The Arrows of Hercules

Five – CARTHAGE

They sat around a table in the courtyard of Evnos' house in Syracuse. On the table stood three small piles of coins, and Evnos held a bag of coins in his lap. He was placing a coin from the bag on each of the three piles in turn, round and round. At last he said:

"There you are! Your pile must last you the journey. The total ships' fares shouldn't come to more than five drachmai, and three oboloi a day will feed you if you don't demand peacocks' tongues."

Zopyros, counting his pile, asked: "What does one do if there is money left over at the end of the voyage?"

Evnos grinned at Segovax. "Isn't it nice to meet a man so young and unspoilt? To answer your question, my boy, somehow there never is any left."

Zopyros asked: "When do we leave, and where do we go?" Evnos: "We leave as soon as I can buy passage; we sail for Carthage itself."

"Why don't we try the Phoenician cities of Sicily first? They're closer, and if we had good luck in them we might not need to go to Africa at all."

"There are, true, a few engineers in the smaller Phoenician colonies, like Panormos and Utica and Tunis. But why waste time in these little places when we can strike for the big prize? Engineers are not like landowners and priests and politicians, tied to one place by their interests. Able engineers go where the big money is, and in the Phoenician world that means Carthage. There we shall find more engineers than in all the other cities of New Phoenicia put together."

"But"—Zopyros in desperation became insistent—"the Phoenician cities of Sicily are on the way to Carthage. Why don't we take a ship to Messana, then one west to Panormos and Motya? Thus we should make a clean sweep of them. That's logical."

"No. I have made up my mind. If we don't find enough good men in Carthage, it will be time enough to try the other cities."

Zopyros frowned in thought. He did not want to quarrel at the outset with Evnos, who had been given authority over travel plans. Yet he had to find some argument to persuade the Karian to stop at Motya so that he could see how things stood in Elazar's home.

"Evnos!"

"Yes?"

"I know of a man in Motya who might be able to shorten our search."

"Who? How?"

"He's a big building contractor, named Elazar. He would know all the leading engineers of New Phoenicia."

"A house builder? I doubt it. Such men work from a few standard plans by rule of thumb. They never bother with engineers or architects."

"From what I hear, Elazar is more than that. He's had experience with things like harbor works and city walls."

Evnos stared at the pile of silver before him. He scratched a flea-bite, flipped a tetradrachma, caught it, and flipped it again. At last he said:

"All right, you win. Most ships plying between here and Carthage put in at one city or another of western Sicily anyway. We'll see if your contractor knows a technician from a tadpole."

At the western tip of Sicily, a long, irregular peninsula, the Aigithallos, curved down from the north to inclose the wide, shallow Bay of Motya, ten furlongs from east to west and forty from north to south. In the midst of this bay stood Motya, an island as round as a Boiotian loaf and four furlongs across. A long causeway ran north from the island and joined it to the mainland near the base of the Aigithallos.

To the east and south, the green Sicilian coastal plain spread far and flat, checkered with fields and groves. To the northeast, five leagues away, the towering crag of Eryx broke the level horizon. To the west, the three isles called Aegates lay low in the sea.

A wall of massive limestone blocks, twenty cubits high, surrounded Motya. Twenty tall square towers rose from the wall at intervals. As their ship approached, Zopyros saw that the type of masonry varied in different parts of the wall. Some stretches were made of smoothly dressed stones, while in others the stones had been left rough on their outer surface. The size of the stones and the evenness of the courses also varied, showing that the wall had been built and rebuilt over the centuries. Greek mercenary soldiers walked the wall and guarded the gates.

The skyward-thrusting houses of the city loomed over the wall. Surrounded by water, Motya could not expand outward as its population grew. Hence it grew upward, into apartment houses of four and even five stories. Zopyros thought of Tyre. There was the same ponderous stonework, the same air of plain, graceless, severe, inartistic efficiency.

The ship docked at the south side of the island city, where a ledge of rock had been trimmed away and built up to make a wharf, between the wall and the waters of the bay. Nearby, a gap in the wall gave access to the cothon or inner harbor. Through the gap, Zopyros glimpsed a number of triremes crowded together. A raised portcullis, like that of Dionysios' stronghold, guarded the cothon and its massed ships of war and commerce.

They hired a porter to carry most of their gear and, after a few inquiries, set out for Elazar's house. As they walked down the street, Segovax craned his neck to gaze uneasily upward at the towering apartment houses on either side.

"Ara!" he exclaimed. "It makes my balls creep just to be walking along here, and me a big strong warrior. Are you sure, Evnos darling, that these monstrous houses will not topple over on us?"

"They haven't yet," said Evnos. "I thought you'd been in Punic cities before?"

"Indeed and I have, in Panormos and Solous; but in them places they don't stack houses one atop the other. One house at a time is enough for me."

It was midafternoon. The narrow streets swarmed with Motyans, some in long loose robes, some in plain tunics, and some in singlets and kilts. Nearly all wore dome-shaped, conical, or cylindrical caps. There were also far more women abroad than in a Greek city, strolling unattended, shopping and gossiping. Many wore fine fabrics and glittering jewels. A couple of men on a street corner were haggling over a bit of business, with expressive shrugs and movements of hands, noses, and eyebrows. Their guttural speech sounded like the purring of two large cats.

The porter stopped in front of an apartment house and set down his burdens. "Elazar's house," he said, jerking his head towards the front door and extending his palm.

Zopyros knocked. The door was opened by a stocky, long-robed man with a bushy, black, scented beard sweeping his chest and a small golden ring in his nose. On one thumb he wore the ornate ring of a steward. The man said in Punic:

"Wherein can I favor you, my masters?"

Zopyros said: "Is this the house of Elazar ben-Ahiram?"

"In sooth it is, good my lords, but the master is not here. He has taken his small son back to Carthage, to dwell with him in his house , there. I am his steward, Abarish ben-Hanno. What business would you have with him?"

"We are agents of the President of Syracuse, seeking to hire men of certain skills; and we deemed that Elazar could help us in this quest."

Abarish bowed low, until his beard almost touched the ground. "This house is honored! Natheless, I fear you must needs seek my master in his present domicile."

Zopyros and Evnos exchanged a long look. The latter said: "You see now, young fellow, we might better have gone to Carthage in the first place. All we have accomplished here is a delay while we hunt for other passage." To Abarish he said: "Pray, where shall we find a good inn?"

The Phoenician beetled his brows in thought. "Abdagon's is not bad—but hold!" He spoke to Zopyros. "Are you not, good my sir, a Hellene?"

"Yes," said Zopyros, "I am called Zopyros the Tarentine." He introduced his companions.

Abarish laid a finger beside his beringed nose and squinted with an expression of self-conscious craftiness. "I knew it from your speech, albeit you speak Punic well indeed. Know you aught of what the Greeks call philosophy?"

"My father gave me a good education. I studied under the great Philolaos." Zopyros frowned a little, since it did not seem to him that such matters were any of the steward's business.

Abarish's manner underwent a change. Hitherto he had been polite and helpful, but in a wary, impersonal way. Now he smiled all over, bowed, opened the front door wide, and made sweeping motions with his hands to indicate that the three should enter.

"Mot take all inns!" he said. "Here shall you stay until you depart hence for Carthage. The hospitality of the house of Elazar, poor though it be, is yours to command!"

