The Bronze God of Rhodes

BOOK VIII — PTOLEMAIOS

Pointing to the shore of the Province of the Catfish, beyond which the morning sky was paling, I said: "The Mendesic branch ought to fork off soon. Everybody watch."

I did not trust Horos to point out this fork when we reached it. He had raised a terrible outcry when Thothises' plan for going down to the sea by the Mendesic branch was broached. We should, Horos assured us, lose our way in the swamps of Lake Tanis, or be capsized by a hippopotamus, or be slain by the brigands of the Pasture. Although he had subsided into surly mutterings, I was sure that he would try to slip past the opening of the smaller branch without a word and then present us with an accomplished fact.

Zazamanx and Sambas were at the oars. The sky turned from dark blue to light blue, then to apple green, then to gold. As the first red limb of the sun appeared above the palm trees, Berosos said:

"Yonder it lies, methinks!"

I shaded my eyes against the low ruddy rays and made out a gap in the bank of the river. At the same time Horos called out:

"Look, ship!"

We looked in the direction of Horos' pointing finger. A boat, larger than ours, detached itself from the shadows along the western bank and headed out towards midstream. Berosos, peering with puckered brow, gave a little squeak and said:

"O Chares, surely it is the boat of the thieves! Nine or ten oars on the nigh side I do see, pulled by sinister-looking knaves."

Several of my comrades exclaimed: "Whither shall we go?"

I thought swiftly. On the wide waters of the Phatnitic branch the thieves could, with their greater oar power, easily catch us and run us down. The Mendesic branch, being narrow and tortuous, would give us a chance to keep ahead of them by dodging around bends.

"Horos!" I said. "Run us into the small branch, quickly. Onas and Dikaiarchos, take the other oars; you're the strongest. Where is that old crocodile spear? Row, curse you!"

The Hathor leaped towards the fork of the Mendesic branch. A yell floated across the water as the thieves perceived that their prey had sighted them. Their leader called the stroke with shouts. Their oars rapidly rose and fell; water foamed about their bow. Despite our efforts, they were plainly making twice our speed.

Nearer we came to the Mendesic branch, but nearer yet came the barge. A little group clustered in the bow with knives and short swords, ready to leap. I prayed to the Bright One that they should have no missile weapons.

So close were the cutthroats that I could see the gleam of their teeth and eyeballs in the rising sun. I poised the spear to spit the first who should try to jump the gap. Manethôs muttered prayers and exorcisms.

"Berosos!" I cried. "Stop dithering and get your sword out. Cut off any hands that grasp our gunwale."

"I will t-t-try," said Berosos.

A heave of her oars brought the pursuing craft almost within arm's length of our stern. As a man started to reach out, I jabbed and got home. The man snatched back his bleeding arm; another struck at the spear shaft with a sword, nicking but not severing it. Their leader kept shouting a command, but nobody seemed eager to be the first to impale himself.

A man in the bow rose up and threw his knife. Amenardis screamed. I dodged but felt a blow on the side of my head and the sting of a cut on my right ear. There was a thump, and I glanced behind me to see Manethôs tumble on his back with his paper shoes in the air. He had been rapped on the crown by the knife handle.

The priest bounded up, prayer and exorcism forgotten, and shouted furiously to Horos. The latter threw down his paddle. The two squeezed forward between the rowers to where the mast lay. They picked it up and pushed their way aft.

"Get out of the way!" cried Manethôs .

Berosos and I ducked. The priest and the boatman grasped the mast near the butt end, one from each side, so that its thin end projected out over the water. Manethôs counted:

"Oua! Sen! Chemet!"

They swung. The ten-cubit pole hurtled round in a horizontal arc. Most of those clustered in the bow of the barge ducked as they saw it coming, but it struck one man. Splash!

Gabble and curses burst from the thieves. The barge slowed down and fell behind. Someone in the rear of the barge caught the hand of the man in the water and hauled him back aboard.

The quick stroke began again. This time the barge pulled up abreast of us to port, as if to ram us in the waist or to board us from the side.

"Pull!" I cried. "We're nearly there!"

Up forward, Amenardis stood by to strike with Onas' sword. Horos and Manethôs thrust the mast out to fend off the barge.

The barge angled in towards us; our oars fouled theirs with a clatter. Thieves mustered in bow and stern. The chief shouted a command. Some thieves gathered themselves to leap while others snatched at the mast, trying to seize it and wrest it from us.

Then there was a slight shock. I felt the drag of our bottom on ground, and the slowing of the Hathor staggered me. After two heartbeats we were free again and rowing into the Mendesic branch.

The barge, however, grounded firmly on the sandbar, with a grunt of strained timbers and a swirl of muddy water. Three thieves in the bow were pitched off into the river, while those erect in the stern were hurled into the laps of the rearmost rowers.

Our four rowers, with sweat streaming down their faces, gave a few more strokes and then dropped their oars, letting their heads fall forward on their knees.

Screams of rage came from the barge. Fists were shaken, and one man tried a long-range knife throw. The blade whirled across the water but fell short with a small splash. A Greek-speaking thief yelled:

"Dirty, greasy Greeks! Run away, you lying, boy-loving cowards!"

Dikaiarchos raised his head, mopping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, which was plastered to his torso by sweat. "My poor old heart! I never realized how wide that polluted river is."

A bend in the smaller branch of the Nile carried us out of sight of the barge. When I last saw the thieves, most had gone over the side and were wading around knee-deep, trying to push their boat off with random efforts and many cries.

Onas conferred with Horos, then said: "It will not be long ere they are again on our trail. Horos urges that we take to the canals, for they will surely catch us if we continue down this branch."

I said: "Ask him whether we can work our way back to the Phatnitic branch through the canals."

"He says he knows a way," said Onas.

"Let's take it. We should be able to lose them in the canals."

Horos cheered up at not having to face the hippopotamus-haunted swamps of Lake Tanis. An hour's row brought us to the opening of a large canal on our left.

Then we rowed through the countryside of the Delta. Naked peasants on the banks halted their labors to give us those stony stares wherewith peasants the world over confront outsiders. After a few turns and forks we were wholly in Horos' hands.

All day we wandered among the canals. At times the banks came so near on either hand that we had to unship the oars and use them as poles and paddles. Once we had to retrace our path for several furlongs because we had come to a bridge too low for the Hathor's little cabin to clear. Moreover, as the canal was too narrow to turn the Hathor, we had to back the whole way.

