing his best to maintain a calm mien. The princess could summarily order his own head off, if she thought the matter an unkind joke. But he hoped she would be curious enough to inquire.
The servant returned. "The princess says to admit the messenger to her presence."
The guard never blinked. "Of course. Guide him there forthwith."
The servant turned, and Bry stepped briskly forward to accompany him. He felt weak with relief. His gamble had paid off.
The princess's apartment was well back in the labyrinth. The servant brought him to the curtained door and spoke loudly enough to be heard inside. "Majesty: the messenger is here."
"Enter, messenger," a woman's voice replied.
Bry stepped through the curtain and found himself in a richly decorated suite. There were rugs on the floor and carpets on the walls. A woman stood alone in the center. She was not old, but neither was she young, and she was somewhat plain of feature. Her robe, however, was ornate, and she wore jewelry that looked quite precious. She was clearly the princess. Accordingly, Bry dropped to his knees and bowed his head, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence.
"Rise."
He got back to his feet, but remained silent. He knew that a common person never spoke to a royal person, but only responded to direct orders or queries.
"What is this message?" she asked.
He looked around. "Your Highness, it must not be overheard by anyone else."
"Where are you from?"
"Nabataea, Your Highness."
"Speak to me in that dialect."
"Gladly, Your Highness," he said in that variant. It was mainly a matter of accent and inflection, but was almost impossible to fake. Bry, living between the two kingdoms, had learned the dialects of both.
"Ah, you really are! From the northern province, no?"
"Yes, Your Highness. Near Tannur."
"Follow me." She turned and went to a small garden courtyard where a fig tree grew. He followed at a respectful distance. She picked a fig and offered it to him. "Eat."
He accepted it and put it in his mouth. It was delicious. He understood the significance of this, too: he had eaten in her presence, and by Nabataean custom would not hereafter betray her or speak falsely to her.
"Now the message. Dispense with the formality and speak plainly."
"King Herod has found a new love, his niece Herodias, and will marry her. But she demands that he get rid of you first. Princess, you must flee this kingdom before he returns!"
She blanched. "How came you by this news?"
"My elder sister married a ship captain. He has connections, and learned the scuttlebutt of a ship coming from Rome. They say that Herodias is fair of feature and form, and is given to making demands of men. She has entirely fascinated the king, and—"
"Yes, I'm sure. What says my father?"
"He has not yet been informed. We—we deemed the matter so important that I was sent to warn you, before Herod returned. My sister is even now informing King Aretas. We beg your forgiveness for our presumption, but—"
"Why should I believe you?"
Bry was appalled. "Oh My Lady, I beg you—"
She smiled. "I do believe you. I know my husband, and I have heard of Herodias. I must return forthwith to my father. But I know Herod will not let me go."
"You must go before he returns!"
"Too late. He is already here."
"Then if you can flee before he—"
"No, I will not be able to leave without his approval." Now she looked grim. "What is your name?"
"Bry, of the family of—"
"Bry, you show a certain resourcefulness." She glanced at the scroll she still held. "All this says is BEARER HAS SECRET MESSAGE."
"I could not risk writing it down."
"To be sure. What would you recommend?"
This surprised him. "I—I—maybe if you could go with his permission. If he doesn't know that you know. If you visit your father—"
"He would not allow that."
"Then maybe a city near the border, in Peraea—"
She smiled. "That, I may be able to manage. I have been before to the fortress of Machaerus, at the southern end of Peraea. That would even be a suitable place to dispatch me, in some seeming accident of which he has no official knowledge. He won't want to antagonize my father by being open about it. So he may agree."
"And from there you can sneak across the border and be safe," Bry agreed, relieved. "My mission is done."
"By no means," she said. "You will see me safely across that border, because you know that terrain as I do not."
"But I can't stay with you! I mustn't be seen with you, lest suspicion—"
"You are young. You will become my maid."
"I—"
"Wait here." She walked from the garden.
Bry waited. He knew how Jes often dressed in male clothing, and sometimes Lin joined her in that. It was safer to travel as boys. But to dress as a girl—
Yet it did make sense. Who would suspect a personal maid? Unless someone made the connection between the arrival of the messenger boy and the new maid.
The princess returned with an armful of female apparel. "We shall make a fine girl of you," she said with satisfaction.
"But others will know, if I don't depart after delivering my message."
"You have already departed. I sent a servant who resembles you. He masked his face. The guards saw him go. I get new servant girls all the time; they have no enduring value. Now change."
She was catching on quickly. But this remained difficult. "I don't know anything about being a girl. I will make mistakes all the time."
"I will teach you."
"But—"
"Get on with it," she said briskly. "Take off all your clothing. I will prepare you suitably."
"But—" he started, alarmed at the thought of being seen naked by a woman.
"If I am to trust you to deliver me through the wilderness, you must trust me with the preparation of your body. I'm sure you don't have anything I haven't seen before." She reached out and caught hold of his tunic. "Do it now, or I will do it for you."
Bry hastily got out of his clothing. In a moment he stood before her, bare. She studied him for some time, considering. Then she nodded.
