by John Jakes
"But I won't be able to work for months! I'll starve!"
"Not if you get a short loan, my dear."
"Pay the usurious rates of those vile moneylenders? Forty percent? I'll be repaying them the rest of my life! No, Hoptor, I simply can't."
"You certainly can," I returned with confidence, "provided you visit only the moneylender I have in mind. Graspus, at number eighteen. Covet Lane. Do you know the location?"
At her pathetic nod, I continued, "Present yourself at his door this very night, mention my name, and borrow what funds you need. But pay not one zeb over four percent. If he grows testy, simply say that Hoptor the Vintner has not forgotten the matter of the lady barber with the freckles."
"The freckles? The freckles where?"
"Graspus knows where. Now take yourself along, girl, and speedily."
Murmuring, "The lady barber with freckles," and pausing in between these murmurs to heap gratitude upon my head, she disappeared with what I must admit was a highly comical waddle.
And after she was gone, the air was noticeably fresher. The unfortunate creature had an aversion to soap, no doubt due to her coarse upbringing. Despite her now-bloated charms, she would simply never be welcome in my vineyard. However, I was delighted to have assisted her, particularly since Graspus was a bad sort anyway, and needed to be reminded from time to time of his perverse antics with the lady barber.
As a result of my various encounters with the citizens of the street, I was falling behind in my delivery schedule, and now hastened to catch up. I drove my ass at a rapid clip, ignoring many unsettling creaks and snaps from the cart axle. In similar fashion, I paid little heed to the bumps and thumps issuing repeatedly from the interior of the large cask. My vintage, it seemed, was growing equally aware of the many delays.
I drove on through the darkening streets, as lamps began to gleam in the apartments of Atlantis. But, as it turned out, swift passage to the abode of Noxus was not decreed by the fates.
Once more I was confronted by a press of citizenry, this three times larger than the one which had gathered to hear the rantings of the seeress. The way ahead was totally blocked. I was in process of turning my ass's head around to take a different route down an alley—in short temper, I don't mind telling you!—when I recognized the spindly figure with the long white beard clinging to the fountain, haranguing the mob.
"The government is corrupt! Yonder in the great palace, its figureheads loll in indolence, while we, the long-suffering citizens of Atlantis, pay the penalty. The rulers may ignore the populace at their peril! Dire times are coming! Have you not all heard that a dead hog was found in the temple only last evening?"
"Three dead hogs!" someone cried.
"No, it was two," I exclaimed in some irritation to the last speaker, who was standing directly in front of my ass, impeding further movement. "Will you kindly step aside so that I may turn my cart around?"
"You heard it, citizens!" shrilled the old man. "Four dead hogs. And triplets born backward with cauls this very day! Those are not the only portents, either. Constantly, we are warned of the utter inadequacy of those who presume to call themselves our betters! I have seen heavenly discs flashing in the very sky which arches above us—surely a sign that the gods are displeased!"
In truth, I was more intrigued by this discourse than I had been by the outpourings of the seeress, for the speaker in this case was a person of some note. My ass, however, balked in its efforts to answer my tugs on the reins and, not remotely interested in accounts of omens and portents, took matters into its own jaws, as it were. It stretched its head forward to the citizen who refused to move, and bit his backside.
Pulling a dirk, the man shrieked, "Come down from that seat, you fat baboon, and you'll see that you can't get away with that sort of thing!"
Unsettled, I answered, "I am not responsible for the actions of my animal, sir."
"We'll see about that!" the fellow returned, approaching me with menacing motions of his knife. All at once, thank the gods, several others in the throng came to my assistance, exclaiming variously:
"Leave him alone, you lout!"
"That's Hoptor the Vintner, don't you recognize him?"
"Trifle with Hoptor and we'll split your head open."
