The Arkadians

by Lloyd Alexander

  "It seems easy enough to me," I answer. "Break down the gates, and there you are."

  "At this, he laughs in my face and tells me how they've tried that a dozen times. The gates are too strong, no way to breach them.

  "In that case," I answer, "find a means to make the townsfolk themselves open the gates. Lure them out, then rush in as soon as the gates are ajar."

  "Do you think we haven't tried?" says Strong-of-Will. "Useless. No, the trick's to get a few of my people inside and open the gates for us. And you, young fellow-melad, you tell me how to do that and, by heaven, I'll sail you home on one of our ships. We've got a fleet of them moored down there in the cove."

  "Consider it done," say I, my mind running fast as a sea wind. And, after a little thought and calculation, I shaped a plan for him then and there. In sum: Use the timbers from one of his ships to build a great wooden jackass with a hollow belly big enough to hide a couple dozen warriors. First, I thought of a horse, but an ass struck me as being more insulting. Once the contraption's done, Strong-of-Will must proclaim loud enough for all the town to hear that the siege is over, everyone's going home, and here's a little gift expressing our opinion of you. Then, the warriors make a show of leaving, but stay lurking nearby.

  "I'll miss my guess," I tell Strong-of-Will, "if the townsfolk don't haul the thing in as a prize of war and hold a triumphant celebration. At the right moment, your fellows climb out, unbar the gates, and the town's yours."

  "To keep a long tale short," Oudeis went on, "Strong-of-Will agreed. It took a good while, but I built that wooden jackass practically single-handedly. My plan worked exactly as I said it would. I'm sorry it did. That day still gives me nightmares.

  "Strong-of-Will and his warriors got through the opened gates. I tagged along and saw it all. They burned that pretty little town to the ground, put every man to the sword; most of the women, too-the lucky ones. They found the runaway couple in the house of the lad's father. No more than half-grown youngsters, scared witless, huddled in a comer, clasping arms around each other. Strong-of-Will killed them both with one blow. He was bloody to the elbows, happy as if he was at a birthday party."

  Oudeis waved a hand, as if brushing spiderwebs from his face. There was only the lap-lap of waves for a time, then he spoke again.

  "Strong-of-Will was good as his word, I'll say that much. He gave me a ship and crew. That's the last I saw of him."

  "And so," said Lucian, "you got home."

  Oudeis shook his head. "The ship foundered in a storm, all hands lost but me. I was washed ashore, who knows where, more dead than alive. From then on, I think I was a man accursed. The harder I tried to reach home, the farther I got from it. Oh, I could tell you how a one-eyed lunatic blacksmith wanted to chop me up for his dinner. And a dozen more disasters. But those are tales for another day."

  "Do you believe a word of that?" whispered Franta. "Dolphins, wooden jackasses, cannibal blacksmiths-"

  "It's a great story, true or not." Lucian turned to Oudeis, who was staring into the water. "At the end, though, you must have found your way to Metara."

  "Aye, after seven years," said the ship master. "As soon as I docked there, I went straight to Mirina's house. In I walk and there she is at her loom, winsome as ever. Mirina, my sweet," I call out, "I'm home!" She stares as if the eyes would pop out of her head. "Why, honey-girl," I say, "don't you know me?"

  "You?" she cries. "Gone for three months, was it? And back seven years later?"

  "And she throws a pot at my head, follows it up with other crockery, lays into me with a broom until I had to run for my life. I set sail that instant and never again showed my face in Melara. I took up the cargo trade once more, with hard years of little luck. But, at the end, the Lady of Wild Things gave me safe haven where you found me. Now, here I'm off to sea with a jackass aboard-which no doubt pays me back for building that wooden one."

  "I've heard your account," came a voice from astern. "You're perfectly welcome to blame me for your troubles."

  "Ops!" burst out Lucian as the scapegoat crawled from a hiding place amid the pile of provisions. "How did you manage-?"

  "I brought him with me," said Joy-in-the-Dance.

