by Mika Waltari
The girls and the flute player had disappeared. I rubbed my eyes and remembered as in a dream the touch of the girls’ smooth limbs against mine. There was a bad taste in my mouth and the disorder in the room was even worse. Fragments of expensive vases and cups were strewn over the floor, and in stumbling about we had overturned the Phoenician household god. The ceaseless crowing of the cocks hurt my ears and I decided never again to touch mint-flavored wine.
“Mikon,” I said, “wake up. Wake up and see how we have respected the hospitality of the finest woman in Himera.”
I shook him awake and he sat up, holding his head. I found a bronze mirror, glanced into it, and extended it to Mikon. He looked long at his reflection and finally asked in a thick voice, “Who is that dissolute man staring at me out of that bloated face?”
He sighed deeply. Then, suddenly overcome by realization, he cried out, “Turms, my friend, we are lost! At least I have drawn down upon myself the most fearful curse, for if I remember correctly I talked well into the night and revealed all the secrets of the consecrated to you. I remember that you tried to stop me but I clutched your arm and compelled you to listen.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “Probably no harm has been done for I can’t remember a single word you said. But if our awakening is unpleasant, brother Mikon, think of the awakening that awaits Dorieus. I’m afraid that in his drunkenness he has brought dishonor not only to our hostess and himself, but also to us and even to Dionysius who is ultimately responsible for our behavior.”
“Where is he?” asked Mikon, looking around with blood-shot eyes.
“I don’t know and I don’t even want to know. I certainly will not search the inner rooms, for who knows what dreadful sight might confront me? The best thing we can do is to creep silently out of the house. I hardly think that Dorieus would be anxious to see any friends today.”
Cautiously stepping over the drunken slave in the doorway, we went outside. The sun’s golden rays were climbing, the cocks were crowing in every Himeran house, and the autumn air smelled fresh. We bathed in the hot waters of the pool and found our own clothes, cleaned and pleated, beside our weapons in the entrance hall. In mutual agreement we returned to the banquet room and drained the wine vessel to regain our courage before setting off across the city.
As the residents were kindling their cooking fires we met many of our unfortunate companions, groaning and holding their heads. We joined them and by the time we had stepped through the city gates there were almost a hundred of us, no one feeling himself any better than the others.
Dionysius was laboring over the ships, aided by a long row of pack donkeys and oxen. He cursed us in fury, for he and his helmsmen had spent the night at Krinippos’ house and had had only water to drink and pea soup to eat. Lashing out at his ailing men with his rope, he put them to work unloading the treasure and stuffing it into sacks, barrels and chests. Mikon and I joined them in sheer humility although such work was not ours to do.
The most difficult task was the unloading of the large galley which had sunk deep into the mud. Not all the men and oxen could free it, nor did even the windlass constructed of heavy logs by Krinippos’ technicians succeed in raising the heavy vessel. The only solution was to lighten it by diving for some of the cargo. The coral divers of Himera would have undertaken the dangerous task willingly but Dionysius had no desire to reveal our treasure. He said that it was only right that his own lechers and drunkards should clear their heads and cool their limbs in the refreshing sea water.
While some of us sorted and counted the booty on both penteconters, weighted baskets were lowered into the sunken ship from small boats and the best divers among us made their way down the ropes. There in the darkness they filled the baskets with the loot and came up only for air. Shivering with cold and fear they huddled in the boats until Dionysius thrashed them into the water again with his rope. On that day many an unfortunate cursed the diving skill that he had acquired in lonia as a boy.
Mikon and I were given the task of recording the contents of the sacks and barrels on which Dionysius himself inscribed the numbers until he ran out of them. Finally he was content merely to seal the containers with a golden Persian signet without keeping account of what we wrote.
“In the name of Hermes,” he declared, “I am plagued by the idea that I may be robbed but even at the risk of that I would rather keep my brain clear than be involved in lists and figures.”
