THE TIDES OF TIME

by John Brunner

  “She—uh—she tamed the wild man. Not only that: she gave herself to him, even though…”

  “Jealousy! Jealousy!” Cornax crowed. “I see it now! You wanted her for yourself!”

  The other stiffened. “That has nothing to do with it!”

  “What does, then?”—with a positive guffaw.

  “She went out to him farded and girdled like a whore, who had never yielded to any of our men! And next day she showed him to the folk, holding her hand as meek as—as anything!”

  Cornax became abruptly sober.

  “There’s a story I heard when I was on garrison duty on the Persian frontier. It concerned a giant created by the gods to overthrow a king, and—”

  “Right! Right! The king tricked the gods and sent a harlot in all her finery to seduce him—”

  “And they became the fastest friends!” Cornax jumped to his feet. “Oh, if I could take such a man to the emperor, with proof of the story, and the woman along with him!…”

  “Excuse me, sir, but I was under the impression that it was the black man that interested you, not the woman!”

  “Oh, go hire an Egyptian surgeon and ask him to sew your head back on,” Cornax answered crossly. “I don’t want her for myself! But surely it cannot totally have escaped the attention of you and yours that the emperors nowadays routinely consider themselves as gods! Here’s a myth come to life, precisely what any emperor will pay a fortune for, and you wouldn’t even have mentioned it if I hadn’t pressed you! May Jupiter Tonans visit all the days of your life with thunder and lightning—well-aimed lightning!”

  Swaying drunkenly, he yelled at his escort, dozing beside the entrance.

  “Believe it or not, they’ve got an Enkidu here!”

  “You don’t say, sir!” one of the men answered cheekily. “What’s that when it’s at home, if I may make so bold?”

  “Fool! It’s not a what, it’s a who!”

  A surge of acidity rose in the back of Cornax’s throat. For a moment he feared he was about to throw up in the presence of inferiors. Recovering, he went on:

  “Just for that, Charon-fodder, you can head back to the ship and turn out the entire squad! At the double!”

  Each and every time that Anastasia returned to the cave where she had found refuge—which was neither hers, nor her man’s, nor anybody’s, but a gift of Mother Earth, who had reared up in fury (so it was said) in the not too distant past—she had to repeat, as though it were the first time over again, the actions that had led her to make a home here. The paradox obsessed her: she had tamed what everybody else dismissed as a wild beast, although it walked, and after a fashion it could talk, and in the other respects she had learned about was entirely human… and still, whenever she returned from the town, she wheedled, and lured, and cajoled…

  She had been thinking “it.” She canceled the concept violently. “It” was the pronoun her language applied to animals, or a child not yet of an age to reason. The lover she had chosen, strange and dreadful though his mien might be, was neither. He had proved it by his amazing tenderness and the gratitude which sometimes made him moisten her breast with tears.

  As for the tumult he had created in her body…

  For the first time she entered their den without setting down food beforehand, to tempt and reassure him.

  Darker than shadows, he emerged from shadows and caught her in his arms, and took her swiftly in the way she most enjoyed—and then again.

  Not until afterward was she able to utter the warning that she wished to convey. Then, slowly and with many misunderstandings, she explained that right now, right here on the island, were more of the people who had made him a slave.

  She could smell the rage that rose in him.

  But it was overcome by the realization that, thanks to her warning, he had a chance to hide. Moreover, surprisingly, he grasped the import of the ceremony, taught by Phoebe, which she next proceeded to perform. In the town there were not a few who claimed he had been allured by nothing more than her body, as a beast would follow its she in heat. That, though, could not be true, for unlike most of the island’s menfolk he had waited for her invitation instead of jumping at her like a billy goat in rut. The Romans talked a lot, so she had heard, about “civilization”—essentially, the good manners that permitted many people to live together—but, given the Romans she had met, and the one who had kidnapped her uncle and cousins whom she hoped never to meet, or she would surely kill him, she was satisfied that this person whom everybody else called wild and dangerous was gentler and kinder than a thousand Romans added together.