Zopyros exchanged another glance with Evnos, who shrugged and said: "Why not?" They filed in, murmuring polite protests. Taking off his wide-brimmed hat, Zopyros stared about him. A slight shudder took him as he thought of Korinna as mistress of this house.

When he lived in Motya, Elazar occupied the entire ground floor of the house and rented out the upper three stories. The rooms of the ground-floor apartment were spacious, but there was no courtyard, such as one found in all single-family Mediterranean houses of the better class. The rooms were singularly bare; no doubt the master had taken the handsomer pieces to Carthage with him. Abarish introduced his wife and discoursed about his son, a naval cadet of whom he was very proud.

Said Evnos: "If you will kindly let me get settled, Master Abarish, ere dinnertime I'll hie me to the waterfront to seek passage to Carthage."

"And I," said Segovax, "will be looking in on the drink shops, to see if there is any news of the comrades I soldiered with when I was in Sicily aforetime."

"To hear is to obey! This way, esteemed sirs ..."

Thus Zopyros presently found himself seated in the main room of the apartment, drinking Byblian with the steward and answering Abarish's questions on philosophy.

"Not too loudly, I pray," said the Phoenician. "Else my wife may overhear and, perchance, repeat our discourse to the master. He is a devoted follower of the old gods and contemns philosophy as base pernicious atheism. Although my dear wife wishes me no ill—I hope— women have but little skill in curbing their tongues.

"Long have I yearned to learn more of this science of the mind, but never have the gods vouchsafed me the opportunity. Although Hellenes abound in Motya, all are of the trading class, and to them shines the glimmer of a drachma brighter than the sun of knowledge. Now proceed, I entreat you."

Zopyros talked. He told of Myron's theory that the earth was round, and the theory of Philolaos, that it traveled in a circle around the Central Fire of the universe. He told of the Four Elements of Empedokles, of the atoms of Demokritos, and of the evolutionary theories of Anaximandros, who asserted that all land animals had evolved from fishes. He told of the search for the basic principle of all things, which Thales had found in fluidity, Anaximenes in infinity, and Herakleitos in fire. It was a struggle to express philosophical thoughts in the Punic tongue, which contained but few abstract terms.

The catechism continued the next day. Zopyros explained the Pythagorean ethical doctrines: rigorous self-control, imperturbability, temperance, moderation, and justice. A good man should rise early, train his memory, and keep his passions under the control of his reason. He should do his duty and faithfully discharge his responsibilities. He should perform scientific experiments to extend the bounds of mankind's knowledge. He should be kind to animals. He should have nothing to do with blood sacrifices or with aggressive warfare. He should observe certain rules of eating, "... which," said Zopyros, "I fear I seldom do." He should altogether shun drunkenness, adultery, and pederasty. He should not even fornicate before he was nineteen, and thereafter only while he remained single, and no more often than he had to.

On the third day the travelers were supposed to embark, but an adverse wind kept their ship in harbor. And still there seemed no limit to the philosophical appetite of Abarish. The man was a real devotee. He said:

"It is as if I had lived in a dark room all my life, Master Zopyros, and you have suddenly opened a window to the outer world. I know that soon shall this window close again; but, ere it do, I would drink in all I can of this world beyond the bourn of our senses."

By now Zopyros had grown hoarse as well as restless. When he got tired of pacing the room, he suggested that he be given time to tour the city, of which he had so far seen but little.

"To hear is to obey," said Abarish. "But, good my lord, think me not forward if I do accompany you. For a strange Hellene to wander abroad were not always prudent."

"Why were it not?"

"Because rumors aver that your master Dionysios plots to attack us. Certes, these rumors are but chaff; for, with a true philosopher like Philistos as his chief adviser, how could Dionysios contemplate any such base act? Howsomever, the many are not men of intellect like us and so are easily fired to witless acts."

They walked about the town together, picking up Segovax at one of his drink shops. Zopyros saw no signs of hostility from the Motyans, who, busy with their business, ignored the foreigners. Zopyros could not decide whether Abarish's warning had been merely an excuse to keep him talking on philosophy, or whether Segovax's fierce appearance quenched any hostile thoughts in the breasts of the citizens. In any case, the walk was peaceful.

Besides the tall apartment houses and a town hall, Motya contained a number of temples. Some were purely Greek; others Punic. At each of the latter, a high brick wall surrounded the temenos, but the gates were open so that the foreign visitors could see in, even though they might not enter without special permission. The temenos was cluttered with shrines, stelae, and obelisks placed at random, while in the midst of this confusion of masonry stood the temple.

The Punic temples themselves were small, plain, boxlike buildings of whitewashed brick. Their few decorations—sometimes a pair of bronzen pillars in front of the doors, sometimes a huge lustral bowl—were wrought in a hybrid Graeco-Egyptian style. One new temple had a whole row of Ionic columns across its front, but without the peaked roof and pediment that such a row of pillars would support in Hellas. Zopyros asked:

"In which temple burn they the babes?"

"In this one: the temple of Baal Hammon. See you the touch of Greek artistry about the fane?"

These words started a train of thought in Zopyros' mind. He asked: "Why did the lord Elazar move to Carthage?"

"He has long owned a house and possessed business interests there ..."

"Aye; but I understand he had long dwelt in Motya."

Abarish lowered his voice and glanced about nervously. "Know you not the talc of his wife and son? He wedded a Hellene of Messana, and she did try to flee back to her parents with the infant. The boy she failed to carry off, but fled herself to avoid chastisement. Now her kinsmen hound my poor master, demanding dowry—to which they have no right—and the child as well. Fearing some desperate attempt to abduct the lad, Elazar removed to Carthage where, methinks, such desperate deeds have no likelihood of success. Remind me ere we part to give you a token to present to Elazar. He's a suspicious man, and rightly so. Otherwise he might turn you out of doors without ceremony."

The next day, Abarish saw them to the wharf. He bent himself double with repeated bows and wrung their hands. Zopyros could have sworn that, as the man bade them farewell, a pair of tears ran down his cheeks into his vast black beard. Abarish said:

"Your visit has honored me, my lords! Would you could stay for months, further to enlighten me about the secrets of the universe! Never, I fear me, shall I see you again, for last night I dreamt a dream and it boded ill. Forget not, sirs: You must say nought to my master of these excursions into philosophy. For, an he knew, he'd dismiss me eftsoons as a wicked atheist."

"Have no fear of us, friend Abarish," said Zopyros, who felt he had talked enough philosophy to last him the rest of his life. "Was I not to ask you in parting for a hospitality token?"

"Aye, aye; I had forgot. Here!" Abarish dug into his wallet and handed over a half of a broken Carthaginian half shekel. "The gods—whatever gods there be—prosper you!"

On the left the sun, rising over the rocky mountains of Cape Hermes, shot ruddy beams through the scattered clouds and sprinkled the waves of the Bay of Carthage with rubies. To starboard, the long sandy beaches of the Carthaginian coast broke into rising sand dunes and then into steep red cliffs, along which ran the huge outer wall of Carthage.