"These are the undergarments," she said, presenting him with silk slip and sash. He put on the first, but had no idea what to do with the second. "This is padding," she said. "It belonged to a maiden who was less endowed than she craved. It will give you the form of a maiden. But be sure you keep it in the right place." She put the thing around his chest, wrapping it several times, tying it behind. It did bulk up his front somewhat.
Then he donned a cotton underskirt, and frilly vest. Over these went a solid dress. There were slippers, too, that made his feet look surprisingly delicate. Finally the princess fussed with his hair, arranging it in a female manner and fixing it in place with a large curved comb. She tied a colorful scarf over his head.
"There," she said, satisfied. "Now see yourself." She held up a large brass mirror.
Bry was amazed. The face in the mirror was that of a rather pretty young woman. He angled the mirror down, and saw a slender but definitely feminine body, complete with dainty feet.
"But I don't know how to act, or what to say," he said. "I can't even—when I have to—the clothing is wrong."
"You will be mute to all but me. You will do whatever I tell you. If you don't understand, I will call you stupid. No one will suspect." She smiled fleetingly. "And you will squat to pee, as all girls do."
Oh. She seemed to have worked it out. He nodded, mutely.
"Now I will go and charm my loving husband into sending me to Peraea," she said. "I am not entirely lacking in the wiles of my gender."
That was becoming clear. But what was he to do, meanwhile?
"Wait here," she said. "Take this mirror and this sponge and wash your face and arms—and your legs, where they show. Girls are cleaner than boys."
She departed, and he got to work as directed. He was not thrilled to become a girl, but it did make sense, and certainly it would be even less thrilling to get caught and executed along with the princess. He found that there was indeed a fair amount of dirt caked on him; he hadn't noticed, before. But with the help of the mirror and a fair amount of work he succeeded in becoming more feminine.
After that things moved swiftly. That afternoon the princess and her maid boarded a horse drawn wagon with a sunshade and curtained sides for privacy and protection from insects. There were horsemen before and after, to ensure that no one interfered with the princess and that she didn't go anywhere by herself. They were almost alarmingly protective.
That left a lot of time alone in the carriage. The princess insisted on having her maid ride with her, and the maid fetched anything the princess might need in the course of the ride. When the maid did, sometimes a guard would try to steal a kiss. Since Bry was playing the part of a mute, they assumed that he would be unable to tell. Bry had to get advice about how to deal with that. "Just try to stay out of reach," the princess advised. "They figure to start with kisses, then proceed to more, and if you try to protest, they may try to rape you, and deny it if challenged. This is the way of men with women."
He was coming to appreciate the situation of women in a way he had not, before. "My sister Flo was raped," he said. "And my brother's wife Snow. We thought it was just ill fortune."
"No, it is standard practice," she said. "Men conspire to separate women from their protection. A girl must be ever on her guard." Then she reconsidered. "Or maybe you should kiss him. Hard."
"But—"
She brought out a tiny spice box. "This is the foulest-tasting stuff I know of. Smear it on your lips. Just keep your tongue off them."
Bry touched it with a finger, and tasted it with the tip of his tongue. It seemed as though he had just bitten into camel manure that had grown too ripe. He smiled.
It took only one kiss. Thereafter, no one bothered him, even when the taste faded. It had been worth it.
Betweentimes, they talked. Bry was surprised to discover how much they had in common. He was the youngest boy of an orphaned family, so had felt somewhat isolated from the regular community of people. She was the only daughter of a busy king, used to make a political marriage to a neighbor king who didn't really care for her, and she felt isolated too. Both of them loved the rocky countryside of Nabataea, and its impressive cliffside architecture. Bry realized that isolation could happen to anyone, whether royal or common. He missed his sister Lin; Aretania missed her brothers.
In due course they reached the fortress Machaerus. "We must not wait, even for a night," the princess said. "My husband's assassins can strike at any time, and I have obligingly put my head on the block. I will send you out on an errand, and you will explore the best route out. We must act at nightfall, before they expect it."
"Yes."
So even as they arrived, Aretania went into her act. "Oh, this is so wonderful!" she exclaimed as they were escorted to the mountain fortress. "Girl, go out and pick me some posies! I want a nice selection of fresh flowers for my room."
Bry nodded, picked up his skirts, and hastened out to the countryside. The guards shrugged. Nobody cared about the bad-tasting mute servant girl.
It didn't take long. He picked flowers on the slopes and scouted out a path suitable for women in skirts, that avoided normal paths. Soon he had an excellent route that would get them efficiently away from the fortress.
And someone spied him. It was a lone boy, probably returning from an errand. It was just bad luck that their paths had crossed.
The boy stared at him as they passed each other. "Bry?"
Startled, he paused. He recognized that voice. "Lin!"
"I thought it was you," she said as they embraced. "But I never expected a girl. With posies, yet. I had to verify it before speaking."
"Well, you're a boy!" he said defensively.
She smiled. "For sure."
"But how did you know I would be here?"
