by Gene Wolfe
I did not, nor did the black man.
"They are flung into pits, sir, and afterward their food is thrown down to them. Nothing of the sort, you may be sure, was done to my ill-mannered cousin. Instead Cyklos himself, one of the most distinguished men in our city, welcomed him as a guest in his own home, though he was later forced to confine him when he insisted upon leaving at once.
"As I was about to say, I think it likely that my cousin is responsible for the sorrow that oppresses you. It is more than possible that he has charmed you in some way. I wished to speak with you now because I have heard that he is here for the games. I trust that you recall his appearance? If not, your friend can point him out to you."
When I wrote that which stands above, I had no notion that we would in fact encounter this man, who seems generally to be called Hegesistratus of Elis, so quickly. Diokles came (which was why I stopped writing), and we went to the place where the judges of the games sit to receive those who wish to take part—we were a great throng, come as I soon learned not only from all parts of Hellas, but from every other place where the Hellenes' tongue is spoken.
In this courtyard in Dolphins many were examined at length, for the rule is that only Hellenes may compete. The black man's wife told me, in fact, that he had been anxious to take part in the stadion and the javelin throwing, but had been told that he could not, though he had offered to pay his own fees. We waited there for some while before we were permitted to address one of the hellanodikai.
This man knew Diokles and greeted him by name. Diokles in turn introduced the rest of us and explained that the black man understood that he would not be allowed to compete, but that he wished to study the way in which the games were conducted with an eye to establishing a similar event among his own countrymen. Pasicrates's name was entered on three rolls as soon as his fees had been paid.
"Are you a Hellene?" the hellanodikas asked after looking long at my face.
I said, "Certainly," and explained as Tisamenus and Diokles had instructed me that I had been made a citizen of Rope.
"That's bronze-bound, Agatharchos," Diokles declared when I had finished. "I got it straight from King Pausanias. I wasn't going to take him on until I did."
"I see." The hellanodikas fingered his beard.
"He will drive His Highness's chariot," Tisamenus told him. "I myself have been made a Rope Maker, as you may know already; I am commonly called Tisamenus of Elis. The noble Pasicrates, a Rope Maker by birth, will vouch for him as well, I feel certain."
All eyes turned toward the one-armed man, who said with the intonation of a serpent, "He is a resident of my city—but he is no Hellene."
At these words, I saw something I would never have thought to see. Tisamenus whirled and raised his fist to the one-armed man, who backed away with fear naked upon his face.
Deftly, Diokles stepped between them. "A little rivalry, Agatharchos. You understand."
The hellanodikas shrugged. "Better than I want to. Latros Spartathen, if you're really a Hellene, let's hear you spout some poetry." I confessed that I did not remember any. "Come, now. You must know something. How about this:
" 'For thee, my son, I wept my life away; For thee through Hell's eternal dungeons stray; Nor came my fate by lingering pains and slow,
Nor bent the silver-shafted queen her bow;
No dire disease bereaved me of my breath; Thou, thou, my son, wert my disease and death;
Unkindly with my love my son conspired,
For thee I lived, for absent thee expired.' "
Sorrow swept me away—a moaning wind. My eyes filled with tears; I could only shake my head.
"Sir," Tisamenus whispered, "you must speak now, and speak poetry, or—Cyklos does not regard you kindly."
The palace rose before me, tier upon tier. Frantically I hurried from image to image—a man with the head of a crocodile, another with that of a hawk.
"Well?" the hellanodikas inquired.
I tried to repeat what he had said about the silver-shafted queen, though I did not know then—and do not know now—what it meant. For an instant, I seemed to glimpse her behind him, her smooth, fair face aglow above his black hair. From somewhere or noplace the half-remembered rhymes rose to my lips:
"You golden lyre, Apollo's and the muses',
Your tune commands the dance, your tone he uses,
When master of the warbling choir,
He lifts the crystal voices higher."
Faintly I heard someone shout, "What... ? Latro!"
"You quench the bolt, the lightning's fearful fire,
The eagle rests his wings, that never tire;
To hear you shaken by your song,
Fell Ares quits the spear-proud throng."
"Latro, it's me, Pindaros!" Though he is older than I by ten years at least, and smaller, too, he wrapped me in a bear's embrace and lifted me off my feet.
"Will drive for His Highness in the chariot race," muttered the hellanodikas as he wrote. "Boxer. Pankratiast."
Pindaros and the black man danced, swinging each other like stones in a sling.
FORTY-ONE
The God Himself Shall Rule
THUS IT WAS DECIDED AFTER much argument. Pharetra is going tomorrow, with her queen, Themistocles, Hegesistratus, and the rest. Meanwhile, a score of travelers arrive each time I draw breath; and it is the talk of the town—still more so of the great camp beyond it that spreads ever wider. When Pindaros invited us to join him over wine, I doubted that there was a drop left in Dolphins, or a single place to sit; but he guided us to the inn where he stays whenever he comes here.
"Which is every four years," he told us, "each time they hold the games. I haven't won as yet, but I have high hopes—very high—for this year. And it's good publicity."