The city—one of the world's greatest—crowned the end of a peninsula that jutted out into the Bay of Carthage. This peninsula broadened out at its tip on either side, so that it had the shape of a hammer or a pick. The two horns almost inclosed two bodies of water, Lake Ariana to the north and the Lake of Tunis to the south; while shallow channels, suitable for small craft, joined each lake to the sea. The city proper occupied the head of the peninsula, between the two horns.

As the ship sailed southward past Cape Carthage, the hills of the Megara—the suburb—rose behind the outer wall, which here ran close to the sea. Villas, surrounded by fields and orchards, were scattered over these hills. Here and there a temple crowned a hilltop. The glass roof ornaments of these temples caught the rays of the rising sun and shot them back to the ship in rainbow hues.

The hills of the Megara flattened out as the ship sailed on, until it came abreast the Byrsa. The Byrsa—the inner city—was surrounded by its own wall, which joined the outer wall along the waterfront to form a single enormous rampart, strengthened at intervals by towers. Behind the double wall could be seen the tops of houses five or even six stories high. Beyond these, and separated by a short distance from the hills of the Megara, stood the single fortified hill of the citadel.

Between the great wall and the sea ran a paved causeway, with a parapet along its outer edge. Ships tied up along this quay by ropes looped around the crenelations of the parapet. As Zopyros' ship proceeded, the causeway narrowed into a long point, directed south, and ended in a huge built-up stone pier. The captain tied up near the end of this pier.

As Zopyros and his companions disembarked, a donkey boy came running up, leading his animal. Knowing from the steward's directions that Elazar's house was over a league from the port, they hired the ass to carry their gear. When the three duffel bags had been roped into place, the travelers set out northwards towards the base of the pier and the great wall.

To the left of the pier was a gap in the wall, through which Zopyros glimpsed the inner harbor. This harbor, rectangular and ten by sixteen plethra, was crowded with merchant ships, some in the water and some hauled out on skids around the margins. Beyond this inner harbor but connected with it lay the cothon or naval harbor, surrounded by a massive circular wall. A trireme, issuing from the cothon, nosed its way through the merchantmen, like a shark in a pool of turtles, with shouted threats and warnings to clear the way.

As the three reached the base of the pier, they approached one of the gates in the main wall. Flanking this gate were a pair of towers with a portcullis, like that of Ortygia, working between them. Behind the portcullis was the main portal, comprising a pair of wooden doors whose timbers were whole tree trunks squared, held together with massive bronzen brackets. The portcullis was raised and the gates stood open. Several soldiers in corselets of gilded metal scales mounted guard at the gate. One soldier questioned Zopyrus and his companions closely before letting them into the city.

Once within the gate, the travelers followed the animal past the merchant harbor, across which they could see the tophet or temenos of the temple of Tanith and Baal Hammon, with its groves and shrines and stelae surrounding the home of the divine pair. They trailed the ass around the curve of the wall of the naval harbor into the tangle of stone-paved streets beyond.

"Valetudo preserve us, but the houses are even taller here than in Motya!" said Segovax, looking apprehensively at the towering whitewashed facades on either side. The height of the buildings made dark canyons of the bustling streets, into which an occasional scorching sunbeam struck slantwise. The dust made Zopyros cough; the rank city smells were overpowering.

The travelers jostled loose-robed Phoenicians, tattooed Libyans wearing ostrich-plume headdresses, and lean, swarthy Numidians capped with turbans of wildcat skins. There were Negroes from beyond the deserts: some of them huge, muscular men; others mere Pygmies, less than five feet tall.

They brushed past snake charmers, sorcerers, and beggars holding out fly-crusted sores and the stumps of withered limbs. They dodged around the litters, borne by gigantic blacks, of bejeweled oligarchs. They pushed past the flocks of goats and sheep that flowed like freshets along the narrow streets, with a skin-clad herdsman and his dog walking briskly behind each flock.

The streets were lined with shops, identified by wooden signs inscribed right to left with lines of Punic writing. Costly goods from near and far spilled out into the street. The shopkeepers stood in their doorways, importuning passers-by with seductive cries, low bows, and sweeping gestures. One man sold Etruscan candles; another, Persian umbrellas. An Egyptian tradesman featured two of his country's products: a salve for curing dandruff, made from genuine hippopotamus fat; and some large tame snakes, which Egyptian ladies of quality placed in their laps or around their necks to keep themselves cool in summer.

Everywhere—on street corners, in the entrances to shops, and in the midst of traffic—men pursued their eternal bargaining in the purring Punic tongue. If quieter than Greek hagglers, the Carthaginians were more energetic and businesslike in their manner. Everybody seemed in a hurry. Nobody strolled about discussing philosophy or politics and illustrating his points with graceful gestures. Every Carthaginian seemed to have urgent business, to which he was hastening with an anxious, preoccupied air.

Elazar's house stood on a hilltop in the Megara, near the temple of Eshmun, amid vineyards and groves of olive, almond, and pomegranate trees. When the porter called the master, Evnos introduced himself and his companions and handed over the hospitality token they had received from Abarish.

Elazar ben-Ahiram was a tall, heavily built man, with a broad head, blunt features, and a close-cut black beard. Rings gleamed on his fingers and in his ears. On his head was a hat like a small inverted pail. His body garments were of thin, light material, but he wore a number of them. There was a loose linen gown, which hung to his ankles. Over this he wore a kind of linen apron, and over this in turn a long-sleeved thin woolen coat, cut so that it was open in front and fell to his calves behind.

He looked at his visitors from small, wary, black eyes, studied the broken coin, and grunted. "Wait here," he said, and disappeared.

Soon he returned, holding up the two halves of the coin to show that they made one. " 'Tis true you come from Abarish," he growled. "Doubtless you are fain to stop at my house?"

Zopyros glanced at the Karian, to see how he would cope with this ungracious greeting. Evnos beamed and said: "Your hospitality overwhelms us, Master Elazar. I trust we impose not upon it."

Elazar frowned. He shot a sharp glance at the speaker from under heavy black brows, as if wondering whether there had been sarcasm in the words. Then he said:

"Know that you will find no abandoned luxuries here. No dancing girls or all-night revels. In this house we are sober, hardworking folk, and we keep regular hours and obey the gods."

Evnos' smile remained fixed. "After inns and ships, sir, your plainest fare will seem like unto the paradise whereto the Egyptians thought their kings ascended."

Elazar muttered under his breath, jingled the halves of the half shekel, and finally said: "Come on in."

The house was of the courtyard type, resembling that of a prosperous Hellene. Instead of the statue that a Greek might place in the middle of his courtyard, Elazar kept a sundial in the center of his. A loom stood at one side. A boy of four played with a toy chariot in the care of a Negro nurse, who sat sewing with her big black breasts drooping over the top of her single garment.

Elazar said: "I am about to depart to oversee a house I am erecting in the Byrsa. The master's eye feeds the horse, you know. My servants will see that you are settled and victualed. Take your ease until I return in the afternoon."

He was gone; Zopyros heard him giving orders. The front door slammed, and chariot wheels rumbled away.

Zopyros found that the plaster of the walls of his room was painted, but with plain panels of pastel colors instead of mythological or bucolic scenes. Little borders of egg-and-dart patterns ran around the panels. Otherwise the room was rather bare.

He made himself at home and went into the courtyard. His first task would be to make friends with the boy, and he nervously wished he had Archytas along. Archytas had such a way with children, while Zopyros found their company awkward.