"Our spies tracked the royal tour. You have the princess?"
"Yes. I'm scouting her escape route."
"This is it. I know the way from here. Bring her here and we'll be ready."
"Just as soon as we can get her out of the fortress. But suppose guards come along? They follow her everywhere."
She glanced significantly around. "We have bowmen ready. Bring the guards here too, if you have to. By the time their bodies are found, we'll be gone."
"Right. I never expected to see you here."
"Someone had to make contact, and I said I'd know you anywhere." She eyed him again. "But I almost didn't. You make a fine girl, Bry. Maybe you'll grow up to be a good wife and mother."
"The same time you become a husband and father!"
She laughed and kissed him on the mouth. And rebounded. "You taste like camel manure!"
So some of the taste remained. "Of course. Next time keep your lips where they belong, you fresh boy."
"Aw, do I have to?" She patted him on the bottom.
"Your hands too!" he exclaimed, but he couldn't help laughing.
They separated, both quite satisfied.
He returned at dusk with a nice bouquet of wildflowers. "But these are not enough, you stupid girl!" the princess cried imperiously. "I need more. Many more."
Bry spread his hands, indicating that he had found all he could.
"You idiot!" the princess screamed. "Do I have to do everything myself? I'll show you where there are flowers! You just haven't looked in the right places." And right then, extemporaneously, she walked out. To show him where to look.
The guards, caught off-guard, were slow to follow. The princess looked back at them. "Hurry up!" she called. "You can pick flowers too."
For some reason the guards lagged even farther behind. It wasn't difficult to lose them in the crevices of the mountain. Then the two of them hoisted skirts and ran along the route Bry indicated, knowing that the pursuit would soon be hot.
He led her, panting, to the place he had encountered Lin. She was there, with a small hooded lamp in the dark. "This way," she said, offering a helping hand to the princess, who evidently wasn't accustomed to exercise this strenuous.
"Guards in pursuit," Bry warned Lin.
"They won't pass this spot."
They slowed to a walk. Soon they reached the border. There were troops from Nabataea, and a curtained wagon with horses. "Your Highness," the captain of the guard said, bowing low.
"Never mind that!" the princess gasped. "Just get me out of here in a hurry!"
They got to it, and soon the wagon was moving south. Bry assumed that he could now leave the princess's side, but she had him join her again. "But my sister can—"
"I know you, Bry, and everyone else thinks you're a girl, while she looks like a boy. There are appearances to be maintained. Help me change; I'm soaking in sweat." She gestured to the clothing thoughtfully provided in the wagon.
"But you know I'm not," he protested.
"I saw you naked. Now it's your turn. Anyway, it's dark."
So, while the wagon bumped along through the darkness, she stripped off all her clothes, and dried off, and he helped her get into new clothing. It was indeed dark, and he was almost sorry he wasn't able to see anything. She was not a beautiful woman, but it would have been interesting.
"Thank you, Bry. Now you may rejoin your sister if you wish. Or, better, bring her in here, and we'll all sleep."
Thus Lin joined them, and they talked briefly, and then slept.
As dawn came, they were at Khirbet Tannur, and went in a group to give due thanks to the goddess Atargatis, who had surely guided their successful effort.
Bry thought that now he would be free to return to his family, but the princess had a different notion. "I want you to meet my father, who will surely reward you for your heroism."
"I'm no hero," he protested. "I just did what I had to do."
"Same thing," she said. "Get in the wagon."
Now they had new horses and a new guardian force, and rode by day, making good time. But it was nevertheless a tedious daylong trip. They halted only for rest stops. The princess questioned Bry about his family, and seemed genuinely interested in his answers. They also snoozed some more.
In the afternoon they reached the region of the Nabataean capital city of Petra. Bry had not been there before, and was interested, because he had heard that it was a city of amazing splendor. The princess drew aside the curtains so that he could goggle all he wanted. She evidently enjoyed his anticipation.
They were surrounded by towering cliffs of many-colored rock, the bands showing red, yellow, white, and mauve. But that was only the beginning. The way narrowed, with the rock rising up on either side as they followed a winding wadi, where a river ran when there was rain but disappeared in normal times.
"I told them to enter by the east, through the Wadi Musa," the princess said. "So as to provide the most impressive tour."
The wadi deepened and narrowed, becoming a gorge. "This is the Bab as-Siq," Aretania said. "Oh, it's so good to be home!"
The gorge became alarmingly deep and close, with the walls towering almost vertically on either side. In some places the rock actually leaned out over the road. Bry was afraid some rock would dislodge and crash down to crush them. The walls were sculptured by nature, forming crude patterns that could be taken as statues or arches. A channel had been cut into the south base, where water flowed. He could see only a short distance forward or back, because of the continuing curving.
Then it grew so tight there was barely room for the wagon to pass, and the guards had to ride before and after. The slanting sunlight no longer penetrated; they were in deep shadow. Still it squeezed in, until it seemed they would have to stop, lest the wagon get stuck between the closing walls. He found himself shivering, though it was not cold. He didn't like the feeling that it could all collapse inward on his head.