In the gloom, I failed to recognize those who spoke, but doubtless I had assisted them at some point in the past, as I had assisted others this same evening. Indeed, I would wager that fully eighty percent of the citizens of fair Atlantis were in my debt in some fashion, and I was a popular figure, if I say so myself. The various snarls and growls cowed the bully boy. With a last oath, he put up his knife, while I congratulated myself once again upon my philosophy of always being of service to my fellow man by means of my wide acquaintance with nearly every facet of street life and commerce. When one mentioned the name of Hoptor the Vintner, one conjured with a true talisman!
"—our king, Geriasticus X, is simple and ineffectual. His queen, Voluptua, is scandalous and depraved. Together, they govern ill, and thus invite the wrath of the gods, which we have seen recently manifested in the increasingly frequent portents—"
I lost much of the rest of it, for curious though I might be, I could no longer delay reaching the house of Noxus. At the same time, the crowd continued to grow, for as I have suggested, the speaker, Babylos, was a man of note. Of noble birth, he had once been considered the Island Kingdom's foremost scholar. He studied the stars, assaulted convention, and pulled down popular idols at every opportunity. Now, in his senility, his outpourings concerning "heavenly discs" and other occult visions had grown familiar. While no one quite took the poor old scarecrow seriously, he yet managed to attract considerable attention.
"—I tell you, citizens, our rulers are so corrupt that we shall inevitably suffer the fury—"
Screams, outcries, and other alarms indicated that the gathering was about to be interrupted, to no good end for Babylos. I spied the gleam of armor, heard the tramp of boots along a nearby street. Babylos would learn to speak against the government in public!
But I confess I was less concerned for him than for my own person, especially considering the vintage in the cask which creaked back and forth on the bed of my cart.
Carrying torches and shouting, "Hup, hup!" in that mindless fashion of theirs, the soldiers marched into the far side of the crowd, causing additional outcries and general consternation.
Immediately I recognized their leaders, including General Pytho, in person, and at his side his toady, Captain Num. Both were highly unpopular with the masses. Pytho was His Exaltedness' commander-in-chief, which bespoke the importance the palace laid on silencing the voice of Babylos. That, in turn, testified to the general shakiness of the throne.
"Haul the wretch down from there!" General Pytho commanded.
"Yes, we'll teach you to cry treason in the streets, you dog," squealed Captain Num, himself a dog trained to bark at his master's every twitch.
Torches flared, swords flashed, the soldiers broke cadence to shove forward in the crowd in a boorish fashion, and I abandoned philosophic speculations on why the crowned heads should be so concerned about the rantings of one doddering old astrologer. The presence of Pytho and Num had intensified my desire to be away from the vicinity, and I lost no time in maneuvering my ass into position for a speedy flight back up the street by which I had arrived.
* Two *
Happily for me, the crowd began to hiss, boo, and pelt the soldiers with offal and decayed fruit peelings. Very shortly, the entire street seemed to be in motion, all persons swaying back and forth like waves, a queasy effect, I don't mind admitting. But it was a useful distraction.
On the balconies on both sides of the thoroughfare, citizens drawn by the clamor added their shrill abuse to that of the crowd around the fountain. It certainly seemed that the gods were smiling on my head, for my actions went totally unnoticed. I had my ass half turned around, and would shortly be flogging it back around the first corner, to safety.
That shows you how much he knew. Captain Num fought his way to the fountain's base, seized the old man's long beard and tugged ferociously. With a shriek, Babylos toppled from sight.
The soldiers surged forward. I heard the unhappy clink of chains, signifying the old nobleman's imminent incarceration.
Having turned my ass full around, I laid on the little whip. The faithful beast leaped forward so precipitously that I was all but bounced from the seat. I wished to depart speedily, but not that speedily!
The cart bounced and banged over the cobbles while I struggled to check my ass's mad flight. At that point, the gods saw fit to withdraw their favor.
No doubt overstrained by the severe jouncing, the axle whose dangerous condition I had noted earlier cracked completely.
The cart descended to the street. I fell off, striking the roadway with an impact which left me dizzy. My terrified ass sat down on its rump, and I perceived a second, crunching crash whose source, in my addled state, I did not immediately identify.
Tottering to my feet, I applied my lash to the ass's flanks. "Forward, forward, you wretch!"