At last, when the westerly palms showed black against the ruddy disk of the setting sun, we came again upon the broad Phatnitic branch of the Nile. As the scarlet sphere vanished, I breathed a silent thanksgiving to Helios-Apollon.

The next dawn saw us pulling up to the waterfront at Tamiathis. There lay a big merchantman whose squat form I recognized as that of the Anath of Sapher of Sidon. There stood Sapher himself, long black beard and all, ordering the loading of cargo into his ship.

"I'm happy to see that fortune favors you, Captain Sapher," I said.

"Fortune is right, young fellow!" said the Phoenician. "The accursed brigands had not burnt my ship after all. And why? Because they wished to take out my load of timber first, for their own use. But these great beams of cedar took much pulling and hauling to get up through the hatch and over the side, so that when Tauros' triremes reached the spot, the knaves had not unloaded more than the half.

"Now, my agreement with Tauros was that he should pull me off in return for my cargo of lumber, and only half the shipment was left for the use of his station. However, being a good fellow, he agreed to pull me for what there was, and this proved not difficult once the remaining load was taken out."

"How soon will you sail?"

"I can go almost any time. I did but delay a little to attend Dikaiarchos' return."

"I think I have two more passengers for you." I introduced Amenardis and Manethôs .

"I am delighted," said Sapher. "For, despite the rescue of my ship, this voyage is like to lose me money."

News of our arrival brought Captain Python on a run. His first words were: "Did you get it?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

Python took my arm, walked me aside from the others, and spoke in a low voice. "Good, good! I will see that you and the other two are rewarded. But one thing: Say nothing about this expedition, nothing about the fact that the polluted robe was ever stolen at all."

"Herakles! Why not? I thought I could boast of this feat all my life."

"Well, don't. It makes me look foolish for letting the thing be stolen in the first place."

"How about the crew? They'll surely talk."

"I have sworn them to secrecy. I daresay the tale will leak out someday, but I mean to keep it dark at least until we have left Egypt. So curb that saucy tongue, young Chares, or it will go hard with you."

At first I was indignant that Python should obscure my small glory to avoid any risk to his own. Further thought, however, reminded me that if tongues started wagging freely, my dealings with Azarias might also come to light. Perhaps one should let well enough alone.

"Fetch the robe aboard the Halia," he concluded.

We rowed out and climbed the ladder to the deck of the trireme, which lay in the river. When I bore my burden to the captain's cabin, Python unfolded the garment and scrutinized it.

"Divinity! It seems to have faded a little," he said. "But I suppose that is to be expected after all its adventures. I see that some of you bear scars and bandages. Tell me what happened."

I told my tale, omitting the fact that this was not the original robe, the remains of which reposed at the bottom of my duffel bag.

"Would I had been with you!" exclaimed Python—a sentiment which I privately doubted. "But if what you say be true, then the rogues may still be after the thing, eh?"

"I suppose so, sir. Hadn't you better post a guard over it?"

"I will do better than that. I will have this ship on its way by sundown. Let's get the polluted rag into the king's hands and let him worry about his criminal class."

Python carefully folded the robe and placed it in a large box with a lock, which already held Demetrios' hat, tunic, and shoes. When he had locked this box, he put the box into a chest, like the god Thôth with his boxes of gold, silver, and so on, one inside the other. He locked the second chest—a new one, bolted to the floor—hung both keys about his neck, and ordered the four marines who happened to be within earshot to arm themselves and mount guard over his cabin.

"Let them try to steal it now!" he said.

The flat, sandy shore of Egypt, with the endless forest of palms behind it, becomes a weariness to the eye long before one reaches Alexandria. Past Kanopos and Boukiris the last stretch of shore rises in a slight ridge or hill—or what seems like a hill in the mirror-flat Delta. Then the palm forest breaks up into groves, with fields and farms, villas and gardens, and then comes the wall of Alexandria.

Here, in contrast to the deadly peaceful monotony of the Egyptian littoral, all is bustle and building and change. This became evident as we swung to seaward to pass around Cape Lochias, whence rose, inside the wall, the temple of Artemis and the royal palace. From the end of Cape Lochias a string of islands forms an arc, bowing out from the coast and swinging back at its western end to meet another point of land beyond the city. These islands comprise the large isle of Pharos, several islets, and some mere points of rock.

Cranes and scaffolding rose from these isles; barges lay alongside them; and everywhere men toiled to extend the harbor works. Some were joining the end of Cape Lochias on the left to the nearest isles by a mole, while others strove to unite the farther isles with the Pharos, leaving but a single channel into the Great Harbor.

A little pilot boat, flying the red-lion standard, came bobbing through the chop. The pilot yelled and gestured until the Halia followed him through the Bull Channel into the harbor. Inside the harbor the king was making an even nobler improvement: a vast five-furlong mole, connecting Pharos with the shore and dividing the whole harbor into two huge basins.

We moored at the quay in the naval district, between the base of Cape Lochias and the islet of Antirrodos. Captain Python conferred in his cabin with the commandant of the local naval station. Then, gleaming in freshly polished armor, he drew us up on the deck and said:

"Boys, you are on leave for three days, so you may take life easy." (Cheers.) "Collect your pay from the boatswain and find yourselves quarters. Everyone shall report back to the ship at muster time each morning; that is, one hour after sunrise. Anybody who misses muster shall have his pay docked. After this three-day leave, we shall have exercises every day save feast days and days of bad weather.

"One more thing: Keep out of trouble. If anybody is caught fighting or stealing or otherwise misbehaving, he shall have trouble with me as well as with the local authorities, and he will find me the harder of the two. Dismissed!"

The commandant climbed down the ladder into a waiting boat. After him went Python, and then Python's cabin boy, carefully carrying the box containing Demetrios' garments, and lastly all ten marines as an escort.

I plunged into the bustle of this burgeoning city and gaped at the new tomb of Alexander and the other public structures a-building. Having avoided by a hair's breadth being run over by carts lurching through the broad, straight, swarming avenues with mighty beams and stones for the king's vast construction projects, I arrived at the shipyards on the morning of my fifth day in Alexandria. When roll had been called, Python said:

"See me after dismissal, O Chares."

Some of my shipmates chaffed me, calling: "What have you been up to?" Python, however, explained:

"The king has invited the officers of the Halia to dine with him tomorrow night. As our most junior officer, you are included. Be at the main gate to the palace, properly shaved and oiled and in your best civilian dress, an hour before sunset."

"How goes the mission, sir?"