"Look ahead," the princess said, enjoying his unease.
Bry looked, and saw a narrow vertical line of light extending from the bottom of the gorge upward to the sky. Then they made a turn, and the gorge opened out to reveal a truly splendid monument. It was two stories high, with six tall stone columns on each level, and intricate carvings between them. It was built against the mountain wall, and steps led to an antechamber within the mountain. Further steps led beyond it into the dark interior.
"This is Al-Khazneh, the Pharaoh's Treasury," Aretania said, "because of the vast treasure contained in the urn at the top. It is said that he who breaks open that urn will reap a showering harvest of gold and silver coins."
"Is that true?" Bry asked, staring up at the huge stone urn.
"It is true that it is said," she replied with a faint smile. "We arrange not to investigate too closely, lest the gods be annoyed and drop the urn on our heads."
Bry could appreciate the concern. He could also appreciate the usefulness of the legend. Many folk would come to see the urn, and they would bring business to the city. But it was definitely carved stone, not a real urn. It looked to be more than twice the height of a man in itself. Only a god could actually use an urn of that magnitude.
"Actually it's a monument to my ancestor, King Aretas III," she continued after a pause. "His coffin is there."
"Was he the one who conquered Damascus?" Bry asked, surprised.
"Yes. He imported Damascan artisans to craft this monument, which is unlike the others in our city."
"I am awed," he said candidly.
"Would you like to go inside?" the princess asked as they drew abreast of it.
"Yes! But is it allowed? I mean, if his coffin is in there—"
"For me, it is allowed. I am of his blood, and I have nothing but respect."
"But don't you want to get home as fast as possible?"
"This is home." But she looked pensive, and he realized that she could be concerned about her reception. She had evidently failed in her marriage, and her father might not be pleased. So she was taking the pretense of obliging Bry's curiosity, to delay her arrival a bit.
The wagon stopped, they got down, and walked up the three steps between the central pillars to the vestibule. The two guards bowed, recognizing the right of the princess and her servant girl to enter. There were large door-frames to either side, with smaller (but still large) wooden doors. The central steps led up to another doorway. This one was huge; the frame was quadruple the height of a grown man. The guards quickly pulled open the doors and lit torches so that the interior could be seen.
Bry had thought it would be shallow, because carving chambers out of rock was no easy thing, but it was a full-sized square room a dozen paces across, with three more alcoves off its walls. The one farthest in contained an altar three steps up, in front of a great stone coffin. Aretania went to this and kneeled, bowing her head. Then she stood and dropped a gold coin on the altar. She was giving thanks to the gods for her deliverance. And perhaps also to her ancestor, after whom she had evidently been named.
Bry turned away, not wanting to intrude on this private matter. He looked at the painted walls, discovering all manner of carvings and statuary. The interior and exterior of this grand temple contained every kind of representation, including dancing Amazons, eagles, sphinxes, lions, satyrs, and other animals. His eyes shied away from the snaky-locked Medusa, lest her stone stare transform him to stone, and lingered on the bare breasts of human priestesses. This was a marvelous monument.
Aretania turned away from the alcove and came to join him. "I think it will be all right," she said. "My ancestor would not have approved the treatment I received in Galilee."
"Surely not," he agreed.
They left the monument and returned to the wagon. The princess's step seemed lighter now; she had received reassurance. The wagon turned north, then northwest, where an enormous semicircular arena opened out against the western slope. "Oh, my!" Bry exclaimed, awed.
"This is the main theater," the princess said with justified pride. "It seats three thousand people. We have some of the finest spectacles in the world here."
It was surely so, for nothing less would justify such a magnificent setting. A huge colonnaded building closed off the semicircle, where the personnel and displays were housed, and they led onto a raised stage area. It was easy to imagine a huge crowd filling the theater, cheering as the show was put on.
"I will command your presence, next time there is a show," Aretania said. "You will be my guest, in the reserved section in the first row."
"Oh, I couldn't—"
"You won't have to be a girl, for that."
"Thank you, Princess." That had indeed been his concern.
Then they moved north again, passing a number of lesser tombs. They finally emerged from the gorge to reveal the broad expanse of the central city of Petra in its phenomenal splendor.
Bry's head turned from side to side as he tried to take it all in. On to the northeast a fantastic array of tombs were built into the mountain face; to the west the city itself nestled in the bowl-like hollow of the mountains. There were houses dotting the slopes, and larger structures in the center. He was awed all over again.
They turned west and rode into the busy city. The main street had been cleared, but the people were thronging to see the returning princess. Bry tried to fade into invisibility, but could not avoid the cynosure. "Wave to them," Aretania said mischievously. But he knew better, and sat as still as he could, while she smiled and waved to the onlookers. "There is the Colonnaded Street," she said, indicating a row of tall columns ahead. The street ran right along beside the columns, and it was paved with clean stone blocks. "And up ahead is the market section." He saw countless stalls set within the shelter of the open structures, with their wares laid out enticingly. The smells of breads and meats wafted across to them. He discovered he was hungry; they had not eaten much during the day.