By evening both penteconters had been emptied. Everyone smiled when Dionysius finally called a halt for the day and gave us permission to return to the hospitality of the Himeran homes.
But our elation soon gave way to bitter disappointment, for Dionysius ordered each of us in turn to take off his clothes. From the folds of the garments he plucked surprising amounts of jewelry, gold coins and other objects of value. A few had even hidden gold and gems in their hair, and from the mouth of one mumbling rower Dionysius produced a golden fish. The men cried out in dismay at one another’s shocking dishonesty.
I relinquished a heavy golden chain voluntarily upon seeing what awaited me, and Mikon reached into an armpit for a golden winged lion. Embittered by Dionysius’ greed and disillusioned by our own dishonesty, we began to demand the right to inspect Dionysius’ clothes in return, for we had noticed that he had begun to move with increasing clumsiness and clanking.
Dionysius flushed. “Who is your commander?” he roared. “Who enabled you to win undying fame at Lade, made you wealthy and brought you safely to this new land? Whom can you trust if not me?”
So moved was he by his own words that his beard began to quiver and tears came into his eyes. “The cruelty and thanklessness of man! Everyone measures others, even me, by his own corrupted standards.”
“Close your mouth!” we demanded bitterly. “As our commander you certainly are not the best of us but rather the worst. Indeed we wouldn’t even respect you if you did not try to take advantage of us.”
Bellowing and laughing, we fell upon him, pushed him to the ground and tore off his clothes. Around his waist, beneath his armpits and between his thighs he had suspended pouches from which we poured forth a stream of coins, jewelry, signets, chains and armbands equaling the collective loot of all the others.
Seeing the heap, we laughed loudly, pulled him to his feet again and slapped his broad shoulders. “What a commander you are! Truly you are the cleverest of us all and we will never give you up.”
After prolonged argument it was decided that each would be permitted to retain whatever he had stolen. Only the naked divers complained.
“Must we do without anything,” they cried, “although we worked the hardest?”
Dionysius swore at them. “No one is better than anyone else, my greedy ones. Go back and produce whatever you have hidden in the water. If someone is left with empty hands he has only himself to blame.”
The divers blinked at one another and at us and then returned to the shore. They plunged into the water and began rolling aside the stones under its surface. Soon they came up with a wealth of objects, each larger and more valuable than those which we had been able to conceal in our clothes. But we did not begrudge them the loot after their efforts in the darkness of the ship among the octopi, the crabs and the stinging medusae.
“Let us offer a fair share of our loot to the Himeran gods,” suggested Dionysius, “in gratitude for the peaceful and good-natured way that we have begun the division of our spoils.”
That, we felt, was right and just, so we consecrated some copper tripods, copper pots and a bronze Phoenician ram to the various Himeran temples, and a Persian shield to the temple of the Carthaginian merchants.
4.
The entire day passed without our seeing Dorieus. When darkness fell and the stars were lighted in the alien sky over Himera I could no longer restrain my uneasiness.
I said to Mikon, “We must return to Tanakil’s house no matter how reluctantly. Something has happened to Dorieus and I would not
be surprised if that proud woman had punctured his throat with a hairpin as he slept to avenge the loss of her honor.”
“As a physician I can assure you that in this condition, with his head still thick from wine and a sickening taste in his mouth, a man exaggerates his misdeeds and imagines that he will never again be able to look a decent person in the eye. What did we actually do that was so bad? I seem to remember your dancing the Phoenix dance on the table to show off your agility to the girls, but chiefs and councilors have done the same under the influence of wine and it hasn’t blackened their reputation.
“Dorieus is a dangerous man,” Mikon went on, “and, like most soldiers, limited to thinking that problems can best be solved by killing. He was born to create dissension and I would not grieve if we were obliged to arrange an honorable funeral. But I think that in your moonless mood you are a little premature. Therefore let us courageously find out what is wrong and at the same time bring gifts to Tanakil in gratitude for her hospitality.”