Python grunted resentfully. "I had to wait three days for an audience, sitting in the king's waiting room and clutching the robe to my bosom like a shipwrecked man clinging to an oar. That Athenian exile, Demetrios of Phaleron, seems to be in command of arrangements at court. He's the rascal who imposed upon the Athenians those austere laws regulating conduct while wallowing in Persian luxury and filling Athens with statues of himself."

"No wonder the Athenians kicked him out! Then what?"

"When I finally got in to see the Ptolemaios, he seemed mightily pleased with the garments—so much so that he invited us all to dine—but he evaded my requests for aid. Despite the good omens, I fear that our trip may be wasted. At best it will be too late in the season to return to Rhodes, so we shall have a three months' layover."

When we were all gathered in front of the palace—Python, his executive officer, his first lieutenant, the marine officer, the boatswain, the coxswain, and myself—an usher led us in. It was a large complex of buildings, decorated in what seemed to me like overly ornate taste. The usher took us into the main building, where a stout middle-aged man with long hair of a startling yellow hue awaited us.

A closer look showed the hair to be dyed and the full, jowly face to be rouged and powdered. His perfume was overpowering. The usher said:

"The king's guests, my lord!"

The man smiled. "Ah, my good Python! Rejoice, dear friends! I am Demetrios of Phaleron, sometime Athenian scholar and politician and now fixer-in-chief to the Great King."

Python presented us, and Demetrios Phalereus led us into a banquet hall, gaudy with gilded plaster wreaths and painted rose gardens all around the walls. Here were an Admiral somebody-or-other, and the king's brother Menelaos, and several other officials and military personages. Presently a trumpet blew, and in came the king with a golden wreath on his balding head.

Ptolemaios son of Lagos was a short, heavily built man with a paunch, in his early sixties. A thick bull's neck jutted forward from heavy, fat-padded shoulders. His jaw was massive, in keeping with his general build. Across his receding forehead ran a strong flange or bar of bone, and from this sprouted bushy gray brows that shadowed his deep-set eyes. His nose was short, albeit high-bridged, hooked, and prominent, so that it had the look of a parrot's beak. He wore Demetrios' spangled robe, with the hem curtailed to suit his stature.

The king strolled in, nodding and flipping his hand in response to our bows, smiling easily and casting polite comments as he was introduced around. To me he said, in a strong Macedonian accent:

"Chares of Lindos, catapultist? You must talk to my chief engineer, here. Perhaps you can tell him something new about catapult design; we cannot let others get ahead of us in military science. Arc you a professional soldier or a militiaman?"

"The latter, sire."

"What do you in civilian life?"

"I am a s-sculptor, sire, of good repute."

I flushed and stammered because, as everybody knows, a sculptor works with his bands and, therefore, cannot aspire to be deemed a true gentleman. Ptolemaios' deep-set eyes looked keenly at me from under tlie beetling brows. The king said:

"A reputable trade, O Chares; to quote the Poet:

"An honest business never blush to tell."

"Your statues may outlast the fame of politicians like myself. Do you work in stone or in bronze?"

"Both, O King, but I prefer bronze."

The king clucked. "Then your pieces may not last so long as all that."

"Why, sire? With decent care, bronze —"

He chuckled. "Has it ever occurred to you that the first thing a tyrant thinks of, when pinched for money, is to melt down all the bronze in the land?"

"No, sir, it has not." I took a deep breath. "I hardly dare suggest it, sire, but—"

"Well? But what? Speak up, lad! I have never yet eaten an artilleryman; they are too tough."

"Would you—would you like me to make a statue of you while we are here in Alexandria?"

The Ptolemaios cocked his head. "Mmm. Possibly; the idea bears thinking on. Take it up with Demetrios, and we shall see."

He waddled off to speak to another guest, leaving me atwitter. I knew that in theory one man is much the same as another, and that a king catches cold when he gets his feet wet as readily as a common man. I also knew that it ill becomes a citizen of a free Hellenic city to grovel before any king.

Still, an artisan like me never, in the ordinary course of events, gets a chance to hobnob socially with a king—even though the king be no scion of an ancient royal line but the son of a backwoods baron from the Macedonian hills. The Ptolemaios had progressed from boyhood companion of Alexander, to bodyguard and general in his armies; then, by guile and foresight, he had obtained Egypt for his satrapy at the first division of the Empire. Now he had arrogated the title of royalty unto himself.

Still, legitimate ruler or upstart, wise or foolish, kind or cruel, none can deny that a king is somebody. Withal, the Ptolemaios was a not unattractive monarch: shrewd, genial, and unaffected, with a great deal of canny Macedonian peasant peering out from under his bushy brows. Were I not a stout republican, I could think of worse men to give my loyalty to.

The talk at dinner was mostly concerned with the siege of Rhodes and with the disaster of Cyprus, when the island fell to Demetrios Antigonou. Ptolemaios' brother Menelaos and son Leontiskos had both fallen into the conqueror's hands; but then Demetrios, with one of his sudden gestures of generous gallantry, had sent these royal captives, together with their immediate friends and baggage, back to Egypt scot-free.

I fell into earnest talk with the chief engineer on the relative merits of balls of stone and of brick for stone throwers. When these subjects had been well covered, the king remarked:

"O Python, what sort of voyage had you hither?"

Said Python: "We fell afoul of a westerly storm, O King, which nearly sank us. After we sighted Egypt's shores, however, all went smoothly."

"Had you no further difficulties or delays?"

"None, sire, save for a stop at Tamiathis to have my ship's leaky seams recalked."

"Was that all that held you up?"

Python, looking more and more uncomfortable, said: "Yes, O King, indeed it was."

"That is odd," said the Ptolemaios. "I have a report that this robe, which you were so kind as to bring me, was stolen in Tamiathis; that you sent a party of your men after it; and that they recovered it in Memphis from an archthief, one Tis of Hanes. I am surprised that you did not enliven our feast by telling of these dramatic events."

Python looked as if he wished the earth would open and gulp him down as it did the hero Amphiaraos. He mumbled:

"O King, I thought that so small and sordid a matter would bore you."

The Ptolemaios wagged a finger. "All that occurs in my kingdom interests me, my good Python. Also, I like people who tell me the full and exact truth, even though it make them look something less than demigods." The king turned to me. "Were you in command of this raid, lad?"

"Yes, sire."

"Then tell us about it."