  Now, therefore, she produced the herbs she had gathered on her way back from town and put them to use. Squatting on his haunches, he watched with interest, and perhaps more than a little comprehension.

  The task complete, she leaned back against the rocks. “In spite of all,” she said, “they will come after us.”

  He grinned at her, as much as to say, “Let them be fool enough to try!”

  And took her hand, leading her away from the cave—certainly the first place the Romans would head for—to lie out on the bare ground like a fox or a bird.

  Wrapping her cloak tightly around her against the chill of evening, Anastasia lay down in the spot he chose for her. She felt apprehensive despite her precautions. The baby was kicking vigorously today, and she foresaw how eventually it would punish her with its feet, whenever she set it to her nipple, for the crime of expelling it from the warm safe womb into the harshness of the outer world.

  That, though, was the story of human existence, and above all of this child’s parents’. She had undergone much suffering; very likely life had been still crueler to its father, though she would not be sure how cruel until he learned enough words to tell her. He had not even boasted a pronounceable name until she bestowed on him the one that sprang first to mind: the wellborn man. It suited his noble bearing, despite the scars on his wrists and ankles which indicated that he had endured ropes and chains. Neither manacles nor fetters had closed around his soul…

  “And our baby will have a freer life than either of us!” she promised the air as, reposing her confidence in the charm she had cast around the area—and still more in the strong arms of her Evgenos, who had acquired in his distant homeland the warrior’s habit of not leaving anything to chance—she finally allowed herself to doze.

  Tramping along the rough trail toward the south cape, with his crested helmet under his arm, Cornax started to feel distinctly unwell. He ascribed the fact to the badly cooked meal he had eaten, though a nagging suspicion remained that in fact too much Samian was to blame.

  Controlling himself as best he could, he halted before reaching the highest point of the path, and shouted to the squad of men he had led hither.

  “Right! Now you lot fan out, clear across the island! Stay in sight of one another, though! Be prepared to run and help whichever of you spots the Nubian, and don’t let him slip through the line!”

  As they reluctantly complied, he cast a worried glance at the sky. He had thought they were setting out with plenty of daylight ahead of them, more than adequate to catch one unarmed man. Now, however, wintry clouds were drifting from the east, harbingering a sailable wind tonight or at latest by dawn. If by some ill chance they missed the Nubian this evening, would he be justified in staying another day when they were already so badly behind schedule?

  And then a sudden horrifying thought struck him. Was there in fact a Nubian?

  The more he reflected on the yarn which had been spun him, the more improbable it seemed. To start with, how about the idea that a slave could have arrived here after jumping overboard from a passing ship? If he were strong and healthy enough to reach the shore, he’d be valuable enough for his master to chase after him; if he were underfed and sickly, not worth pursuing, then he wouldn’t be up to swimming any considerable distance.

  Suppose the story were a complete fabrication, a subtle way for his host to get his own back after al
l the insults Cornax had lavished on Greeks in general and him in particular? Visions of the way the townsfolk might now be laughing at him filled the Roman’s mind. He clapped his hand to his forehead. What a fool he’d been to swallow the tale at face value without questioning a few more islanders in search of corroboration!

  He kept his misgivings to himself, but self-directed anger made his face as threatening as the sky.

  There came a sudden shout. Excitedly he swung around, looking for its source. But all that had happened was that one of the men had managed to get himself stung by a belated bee, having trespassed too close to one of the wicker hives which dotted the stony ground.

  “Keep quiet!” Cornax hissed.

  The men around him exchanged glances, and eyebrows were raised. Come to think of it, there wasn’t much point in silence when it wasn’t yet dark…

  Grumpily he trudged onward, wondering how the island could be so much wider than it appeared from the sea.