However, when he entered the courtyard, he found Segovax already deep in converse with the child, whom he was entertaining with fantastic Celtic legends. Two of Elazar's watchmen lounged in the vestibule that led to the outer door, leaning on javelins and watching the visitors. Bludgeons hung from their belts. Elazar was taking no chances.

"Hello!" said Zopyros to the boy. "Are you Ahiram ben-Elazar?"

"That am I. Are you a Greek? I know Greek. Nai. Ouk. Chaire. Parakalô. Eucharistô. My mother is Greek."

Zopyros said: "I—"

"Pray talk not; I would hear the story Segovax tells."

The Celt threw Zopyros a wink and resumed his tale. Zopyros strolled over to the lounging watchmen. Looking as innocent as the small boy, he spoke to one of them in Greek:

"Could you tell me when the master will be back?"

Both men bowed and smirked but looked blank. One spread his hands and shrugged. When Zopyros repeated his question in Punic, their eyes lighted with intelligence. Both began to speak at once. Elazar might be home at any time from midafternoon to dinnertime. His business hours were irregular.

Zopyros turned back to where Segovax spun out his tale. "When you've finished," he said in Greek, "I should like a word with you. You, too, Evnos," he added as the Karian appeared in the courtyard.

Segovax quickly rounded off his story: "... so Prince Divico married the elf king's daughter, and the wicked stepmother was chopped into little bits and fed to the pigs. What is it, Zopyros my lad?"

The nurse took Ahiram away, and servants began setting up lunch in the courtyard. Speaking low and in Greek, Zopyros told his comrades the story of Korinna.

"You mean," said Evnos, "that this is the same woman of whom the steward told us? And you knew it all along and never said a word?"

"Ah, but he's a sly one," said Segovax.

Zopyros said earnestly: "I'm not telling you this now just to pass the time. I have a life-and-death task to do, and I need your help."

"Meaning," said Evnos, swiveling his eyes to the door through which Ahiram had disappeared, "you're thinking of absconding with the child?"

Zopyros wagged his head in the affirmative.

Evnos clapped a hand to his forehead. "By the womb of the Mother Goddess, what an idea! Are you out of your mind? Do you want to get us all burned in the belly of some big bronze idol?"

Segovax added: "Zopyros darling, 'tis a fine high-spirited lad that you are. But we have serious business, and we can't be letting you spoil it all with your romantical notions."

"I'm going to try it, with or without your help!"

"Absolutely not!" said Evnos. "I have the final say in such matters."

"Would you leave the poor infant to be broiled in the statue of Baal Hammon?"

"It's none of our affair. People are always killing one another; one Punic brat more or less makes no difference."

"You forget, this brat is my stepson-to-be. That is, if I can save him."

"That's your lookout, not ours. Your present duty is to see that we perform our mission. Afterwards, if you want to come back to Carthage to make a snatch, that's up to you ..."

They argued back and forth through lunch, in tense voices, which they kept from rising by conscious effort. The watchmen looked on, mildly interested in the foreigners' quarrel but giving no sign that it concerned them.

At last the disputants came to a grudging agreement. Zopyros should make no move before the engineers were all recruited. After that, if he wished to leave the group and try a coup on his own, they would not put obstacles in his way—provided he gave them a chance to get clear of Carthage first.

Shortly before sunset, the rumble of Elazar's chariot sounded outside. Servants rushed to and fro to get dinner ready. The contractor stalked into the courtyard, a scowl on his face. Zopyros braced himself for an unpleasant dinner. Then little Ahiram trotted in. Elazar hoisted his son up, hugged him, and kissed him, while the boy pulled his father's beard and chattered about the events of the afternoon.

Elazar served no wine before the meal and drank but little himself during the repast. They ate sitting in chairs instead of reclining on couches. The entree was a tasty stew. Segovax asked:

"What's this we are eating, your honor?"

"Puppy dog," said Elazar.

Segovax clapped a hand over his mouth. Zopyros gulped. Even Evnos' gap-toothed smile became strained. Elazar shot keen glances around the table, and his lips twitched. He said:

" 'Tis not your custom, and I know it. But, when I dine among Greeks, I must ofttimes eat pork or go hungry, notwithstanding that to us Canaanites the pig is an unclean beast."

Zopyros compelled himself to go on eating. Dog meat, he found, was really not bad if one fought down one's inherited prejudices. He said:

"How goes the business, sir?"

"Baal Hammon roast all house buyers!" roared Elazar, smiting the table with his fist so that the tapers wobbled in their holders. "The polluted bastards can never make up their minds. No matter how carefully one go over the plans with them, there's ever some last-minute change. Every such change costs good shekels. The wretches try to wriggle out of paying for it and curse the poor builder as a thief because he cannot afford to absorb these costs himself. Why chose I not some safe, easy trade, like lion hunting or piracy?"

Through most of the meal, Elazar harangued the other three on the iniquity of the people who bought houses from him. Becoming bored, Zopyros sought to change the subject. He said:

"Your son seems a bright lad."

"Oh, he is; forsooth he is!" Elazar's eyes gleamed with proud eagerness. "Know you that, albeit not yet five, he knows the Punic alphabet? If the gods receive him not into their bosoms first, he'll verily be a credit to me."

Zopyros: "You mean—ah—sir—that custom of yours?"

"Certes, I mean that custom, as you call it. Unlike certain other folk, we really do revere our gods—at least the righteous amongst us do. How better to show our reverence than to give them that which we love best?"

"Is it not all equally righteous that you are?" ventured Segovax.

Elazar sighed. "That is never the way with mortal men. Our wise kohanim still debate the question: How can good gods permit evil in their world? Time was, long ago when the city was young, when the folk of Carthage gave in to luxury and license. But of late we've mended our ways. The rich care for the poor, thus averting civil conflict; and all alike strive for sober and godly conduct. Did things but continue thus, I doubt not the gods"— Elazar rolled his eyes heavenwards and touched his breast, lips, and forehead—"would favor the Republic for aye, and no draft of the first-born to pass through the fire were needed.

"But, alas! I fear for the future. Skeptics and so-called philosophers from the Greek lands have begun to infect our folk with their blasphemous thoughts, saying there are no gods; or if gods there be, they care not for the petty affairs of men. Sacrilege!" Elazar shook a fist. "Other Greeks seduce our folk away from honest toil; they set an evil example of wasting time in idle argument or childish sports."

He subsided, staring morosely into his wine cup. "Forgive my vehemence, my lords," he grumbled. "I confess I'm not the most courteous man in Carthage. But these things touch me closely. To give my son to the fire would tear the heart from my breast; yet, an the gods demand it, I'll do it without cavil. Look not scornful, for other peoples have hard customs also. The Celts burn victims in wicker cages; the Italians make them fight to the death; and the Greeks abandon their weans on rubbish heaps for dogs to devour."

"The boy has no mother?" said Zopyros innocently. "Oh, aye, he has one. My wife is—on a long visit to her kinsmen in Messana."

"Only one wife?"

"Certes; what think you? We're no Persians. Why, if men were allowed as many wives as they could afford, the rich would garner more than their share. Then would the poor be forced to remain continent or have recourse to those vile, unnatural acts that so delight you Greeks." Elazar glowered at Zopyros. "But enough of these things. You spoke when erst we met of a mission to Carthage. What is this mission?"