I told the story, enlarging on the battle in the bull-burial chamber but omitting the replacement of the robe and ignoring the venomous glances from Python. My heart was in my mouth lest the king know also of Azarias' part in the drama. However, he merely said:

"That confirms my report. You did well. When the siege of your city is over, if you would seek your fortune here, I think a place could be found for you in my government. I can use shrewd, daring, and conscientious young men."

I said: "Did you catch him, sir?"

"Catch whom?"

"Tis, the robber chief."

"Alas, no! His loot, hidden in the bull sarcophagus, and his house we have, but the man himself slipped through our fingers. No doubt he is hiding somewhere in that Memphite rabbit warren, to reappear anon under another name. It was a most ingenious idea, this international book-stealing ring, for next to precious metals and jewels, books combine the greatest value with the least bulk."

Menelaos put in: "Brother, if you catch this Tis alive, I am sure you can find him useful employment in your Department of Taxation."

I asked the king: "How about the strategos, Alkman?"

I caught a warning frown from Python, as if to say to keep quiet and not stir up unnecessary enmities. However, I could not miss a chance to do an ill turn to one whom I hated so bitterly.

"What about him?" rejoined the Ptolemaios.

"He was in on it, too, sire. He used me in outrageous fashion to keep me from finding the robe—"

Ptolemaios: "Mayhap our good Alkman is not made to withstand the temptations of governing a great city. Yet he has many soldierly virtues, which will be put to better use in chastising a Nubian tribe that has been raiding my subjects across the border."

"Sire, are we safe from the vengeance of Tis and his gang here in Alexandria?"

Up went the shaggy brows. "In my own capital? I should think so!" Then the king laid a finger beside his nose. "But better safe than sorry, eh, lad? Belike you and your comrades had better not wander the town alone o' nights. Demetrios, pass word to the prefect of police to watch for Tis or members of his band, stealing into the city. Now tell me, O Chares, what said the folk you met on your quest about their government? An honest report now: no sweetening or omission to soothe the old man's vanity." He cast an ironic smile at poor Python.

I thought a moment, then said: "I did not meet many Egyptians, sire. But those I talked with frankly expressed resentment that they should be made an inferior class in their own land while all the posts of profit and power go to Hellenes."

Menelaos, the king's brother, broke in: "Let them resent. As Aristoteles has shown, it is nature's law that the strong and brave shall rule the weak and timid: for example, that the Macedonians shall rule the Egyptians. And who are we to go against the will of the gods?"

Demetrios Phalereus said: "It is not quite so simple as that, Lord Menelaos. The Egyptians are neither so weak nor so cowardly as we are wont to believe. According to Xenophon's books, their soldiery had a high repute for valor before the Persians conquered them. Therefore, say I, they are potentially dangerous, and we must be on our guard lest we all awaken some morning with our throats cut."

"Who cares what books say?" snorted Menelaos. "Experience is the only true teacher, and it tells me that the Egyptians are nought but a pack of soft, sly poltroons."

"Do not scorn books, my dear Menelaos," said Demetrios Phalereus. "Many a man who will not say what he thinks to your face will set forth his honest thought in books. For example," he turned to the king, "with the best of intentions the friends of a king seldom give him the exact truth, because they wish to please the king, and they know that kings, like other men, are not pleased by bad news or unwelcome advice. So, say I, a wise king will buy and read all the books dealing with the office of king and ruler, since those things his friends are not rash enough to tell him are set forth in manuscript."

The. king said: "There is sense in what you say. We have had an example here only this evening. However, when those books in the hoard of Tis the archthief arrive, they will keep me busy for some time. I need to learn the finer points of the literary art, as I, too, am thinking of writing a book."

Everybody asked him what this was to be.

"A history of the campaigns of Alexander," said he. "I have the divine Alexander's own journal in the archives here, and many of his great deeds I myself saw or took part in. It were a shame to let these memories perish with my mortal frame, think you not?

"But let us back to our Egyptian problem, which has plagued me for years. I like to think of myself as more than a mere exploiter and tyrant, holding a conquered people in subjection by force. You may scorn the Egyptians, but they have crowned me with that monstrosity of red and white felt and have formally presented me to their gods. Hermes attend us, but I shall never forget that ten-day in Memphis! I have never been so uncomfortable in my life, standing for hours while they droned through endless rituals. Still and all, I am now their king as well as yours, and I ought to treat them kindly and justly, just as the Alexander felt he owed kindness and justice to the Persians when he had conquered them."

"The Persians at least put up a gallant fight," said Menelaos.

The king ignored this remark. "However," he said, "it is one thing to talk about using the Egyptians kindly and another to bring them into the government. I tried arming some of them, and they began stealing the arms and hiding them for use in a revolt. I have met some of their priests and nobles, but most of them speak no Greek, and those who do are full of such strange ideas that there is no understanding them."

"You might learn Egyptian, Brother," said Menelaos, whereupon all laughed.

I saw my chance. "Sire, I know an Egyptian priest, fluent in Greek, who is on his way hither to represent the priesthoods of Thôth at your court."

"Good," said the king. "When he arrives, turn him over to Demetrios. It may come to nought, but it is at least a step forward."

He clapped his hands. The dancing girls came in, hung wreaths of red and blue lotus flowers around our necks, and began their act.

Days passed without word of the Anath and Amenardis, until I feared that some additional woe had befallen the merchantman. A gust of rain swept the city, proving that it does rain after all in Egypt.

One day Python called a conference of officers after muster. We sat in a circle in his cabin while he paced back and forth in the cramped space and chewed a fingernail.

"I am getting nowhere with my quest for aid for Rhodes," he said. "I have seen the king again, but again there are only polite excuses and postponements. He has made it plain that any further requests would have to be submitted to that painted-up literary character, Demetrios Phalereus."

The executive officer said: "Perhaps he's afraid of throwing good troops after bad."

"Whatever the reason," said Python, "he seems to have made up his mind not to send us any more aid. I am beating my head against a stone wall—a wall hidden behind soft cushions, but a wall nevertheless. What shall I do?"

There was a murmur of suggestions, most of them worthless. Then Python said:

"Chares, were there not some words between you and the king about your making a statue?"

"Yes, sir. I have an appointment with Demetrios Phalereus tomorrow to confirm the final arrangements."

"Get a commission to portray the king, at all costs. This Demetrios Phalereus is said to be quite a boy-lover; yield to him if you must, so that you get in to see the king. Then take up the matter of help for Rhodes."

Luckily, Demetrios Phalereus made no such advances to me. He merely said that the king had approved the proposal for a statue.