"There is the palace," Aretania continued, pointing out an impressive structure on the north side. "We will go there to meet my father, after the tour."
"But don't you want to see him first?" Bry asked.
A shadow crossed her face. "These things must follow the proper form." He realized that she still was not certain of her welcome. Her rejection by King Herod of Galilee could cause much political mischief.
"There are the public baths," she said, shaking off the mood as she pointed ahead and to the south. "You won't have to take one of those, either, right now."
"Thank you." It was bad enough being in such a public eye, but worse being taken for a girl.
She turned to the north. "The Temple of the Winged Lions, up there on the slope. We shall have to go there, too, another day."
"We?"
She gave him a serious glance. "You saved my life, Bry; I want to show my appreciation." Before he could try to protest again, she added: "You understand my situation; I value your support. I regard you as a friend. I will not keep you long, just a few days. Until things settle down."
He appreciated her moment of candor. She had known him only a few days, but they had been together in Galilee and for the journey south; he was a witness to her activities. He could support what she had to tell her father. "Of course, Princess."
"And the Tenenos Gate," she continued as they passed through a massive portal girt by four enormous clusters of columns, some with flat contours, others rounded. Stone carvings traveled up those contours to the lintel above. "Leading into the Sacred Courtyard."
The sounds of the city faded as they moved through that courtyard. This was lined with impressive sculptures of every description. There were the busts of gods, both bearded men and clear-faced women. There were eagles with wings outspread, and griffins, and a sphinx, and pediments with full human figures, including bare-breasted women of inhuman perfection. It was also a garden area, with nicely shaped trees and bushes. "The gods surely come here to relax," Bry murmured.
"They surely do," Aretania agreed. "Certainly I do. But now we are coming to the greatest of temples, the Qasr al-Bint."
This was indeed the most magnificent of the free-standing buildings he had seen here. It was at the end of the court, and was about thirty paces on a side, and similarly high. About a dozen broad steps led up to its base, where four enormous pillars supported its roof.
"Close your mouth," Aretania murmured. "The gods already know it is awesome."
Bry closed his mouth. "It's so big," he said.
"My grandfather Obodas built it. It took twenty years and depleted the treasury, but it was worth it. Now we shall say a prayer at the altar, then go to the palace; I think the tour of the temple will have to wait."
They mounted the steps of the open-air altar that stood before the temple, and the princess bowed her head and gave another gold coin as an offering. Bry didn't have any gold or even silver, so he gave what he had, a copper coin, embarrassed.
"The gods don't judge by the material value so much as the spirit of the supplicant," Aretania said. "I'm sure your spirit is good."
"I hope so."
They returned to the wagon, and now rode to the palace. Now it was dusk, and the market place was clearing. A separate honor guard emerged to escort the princess inside. Bry tried to hang back, but she signaled him imperiously forward, and he had to follow her. "Just stay two steps behind me, and stop when I stop, eyes downcast. Don't say anything; just be there."
That was about all he was capable of doing. He had never expected to meet the king himself.
The guards formed a square around them. They marched as a unit into the palace. At least Bry didn't have to go; all he had to do was stay in his place in the formation, and try not to trip over his skirts.
They mounted the steps and passed the columns of the entrance. Inside were more steps, and an anteroom, and a great hall. Therein, on his grand stone throne, sat King Aretas. Bry kept his eyes downcast, but was able to sneak peeks past his eyelashes.
The king stared at the princess for some time before speaking. Bry could see her shaking; he knew she was afraid of her father. She was afraid she had brought shame on him. She was afraid of his wrath.
Finally the king spoke. "It is an outrage!" he exclaimed. Aretania's head bowed lower. "I am sorry, Father. I tried my best to—"
"Yes, I know." He looked around. "I am going to do two things. First the one who brought me this ill news. Where is the foreign sailor?"
"I am here, Your Majesty." It was Captain Ittai's voice. Bry was startled; he hadn't realized that the man was present. There was a woman behind him: Jes.
"You are hereby granted citizenship in Nabataea. You may choose an estate to possess, and your wife and family are granted tenure to share it with you. Where is the boy who carried the message to my daughter?"
There was a pause. Bry couldn't speak up! Then Aretania turned. "Here, Sire." She indicated Bry.
"But I was told—"
"I required him to don female garb, Sire, so he could guide me home without suspicion."
The king stared at Bry. Then he burst out laughing. "Good work, boy! You have earned your family favor in this court. Take this in partial token of that favor." He brought out a small purse and handed it to a courtier, who walked to Bry and presented it.
Bry knew the moment he hefted it that it was filled with gold; nothing else had such heft. "I—thank you, Your Majesty."
But the king was already turning to other business. "Second, I am going to punish Herod for this treachery to my daughter and affront to the Kingdom of Nabataea. That miscreant will learn to respect my disfavor. This hearing is ended."
The courtiers bowed and backed away. The princess was starting to do the same, when the king signaled her with a slight twitch of his fingers. Then his eye caught Bry's, and his fingers twitched again. So Bry followed the princess forward.