Evnos explained that they were recruiting engineers for Dionysios and hoped that Elazar could help them in their quest.

Elazar frowned. "Peaceful purposes, eh? I trust not that popinjay in his Ortygian fortress, nor any other Greek. Methinks he's greedier than a purple-shell and will devour whatever his jaws can span. I know you Greeks. 'Tis not to your taste by tedious toil and patient, peaceful penetration to weave a web of mutual trust and obligation with those you trade with. Nay, rather, you seek by swift and ruthless onset to assert yourselves at the cost of other men. You boast of your culture; yet in many of your cities 'tis the regular yearly thing, as soon as the harvest be gathered, to sally forth with shield on arm to discover which of your neighbors you can most readily rob, enslave, or slay. What's that song?" He sang in good Greek, in a powerful bass voice:

"Now, is that not the perfect pirate's view of life? But to return to our subject: I know but few engineers. In building houses for the citizens, experience serves the turn of plans and reckonings."

Zopyros said: "But"—he almost said "Korinna" but caught himself in time—"Abarish told me you've worked on fortifications. So you must know something about engineering and engineers."

"What if I do?" growled the Carthaginian. "You ask me to put myself out; to do your work for you, in fact, by hunting down these men. What's in it for me?"

Aha, thought Zopyros, now comes the truth. He threw a smile at Evnos, who smoothly took up the dialogue: "Oh, we plan to make it worth your while, Master Elazar. Say—a reasonable commission on the salaries of the men you can find?"

Elazar thoughtfully scratched a fleabite. "The slippery word, of course, is 'reasonable'," he said with a grim smile. "I'm still not utterly happy about this project; but, if I help you not, you'll doubtless go to another. So let's talk terms. Say—the first three months' pay?"

"Ye gods, no!" cried Evnos. "At two drachmai a day—which Dionysios offers—he'd never agree to such terms. He has many sources of expense."

"Well can I ween. Such as a stable of pretty boys?" said Elazar, deliberately offensive.

"I think you are misinformed on that score," said Evnos evenly. "His home life, from what I've seen, is as sober and temperate as your own. But the governance of a city is a monstrous consumer of treasure."

"Well, how much had you in mind, then?"

"Let's say, ten drachmai a man—five days' pay. If you find ten men, that will come to—"

"An insult, by Tanith's teats!" cried Elazar. "A pittance! A penny thrown to a beggar! Am I a dog? Am I a slave, so vilely to be used? Why, the cost of sending letters alone were more than that ..."

Zopyros signaled for more wine and settled back in his chair, watching the haggle. The dusk deepened, bats whirred overhead, and the stars came out. Zopyros counted stars and wondered which of the philosophers' theories about them was right. Having seen Phoenician traders at this kind of game before, he knew that hours, perhaps days, would pass before agreement was reached. Since these people had practically no sports, drama, poetry, art, science, or philosophy to amuse them, bargaining was (except for their atrocious religion) their main entertainment.

He looked across at Elazar, absorbed in wringing the last penny out of Evnos whether he needed the money or not. He much disliked the man, not least because the Carthaginian's brutal censures of everything Greek had in them too much truth for comfort. Zopyros sympathized—natural prejudices aside—with Korinna's desertion of her husband. The Phoenician was a grouchy, gloomy, grasping boor and, in religious matters, a priggish fanatic. On the other hand, Elazar was not to be underestimated. He was intelligent, energetic, and enterprising. He seemed sincerely to love his son. His blunt discourtesies were no worse than the oily overpoliteness of many Phoenicians.

The bargaining continued the next morning and through lunch. At last Elazar wiped his mouth on the tablecloth and held out his hands for a servant to pour water over.

"Much though I enjoy matching wits with you, Master Evnos," he said, "business calls, and I must forth to my constructions. Let's cleave the difference and make it the first twenty days' pay: half to be paid when the man is hired by you; the other half to be sent by your master to Abarish in Motya when the man goes to work in Syracuse. Agreed?"

"Agreed." The two clasped hands.

Elazar rose. "Stay you here, all of you; for your men will soon appear. I go!"

Less than an hour later, a Carthaginian knocked at Elazar's front door. He identified himself as Azruel of Thugga, an engineer specializing in siege engines.

Zopyros interviewed the candidates. It was new work for him. At first he hated to make a final decision, fearing that, if he turned down very many, the supply might suddenly fail, and he would be left without enough technicians to please Dionysios. The first few, therefore, he told to go home and wait. He took down names and addresses.

As he got more experience, however, he found that he could detect the ones who were bluffing. In the end he hired fourteen engineers and turned down three. Over breakfast the next day, Elazar said:

"That's the tally of the able engineers of Carthage. Belike I could flush one or two by writing my colleagues in Utica and Tunis."

"This were enough, meseems," said Evnos. "When I shall have paid you the promised half of the commission, the money entrusted me by Dionysios will be well-nigh gone. If my master wish further recruitment, I must needs go back to Syracuse for more."

Elazar nodded. He had become almost agreeable. "Then, I ween, you're for town and will seek passage homewards. Take my advice and ask of Bomilkarth's Sons. Their ships are roomy and well found; and, what is more, remarkably clean. Old Bomilkarth had a mortal hatred of mice, wherefore every ship of that line now carries one or more Egyptian cats, this nuisance to abate."

One of Bomilkarth's Sons' ships was to sail three days later. Evnos reserved passage and reported back to his comrades. The master of the house had chosen to stay home that day, checking accounts with his steward. He looked up from his work to say:

"Tomorrow comes the harvest festival. Since you have nought else to do, I thought I would show you the religious procession."

"Thank you, sir," said Zopyros. He glanced across the courtyard, to where Evnos and Segovax had their heads together. Presently they went out, saying:

"We would shop a bit in town, my masters, for pretty things to take home to our womenfolk."

Zopyros spent the afternoon playing in the courtyard with Ahiram. The boy—a sturdy, swarthy, black-haired child—had gotten used to the visitors. Aside from the fact that he tended to talk too much, Zopyros liked the boy—as well as he liked most children.

Ahiram was well developed for his age. When Zopyros played ball with him, he was appalled to find that the child was almost as good at throwing and catching as was he himself. Zopyros was awkward, whereas the child was precociously agile, slinking and pouncing like a cat.

Once, when he thought nobody was listening, he asked Ahiram: "Would you like to see your mother?"

"Father says Mother is bad. She went away."

"But would you like to go to see her?"

Ahiram considered the question soberly. "Yes, I should. When can we go?"

"I know not. If you say no word to anybody about it, peradventure something can be clone." When Segovax and Evnos came back that afternoon, the former said: "We have a bit to talk about with you, Zopyros; and I'm thinking we'll disturb himself less if we do it outside."

Elazar glanced up from his papyrus rolls and back again without a word. The three travelers went out and strolled among the olive trees. Farm workers were striking the boughs with poles and gathering into baskets the olives that fell. Evnos said:

"During this parade tomorrow, do you think you could slip away with the boy?"

Zopyros' jaw dropped. "Wh-why, I hadn't thought. What is it? What are you planning?"