"However," he said, "it is plain that you will not be here long enough to erect anything large. Nor does the king care for a full-length statue. His shape, as he says, would never win beauty contests, and it were silly to mount his head on the body of an Apollon. So, not wishing a statue showing him either as he is or as he isn't, he will have a simple bust in bronze, for which we will pay you five hundred drachmai. Is that agreeable?"

"Yes, sir."

When I was taken in to sketch and measure the king, I found him seated at a huge table littered with papyrus. A swarm of secretaries sat about. Some read letters to him; some brought messages; some took dictation. Officials came and went. He was the busiest king I had yet seen. When I had a chance, I said:

"O King, you are paying me a fair price, but I would do the work ten times over for nothing if it meant aid to my city—"

I went on in that vein for a few sentences until the king raised his hand.

"Lad," he said, "perhaps you have not dealt much with kings, so your ignorance is excusable. But let me explain something to you. Have you seen me stop work since you began your sketching?"

"No, sire."

"Nor will you. On all but a few days of the year I work like this from sunrise to sunset. And why? Because a king can never fully trust anybody to carry out his orders faithfully unless he keep his officers in a state of salutary apprehension by inquiring into matters for himself. You know what Alkman was doing in Memphis, because I was not looking over his shoulder.

"Besides, half the people in Egypt—which, they tell me, has several millions of inhabitants—want to get in to see me about their complaints and personal problems. If I give audience to none, I lose touch with my problems. If I give some of my officers to abuse them without redress. On the other hand, there are not enough hours in the day to see all who wish audience. That is why I have Demetrios Phalereus, or another like him, to pass on all requests for audience and to decide which to send in and which to turn aside.

"As you see, a king, if he would really rule, must be as niggardly of his time as a miser of his gold. Every hour must be devoted to certain things and those only. Almost every person he sees during the day has some request to press upon him, and the king must hold them off in order not to be driven mad. And that is why a king takes it ill when a man admitted to his presence on one pretext begins dunning him over some wholly different matter. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," I said. Biting my lip with mortification, I went back to my sculpture in silence.

The Anath, after being held in Tamiathis by adverse winds, reached Alexandria late in Maimakterion. I had a passionate reunion with Amenardis. I had moved out of the officers' quarters in the barracks, next to the palace inclosure, and taken a small apartment in the Beta district. As I was paying the landlord his deposit, the idea struck me to give the man a false name, to make it harder for any ill-wishers to find me. So I became, for the nonce, Nikon Charetos of Kôs.

I also took Manethôs , Theodoros, and Dikaiarchos into the palace to meet Demetrios Phalereus. Manethôs had become quite cheerful at the prospect of an indefinite leave of absence from his wife. His temple council had promoted him from scribe to wing-bearer to lend more weight to his words.

On fair mornings we of the Halia spent a few hours in exercises: rowing and practice in arms. Captain Python chewed his nails and paced the deck in anxiety over the seeming failure of his mission.

"It is unfair!" he moaned to me in his cabin. "I am no magician, able to bend the king's will to mine by subtle spells. Before that accursed bust is finished, Chares, you must have another go at old potbelly."

"Sir," I said, "as I've explained, the king warned me not to do that. If I defy his warning, he will have me at least tossed out of the palace on my arse."

"You will have to take that chance. I have been working on Demetrios Phalereus, but all I get from him is a request for a new formula to restore his virility. The man who can furnish him with a drug or a spell to stiffen his yard can command the wealth of Egypt. His other main concern is literature. 'How about soldiers and food and arms for beautiful Rhodes?' say I. 'Listen to my plan for a new anthology of the early lyric poets,' says he. Phy!"

When I got to my lodgings, I found Amenardis brooding. She burst out:

"You must not sit here in Alexandria, darling. You go somewhere else."

"Why?"

"Because Tis still alive. He send somebody to kill you. I know him. He kill me, too. Take me away!"

"As I've explained, I cannot. I have to wait for the Halia to sail, two months hence."

"And what about me? You think you leave me here?"

I thought hard. "How would it be if I sent you to one of the Ionian islands out of the present war zone: Kôs, say, or Samos? Then we could be reunited as soon as the war is over."

"How soon you send me?"

"About the time I sail in the Halia."

"That not much better than Alexandria. What chance has poor lone foreign woman? Somebody seize me, sell me to slavers." She began to weep noisily. "You no love me! You get me by trick! All you want is one good futtering ..."

We had another of those horrible scenes, which ended in my stamping out of the house. As I issued into the mild afternoon sunshine, I met Manethôs .

"Rejoice!" said the priest. "E! Where are you off to in such haste?"

"To the harbor, to drown myself! Life has become unbearable!"

"You will find the water unpleasantly cold at this time of year, my friend. More trouble with your true love,. I suppose?"

"Of course. I cannot live with her or without her."

"Well, nought endures forever, even life. Pray, stop sputtering like an overheated frying pan and listen. I bring an invitation to a feast in the chambers of Demetrios Phalereus, in the palace, tonight."

"I'm grateful; but I don't think I could bear human company just now."

"Be not absurd! How better to cool off after such a bout than by means of sweet wine and witty converse with congenial comrades and learned colleagues? All the intellectuals of the city will be there."

"Hm," I said. "Maybe you will persuade me, after all. But what do these fine gentlemen want with a mere artisan like me?"

"You are known for your feat in recovering the robe, and the king has praised you. Besides, your knowledge of engineering and the arts qualifies you as a man of intellect. Demetrios has invited Berosos and me, who are not even Hellenes. After all, he is the son of a slave himself, so why should he be snobbish?"

As things fell out, I already knew most of Demetrios Phalereus' guests. There were Dikaiarchos, Kasandros' roving geographer; Theodoros, the atheistical philosopher; and Apelles, the great Koan painter. As I arrived, Apelles was telling of a fantastic thing that had befallen him.

"... so, because of our ancient rivalry over this lady," he said, "I thought it wise not to obtrude upon the king. Naturally I was astonished to receive an invitation to dine at the king's table; but, also naturally, I went as commanded. None challenged me as I entered the palace, and the butler announced me to the king as if all were in order.

"The Ptolemaios looked at me with a puzzled expression and consulted with his minions. Then he confronted me, saying: 'O Apelles, tell me, pray, how you come to be here in this room.'

" 'A man from your palace called at my lodgings with an invitation this afternoon, while I was painting, sire,' I said. 'Why, is anything amiss?'

" 'Only this,' said he, 'that I never issued such an invitation. While I bear you no grudge after twenty years, me-seems that somebody has played a joke upon us. Describe the man who spoke to you.'