  19 - The Voyages of Lucian

  "That's a harrowing tale, Oudeis." Joy-in-the-Dance untangled herself from the lines and netting. She winked at the ship master. "It gets better each time you tell it." Lucian jumped up to embrace her; but, while his heart leaped, his feet slipped, and he promptly fell flat on his face as the vessel pitched on the rising waves. Oudeis cocked an eye at the girl, with as much fondness as astonishment. "Is this the lass I used to bounce on my knee? Eh, little lady, I've not seen you since you went off to be a pythoness. But, here, here, what are you up to? I hadn't counted on two more passengers."

  "Ops and I got aboard while you were all traipsing back and forth loading things. It seemed the best way to save a lot of discussion."

  "When your mother sent you away," began Lucian, picking himself up, "I thought I'd never see you again, never have a chance to tell you-"

  "You truly are an Aiee-Ouch. You actually imagined I'd sit and twiddle my thumbs while you went sailing off? I told Ops he should stay behind, but he wouldn't hear of it."

  "I felt it was my duty to be with all of you," said Ops. "So many things can go amiss on a sea voyage, I knew you'd need my services. Laurel-Crown and I have much to talk about and much to tell each other, but I promised I'd come back to her and she promised to wait for me."

  "For you-for a pythoness-to disobey the Lady is bad enough," Lucian began. "Worse, because you did it on my account."

  "There are going to be serious consequences," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "I know that. But I made my choice." Her face fell for an instant. "Do you wish I hadn't come?"

  "I've heard all I want," broke in Oudeis. "Get those oars in the water," he ordered Lucian and Catch-a-Tick. "You, too, Oops, or whatever your name is. Hop to it."

  "My good ship master," said Fronto, "you don't intend rowing all the way to Callista, do you?"

  "Pull for shore," snapped Oudeis. "You, little lady, are going home."

  "No, I'm not," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "Since I'll be punished anyway, I might as well be punished after I get back. And you, Oudeis, you know what it's like to be apart from someone."

  Oudeis muttered and rubbed a big hand over his jaw. That instant, a brisk wind rose; the sail caught it and billowed taut. The waves heaved up and the little ship leaped ahead. Oudeis seized the rudder as the vessel sped seaward.

  "It seems that Earth-Shaker's made the decision," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "He must have enjoyed that drink of wine."

  By dawn, the shore lay far behind and they were in open sea, waves flashing in the early sunlight, the wind never slackening. The craft skimmed along faster than Lucian had imagined. With Joy-in-the-Dance beside him, the salt spray stinging his face, the vessel plunging up and down, he had never been in better spirits.

  "Your mother couldn't tell me my best occupation," he said. "But here aboard-it's marvelous, it makes me wonder if-"

  He broke off, sprang to his feet, and raced for the side. Fronto was already there, his neck stretched over the rail. Lucian followed the poet's example. The seafaring life, he decided, had its disadvantages.

  He did not die. He was sorry about that, for he would have welcomed the relief. The endless tossing of the ship, the horizon tilting every which way, the blinding sun, the stink of pitch in his nostrils turned his stomach inside out and made his head reel. Joy-in-the-Dance, Ops, and even Catch-a-Tick were in fine fettle and hearty appetite, while Lucian spent much of his time hanging his head over the side. Franta was in worse case. The miserable poet, his white-tipped nose gone pale green, sprawled on the deck, pitifully wheezing and groaning.

  "Stop the boat," he wailed. "Heave-ho, or whatever you fellows do. I care no longer what becomes of me. I'll gladly stay a jackass forever. Only put me ashore."

  "You'll find your sea legs," said Oudeis, unmoved
. "Get up, you lubber, and stir yourself. Keep carrying on like that and, yes, by thunder, I'll maroon you on the first spit of land I come to."

  "Don't talk about spit," whimpered Franta.

  Oudeis now handed out the straw hats from the pile of gear. To accommodate Franta, he cut ear holes in the crown of one and set it on the poet's head.

  "It's quite becoming," remarked Joy-in-the-Dance. "You look very jaunty."

  "Thank you," said Franta. "I'll be sure to wear it when I jump overboard."

  As for Lucian, the ship master gave him so many tasks that he had no time to be seasick. More frustrating, he and Joy-in-the-Dance stood separate watches, and he found no right moment for speaking his heart to her. He cheered himself by turning his thoughts to the ship master’s tale.

  "What a storyteller Oudeis is," he said to Fronto, who had recovered enough to sit up on his haunches. Lucian shook his head in admiration. "I hope he'll tell us more of his tales."