  Beating the undergrowth, prodding with their spears, the soldiers discovered a starveling bitch, her hindquarters infested with botflies, nursing four blind pups, all of which they promptly killed; a stray goat with a broken foreleg, which they also killed—and cut up and shared, since it would make a tasty supper; a boy and girl aged about twelve, who had come this way to play games their parents would have disapproved of, and ran away in terror; a cache of oil jars, presumably stolen, three full and one half-full; the skull of a donkey; and a great many other miscellaneous items.

  But there was no sign of a Nubian, or even of the woman alleged to have taken up with him.

  They regrouped on the crest of the ridge overlooking the south bay. By now it was almost full dark.

  “There’s supposed to be a cave under here—go and check it,” Cornax ordered wearily, indicating the two men nearest him. Then, as they hesitated: “Afraid he’ll ambush you? Jupiter Tonans! All right—six of you go!”

  “There’s nobody here!” came the report a minute later.

  Cornax sighed. Before they regained the ship it would be full dark, and tramping across such rough ground by night was a sure recipe for bruises and sprained ankles. Particularly if what you were looking for didn’t exist!

  He reached a decision. He would confront the man who had sent him on this fool’s errand, and find out once for all whether there was any truth in his story. If not—oh, if not!…

  “Very well,” he muttered in disgruntled tones. “Back to the port. But you’ll have to wait for me a moment.”

  Saying which, he hastily made shift to conceal himself behind the thickest of the nearby bushes.

  Anastasia was awakened by the sound of soft and uncontrollable laughter. She started up in alarm. But the dark form that approached her out of darkness was Evgenos.

  “Have they gone?” she whispered.

  Raising her to her feet, leading her back to the cave, he explained haltingly, with the aid of many gestures hard to make out in the dimness, what it was he found so funny.

  He had outwitted the Romans at every turn. The spot where he had told her to hide was already behind the soldiers when they spread out to search. Having found no trace of their quarry, they had stormed away to the town again, unaware that Evgenos was following them as inconspicuously as a stalking fox.

  On arrival, their officer set about interrogating everybody he met concerning the alleged Nubian. But the islanders were either so afraid of Anastasia’s revenge if they betrayed him, or so eager to see the backs of the Romans, they one and all denied any knowledge of such a person.

  Whereupon, in a towering rage, the officer ordered his soldiers to whip the man who had deceived him until he fell fainting in a pool of his own blood, and furthermore to rape his wife and son, sack his house and make off with everything of any value, including his slaves. Since he was so cordially hated, nobody made a move to intervene.

  Clasping her hands in wonder, Anastasia muttered a prayer of gratitude. Then she thanked her amazing lover in a more direct fashion.

  Later, as they lay close for the sake of warmth, she murmured, “Naruhiko. Of course: Naruhiko!”

  “Hm? What did you say? Was it someone’s name?”

  “Oh, Gene! You know perfectly well it was—and who I mean!”

  “Ah…” He stifled a yawn. “I was half asleep, I’m afraid. What about the guy, anyway?”

  “He was like a Roman in his way, wasn’t he?”

  “Stacy, honey, neither of us ever met him. So what makes you say that?”

  “Oh!”—with a horizontal shrug. “Driven by the same forces: I guess that’s what I’m getting at. He devoted his life to a search for constant excitement, you might say, spiced with a dash of glory now and then. Along came his chance to undergo a unique experience, and if all went well he could rely on adulation for the rest of his life.”

  “What became of him, then?”

  “The place he went to was a world at war—not a cold impersonal war, but a nonstop succession of raiding expeditions, sieges laid and lifted, victories in single combat, the raw material for laudatory ballads which for a while would be on everybody’s lips. Snatches of song celebrating his exploits followed him down the streets of whatever city he wandered to; countless women offered themselves, or their daughters; those whom he had defended against their enemies sought to reward him with silk robes, rare foods, the choicest tea and wine.

  “For all of which he cared not a whit. The only gift he ever accepted was a sword.