" 'I can best describe with a board and a piece of charcoal,' I said, and when these things had been brought, I sketched the face of my inviter.

" 'Ah!' said the king at once. 'That is Pathymias, my second palace steward. He shall rue the day he thought it were fun to play a practical joke on his king. Meanwhile, since there is plenty to eat and drink, you shall remain and tell me of your rise in the world of art.'

"After that all went smoothly, and the Ptolemaios even commissioned me to paint his portrait. 'In spite of the fact,' said he, 'that you painted that old temple robber Antigonos first.'

" 'He asked me first, sire,' I said, 'and your portrait will be all the better for this previous experience. Moreover, I hope you will do nothing drastic to Pathymias, whose jest has turned out well, at least for me.'

" 'I will neither lengthen nor shorten his neck, if that is what you fear,' said the Ptolemaios with a smile. 'I think, however, that six months of peeling onions in the kitchen will do much to season his flighty character.'"

Another guest was Philemon of Syracuse, a dramatist whom the Ptolemaios had lured from Athens to write a comedy for the opening of the new Alexandrian theater in the spring. There was also a scholar, Hekataios of Teos, who became embroiled with Manethôs in a heated argument on Egyptian history.

"I know not who gave your Herodotos his information," said the priest, "but either he or his informant got things fearfully confused. Imagine, placing the kings of the Fourth Dynasty two thousand years out of their proper time!"

The king dropped in for a short visit after dinner, to greet those whom he knew and to meet the others. He spent a while in private converse with Manethôs and then withdrew.

Demetrios Phalereus asked: "My dear Chares, how is your bust of the king coming?"

"I shall be ready to pour in a ten-day, sir."

"Good. Be warned not to prettify the king in his statue; he prefers to be shown as he is, bald spot and all." Lowering his voice, he continued: "Speaking of the effects of age, do you know any good methods of restoring youthful vigor to one's masculine parts? I've eaten bulbs, eggs, and snails until they run out my ears, to no avail. Why, but a few days ago I had to send one of the most beautiful courtesans of the city home untouched."

"I fear not, sir. But I have heard it said that faith in certain foods for this purpose is faith misplaced."

"Then what hope is there? I am even willing to try magic, which I once scorned as mere vulgar superstition."

I said: "I know no magicians, unless you count the Egyptian priest yonder. But wait ... An Egyptian of my crew, who is always talking of Egyptian wizards and their spells, might know somebody."

"Then pray send him to me."

"Gladly. And now, sir, may I ask you a candid question?"

"Surely, dear boy. What would you know?"

"As you are well aware, my captain and I have long tried to secure a commitment of more aid for Rhodes, and we have gotten nowhere. Are we wasting our time?"

Demetrios Phalereus smiled blandly. "I shouldn't say that. You are making your bust, safe for the nonce from war's alarums; and Captain Python is drilling his crew, so they should put up a mighty battle on your homecoming."

"Come now, sir, you know what I mean."

"I suppose I do. I cannot answer flatly, because I do not know myself. On one hand, we are loath to disappoint our faithful friends. On the other, our finances have been pulled and strained from many directions of late. And suppose the City of Roses fall, despite all that we can do? The Antigonos wants the Isle of the Three Cities as a base for a descent upon Egypt. Should such an invasion take place, we shall need every man and every drachma. They are a formidable pair, the crafty and ruthless old king and the daring and ingenious young one!"

"The time to stop them, then, is now while they are afar off, not when they come sailing into your fine new harbor with a thousand ships." I thought I sounded wise, but Demetrios Phalereus rejoined:

"Dear boy, don't you suppose that we have been over all these arguments a hundred times, the king and his councilors? If the answer were easily had, we should have come to it long since. I will confide to you that the Ptolemaios grows yearly more cautious, and his disaster in Cyprus inclines him to shun foreign adventures, like a turtle that has pulled its head into its shell."

"Well, then, is there nothing we can do to tip the scale in our direction?"

Demetrios Phalereus cocked his head and squinted a painted eyelid. "Let me think ... The king does cherish one ambition that few know of, and I am not without influence with the king. If somebody wanted something badly enough to reveal to me how the king might achieve his ambition, without claiming any credit for himself—well, something might be done."

"What is the royal ambition?"

"Do you understand that if you have any useful thoughts on the matter, you will speak of them to my ear alone?"

"Yes, yes, I understand. But what's this mysterious yearning? To fly to heaven on the back of a gryphon?"

Demetrios Phalereus looked at me with displeasure. "You are an irritating young man at times."

"I'm sorry, sir. Impatience is one of my many shortcomings."

"Very well. If we clearly understand each other, there need be no recriminations later. And don't doubt that I can cause trouble for those who play me false." He reminded me of Kallias at this juncture. "Well, what the king wants is this: to set up, here in Alexandria, some thing, or building, or institution that shall be wholly new in the world. That, he thinks, is the one sure way of being remembered forever."

"You mean something that doesn't yet exist?"

"Precisely. It is to be invented."

I pondered. "How about a colossal statue—say, of Zeus, overlooking the harbor?"

"My dear Chares, don't you think we have heard of Lysippos' colossi at Taras?"

"Well, let's make the new statue twice as tall as the Tarentine Zeus—on which I had the honor to assist the great Lysippos."

"You do not seem to understand. The king wants something new in kind, not merely an old idea enlarged."

I thought some more. "How about a great lighthouse? You could erect it on Pharos Island, tall enough to be seen a thousand furlongs at sea."

"That is a better try. Unfortunately we have already thought of that. The king has even had architects' preliminary drawings made. It will be years, however, before we shall have the funds to start it."

"I give up," I said, "at least for now. If Helios-Apollon vouchsafe me any more suggestions, I'll let you know."

"Do so. And now, let me tell you of my plans for a new anthology of the early lyric poets ..."

Despite the dyed hair, the cosmetics, and the dubious reputation, Demetrios Phalereus was a most stimulating dinner companion. He had been a pupil of the all-knowing Aristoteles and had taught in his school. He seemed to have read everything and could discourse with equal fluency on history, philosophy, politics, warfare, poetry, and rhetoric.

When the time came to leave, I approached Manethôs , who was still arguing with Hekataios: "... nay, nay, it was not that King Rhameses but a later one of the same name. Oh, is it time to go already?"