The plan cheered me greatly. “You are the wisest man I have met. In truth, I am not greedy and I care little for valuables. The goddess Artemis has appeared to me in the guise of Hecate and promised, with upraised poker and black dog barking at her feet, that I will never know want. So let us give Tanakil this ten-mina chain that I stole. I don’t know myself why I slipped it into my robe, but it must have been for the reason that we may now placate Tanakil with it.”
When we reached the market place we saw that many merchants were still at their stalls. We shared a small skin of wine and it cheered me immeasurably. We also ate some fish and some of the good Himeran ash-surfaced bread. Then we continued on our way, stumbling through the dark streets to the western end of the city. Fortunately a torch was flickering feebly at the entrance to Tanakil’s house. From that we knew that she was expecting us, so we opened the creaking gate, entered the house, hung our weapons in the entrance hall and stepped into the lighted banquet room.
There on a convivial couch lounged Dorieus, fully alive although glowering, and clothed in such magnificent Phoenician garments that at first glance we did not recognize him. Opposite him, on another couch, lay Tanakil looking equally unhappy. Her cheeks were sunken and her eyes were shadowed although she had tried to improve her appearance with color. Between the couches stood a bronze-legged table with food, and the mixing vessel on the floor was half filled with a yellowish wine. The room had been cleaned, the mosaic floor washed, and the household god righted.
“Tanakil,” I begged, “please forgive us our shameful behavior of last night. Your hospitality was overwhelming and we exhausted wretches, unaccustomed as we were to mint wine, could not stand it.”
Tanakil looked at Mikon with her hand before her mouth and asked, “You are a Greek physician, aren’t you? Tell me, can new teeth be made to replace those that a person has lost?”
Horrified, I demanded, “Has Dorieus in a drunken fit knocked out some of your teeth?”
Dorieus cursed. “Don’t talk nonsense, Turms.” With trembling hands he filled a cup from the mixing vessel and drank deeply, spilling some of the wine on his chin.
“Dorieus hasn’t harmed me,” said Tanakil defensively, “so don’t insult him with your cruel insinuations. He has behaved in every way as a man of noble birth should behave toward a woman.”
I was about to express my belief when Dorieus exclaimed, “Where in Hades have you been, you stony-hearted wretches? I don’t know why I should have such friends and shield them in battle when they desert me at the very moment when I need them most.”
“Yes,” asked Tanakil, “where have you been hiding? I am suffering keenly because of a few missing teeth although I hadn’t even thought of them until Dorieus pointed out that I have no other flaws. Tyrrhenian physicians are said to make teeth of ivory which they fasten with gold bands. I am not worried about my back teeth, for the more good food one eats the faster they wear down, so that bad teeth are actually an indication of good birth. But that doesn’t console me since I lack a few front teeth as well. Now I dare not even speak before Dorieus except with my mouth covered.”
Dorieus slapped his cup down so hard that it cracked. “Stop harping about your teeth, my pet! Can’t you talk about anything else? I only mentioned them because I saw you lying with your mouth open when I awakened at noon. In fact, I meant only well when I said that you had no other flaws, for many a woman at your age has even fewer teeth.”
Tanakil began to weep noisily, smearing the color on her sunken cheeks. “Now you are complaining about my age, although you didn’t care last night.”
“Silence, woman!” roared Dorieus, the veins at his temples bulging. “I can stand no more. If you continue I shall leave the house and it will be your fault if I kill every Himeran who crosses my path.”
He clutched his head and moaned, “Friends, friends, why did you ever desert me! My head is on fire, my stomach aches and my limbs are helpless. I have been vomiting all day and only now have I been able to eat a few simple mouthfuls.”
Mikon worriedly tried his head, rolled up his eyelids, studied his eyes and throat and pressed his stomach. While Dorieus was groaning I extended the golden chain to Tanakil with the hope that it would compensate for the damage we had done.