As they approached, the king smiled. Then Aretania threw herself into her father's arms. "Oh, Sire, you aren't angry?"
"I am furious," he corrected her. "But not with my innocent daughter. That misbegotten oaf sought to have you killed, just to make an incestuous liaison with his slut of a niece! He will pay, I swear."
"I feared I had failed you, Sire."
"My favorite daughter never failed me."
"I am your only daughter," she reminded him, smiling. Then she burst into tears.
"I will not send you away from this city again," he reassured her. "Foreign barbarians are not to be trusted." He glanced again at Bry. "Now put this fetching young creature back into his natural attire. No man should have to endure what he has."
"Being garbed as a woman?" she asked.
"No, suffering your company for three days." Then he laughed again, so that they could be sure it was a joke.
King Aretas did indeed raise an army, and sent it toward Judea under the command of his generals. Herod sent his army to battle without taking personal command. In the engagement, some of Herod's forces joined the Nabataeans, who won a resounding victory.
This had several consequences. The people of the scattered parts of Israel sought for some divine reason for their defeat, and remembered Herod's prior crime against John the Baptist. The later Gospel writers then connected this somewhat anachronistically to the request of Herodias's daughter Salome, who danced the Dance of the Veils and beguiled Herod to promise her anything. She asked for John's head, because John had condemned her mother's marriage as adulterous, Herodias still being married to Herod's half-brother. It seems that incest—she was Herod's niece—was not the issue. Surely John the Baptist would have condemned the marriage on similar grounds, had he been alive at the time.
Meanwhile, in history, the Emperor Tiberius of Rome was annoyed by the affront such a defeat meant to a Roman province. He sent Vitellius, his commander in Syria, to conquer Petra and bring Aretas's head back to Rome. Vitellius set out at the head of two legions and their auxiliaries. He began his march through Judea, but was persuaded by priests to take an alternate route, because of all the religiously offensive graven images the Roman army carried. However, Vitellius himself accompanied Herod Antipas to Jerusalem, to offer sacrifices and take part in a religious festival that was about to begin.
According to legend, which may have been generated after the fact, when King Aretas learned of the approach of the Roman army, he consulted his diviners. They told him that it was impossible for the Romans to enter Petra, for one of the three rulers involved would die to prevent it. That is, he who gave the order for war, or he who marched to implement it, or he who defended against it.
Sure enough, Vitellius stayed at Jerusalem for three days. On the fourth day he received word that Emperor Tiberius had died. Thus bereft of the authority under which he marched, Vitellius ordered his army back to Syria and dispersed it to winter billets. Petra was saved. In another generation it would indeed be conquered by Rome, but not while Aretas ruled.
The legend of the gold and silver coins in the great urn exists among the Beduins today. It probably postdated the actual residence of the Nabataeans, but seems appropriate to the spirit of the time.
It is a common perception that the Roman Empire represented a bastion of civilization, in contrast to the barbarians surrounding it. This was not necessarily the case. Rome did possess resources and military capacity that were formidable, and it was these that normally carried the day, rather than any superiority of culture.
Julius Caesar invaded Britain in 55 and 54 B.C., but did not stay. Rome did not actually occupy Britain until the first century A.D., taking over most of it in campaigns dating from A.D. 43 to 84. But it was not an easy island to keep pacified, and even those regions nominally under Roman control could be restive. Roman arrogance and avarice hardly helped the situation.
The kingdom of the Iceni in southeast England rebelled against Rome, but was defeated. A new king, friendly to Rome, was installed, and for a dozen years the kingdom thrived. But in A.D. 59 that king, Prasutagus, died, and things changed. In his will he left the kingdom to the emperor Nero and his own two daughters as co-heirs. He may have been trying to avoid strife, knowing that Rome could not be denied. But his caution was wasted. The Roman procurator, responsible for administration and collection of taxes, was greedy and corrupt even by the standards of those who supported Rome. He ruled that the country of the Iceni was wholly the property of the emperor, and that money given to the leaders of the Iceni had been a loan, not a grant, and was now due for repayment. This was of course not the understanding of the Iceni, and they resisted what seemed like a betrayal of prior understandings.
Meanwhile, the tribe immediately south of the Iceni, the Trinovantes, was chafing because for a decade retiring Roman legionnaires had been driving Britons off their lands and claiming their estates as land grants. The original landholders were being treated like prisoners and slaves. This was colonialism at its worst.
Rome had also issued an edict disarming the Celtic tribes. This was enforced in the client kingdoms as well, and was a further source of anger.
By A.D. 60, relations throughout Britain were severely strained. Most of Rome's British forces were tied down in Wales, where guerrilla attacks were chronic. It would have been a good time for Rome to tread softly. But the tyrannical procurator Catus Decianus had other ideas. He intended to show the difficult natives their place, once and for all.
"THIS IS MISCHIEF," CENTURION ITTAI said as he read the proclamation he had just received. "I shall have to try to reason with Decianus before he brings the whole Isle of Britain down about our ears." He glanced at Lin. "Summon the family; we must have a conference."