  “He felt himself incapable of love—which was one of the reasons he sought violent sensations, as a substitute—but if he did love anything, it was the company of his own kind, in drill before battle, in solemn ceremonies afterward, albeit at the funerals of the fallen. To him the discipline of an army surpassed all forms of art, and the code of honor of its officers was a prize beyond all earthly treasure. There was never any end, in this world he came to, of comradeship or glory… So he thought.”

  “Yet there were flaws in what he took for paradise?” Gene rose on one elbow and gazed at her, almost invisible in the nighttime blackness of the cave.

  Stacy gave a sober nod.

  “To be a paradise for everyone who desired the same from life as he did, it was necessary that the tide of battle turn. Later, he looked back with longing to the last day when it was his name the minstrels sought a rhyme for—his feats of arms which were recounted round the campfire—his command which led the van and broke the enemy. There were just as many valiant achievements to make ballads on, just as many deeds of skill and daring, just as many victories as ever… and, inevitably, just as many defeats.

  “So it became his turn to leave the field weary and alone and beg at the doors of peasant shacks where people hated him and all his kind. Ultimately he was reduced to selling his armor, piece by piece, in order to buy food, and when nothing else was left except his clothes, his shoes, and that single gift he had accepted, his fine sword, he sat cross-legged beneath a tree whose leaves dripped rain, and faced the truth.”

  PART NINE

  THE EXHIBIT is the broken head of an idol.

  It symbolizes an attempt to control the universe

  THE MONTH

  is December

  THE NAME

  is Olga

  Every morning, on a shelf of rock near the cave, there appeared such offerings as the folk of the island could afford. They scarcely amounted to wealth: a bunch of onions, a few figs or olives, a salted fish, a cake of coarse meal mixed with water and charred rather than baked over an open fire, smeared with honey if the god of the weather had been kind.

  But there was always something. Even the advent of the black stranger had interrupted the succession of gifts for only a single day.

  Most of them were brought by children compelled by their parents to scurry through the predawn dark in order to discharge a duty they did not yet understand. Now and then, though, maybe half a dozen times a year, a more substantial donation was silently placed on the ledge under c
over of night: a well-glazed pot, a knife, a fleece or goat hide, even—but this was very rare—a minted coin.

  And such objects presaged a request for the services of the pythoness who dwelt in the cave.

  Typically, next morning there would be someone waiting at the same spot, not a child, but an adult, or at least a youth or girl: wanting to know, perhaps, whether to accept a parent’s dictates concerning a planned marriage; or which of a group of brothers destined to share a minuscule inheritance would fare best if he quit the island to seek his fortune; or how to recant an ill-considered oath without incurring the vengeance of the god whose name had been invoked. This person would have waited since midnight in fear and trembling, for it was no light matter to consult an oracle. Indeed, occasionally the supplicant’s courage failed, and he or she only reappeared days after delivering the necessary fee.

  Once the seeress had had a name like anybody else’s. She had been born here, and grown up, and though her mother had died bearing her a good few relatives survived, so they and sundry others remembered what she had been called in youth. But since she entered into her full powers few people, apart from those who now verged on senility, had referred to her in any other manner than as “One who has lived before.” On the rare occasions when the islanders encountered her, gathering herbs on the ridge that spined Oragalia, or jetsam along its rocky beaches, they reacted in one of two ways: either they beat a prompt retreat, as befitted those who knew about the sacred mysteries but were not party to them, or they ran to her and begged a favorable charm.

  To the latter she was sometimes affable, sometimes tolerant, sometimes insulting. News of her response would spread within hours, and later, in the isolated farmsteads, there would be arguments lasting past sundown about her current mood and what actions of their own might account for it. Every place in the world, it was known, must be under the aegis of some tutelary deity or other, and they and theirs were constantly at loggerheads. They must be, for earth, sea and sky were full of forces surpassing the comprehension of puny humans, and the nearest anyone could come to accounting for them was to invoke the image of a quarrelsome family. It was advisable to keep on the right side of anyone with insight into such arcane matters.