Soldier of the mist

CHAPTER XXVIII-Mycale

A place of which most, I think, had never heard before is now on everyone's lips. The combined fleets of Thought and the Rope Makers have given the barbarians another terrible defeat there. Some say this was on the same day as the great battle in which I was wounded, others that it must surely have been after it, for it could not have taken so long for the news to reach us. To this the first reply that a ship may be delayed for any time one chooses by storms and contrary winds, and that the news came first to Thought, and only subsequently to us from there.

Io said, "Oh, I hope the black man's all right. I know you don't remember the black man, Latro, but he was your friend even before Pindaros and me. When they brought you to the temple, he was with you."

I asked her, "Do you think he was in that battle?"

"I hope not, but he probably was. When Hypereides sold you to Kalleos, he kept the black man. And Hypereides was going to take his ships back to the fleet."

"Then I hope the black man is safe, and Hypereides dead."

"You shouldn't be like that, master. Hypereides wasn't a bad man. He got us out of that dungeon in Tower Hill, just by talking, and he let Pindaros and Hilaeira go when the law said he should."

But before I write of these recent matters, I should write of earlier things, which may soon be lost to me in the mist I ca

A sword Io says is mine was with Basias's clothing in a scabbard hung from a belt of manhood. I put it on and felt better at once; a man without weapons is a slave. Io says Kalleos let me wear it when I was hers, and perhaps that is why I did not feel resentful toward her, as Io swears I did not.

Then Basias's slaves came, cowering because they thought themselves to be beaten. They had been gathering firewood when Pasicrates's slaves had come, and they had discovered what had befallen their master's baggage with great difficulty. I explained that their master was ill and ordered them to have such food as sick men eat ready for him.

That was wise, because slaves soon brought Basias in a litter. With them was an old man who told us he was Kichesippos the Messenian, but who speaks as the Rope Makers and their slaves do, making the ox long. Basias's arm was swollen and black, and it seemed to me that he was in a dream, sometimes hearing what we said, sometimes deaf to it, sometimes seeing what we could not see. Perhaps that is how I seem to others; I do not know.

Kichesippos told Basias's slaves, "Your master has been bitten by a viper, and from the breadth between its fangs and the severity of his reaction, by a larger one than I have ever seen. I have cut his wounds and drawn forth the poison as well as it can be done. Do not attempt to do that a second time; after the first, it is useless. Let him rest, see that he is warm, feed him if he will eat. Give him all he wants to eat and drink. By the favor of the goddess, he may recover. But he may die."

Io asked if there was nothing more we could do.

"As I understand the matter, the viper has not been killed?"

I nodded, and Io said, "We never even saw one, sir. He hit somebody, and somebody else said there was a poisoned pin in his hair."

Kichesippos shook his head. "A pin could not have held so much, and it would have left a single scratch. I will not remove the bandage to show you the punctures, but there are two." (Then I marveled at little Io's cu

"If the viper were dead," he continued, "that might be of benefit to him. Still more if its raw flesh could be held to his wound-while it lives, it strengthens its poison as a city strengthens the army it sends forth. Other than that, I can suggest nothing."

Io said, "Then you might examine my master. Perhaps the royal regent spoke of him after they conferred today? He can't remember."

"I've noticed the scar. Come here, young man, I wish to touch it. Will you kneel? No act of submission is implied. Tell me if I hurt you."

I knelt before him and felt his deft fingers glide along the side of my head. Io asked, "Are you a priest of Aesculapius? When Latro slept beside his altar, Aesculapius said he couldn't help him."

"Nor can I, I'm afraid," Kichesippos told her, "without reopening the wound. That might easily kill him." His fingers withdrew. "You may stand, young man. Do you drop things? Do you fall or suffer dizziness?"

I shook my head.

"You are fortunate-all those symptoms are to be expected. Were you wearing a helmet when your injury occurred?"

I told him I did not know.

"That's right, you forget. Is that your only symptom?"

"Yes," I told him.

Io said, "Gods appear to him. Sometimes."

Kichesippos sighed. "Occasional hallucinations. Young man, I think some foreign object has been driven deeply into your brain. A splinter of bone is the most likely thing, judging from the visible wound; but I have known of a similar case in which the object was a small arrowhead. If it's of any comfort to you, it probably won't get any worse. Eventually the object may dissolve, particularly if it's a bone splinter. If that occurs, the damaged part may-I say may-reconstitute itself, partially at least.

"Don't get your hopes up. The process will take years if it happens at all, and it probably will not. As for treatment… " He shrugged. "Prayers are never wholly wasted. Even if you're not cured, you may receive some other benefit. There is Aesculapius, whom this child says you have petitioned already. In addition, there are shrines all over the country to heroes who are said to heal, though they killed, mostly, while they lived. One may help you. And there are the great gods, if you can get their attention. Meanwhile, learn to live with your disability. Do you recall my name?"

"Kichesippos."

Io said, "In the morning he remembers yesterday evening, but by noon he's forgotten it. He writes things down."

"Excellent."

I said, "Yet when I reread what I've written, I sometimes wonder whether I wrote the truth."

"I see." Kichesippos nodded to himself. "Have you written anything today?"

"Yes, while we were waiting to see the regent."

"And were you tempted to lie? I do not ask whether you lied, but only whether you were tempted to do so."

I shook my head.

"Then I very much doubt that you have lied in the past. Lying is a habit, you see, like drinking too much. You told the truth as you saw it, which is all any man can do."

I said I hoped he was correct.

"You must remember that in every life there occur events so extraordinary that only the most talented and ingenious liar could have conceived them. Take the great battle at Mycale-have you heard about it?"

Io and I shook our heads.

"Word of it reached the regent only today, and the noble Pasicrates, who had it directly from my master, informed me as we conferred about your poor friend here." The old man paused to collect his thoughts.

"This Mycale is a place on the Asian coast. King Leotychides found the barbarian fleet beached there, the portents were favorable, and he ordered an immediate attack. The ships' crews had been reinforced by an army from Susa, and it seems to have been a hot fight. But in the long run the barbarians can't stand up to disciplined troops, and they broke. Naturally, our men held their formation; but a few men from other cities ran after the enemy, and by great good luck they were able to reach the stockade before the gates could be shut. That finished the barbarians, and we burned more than three hundred ships." He rubbed his palms together. "The men from a hundred ships burned three hundred and destroyed an army. In a century, who will believe it? The Great King will build more ships, no doubt, and raise new armies. But not this year, and not the next."