  "He's one of the best I've heard," said Fronto, "but that wooden jackass could stand a little improvement. I understand why he used an ass. Even so, I'd change it to a horse. Though I hate to admit it, a jackass doesn't have the same elegance, that certain flair. And another thing: Strong-of-Will and his men were a grubby lot of provincials. That doesn't exactly pluck at the imagination."

  "You could change that, too," Lucian suggested. "You could make his army bigger, with, say, a thousand ships. And the town bigger, with huge, high walls, topless towers. And have the bravest townsmen come out and do mortal combat with Strong-of-Will's people. You know, slashing each other with swords, the kind of thing you expected from the lyrikos. Maybe on horseback-"

  "Why, my boy, I believe you're beginning to see how it's done. Yes, of course. Mighty warriors with plumed helmets, powerful thews, girded loins, and all that. An array of proud and noble heroes-"

  "Bilge," said Oudeis, passing by. "I've seen many a brawl and no heroes in any. Unless you count some wretch knifed in the belly, holding his guts in his hands and bawling for his mamma. Nobility? Not a speck."

  "Even so," said Lucian, "I'd think you'd need glorious heroes in a tale for people to admire and praise and be inspired to act like them."

  "Eh, lad, you may be right." Oudeis shrugged. "Otherwise, who'd ever want to go fighting?"

  A few days out, after taking stock of the dwindling stores, Oudeis declared that he would have to make for the nearest port. He had sighted land and what looked like a harbor off the starboard bow.

  "I don't know the place. There's more islands in these waters than even I've seen. I wanted to wait and tie up in a snug little place where I'm well known, but I can't risk it. We're too low on supplies. So, I'm putting in as quick as I can."

  "By all means!" cried Fronto. "For mercy's sake, let me stand on dry land until my stomach and I are friends again. Don't tell me about getting my sea legs. You forget I have four of them to deal with."

  As Oudeis set a landward course, the harbor came in to better view. Fishing boats and a long ship, its black sail reefed, were at the wharves. Lucian made out a pleasant looking, unwalled town, some tree-lined avenues, and a large, stone building overlooking all. Oudeis lowered the sail and ordered his crew to the oars. Fronto clambered to the prow and stood like a long-eared figurehead.

  "They've seen us. They're waving," he called. "Some of them have bunches of flowers. A happy welcome, indeed. Faster! Pull hard on those oars."

  With Fronto urging more effort, and Oudeis skillfully steering past the harbor bar, the ship glided into port and slid gently to an open pier. Some of the townsfolk ran to catch the line that Oudeis cast over the side. Others set up a gangplank and beckoned the visitors to step ashore.

  "Keep your mouth shut. Say nothing," Lucian warned as Fronto, with a joyful hee-haw, clambered onto the dock, Catch-a-Tick at his heels. Having secured his ship, Oudeis strode after Lucian, Joy-in-the-Dance, and Ops. A crowd had gathered, smiling and offering flowers to the newcomers.

  "I don't quite catch what they're talking about," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "The language is a little bit of Mother Tongue but mostly something else. The island's Tauras that's what it sounds like. I'm not sure, but they seem to think we've come to collect some kind of tribute."

  "I'll sort it out," said Oudeis. "Seafarers understand each other."

  By this time, an escort of warriors in helmets and breastplates had pressed through the crowd and pointed up toward the town. "They want us to see their king," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "So I gather, anyway. His name's Bolynthos."

  "I look forward to the opportunity," Fronto said under his breath. "As a poet, I was never invited to meet royalty."

  "Nor will you meet any this time," said Oudeis. "You stay with me. A palace is no place for an ass; not the four-legged kind, at any rate. I'll need you to help load provisions."

  "The Bull Court?" Joy-in-the-Dance murmured to Lucian as the warriors formed ranks around them. "Is that what they're saying?"

  The escort marched them along an avenue lined with onlookers, cheering and tossing flower petals. The building that Lucian had sighted from offshore-the royal palace, he supposed-bulked larger than it had first appeared. Of heavy stone slabs, it was flat roofed, almost windowless. Adjoining it rose a circular structure, a sort of amphitheater with arched entryways. Beyond the palace gates, at the end of a flagstoned passage, attendants flung open bronze portals to an audience chamber. Rows of torches blazed, a sickly sweet aroma of incense hung in the air. On a throne of ornately carved wood, a powerfully built man sprawled lazily. A purple cloak was draped over his shoulders, a gem-studded leather collar circled his thick neck. For a moment, he observed the arrivals with vague interest, then made an offhand gesture for them to approach.