"Yes, sir," Lin said, leaving the chamber. She didn't know what was in the scroll, because it had been sealed, but she was sure that trouble was brewing.
First she found her closest brother, Bry. He was her age, twelve, for they were twins. They told each other everything, just as Ned and Jes did, though they did not yet have any secrets as great as those of their older siblings. Bry was in the garden, picking bugs off the cabbages.
"Big family meeting, right now," she cried. "You fetch the men; I'll fetch the women."
"No, we'll fetch together," Bry said, standing and brushing off his shirt. "So you can tell me what this is all about."
"It's because of some official Roman letter Ittai got. A mounted messenger delivered it; I just showed him in to see Ittai. He says it's mischief, and he'll have to go to reason with them. That's all I know."
"Where's the messenger?"
"Jes took him to the kitchen to feed him. He has to wait for Ittai's response, so he can take it back."
"Ittai's treating his wife like a servant?" Bry asked with the hint of a sneer in his voice.
"He had to. She was male." They both laughed, appreciating how Jes fooled visitors by acting like a boy. The not-so-long-married couple had been preparing to ride out around the estate when the messenger arrived.
"You know," Bry said, "I'm glad she married him. We'd have been in trouble, otherwise."
She nodded. Their family had fallen on lean times, and when their big brother Sam's estate had been taken over by the conquering Romans, things had looked bleak indeed. But Jes had found Ittai, and gotten him to ask for this particular estate as his land grant. Because he was a prominent Citizen of Rome and a ranking military officer, with solid military credits, his wish had been granted without question. So he had come as the new owner, but instead of running them off or requiring them to serve him as slaves, he had simply asked for their loyalty. A loyalty he was prepared to return, as a family member. They had sized him up and quickly agreed. As a result, there were no Roman soldiers to enforce estate discipline; Flo and Dirk ran things as they always had. That left Ittai free to ride around with his wife, whom he clearly loved regardless of her dress, and to participate in Roman politics. When any Roman appeared, they all deferred in an obvious manner to the centurion, and indeed he was the head of this hierarchy, but there was no friction. They had nothing to fear from the Romans, in contrast to their neighbors, and Ittai's connections and wealth brought them benefits they would otherwise have lacked. So Ittai was actually no liability; he was contributing in his fashion to the welfare of the family. Jes had not only gotten rid of their liability, Sam's former wife Wona; Jes had become their salvation by marrying surprisingly and extremely well. She had seemed the least likely prospect for such a thing. That was part of what was in the centurion's favor: he had recognized Jes's worth, and accepted her as she was. A woman who liked looking like a man, at times, but who was very much female inside.
They arrived at the wall that Sam was constructing. There had been some depredations by wild pigs and so they were walling off this section, to protect their delicate vines. Snow was helping him, placing small stones in the chinks to hold the big ones in place. Sam liked this heavy work; it gave him brute exercise. Lin liked Snow; she was a nice person, and she shared this family's propensity for a prominent defect: her body was lovely, but her face was downright homely. It was Lin's hand rather than her face that was defective, but she related well.
"Family meeting," Bry called as they approached. "Ittai thinks there's going to be trouble."
Snow grimaced. "We've seen enough of that already." It was an understatement, for her own life; her entire village had been destroyed in a raid, and only Sam's presence had saved her from death. Sam had unknowingly done himself a giant favor when he saved her. He had in effect exchanged a woman who was ugly inside for one who was ugly of face, and became far happier.
They ran on to locate and notify Dirk and Flo, then found Ned. Before long all of them were assembled at the main house.
Ittai was quite serious. "The brute procurator is set to make an example of the Iceni," he said. "He intends to cow them into complete submission by destroying their royal family in the course of the provincialization of the kingdom. Their queen Boudica will be demoted to servitude. I am directed to attend, as a gesture of Roman unity in this matter."
Jes shook her head. "Queen Boudica will never submit to that. There'll be rebellion if they try. The Iceni are fierce."
The others nodded. Their own tribe, the Trinovantes, had had their brushes with their neighbors to the north, before the Roman conquest, and knew their mettle. There had been peace only because the Iceni had remained nominally independent as a client kingdom, with their own leadership in place. Roman support had enabled the Iceni to gain advantage over other neighbors and to prosper. But if the Romans now proposed to humiliate Boudica, the widow of their king, there would be mischief indeed.
"I shall try to persuade the procurator of the folly of this step," Ittai said. "But he is a greedy and pig-headed man, and I fear I will not be successful. So while it would be a betrayal of my status as a Roman to suggest that any royal Iceni try to escape while they can, it may be that someone will convey some such warning to them."
Lin saw Ned smile, and Jes, and then the others. Someone would certainly warn the queen of the Iceni, if she had not already gotten news.
"I must attend, but there is no reason to let the estate be idle," Ittai continued. He glanced at Sam. "I trust you and Flo can handle things in my absence." He always gave Sam nominal precedence in the family, though they all knew that it was Flo Sam listened to, and Dirk who made most of the decisions, after consulting with Ned.