Some of my acquaintances on the balconies were amused at my plight. Among other impolite rejoinders, I heard, "Hoptor, get a horse!"
I flashed a glance toward the fountain. The crowd continued to surge back and forth, shouting and hissing at the military, who in turn menaced the populace with their weapons. In the throng I glimpsed the ornate helmets of Pytho and Num, but of Babylos there was no sign. The soldiers hadn't spied me yet, but I didn't intend that they should. I began to berate my ass and box its ears with my fists.
"Ooo, look, Hoptor's cask has sprung a leak!"
"Hoptor old boy, where'd you find that juicy vintage?"
"Can I press that little grape, Hoptor you sly fox?"
These and similar hoots caused me to recognize—belatedly!—the source of that second crash. In utter horror, I cried:
"Aphrodisia! Get back in the barrel!"
That will illustrate my state of mind, for of course the poor girl could do no such thing, the cask having rolled off the cart and broken apart, releasing her from its confines.
Her matchless red hair and her sparkling blue eyes were all aglow—flames to illumine my guilt, as it were! And her splendid, not to say maddening, figure was hardly concealed by the diaphanous girdle and metal bosom-cups in which she had attired herself for delivery to Noxus. If this were not calamity enough—my vintage standing in plain sight amid the wreckage of the cask!—the ungrateful minx was crying crocodile tears:
"Hoptor you villain (sob), I'll (sob) have no more!"
I rushed to her side. "Aphrodisia! Beloved! Please be quiet!"
Lovely to look at, and at the same time the very picture of feminine wrath, she stamped her beautiful little foot. "Beloved? Hah! This is the end, Hoptor, the absolute end. I've never stayed in one of those filthy casks such a long time. I thought I would die of suffocation!"
"Kindly control yourself," I whispered with some urgency. "Take note of your surroundings!"
"I'll shout it from the highest roof of the temple!" she exclaimed. "I'm sick of this sort of life. Sick, sick, sick!"
In an effort to convey the seriousness of the situation, I mouthed the word soldiers while hooking a thumb in the direction of the fountain. So far, we had escaped the attention of all but those nearest us in the crowd. But how long could luck hold good, with the citizens on the balconies calling down jests at my expense and rushing indoors to summon their friends to the spectacle?
The trouble with Aphrodisia, you must understand, is that she was a fine girl but a bad vintage.
"I (sob) don't know why I've put up with it (sob) this long!"
"Please, dear," I pleaded, "let's discuss it in private."
"No, I refuse. I'm bruised all over from that unmerciful ride and I demand an answer. Hoptor, when are you going to marry me?"
"Gods!" I raged. "Can't you see that this is entirely the wrong time to discuss such an intimate subject?"
"Oh, you always have some excuse with which to put me off! Oh, you're such a wicked man! Oh, I wish I didn't care for you so!"
Her last words were delivered with what I can only describe as a wail. As she proclaimed them, she flung her arms around me and burrowed her head against my shoulder, which immediately felt as though it had been rained upon. I was in quite a state, I don't mind telling you.
True, I felt a deep affection for Aphrodisia—even love, who could say? But I had been reared by ceaselessly wrangling parents. And the specter of wedded bliss was second only in my mind to disemboweling at the hands of master torturers. Thus I fobbed off Aphrodisia with every conceivable excuse; I would make an unhealthy husband because I was too fat; I was a person of bad character engaged in a criminal trade; I was too old for her. All were true in various degrees, including the last. She was in her tender twentieth year. I was a decade and a half her senior.
To my sorrow, however, on a number of occasions I had impetuously promised to marry her in order to gain her continued cooperation. She refused to understand that one promised many people many things in order to succeed!
"You promised, Hoptor! You swore we'd be wed!"
"And we shall, my dearest, we shall! But let's not settle the mundane details here. I know a tavern nearby. Over a cup of wine—"
"Stop pulling me that way. You just want to get me drunk so I'll forget the whole thing."