"If you can, Segovax will be waiting at the corner of Shadapra and Bes—that's a couple of blocks from the route of the procession—with a mule. You can be out of the city with the lad before anybody misses him."

"Oi! But—I thought you wouldn't have anything to do with this?"

Segovax grinned through his mustache. "To be sure, now, you didn't think we'd let our friend down, and him so romantical and all?"

"I—I don't know how to thank you. But what will happen to you?"

"It's all fixed," said Evnos. "Segovax and I are leaving, not on Bomilkarth's ship, but on a Greek ship that sails a day earlier. Of course Elazar won't know that."

"Where do I go when I get out of Carthage?"

"Now, that called for fast work on my part! Luckily I know unsavory characters in all the big cities. You'll follow the coastal road to Cape Utica. There's a ford across the Bagrada near its mouth."

"Do I go up to Utica?"

"No, no. You're going to visit a witch who lives in a cave on Cape Utica."

"A what?"

"A witch. Saphanbaal the witch. She'll hide you for a few days until you're picked up."

"Zeus on Olympos! Will she turn me into a spider, or what?"

"Good gods, no! This is a simple matter of hiding a wanted man. Don't let her profession bother you. Here is the hospitality token by which you shall identify yourself to her."

Evnos held out a length of bone—a piece of human thighbone, Zopyros guessed. It was about half a foot long. One end was a smoothly rounded joint, while the other was jaggedly broken. Zopyros took the object and eyed it doubtfully, asking:

"What about my rescue?"

"Three nights hence, a Captain Bostar will sail past on his way to Sicily and Tyre."

"What sort of man is he?"

"Not the best, I fear. He's a smuggler—one who secretly loads off open roadsteads and shaves his prices by evading harbor fees. But, if you will do desperate deeds, you can't be fastidious."

Two of Elazar's watchmen cleared a way with elbows, boots, and bludgeons through the pushing, gabbling throngs for Elazar and his guests. With much shoving, quarreling, and threats, they jammed themselves into a space along Baal Hammon Avenue. Elazar hoisted Ahiram upon his shoulder.

Zopyros, being taller than most Carthaginians, could easily see over the heads of those before them; but Evnos was not so lucky. Zopyros thrust the Karian in front of him, so that he could at least glimpse the proceedings. A line of soldiers on either side of the avenue kept back the throng with spears held level to form a railing.

They stood for an hour, not daring to move lest they lose their places. Hawkers strolled up and down the avenue on the other side of the fence of spears, crying their wares: "Hot biscuits!" "Pure water!" "Good blood sausage!" "Who's fain for dried chick-peas?" "That's tuppence ... pass it back to the gentleman, pray." "Father, when will the parade begin?" "Palm fronds to greet the gods!" "Fresh sardines!" "Amulets for good luck! Your favorite god!" "Delicious little cooked birds!" "Fine grapes to cool your throats!" "Pomegranates!" "Artichokes!" "Good felt caps, latest style!" "Hot biscuits!" "Father, when will the parade begin?"

They stood for another hour in heat and dust. Zopyros' knees began to ache. Little Ahiram fussed a little, cried a little, and went to sleep in the arms of his father, who growled:

"The accursed priests never begin these things on time. An the gods ever desert the Republic, the cause will be that they've wearied of waiting for their tardy worshipers."

At last a gong boomed, followed by a blast of trumpets. The hawkers scampered away. Men with brooms and dustpans passed along the avenue after them, stirring denser clouds of dust.

Then came the boom of drums, the clash of cymbals, the twang of harps, the clang of sistra, and the wail of flutes and pipes. The odor of incense filled the air. The first group of paraders appeared, from the temple of Bes.

In front marched a musical band. Then came groups of singers and dancers, the latter bounding and cavorting. Little girls threw flower petals at the crowd. The god himself, a painted and gilded statue on a litter borne by a dozen priests, followed. The priests wore thin, transparent robes over white loincloths. Bucket-shaped gauze caps covered their shaven heads.

The statue was that of a long-bearded, snub-nosed, dancing dwarf, naked but for a lion's skin thrown over one shoulder. Ostrich plumes waved from the corners of the litter. Other temple folk followed: priests swinging censers, which filled the avenue with blue clouds of sweet-smelling smoke; sacrificers, lamplighters, sacred barbers, lay brothers, temple slaves and serfs.

The crowd cheered the god of mirth and merriment. Another group of musicians followed, and after them came the float of Eshmun, the healer. This was a statue of a long-bearded, long-robed god seated in a gilded wagon drawn by four mules. The god held out his arms to bless the people. Priests, walking beside the wagon, wore bandages, or had their arms in slings, or pretended to limp on crutches to show the ills of which their god cured his worshipers. After them came more ranks of minor temple personnel; for today even the meanest temple slave had his moment of glory.

More incense, more music. The next float was that of Hiyon, the divine artificer, beating a piece of metal on his anvil. A real fire glowed in his forge. The priests who walked beside his wagon bore tools for working wood, stone, leather, and metal.

Next came Dagon, with his fish's tail. His priests carried his litter. Other priests, dressed in iridescent scales, went through the motions of fish, while yet others in blue-green cloaks swayed back and forth like waves. Pretty priestesses in green gauze sprinkled scented water on the crowd from golden aspergilla.

Then came Kusor, the mariner and inventor. Priests pulled his wagon, which was a fishing boat on wheels. In the boat, the statue of Kusor sat at a table and tinkered with a device of wheels and levers.

So far these were minor gods. Zopyros nudged Evnos and glanced towards Ahiram, astride his father's neck. The two watchmen closely flanked their master. Zopyros could not see the remotest chance of getting the boy away without a struggle, in which he would be outnumbered by Elazar's party and surrounded by the excited crowd. Elazar had only to shout: "Seize that rascally Greek!" and Zopyros would be torn to pieces.

Evnos followed Zopyros' gaze, shrugged, and spread his hands, muttering: "The gods of Carthage are guarding their own today. I'm sorry Segovax will miss the procession for nothing."

Now the cheers became louder, mingled with prayers and snatches of hymns. The wagon of Milkarth, drawn by white horses, came into view. The hero stood, wrapped in a lion's skin—a real skin, Zopyros noted, not a sculptured one—with his sword in one hand and the head of the demoness Masisabal in the other. Blood dripped realistically from the head. A squad of kohanim, with embroidered stoles over their shoulders, marched barefoot in front of the wagon, chanting the legends of the labors of Milkarth from scrolls they held before them.

Next came the wagon of Resheph. A pair of black bulls drew it; a white ass, to be sacrificed at the end of the day, was led behind. The statue showed the god as standing on a bull and wearing a horned helmet. In one hand he held a battle-ax and in the other a three-pronged thunderbolt. The priests carried his emblems on poles: black thunderclouds of cloth, zigzag silver spears representing lightning, and silver vultures with outspread wings.

The float of Mether bore an image of the god, in the form of a beardless youth in Persian coat and trousers, stabbing a bull. Although it was full daylight, the attendant priests carried guttering torches. Two of them walked naked with masks in the form of lions' heads over their faces and a live python draped over their shoulders.

Now the wagon bearing the statue of Anath, the warrior goddess, swayed into view. The goddess rode a lion, with a shield on her right arm, a spear in her right hand, and an ax in her left hand. A necklace of severed human heads hung round her neck. A live lion, aged and blinking, was led beside her carriage. Her priests carried shields and spears, which they clashed together in unison.