"Yes," Sam said.
"I think Bry and Lin should come with me, along with my wife, of course. But it is probably best to travel as a party of four males."
Lin smiled. She could pretend to be a boy readily enough, as she had not yet flowered into a woman. She had done so before. She knew she would enjoy the adventure.
Ittai wrote out a message, rolled and sealed the scroll, and gave it to Lin to give to the messenger. They would set out on the next day, and be there by the end of the third day hence.
Lin was excited. She had never before been to the capital city of the Iceni. She knew that Bry was similarly thrilled. It should be a great adventure, even if they only tagged along to act as servants to Ittai and Jes.
"We'll have to be the ones to warn the queen," Bry said.
That was right, because most of the rest of the family wasn't coming. That made it twice as exciting.
They rode out next day, all garbed as males, riding good horses. Ittai wore his centurion uniform, and looked very bold. He was retired, but Lin knew that no Roman ever retired completely; he could always be recalled to service in an emergency. As he had been, in effect, this time. He surely had not been required to attend just for his appearance; the procurator wanted a competent officer present, just in case the situation got complicated.
Soon enough the long ride became dull, as they passed field after field, and forest after forest, and village after village. Lin managed to snooze on the horse. She was glad when they paused for a luncheon from their saddlebags, and glad when they came to an inn for the night. Ittai and Jes got a good room, posing as a Roman traveler and his lackey. Bry and Lin had to sleep in the stable with the horses, of course, but there was a point to that: to be sure that neither their goods nor the horses themselves were stolen. They did get a good supper inside, at least. Bry covered for Lin when she went out back for a natural function; she was garbed as a boy, and didn't want anyone seeing her where it counted. He had a good deal of sympathy, she knew, because of the time he had had to masquerade as a girl.
In three days they came to the Iceni capital. Now Jes had to resume female aspect, so as to be introduced to the procurator with her husband. Bry and Lin took the horses to the stable reserved for the Romans, and saw to their well-being. There were many other horses already there; a surprising number of Romans had come in. Then they returned to attend the centurion.
"The formal meeting is tomorrow," Ittai said, glancing at them. "Perhaps you boys have other business in the interim."
Oh, yes: they had to warn the queen that there was real mischief afoot, in the off chance she didn't already know it. They went back out into the town.
The queen's residence was clear enough; it was the grandest structure in the settlement. But it was well guarded, and the guards were not about to let two stray boys in. However, they were prepared. Lin changed into female garb, with gloves on her hands to cover her fingers, and they approached in humble fashion.
The gate guard frowned. "What do you want, child?"
Lin smiled. She was young, but knew she was very pretty in the face. "My brother and I have a gift for the younger princess," she said. "May we see her?"
"No." The guard turned away.
"Thank you," Lin said sweetly, and slipped by him. Bry followed.
"Hey!" The guard turned, but the two were already well inside the compound. He surely realized that it could be difficult to catch two children, and he didn't care to make a scene for nothing. What could they do? There were other guards inside; let them stop the intruders, who were probably harmless anyway.
In this manner they passed a second guard. But the third would have none of it. Lin smiled again, most winsomely, she hoped. It was fun practicing her womanly wiles, which she hoped would be truly effective when she matured. "We have this fine necklace for the princess. Please, sir, let us give it to her; then we will be on our way, we promise."
"No! Begone before I cudgel you."
But another figure appeared, and the guard hesitated. It was a richly garbed young woman not far beyond Lin's own age. Lin could not help admiring her dress and hair. This was clearly a person of note, despite her youth. "What is it?" she inquired.
"Oh, Princess!" Lin exclaimed, making what she hoped was not too great an assumption. "I have a gift for you!" She held up the necklace.
"Why thank you," the princess said, accepting it. "I am Wildflower, daughter of Queen Boudica. Who are you?"
"Lin, servant to Centurion Ittai."
The princess glanced sharply at her. "A Roman?"
"And I bring a message," Lin said quickly. "I hear things, because they don't notice servants. The Romans are planning mischief. You and the queen must flee."
The princess laughed. "They wouldn't dare."
Lin shook her head. "Please, Princess Wildflower! I heard my master say that the procurator was a greedy and pig-headed man who wants to make an example. Please get clear of him while you can."
"I don't care how greedy and piggish he is," the princess said with a toss of her locks. "All Romans are that way. Mother simply will not allow any foolishness. The Romans are here by our sufferance, and if they get difficult, we'll throw them out. Mother will establish that at the meeting tomorrow. She will be very firm."
"But—"
Wildflower smiled patronizingly. "I'm sure you mean well, and I thank you for the nice necklace; I'll wear it tomorrow. But you haven't seen Mother in action. No one tells her no."
Lin saw that it was hopeless. "Please, at least tell her," she said. "So she will be prepared, just in case. I hope you're right."
"Of course I'm right." The princess turned away and disappeared into a hall.
"Well, we tried," Bry said consolingly.
"We tried," Lin echoed.
They walked on out, and the guards ignored them.