"I fear so," said Hekataios. "What we need is some central place where all this information, such as we have been discussing, is brought together, so that a scholar can study it all at once, instead of having to travel all over the Inner Sea to find the needed scholars and books."

Demetrios Phalereus had bid his guests good night at the main gate and disappeared into the palace grounds, and we were dispersing into the dark of the Broucheion district— the richer preceded by their own link boys—when an idea struck me with the force of a thunderbolt.

"Demetrios!" I shouted. I tried to rush back through the gate, but the sentries stopped me.

"Get Demetrios Phalereus!" I cried. "It's urgent! I must speak to him at all costs!"

So excited was my manner that the corporal of the guard said: "Kleon, go tell Lord Demetrios. And you, young man, your errand had better be worth his lordship's while if you don't want a beating for making a disturbance."

Soon Demetrios Phalereus arrived, looking old in the torchlight with the paint and powder washed off.

"What is it, Chares?" said he in a rather brusque tone.

"I have it! I have it!"

"You have what?"

"You know, that idea we were talking about. If you don't wish it made public property, show me to a place where we can talk."

When Demetrios Phalereus had led me back to his chambers, I said: "What the Ptolemaios needs to immortalize his name is a library. Don't wave your hand at me until I have finished, please, sir. I don't mean an ordinary library, such as many cities now have, with a couple of hundred scrolls and one sleepy slave to sort and mend them. This would be a library of a wholly new kind.

"I have in mind a vast collection of copies of all the books that have ever been written: books not only in Greek but also in other tongues, such as Egyptian and Babylonian, with word books whereby scholars can translate from one language to another. These books should be arranged in logical order: by languages, and within each language by the author. At one end of the racks should be all books by authors whose names begin with alpha, then all those beginning with beta, and so on through the alpha-beta. Do you follow me?"

"I begin to," said Demetrios Phalereus.

"Then, there should be a permanent staff of well-paid scholars to care for these books. They would not only keep the books sorted and mended, but they would also direct the slaves to copy the books before they wore out. The copyists would make extra copies for the reserves of the library and for outside sale. There would also be employees whose sole business it was to know the contents of the scrolls and direct inquiring scholars to the books they want. Say, a fellow drifts in from Syracuse. 'I hear there is a copy of Pittakos' On the Laws here,' he says. 'It is a lost work in our part of the world.' The librarian says: 'Right this way, sir; third stack, fourteenth case, sixth row from the bottom.' Such a librarian could even help with the research."

"Is this so different from the libraries of today?" asked Demetrios Phalereus.

"Herakles, yes! What happens now? Suppose a geographer wishes to know where the Nile comes from and what makes it rise and fall with the seasons. He goes to Athens, where he hears contradictory opinions by various philosophers and perhaps reads two or three treatises. Then he goes to Megara and reads a little more; then he takes ship to Kôs, and so on. By the time he has reached one city, he has forgotten most of what he heard or read in the last one he visited. And, needless to say, all this travel is too costly and time-consuming for all but a few.

"But with a universal library our inquirer can compare all these opinions at once and decide whether to accept one of them or to set off up the Nile on his own to find out. Now there is no place on earth where such comparison is possible. The king who made such a library a reality need never be forgotten, unless the world be overwhelmed by another flood like that of Deukalion."

"But books are costly," said Demetrios Phalereus thoughtfully.

"Of course they are, but you can still buy hundreds of books for the cost of one trireme." As I paused, the unseen powers furnished me with a clinching argument. "You already have the core of your library in the stolen hoard of Tis of Hanes, which includes thousands of rolls. Don't try to do the whole thing at once. Start with Tis's books, then add a few hundred scrolls a year. Make copies of all books coming into the kingdom, and before many years have passed you will indeed have the world's wonder."

Demetrios Phalereus rubbed his chin. "I say, Chares, I think you have something! Remember our agreement, however. Go your way, and in due course you shall hear of the outcome of your proposal."

I finished the bust of Ptolemaios, drilled with my catapult crew, and quarreled with Amenardis. These quarrels reached a pitch where the landlord of my little apartment threatened to throw us out if we did not stop disturbing his other tenants.

One of our sources of discord was my refusal to take Amenardis along when I dined with Greek friends. She refused to believe that among Hellenes it simply wasn't done. When I carefully explained that it was a compliment to her to omit her, as a Hellene would bring with him a woman of only the lowest class, she remarked:

"I always know Greeks dirty, faithless, immoral people. Now I find out they also cruel to their women. Should come to Egypt to be civilized."

I also killed much time with Onas and Berosos in the drink shops of Alexandria. When not worrying about our friends and dear ones in Rhodes (which, Python said, still stood) or weighing the complications of our personal lives, we engaged in the great Alexandrian sport of gossip.

We heard about the king's women, for instance. He had four: two wives, Eurydike and Berenike; an ex-wife, Artakama; and a mistress, Thai's. All dwelt in Alexandria, and the amiable monarch somehow managed to keep on good terms with all of them.

There was also gossip about the king's eldest legitimate son, Ptolemaios called "Thunderbolt." *(* Keraunos or Ceraunus.) (Leontiskos, captured by Demetrios Antigonou at Cyprus, was a son by Thai's and hence illegitimate.) Thunderbolt was a wild, violent, cruel, and gloomy stripling who, it was said, had already murdered several people for the fun of it. It is not surprising that the king chose a younger son, also named Ptolemaios, as his successor, when he resigned the throne a little before his death a few years ago.

When this happened, Thunderbolt, fearing to be brought to book for his crimes, fled from Egypt. He murdered old Seleukos the Victorious, who was so foolish as to befriend him, and seized the throne of Macedonia. Now, within the last month, I am told, he has been slain in a battle with the invading Kelts when he somehow fell off his war elephant into the midst of the foe.

Then, one day in the month of Poseideon, Python appeared at muster with his long narrow face split by a smile. He called an officers' meeting after dismissal.

"Well, boys, we have made it at last," he said. "Thanks to my persistence and powers of persuasion, the king has decided to help us. He can spare us, he says, few soldiers, but he will send three hundred thousand medimnoi of wheat and other foodstuffs. Now we can sail for home as soon as winter breaks."

We cheered our captain—I, a little ironically. Later the same day I returned to my quarters to find Berosos in converse with Amenardis. The Babylonian said:

"O Chares, have you heard of the king's wonderful plan for a universal library? Strange it is that no potentate has thought of it hitherto! They say that Demetrios Phalereus first broached the idea."