The maddening rhythm of clang—step—clang—step—made Zopyros want to shout or punch somebody. A man ducked under the line of spears and ran, shrieking and foaming, towards the divine wain. An officer, rushing up, brained him with an ax. The body was pushed back against the feet of the foremost spectators and lay in a widening pool of blood while the procession marched on.

Next came El, seated in a chariot drawn by two red bulls. The symbols carried on poles included bulls' horns, rayed sun disks, and long blue streamers representing rivers.

Then came Ashtarth. The cheers became deafening. She had the largest band and the most exotic corps of priests. Some, their eyelids painted green, pranced in a sacred dance with their skirts hiked up to their waists, flapping their genitals at the crowds. Others manipulated phalli of painted leather, two to three cubits long, attached to the fronts of their costumes. Temple harlots danced in embroidered robes cut away to leave the fronts of their bodies bare, with multitudes of little flowers affixed in their pubic hair. Painted boys wiggled their hips.

The crowd screamed its pleasure and roared ribald jests. Zopyros nudged Elazar, caught his eye, and glanced at the painted boys. Elazar said something of which Zopyros caught only the last words: "... but that is religion!"

In turning, a peculiar motion had caught Zopyros' eye. Directly behind him, a man and a woman were copulating, standing against the wall. Their neighbors cheered them on, while the ecstatic pair quivered and gasped with slack mouths and drooping eyelids, oblivious to all about them.

A living woman played the part of the goddess Ashtarth. She lounged on her wagon wearing a robe of many colors, draped to expose her body, while she threw kisses to the crowd. Her priests carried spiked silver balls, representing the planet Venus, and sexual symbols made of precious metals and adorned with jewels.

The clouds of dust and incense made Zopyros cough. He shot another look at Ahiram. The boy's legs were firmly locked around his father's neck, while his hands gripped Elazar's beard. Zopyros could not see any possible way to pry him loose without open violence.

The crowd quieted down, because the greatest gods of Carthage were now approaching. The priests of Tanith marched solemnly by, wearing fillets of gold and silver about their foreheads. The chariot of the moon goddess was drawn by a pair of strange animals. They looked like mules but were covered all over with narrow black and white stripes. They shied, skitted, and pulled nervously at their bridles, gripped by a pair of stalwart Negroes who walked at their heads. The statue of the goddess wore a robe of gray doves' feathers. Priests in hideous masks danced around the chariot to scare off demons. Others bore poles with the symbols of the goddess: stuffed doves, palm fronds, silver lunar crescents, and golden pomegranates. A chorus sang a solemn hymn.

Then came the greatest god of all, Baal Hammon. The god sat on a throne on his wagon, his hands on the rams' heads that formed the arms of the throne. His beard hung to his waist, and horns curled up from his head. Some of his priests wore golden fillets, some feathered headdresses, and some tall pointed hats.

The crowd roared. Everywhere men tried to cast themselves down to the ground, although being so tightly packed they found this almost impossible.

After Baal Hammon came several minor gods. Some were served by eunuchs; some by whole priests who walked naked, lashing each other with whips or wounding themselves with knives. Some small groups seemed to be little more than gangs of sorcerers, waving human skulls and animal heads on poles. A group of Negroes beat deep drums with complicated rhythms, while a witch doctor smeared with ashes capered in their midst.

Last of all came Adon, god of the harvest, who on this occasion had the place of honor. Wild boars were led on chains before his litter, which took the form of a bier. The body of the dead god, painted white, lay supine with hundreds of stalks of wheat standing in holes in the upper surface of the effigy. A chorus dressed in sackcloth and ashes preceded the litter, singing a dirge for the dead god. Following the litter, a second chorus—bejeweled, wreathed, and garlanded—sang a hymn that rejoiced in his resurrection.

After Adon's scores of temple attendants and workers had passed, the soldiers raised their spears, allowing the thousands of ordinary Carthaginians to follow the procession. They filled the avenue like a river. Elazar said:

"We ought to do likewise and worship at one of the temples; but the boy is tired. Let us return to my house."

"I have private business, my masters," said Evnos. "I shall join you later."

Soon after Zopyros had returned to Elazar's house, Segovax walked in, whistling a wild Celtic air and carrying a chous of wine.

"By the horns of Cernunnos!" he said. "It's entirely destroyed that I am with carrying this great jug up all them hills, and the day so hot and all. I only hope it tastes good enough at dinner to pay for the labor. Master Elazar, I'm to tell you that our friend Evnos won't be coming home to dinner. The sight of all the colleens jiggling their pretty little pink teats in the air has given him ideas, I'm thinking. Zopyros my lad, could I have a word with you?"

Outside, the Celt said: "A shame it is that you couldn't get the boy away while the procession was going on, but belike it will be better this way."

"What way?"

"That jug of wine has enough drug in it to put the whole villa to sleep; so don't you be drinking any when it is passed tonight. Just pretend. I had to carry it home because I can drive Elazar's chariot, and Evnos can't. He'll be meeting us at the foot of the city wall with the mule."

"You meant to steal Elazar's—"

"Just borrow it, lad, borrow it. Now listen to what I'm saying ..."

The nearly full moon was high in the eastern sky, and the only sound in the moonlit courtyard was the chirp of a cricket, when Zopyros eased open the door to the boy's room and stole in. Inside there was only a glimmer of light from the courtyard and the soft breathing of two persons. One breath was slow and heavy, with a touch of snore; the other was quick and light.

In the dimness, Zopyros could see nothing but two dark blotches against the paler tones of the stuccoed walls and the cement floor. One blotch, Zopyros knew, was the Negro nurse, sleeping on a pallet. The other was Ahiram on his bed. Zopyros, starting towards the blotch he thought was Ahiram's bed, stumbled against an unseen lamp stand. The stand teetered with a horrible noise. The lamp started to slide off. By a wild clutch in the darkness, Zopyros caught it by the spout. Carefully replacing it, he paused, sweating despite the chill of the North African night, waiting for his wildly beating heart to slow down, and cursing his own clumsiness.

A grumbling sound came from one of the blotches. One of the sleepers stirred and turned over. Zopyros' heart almost jumped out of his mouth. The sleeper was evidently the nurse; it was towards her that Zopyros had been stealing when he bumped into the lamp stand. Even though Segovax had managed to slip her a cup of the drugged wine, Zopyros hated to think what would have happened if he had tried by mistake to pick her up and carry her out.

He moved to the other dark patch, which turned out to be Ahiram asleep with his thumb in his mouth. Taking a deep breath, Zopyros gathered up the boy, blanket and all, without awakening him. Zopyros walked out, avoiding the lamp stand, and softly shut the door.

Silence reigned in the courtyard, save for small noises where Segovax fondled the head of Elazar's watchdog.

"He's after eating all that sausage I brought him," whispered the Celt. "If he sets up a barking when we go out, we're in it for fair. Come on."

They opened the front door. The dog stood slowly waving its tail and watching them with its head cocked in puzzlement. Segovax closed the door behind them, picked up their baggage, and set out with swift strides for the stable.

Ahiram stirred again and muttered: "What—whither go we, Master Zopyros?"