Thinking him too old for the footraces, I asked whether he boxed. He and Diokles laughed about that. (Pasicrates and the mantis were not with us, though Pindaros had invited them both. Pasicrates would not stay, while Tisamenus, I would guess, did not wish him to speak with the prince alone.)
Over our wine, Diokles and Pindaros explained the structure of the games to me. There are to be trials of music as well as strength and swiftness. For a time I ceased this writing to ask Diokles about their order again, which Kichesippos allowed; this is to be relied upon.
Singing to the lyre. Pindaros was set down for this when we finished the wine. The verses must be contestant's own, ones never heard before.
Flute-playing.
Stadion—a single circuit of the track. Pasicrates will run.
Diaulos—two circuits. Pasicrates entered this as well.
Dolichos—twenty-four turns. Pasicrates entered.
Five trials—they are running, throwing a diskos, jumping, casting a javelin, and wrestling.
Wrestling.
Boxing—I will do this.
Pankration—this also.
Horseracing—the prince entered Argas; Ladas will ride him.
Stadion for boys.
Five trials for boys.
Boxing for boys.
Dolichos for boys.
Diaulos for boys.
Chariot race—I will drive for the prince.
Lyre-playing—Simonides will do it.
Running in armor—the last event.
On certain days there will be several events. For example, on the first Pindaros and the rest will sing in the morning, the flute-playing will begin after the first meal, and the stadion before sunset. All the boys' events (except the horserace) will be held on the same day, and on the last, the lyre-playing will be followed by the race in armor.
Io found us while we sat over wine, bringing the news that Themistocles of Thought had come, riding in a silver chariot. I do not remember this man, but Io and the black man say that we traveled with him to the prince's city; the Amazons will use his chariot if they compete.
I should write that I believed Bittusilma the black man's wife, but both swear there is nothing between them. Polos say
s this is because married women may not watch.
When we had drunk the wine, we went back to the courtyard where names are set down upon the rolls so that Pindaros might enter. There we met Themistocles, a burly, jovial man in fine clothes, and Simonides, an old man. He had come to enter the lyre-playing. Themistocles told Pindaros he had come only to see the sights, and explained how the black man and I had been freed, as Bittusilma had before. It was much the same. Then Pindaros told everyone how he had gone to Hill to get the money to buy our freedom—though we were never truly slaves.
When he returned to Thought, we were gone. He left money with a woman there and went back to Hill, where he asked the wardens of the city to make Thought free us.
As I heard all this, I thought better and better of him. I know that not everyone who shouts a greeting is in fact a friend, but I think Pindaros one. I asked if he would play and sing for me, to lift my sorrow from me. I know music has that power. He said he would if I would come to him this evening. Now I do not believe it will help, though Kichesippos says that it may.
There is much more to write; I will strive to be brief.
The Amazons arrived like stones through a window, stilling all babble. Heads turned; then we saw them, five, gaunt and far taller than most men, clad in grace and ragged skins but bearing beautiful weapons. My jaw fell with the rest—but that was as nothing, for the tallest turned aside to embrace me. We kissed, and a thousand throats laughed and cheered. My cheeks burn now as I write of it. This Pharetra was my lover in Thrace. When I learned of that, I went to speak to the judges with her and the other women; but the judges ran to get others, and we were left to wait.
That was when I saw the prize for the chariot race, which I had not noticed before. It is a tall red urn, the work of some excellent artist, filled they say with the finest oil and sealed with wax. But it is more: it is the urn from my memory palace, although when I walk into the palace in my mind, it stands there also—this seems very strange to me. Black dancers with beards, and the ears and tails of horses, caper around it.
The hellanodikai returned, a dozen at least, all of them shaking their heads. No woman, they insisted, could compete. That the queen is unmarried made no difference—no women at all. Nor could anyone compete unless he was a Hellene, and none of the Amazons can speak as the Hellenes do—or only a few words.
I had not observed that Io had left us, but now she darted through the crowd to us, bringing with her a handsome, limping man with a curly beard. Themistocles greeted him as a friend, the hellanodikai hailed him, and the Amazon queen embraced him. While he was speaking with one and another, Io told me that he is a great mantis—more
famous even than Tisamenus. He was with Pharetra, Io, and me in the north.
He speaks the tongue of Amazons, and he assured the judges that a very great god, the god of war, had sent these women; but the judges still refused.
When he had heard them out, he turned to Themistocles and the old lyre-player. These three spoke together very rapidly, but their voices were too low for us to overhear them.
When all had nodded together, Themistocles stepped forward to address the judges—or rather, to address everyone present while pretending to address them. His booming voice filled the whole courtyard.
"You must pardon my ignorance, friends," he began. "It's been many years now since I attended these games."
The hellanodikai and several others assured him that they were delighted he had come this year, for it seems he is a very great man indeed.
"I have been informed that my dear friend Prince Pausanias of Rope has entered the chariot race," Themistocles continued. "Tell me, does he intend to drive his chariot himself? Will the reins be in his own hands?"
At this several of the judges pointed to me and explained that I was to drive on behalf of the prince.
"And that's the prize, that fine red jar there? Will Latro get it if he wins? He's a fortunate man!"