I said nothing, because of my promise to Demetrios Phalereus and my knowledge of the harm he could do my city if I betrayed him. However, as he and his king are now dead, I do no wrong by revealing my part in the instigation of the great Library of Alexandria.

Elaphebolion came on; shipping began to revive. The crew of the Halia, trained to a fine pitch, looked forward to their homecoming, even though it might mean battle and death. I think we could have returned to Rhodes more promptly than we did, and that Python's affected concern for the safety of his ship was a mask for his higher esteem of his own precious skin.

My relations with Amenardis had gone smoothly for several days; so smoothly, in fact, that I suspected that something was amiss. Then, one evening, she beset me over dinner:

"Chares, I think."

"Yes, dear?"

"You say I cannot go with you to Rhodes, so I must stay here or go to some other dirty Greek place. You no think enough. I have the answer."

"Well?"

"You not go back to Rhodes. You and I go on ship together to Kôs."

"What? Dear Herakles, woman, are you suggesting that I desert my city?"

"What difference? One Greek city just like another. You take me to Kôs, make statues there. Or if you know other city not in siege, we go there. No more war, no more being afraid of Tis."

"Listen, my dear. If Tis had been going to do anything to us, he'd have done it by now. And while I don't claim to be nobler than Kodros, nobody has accused me of disloyalty to my city, and I don't intend to begin now. So forget your clever little plan."

"If you love me, you do this. Ship leave tomorrow; the Amphitrite of Halikarnassos. Easy; put on false beard—"

"Go walk! I won't, and that's that!"

"Stupid boy! I know better than you what good for us ..."

Off we went again. In the end I slammed out and got drunk in taverns. I remember boasting in my cups, in a place run by a fat, dirty Hellene in the western part of town, of my great artistic ambitions. Then I fell asleep in a corner.

I awakened to the sound of a voice saying in a strong Egyptian accent: "Is this the man?"

My guardian spirit warned me not to start up. As I lay, shamming, the voice of the taverner said:

"He said his name is Chares, and anybody can tell he's a Rhodian from his speech."

"Aye," said the first voice. "He fits."

I opened one eye a slit. Three hard-looking knaves, with blades in their hands, were peering at me by the light of a single taper that my host, standing to one side, held aloft. Otherwise the shop was dark and quiet. I could not tell in the dimness if these were men I had seen before in connection with Tis of Hanes, but that was a minor detail.

"I want no blood shed in here," said the taverner.

"All right, we will rap him on the sconce and carry him out. Here is your money—"

I set both feet against the edge of the narrow table behind which I lay and pushed with all my might. The table flew over against the thieves, who sprang back with oaths to avoid it. Before they could recover, I was up and at the taverner, knife in hand.

This traitor had not taken the precaution of arming himself. He backed away with a cry, trying to fend me off with his left hand. Quick as a leopard, I dodged past his hand and sank my knife in his flesh. He screamed and dropped the taper, which went out.

In the instantaneous blackness that descended upon that shop, I barked my shin on a bench in trying to reach the door. However, I reached it a digit ahead of the clutching hands of my would-be murderers. Once outside, I filled my lungs and ran for my life through the moonlit streets. At every corner I took a turn, now this way and now that Soon the footsteps of my pursuers faded away.

Then I found myself lost. The tavern stood on the edge of Rhakotis, the native quarter of Alexandria, and in my flight I had plunged into the winding alleys of this region. When the moon set, navigation became impossible.

I therefore found a nook in a vacant lot, whence I could see the approaches without easily being seen. There I sat shivering (for I had lost my cloak) through the long hours after midnight, while the countless cats of Rhakotis gamboled and quarreled about me and sang sad threnodies to the wheeling stars.

Towards dawn I fell asleep, with the result that I missed muster. With four heads instead of one, I returned home from a wigging by Python, ready to admit that I had been wrong about Tis's harmlessness. At my lodgings I found an indignant landlord with another complaint about my noisy home life, but no Amenardis.

Her absence did not alarm me until the dinner hour had come and gone without her. A knock on the door brought me bounding up, prepared for our usual tearful reconciliation. Instead of the Heraean form of Amenardis, however, there stood a small brown boy with a note in his hand and a mongrel at his heels.

"You Master Chares?" he said with an Egyptian accent.

"Yes." I gave him his half-obolos and took the papyrus. As boy and dog scampered off into the dusk, I read:

BEROSOS OF BABYLON WISHES CHARES NIKONOS WELL.

Know, dear friend, that Amenardis and I have left Alexandria on a ship for foreign parts. It wrings my liver thus to make off with your loved one—nay more, to leave the service of beautiful Rhodes. But like wet clay am I in the hands of this wonderful woman, whom I have loved with a passion that passes description ever since she nursed my wounds at Bousiris. When she commands me to go, I go.

Moreover, truth to tell, I am weary of being frightened nigh unto death, as I have been by the fighting at Rhodes and again on our venture to Memphis. No Gilgamos or other mythical hero am I, but a timid, indolent, self-indulgent man of scholarly tastes, who asks for nought but to be left alone with his philosophical studies. I simply cannot face the prospect of more death and danger. Besides, the stars foretell that certain disaster awaits me if I continue in this ill-chosen career.

Should we ever meet again, I hope that your just wrath against me will by then have waned. Come what may, to Mardoukos and Istar and Nebos on your behalf I shall pray. Farewell.

Never have I undergone such a variety of emotions as I did in the hour after I received that letter. I crumpled the papyrus and threw it across the room. I raved and cursed and stamped. I threw myself on the couch and beat it with my fists. I wept with self-pity. I swore to follow Berosos to Kôs—for I was sure he had gone thither—and cut his heart out.

Then, realizing that I was waxing hungrier by the heartbeat, I got my own dinner. I ate with a curious feeling of relief that I could not at first account for, as I assumed that my spirit was dissolved and that life was virtually over.

As I finished the rough repast, it struck me that I was fortunate, after all, for the strain of these daily quarrels had told on my nerves. From that I passed to the thought that Berosos had really done me a favor. While I roundly condemned his desertion of my beautiful Rhodes, I owed him thanks for resolving an intolerable personal situation.

Anyway, I thought with malicious satisfaction, for any wrong that Berosos has done, he will be amply punished by this Erinys in mortal form whom he has taken unto his bosom. Folly is mortals' self-selected misfortune.

Smiling in that empty little rented room (which I should give up on the morrow to move back to the safety and economy of the barracks) I poured an extra cup of wine and raised the mug in a toast to my fugitive colleague.

"Good luck, old boy," I said. "You'll need it."