"We go to see your mother," whispered Zopyros. "But you must be a good boy and keep quiet."

Ahiram fell asleep again in Zopyros' arms while Segovax hitched Elazar's pair of blacks to the chariot, muttering: "A murrain on this Punic harness! All the straps go different from the way they should. It would not do at all to have the beasts gallop off without us."

At last the chariot was ready, although the horses pawed uneasily, rolling their eyes and twitching their ears. Zopyros got in with the boy, the baggage, and a coil of rope.

"Now, my beauties," said Segovax, "don't be upsetting us on the road. That's all I'm asking!"

He shook the reins. The team moved out at a walk. Zopyros fought down an urge to tell Segovax to gallop.

When they had put a few plethra behind them, Segovax clucked and brought the team up to a trot. "They're a fine pair, the darlings," he said in a hoarse whisper. "If only I could smuggle them aboard our little ship—but that wouldn't do at all, at all."

"We needn't whisper now," said Zopyros. "Where are we going?"

"Evnos says there's a stretch of wall along Lake Ariana that is not much patrolled, because nobody could climb up there from the rocks unless he had wings like that fellow you were telling me about. And, if he had them, he wouldn't be needing to climb anyway, now would he? 'Tis at the end of this stretch, where the wall leaves the lake and turns south across the big neck of land, that he'll be waiting for us."

"Do you know the way?"

"I do not. But I can steer by the stars and, the gods helping, we'll get there."

This proved easier said than done. The roads of the Megara wound around the hills. Segovax was trying to head a little south of west. Every road that started off in that direction seemed either to curve back eastward or came to a dead end at a villa. Segovax cursed in Gaulish, turned, backtracked, and tried again. Zopyros craned his neck to look back at the eastern horizon. Although they had started around midnight, at this rate he feared that the rising sun would find them groping for their direction.

Ahiram woke up and began asking questions: "Where is my mother? ... Well, when shall we see her? ... Why know you not? ... Are you going to bring Father along? ... Why not? ... Why mustn't I talk? ..."

At last the crenelations of the city wall manifested themselves as a saw-edged band of deeper black against the blue-black of the starry sky. The moon was low. Segovax slowed his team to a walk. Presently he stopped the horses, got out, and led them on foot, patting them and talking softly to them.

He stopped where the wall reared up before them to a height of thirty cubits. He tied the horses' bridles to the fronds of a palm that grew beside the road. To Zopyros he whispered:

"Pick up your gear, but leave Evnos' and mine. I'll be taking the rope. Now you see why I didn't bring the white horses. They'd stand out like a tulip in a basket of charcoal."

He led Zopyros and the boy towards the wall. Once there, they had to walk along it for several plethra before they reached a staircase. Again came the whisper:

"I'll go up and scout; wait here in the shadow. The gods willing, a sentry will be just going by. Then we count to five hundred, and over the wall we go. If we go up there when there's no sentry in sight, we never know when one will be coming."

Segovax removed his shoes and stole up the stone stairs. For a big, bulky man, he could move with remarkable quiet.

They waited. Ahiram became restless and increasingly hard to keep quiet. Zopyros did not dare to slap the child or even to threaten to do so, lest Ahiram set up a howl or run away.

Segovax came back clown the stairs, as quietly as a drifting cloud. "There's no sentries at all, at all," he whispered. "Or, if there are, we can't wait till sunrise to greet them. So come on up, Zopyros dear."

They stole up the stairs, panting a little by the time they reached the top. As far as the eye could carry, no sentry could be seen along the broad upper roadway of the wall. Away to the right, the setting moon threw a broad band of silver dust across the surface of Lake Ariana. Far away a jackal yelped.

Segovax put his head out through one of the embrasures of the parapet and whistled. An answering whistle came from below. Segovax tied a loop in the end of the rope.

"You first, my lad," he said, putting the loop around Zopyros' body.

"But what about you? And whom do I pay for all this? And what shall I do with the mule?"

"Don't be worrying about silly things like money. Dionysios is paying for your escape, though he doesn't know it yet, poor man. Give the mule to the witch if you like. Now, over you go! Hold on to the parapet ... Now put your weight on the rope, a little at a time ... That's right. Keep the feet of you firm against the stones."

Segovax had taken a couple of turns of the rope around one of the merlons of the parapet, so that he could let the rope out a foot at a time without undue strain. It seemed to Zopyros that the descent took hours. He was glad he could see nothing below except the irregular black masses of trees and shrubs. As the rope above him lengthened, it quivered and thrummed in disconcerting fashion, and he found it harder to keep his feet braced against the masonry.

At last he felt the ground beneath his feet. Evnos helped him out of the bight of the rope and fastened it around his own body.

"We shall see you in Syracuse," he whispered. "There's the mule; name's Yaphe." He looked upward and called softly: "Ready!"

Up he went, a few inches at a time. This was much slower than lowering Zopyros, even though Evnos was the smaller man. After a few pulls, Segovax had to stop, snub the rope around his merlon, and rest.

Zopyros sought out the mule in the darkness. The animal, tethered to a small tree, was munching at everything it could reach. It bore a saddle pad with a strap in back, to which Zopyros fastened his traveling bag.

When he had finished, Evnos was almost to the top. The Karian pulled himself up hand over hand for the remaining distance. There was quiet for a moment, then the sound of the rope's being paid out rapidly through one of the embrasures.

"Master Zopyros!" came a small voice. "Are you there? I am afraid! I'm being banged against the rocks!"

As Ahiram came down with a rush, Zopyros caught him. The boy had been tied in an elaborate harness, made out of the end of the rope.

Zopyros was still untying the lad when there was a whistle from above. Then came a scurry of feet going down the stair on the other side. The sound of horses' hooves and chariot wheels started up sharply and then diminished. At the same time, the sound of running steps on top of the wall approached. There was a jingle of warlike gear and a sentry's cry:

"Stand! Who goes there?"

Zopyros strained his fingers at the knots in the rope, but his comrades had done their work all too well. At last he took out the smallsword strapped to his thigh and sawed the rope apart. At that moment, the rope was snatched away from above. Another pair of running feet approached from the other direction. Zopyros heard snatches of phrases in Punic:

"Who's there?" "Somebody sneaking over the wall!" "Going in or out?" "That sounded like a chariot." "Behold this rope!" "See you aught below?"

Zopyros boosted Ahiram on the back of the mule, unhitched the animal, and vaulted on behind the boy. "Go!" he said, kicking the mule's ribs with his heels and slapping its flank with the slack of the reins.

The mule stood still, continuing its repast. Zopyros kicked and slapped, to no avail. He did not dare to shout. He thought of drawing his sword and giving the balky brute a prick. He hesitated, for his Pythagorean training had taught him to be kind to animals.

"Somebody's down there!" came one of the voices from above. "What is it?" "I cannot tell." "Give them a shot whilst I rouse the guard!"

Footsteps receded. There were small indeterminate sounds, a faint whir as of a large night insect, a whistle of cloven air, and a smacking impact just behind Zopyros. A sling bullet had struck Yaphê in the rump. With a bray of pain and anger, the mule started off. Zopyros desperately clutched Ahiram with one hand and the saddle pad with the other. Then they were out on the coastal road, rocking along at a brisk canter towards Utica.