The hellanodikai hastened to explain that I would not—that it was actually the prince who was competing, not I.
"Oh," said Themistocles. "That explains it. I know Latro, and he's no Hellene—"
They hastened to say that they had ruled I was a Hellene, and that I had been permitted to enter two events.
"But not the chariot race," said Themistocles. "Clearly, it is the prince who is the contestant in that. Tell me, is it lawful for a woman not to enter?"
At this the judges looked perplexed indeed. They whispered among themselves, then said that since women could not enter, it was of course implied by the rules that they need not enter.
"Wonderful!" Themistocles rubbed his big hands together and smiled broadly. "But I might enter? I am both a man and a Hellene, and I have a fine chariot."
The judges said that they would be delighted to have him enter; there was no question of his qualifications.
"Then I'll do it," he told them. "Put down my name, please. I'm Themistocles Athanaios, and this woman is to drive for me." Here he pointed to Pharetra.
Afterward I kicked the korykos, instructed by Diokles. It is a pigskin filled with meal, suspended by a rope. Agatharchos the hellanodikas came to watch me because my name is upon three rolls now. He told me that many who have been set down will be struck off when the judges have seen them practice, but I will not be. Diokles says that I am better, that he still does not approve of love in advance of the games, but that he made a good investment. I did not follow him; and though Io watches me as I write, I hesitate to ask her. I feel I— There are cliffs here from which a man might throw himself onto rocks or into the sea.
I have had a strange evening and a very strange dream. I will write here of what actually happened first; then if there is time, recount the dream; then if there is still time, how I feel now. That is most important of all, but I do not think it apt to change again, so I may write of it whenever I choose.
Io and I went to the inn where we had drunk with the poet. He welcomed us and, seeing how fatigued I was, suggested that I stretch myself upon his bed while he sang. I did, thinking all the while: thus it is for the dead—a rest from which they need not rise. It was then that I dreamed my dream.
The poet said, "I'm afraid that's all for tonight. I don't dare strain my voice."
At these words I sat up.
Io was crying. She hugged and kissed the poet, saying over and over how lovely his music and verses had been. As for me, I recalled not a single line. But I felt myself a hero who might raze cities or raise new ones; and so I grinned like an idiot as I embraced him, pounding his back while he pounded mine.
"I knew hearing me would help," he said. "If you hadn't an ear for
poetry—yes, and a heart for it, too—you wouldn't have remembered that scrap of mine I heard you recite for the judges this morning. Not you of all men, because you forget everything; but the Shining God heals, Parnassos is his place, and he's our patron."
It was pitch dark when Io and I left the poet's inn for the streets of Dolphins; we had a long walk ahead of us, and I found myself wishing I had brought my sword.
"Pindaros must be the greatest poet in the world," Io told me. "And just think—he's our friend!"
I asked whether I had snored.
"Did you nod off? Master, you couldn't have—it was too wonderful. Besides, your eyes were open the whole time."
I said, "I was afraid I had, just for a moment. It seemed I'd missed a verse or two."
Io shook her head. "Well, you certainly didn't snore—I would have shaken you right away. And you're so much better! Even Diokles says so. It was not seeing Pharetra, wasn't it? You've been pining for her, but now that she's here you're all right again."
A new voice announced, "She is closer than you think," and the lame man hobbled through an archway, followed by the Amazon queen, Pharetra herself, and a slender woman whose floating hair did not even reach Pharetra's shoulder.
Io said, "Hegesistratus! Oh, I'm so happy! Latro's so much better now."
"And so he ought to be," Hegesistratus agreed. Pharetra slipped her hand into mine.
The queen spoke using the tongue of Amazons, which I do not understand; and Hegesistratus said, "We are going out to have a look at the horses. Would you like to see them, too? They will be racing against yours."
We went to the Amazons' camp, where the other three guarded their horses. They held up brands so we might see them. Surely there have never been better ones! They gleamed like flames in the torchlight, snorting and stamping. Io said how good it was of Themistocles to help the women as he has, and of the lame man to enlist Themistocles's help for them. The lame man only shook his head and spat into the fire. "He has become a friend of the Rope Makers," he told her. "For the good of
the world, he must be discredited, and they destroyed." Afterward, he cautioned us to say nothing of this.
The lame man remained behind with the queen and the other women when we left, but Pharetra came with Io and me. A woman was in my bed; when she saw Pharetra, she attacked her with a little dagger. It woke the prince—Cyklos—everyone, but they were not angry and cheered the women as they fought. Pharetra knocked the dagger from the smaller woman's hand, caught her at last, and threw her into a ditch.
When everyone had gone back to sleep, Pharetra lay beside me, and though she is as large as a large man, her kisses were a woman's. I loved her very much. She speaks a few words of the Hellenes' tongue, and she told me that once she and I tended the white horses in a cave. She wanted to know whether I remembered Hippostizein, who died in the north. (I do not.) Late at night, she told me, fear comes upon her. If she loses when we race our chariots, her queen will surely offer her to appease their god. I held her very tightly after that. She woke me when she left, and thus I write here as I do, having carried this lamp outside and lit it from the embers.