"Oh, go ahead and marry her, Hoptor," suggested a man on a balcony. "You're not getting any younger."
"No time like the present," chimed in another. "Why, we can fetch a priest and stage the ceremony right here."
"With the General and his sweetheart for witnesses!" brayed a third.
I was torn between importuning the wailing girl and casting alarmed glances toward the fountain, for Aphrodisia's noise had succeeded in attracting much unwelcome attention. Babylos, no doubt already hustled off in irons, was forgotten as various members of the throng turned in our direction. Death and damnation!
"Aphrodisia, my little darling, unless we get out of here—"
"Not before we get things straight! I'm tired of being a—a common slut. I want to be an honest, respectable woman."
"You'll be a prison inmate if you're not careful," I retorted. She paid absolutely no attention.
"I've suffered you to hire me out to those dreadful old men you call clients (sob) only because I wanted to please you (sob), in the hope you would honor (sob) your promise. But I'll delay no longer. You'll marry me, or—"
"Oh-oh," I said, "now you've done it!"
For mad-eyed Babylos had not yet been hustled away, but was, in fact, just this moment being hauled to jail, his wrists and ankles manacled. The soldiers were bringing him at quick step up the very street where I stood with Aphrodisia, trapped in circumstances which, to my mind, had all the aspects of a bad dream.
At the head of the procession marched General Pytho and that sissy Num. The latter was first to spot us.
"Look, General, it's the Vintner!"
Both halted without giving any signal. Their soldiers behind collided with one another, causing much stumbling and cursing while General Pytho digested the situation, then strutted forward.
The general was a swart, thick-armed man who had to have his armor specially forged in order that it accommodate his swollen belly. Hoptor the Vintner might be called fat, but certainly my excess weight was more pleasingly distributed!
Pytho's pug face displayed a horrid collection of scars, which many of the uninformed attributed to stiff military combat. I, for one, was fully aware that the rogue had schemed his way to power, had never seen battle, and had acquired his unwholesome appearance from the dirks and clutching hands of other officers whom he had stabbed or strangled in order to remove them from his way. He had, in short, climbed to
his station as supreme commander over the corpses of fellow soldiers unfortunate enough to trust him.
If that weren't enough, Pytho was a man of unappetizing personal tastes, witnessed by the fact that his aide and confidante, Captain Num, looked more like a pretty girl than a soldier. To see Num mincing along in breastplate and greaves while batting his curled eyelashes and pursing his pomaded lips certainly lent credence to the contention of those who, like Babylos, argued that the imperial government of fair Atlantis had become rotten to the core.
All this information, needless to say, did not pass through my brain at that particular time. In fact, I was solely concerned with my vulnerable position.
"Well, well," said Pytho, "the Vintner indeed. We've had our eye on you a long time, fellow."
"But now we've caught the pandering wretch with the evidence!" squealed Num, waving a nicely manicured hand at Aphrodisia. I must say that she had finally been shocked into realizing the error of her ways. Once too often she had harangued me about marriage, and she now knew full well that her caterwauling had thrust us into a situation of dire peril. Her blue eyes fairly burned with fright. My heart bled for her only a little less than it did for myself.
"Pandering?" I replied, putting up an indignant front. "Of all the base, ill-founded, ridiculous accusations—!"
"Oh, come on, Hoptor," Pytho barked. "Everyone in Atlantis knows you're the number one peddler of high quality flesh."
"Scandalous lies!"
"And as the protector and guardian of public morals—"
"Outrageous calumny!"
"—I am delighted to place you and your baggage under arrest."
Oaths and jeers from the crowd in the street and on the balconies greeted this sententious announcement. I continued to protest my innocence, but was drowned out by the catcalls echoing from every hand:
"Come off it, beefy! Public morals indeed!"
"The pot's calling the kettle black!"
"How are your morals when you're holding hands with your captain?"
"Silence!" General Pytho screamed, flourishing his sword in a menacing way. All his facial scars turned purple simultaneously. "I'll have every one of you on the gibbet if this insolence continues!"