  "King Bolynthos?" Joy-in-the-Dance courteously began in Mother Tongue. "We thank you for your welcome and-"

  "Not asked to speak," the king interrupted, in a rough version of Mother Tongue. He had the dark brown eyes of an ox and they seemed too large for their sockets. His long black hair had been curled into ringlets around a wide and bulging brow. He turned his massive head toward Lucian. "This man answers."

  "This woman answers." Joy-in-the-Dance said in Mother Tongue. "I am the one who speaks for all of us."

  "Silence!" The king's eyes suddenly widened to show white all around, and dark blood rushed to his face. Just as quickly, his features relaxed into a crooked smile. "You dance well for me, that is all." He returned to Lucian. "Say on."

  Lucian glanced at Joy-in-the-Dance, who shrugged and translated the king's words. He began slowly, "We come from Arkadia, most of us. We have stopped here to buy-"

  Bolynthos scowled and waved a hand laden with bracelets and rings. "Arkadia? I know of Arkadia. Beyond the sea. The rest-I cannot understand your tongue. Let the woman address the Bull King."

  "Your Majesty," said Joy-in-the-Dance, holding down her annoyance, "we stopped for food and water. We must keep on our way. We seek no tribute from you."

  "From me?" Bolynthos flung back his head and bellowed with laughter. "I do not give. You give."

  "There's a misunderstanding," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "We have no tribute."

  "You do," said Bolynthos. "All of you. Were you not told? The tribute is-your lives."

  "That," said Joy-in-the-Dance, "is a very serious misunderstanding."

  20 - Asterion

  For Lucian, a number of daring possibilities sprang to mind: flinging himself bodily on the king, who had folded his arms and was grimly smiling at his captives; or snatching a sword from one of the guards; or taking hold of Joy-in-the-Dance and dashing headlong from the audience chamber; or signaling Ops to join him in fighting off the warriors while the girl and Catch-a-Tick made their escape. He did, as it turned out, none of these. In fact, before he could weigh the advantages and disadvantages of his choices, he was already being hauled away by the guards and punched or kicked when he struggled and tried to drag his heels; what he mostly did was to shout indignant protests and colorfu
l threats. It took him a few moments to realize that Joy-in-the-Dance was no longer with him.

  By then, he was being frog-marched down one passageway after the other, with so many twists and turns, so many dark galleries, ramps, flights of stone steps going up and down that he entirely lost his bearings. He had not the vaguest notion where he was or, even if he could break loose, how to find his way out.

  Ops kept a cautious but alert silence. Catch-a-Tick pranced along, not the least dismayed.

  "Aiee-Ouch, that was a clever trick to get us out of the throne room," he whispered. "Who'd have thought of letting them drag us off?" When Lucian only shook his head, Catch-a-Tick gave a knowing wink. "Right. Not a word. They might overhear us."

  Lucian, more than half out of his wits over the unknown fate of Joy-in-the-Dance, was too distressed to correct the boy's admiring view. Also, he was dazzled a moment by sudden light after so many dim corridors; for his captors now thrust their prisoners into a large stone chamber, where afternoon sun poured through a long, narrow grating in the far wall. Blinking in the glare, he first made out a huddle of shadows: some dozen men in dirty tunics, in coarse shirts, or stripped to the waist. Catch-a-Tick ran to peer through the bars. Ops, hands on hips, stood observing appraising as these captives got to their feet and gathered around the newcomers, talking all at once.

  "I don't know what you're saying," Lucian broke in, recognizing only a word here and there. "Does no one speak Arkadian?"

  "I do." A tall, reddish-haired young man approached, and the others drew aside to let him pass. "Why are you here? Bolynthos has no claim on Arkadia."

  After Lucian explained that they had merely stopped to take on food and water, Asterion, as he named himself, smiled bitterly. "A costly mistake. Alas that you ever set foot on Tauras. This is the time when Bolynthos receives his tribute."