She accepted the chain readily and placed it around her neck. “I am not a petty woman,” she said. “What good are riches if one cannot hold a banquet for one’s friends? It is true that the vases you broke were valuable, but all vases break in time. I don’t think that even my household god was insulted, for early this morning I gave him new clothes and burned incense before him. So I suffered no damage and accept your beautiful gift merely not to displease you. The only harm that has resulted from your visit is the fact that one of the girls who entertained you has been struck dumb.”
Mikon and I glanced guiltily at each other, for neither of us remembered exactly what had happened. Mikon presumed that the girl had been frightened by my violent goat dance, but it turned out that the girl in question was the one Mikon had carried into the garden. Mikon declared that the girl must have slept on the dewy grass and that this had caused her throat to swell. At least, he didn’t remember having done anything to hurt her.
Tanakil replied that the matter was serious and reflected unfavorably on our reputations as strangers. “Himerans are a superstitious people,” she said. “Also I and my house will fall under a shadow because of this incident, for everyone knows that a person who suddenly loses his power of speech is bewitched, unless of course he has unwittingly hurt some excessively sensitive god.”
Mikon became agitated like all men who are conscious of their guilt. “The only god we could have hurt was the foam-born, but by her magic belt I swear that we honored her in every way that I learned on Aphrodite’s sacrificial ship, and the girl certainly did not lose her speech during that time. Indeed she used it loudly to express her joy at the completeness of my education.”
“I am not blaming you,” said Tanakil, “for you are a gentle and inoffensive man. I have already sent the girl some compensation on your behalf but her parents are alarmed and fear that the girl will never be married if she remains dumb.”
Tanakil sent for the girl that we might see her condition for ourselves. When she finally entered with her father and mother I had difficulty in meeting the accusing looks of those simple people.
Mikon tried to hide behind us but when the girl saw him she ran to him joyously, knelt to kiss his hands and held them fondly to her cheek. With a helpless glance at her parents Mikon raised the girl to her feet, embraced her and kissed her lips.
No more was needed, for the girl drew a deep breath and burst into speech. She talked, wept, shouted and laughed until her parents, elated though they were, began to feel ashamed and told her to be quiet. Mikon gave them a handful of silver coins, whereupon they left rejoicing at their good fortune and taking their daughter with them.
When the matter had been so happily resolved I thanked Tanakil for al
l her goodness to us and said that we must go to seek permanent lodgings in the city.
Hastily she said, “My house is unassuming, I know, and you have probably been accustomed to the luxury of lonia. But if you don’t scorn my house, remain as my guests for as long as you wish. The longer you remain the happier I will be.”
To strengthen her invitation and to prove that she did not extend it in the hope of gain, she disappeared into an inner room and reappeared with gifts for each of us. Onto Dorieus’ thumb she slipped a gold ring, to Mikon she presented an ivory-framed wax tablet, and to me a moonstone suspended from a cord. The valuable gifts did much to cheer us.
Tanakil then had three beds placed in a row for us. They had copper feet and crossed iron bottoms and were made by the Tyrrhenians. On them were placed soft mattresses. We would have fallen asleep immediately had not Dorieus groaned and tossed. Finally he threw off the covers and snapped that as a soldier he was not accustomed to soft mattresses but preferred the hard ground with a shield as his cover. In the darkness he groped his way out of the room, bumping into chests and overturning objects. Then we heard no more and slept soundly through the night.
5.
So we settled in Tanakil’s house, leading a carefree existence as her guests. After our treasure had been safely locked behind the iron doors of Krinippos’ vaults life began to flow as evenly as a stream. Dionysius’ only mishap resulted from his anxiety to salvage the large vessel. Believing that its cargo had been sufficiently lightened, he tried again to drag it to shore, but so powerful were the windlasses and so strong the ropes that the ship split in the middle.
