The Novels of Alexander the Great: Fire From Heaven, the Persian Boy, and Funeral Games

2

TWO YEARS I SERVED the harem, suffering nothing much worse than a tedium I wondered, sometimes, I did not die of. I grew taller, and twice had to have new clothes. Yet my growth had slowed. They had said at home I would be as tall as my father; but the gelding must have given some shock that changed me. I am a little better than small, and all my life have kept the shape of a boy.

Nonetheless, I used to hear in the bazaar praise of my beauty. Sometimes a man would speak to me, but I turned away; he would not speak, I thought, if he knew I was a slave. Such was still my simplicity. I was only glad to escape the women’s chatter, see the life of the bazaar, and take the air.

Presently my master also gave me errands, taking notes to the jewelers of his new stock, and so on. I used to dread being sent to the royal workshops, though Datis seemed to think he was giving me a treat. The workmen were all slaves, chiefly Greeks, who were prized for skill. Of course they were all branded in the face; but as punishment, or to stop their getting away, most of them had had a foot off, or sometimes both. Some needed both hands and feet, if they used a burin-wheel for carving gems; and these, lest they should slip off untraced, had had their noses taken. I would look anywhere but at them; till I saw the jeweler watching me, supposing me in search of something to steal.

I had been taught at home that after cowardice and the Lie, the worst disgrace for a gentleman was to trade. Selling was not to be thought of; one lost face even by buying, one should live off one’s own land. Even my mother’s mirror, which had a winged boy engraved on it and had come all the way from Ionia, had been in her dowry. No matter how often I fetched merchandise, I never ceased to feel the shame. It is a true saying, that men don’t know till too late when they have been well off.

It was a bad year for the jewelers. The King had gone to war, leaving the Upper City dead as a tomb. The young King of Macedon had crossed to Asia, and was taking all the Greek cities there from Persian rule. He was not much more than twenty; it had seemed just a matter for the coastal satraps. But he had beaten their forces and crossed the Granikos, and was now thought as bad to reckon with as his father.

It was said he had no wife; that he took no household with him; only his men, like a mere robber or bandit. But thus he got about very fast, even through mountain land unknown to him. From pride he wore glittering arms, to be singled out in battle. Many tales were told of him, which I leave out, since those that were true are known by all the world, while of the false we have enough. At all events, he had already done all his father had intended, and still did not seem content.

The King, therefore, had mustered a royal army, and gone himself to meet him. Since the King of Kings did not travel naked to war like a young western raider, he had taken the court and Household, with its stewards and chamberlains and eunuchs; also the Harem, with the Queen Mother, the Queen, the princesses, and the little prince, and their own attendants, their eunuchs and hairdressers and women of the wardrobe and all the rest. The Queen, who was said to be of surpassing beauty, had always brought the jewelers good trade.

The King’s attendant lords had also taken their women, their wives and often their concubines, lest the war should last some time. So, in Susa, only such people were buying jewelry, as are content with chippings stuck in clay.

The mistress had no new dress that spring, and was sharp with us all for days; the prettiest of the concubines had a new veil, which for a week made life unbearable. The chief eunuch had less shopping-money; the mistress was skimped with sweets, the slaves with food. My only comfort was to feel my slim waist, and look at the chief eunuch.

If no thicker, I was growing taller. Though I had again outgrown my clothes, I expected to go on wearing them. But to my surprise, I got a new suit from the master; tunic, trousers and sash, and an outer coat with wide sleeves. The sash even had gold thread in it. They were so pretty that I stooped over the pool to see myself, and was not displeased.

The same day, soon after noon, the master summoned me to his business room. I remember finding it strange that he did not look at me. He wrote a few words and sealed the paper, saying, “Take this to Obares the master jeweler. Go straight there, don’t loiter in the bazaar.” He looked at his fingernails, then back to me. “He is my best customer; so take good care to be civil.”

These words surprised me. “Sir,” I said, “I have never been uncivil to a customer. Does anyone say I have?”

“Oh, tut, no,” he said, fidgeting with a tray of loose turquoises. “I am only telling you to be civil to Obares.”

Even then, I walked to the house thinking no more than that he had some worry about the man’s goodwill. The captain who took me from my home, and what he did to me, was smothered up with other things in my mind; when I woke crying in the night, it was mostly from a dream of my father’s noseless face, shouting aloud. Without thought of harm I went to the shop of Obares, a stocky Babylonian with a black bush of beard. He glanced at the note, and led me straight through to the inner room, as if I were expecting it.

I hardly remember the rest, except his stink, which I can recall today, and that, after, he gave me a bit of silver for myself. I gave it to a leper in the marketplace, who took it on a palm without thumb or fingers, and wished me the blessing of long life.

I thought of the monkey with green fur, carried away by a man with a cruel face, who’d said he was going to train it. It came to me that perhaps I had been sent on approval to a buyer. I went to the gutter and vomited my heart out. No one took notice. Damp with cold sweat, I returned to my master’s house.

Whether or not Obares would have been a buyer, my master was not a seller. It suited him far better to be doing Obares favors. I was lent to him twice a week.

I doubt my master ever called himself what he was. He just obliged a good customer. Then a friend of Obares heard, and must be obliged for his sake. Not being in the trade, he paid in coin; and he passed the good word on. Before long, I was sent out most afternoons.

At twelve years old, it takes too perfect a despair to die alone. I thought of it often; I had dreamed of my father without his nose, and instead of the traitor’s name he shouted mine. But Susa has not walls high enough to leap from; there was nothing else with which I could make sure. As for running away, I had for example the leg-stumps of the royal jeweler’s slaves.

I went, therefore, to my clients as I was told. Some were better than Obares, some much worse. I can yet feel the cold sinking of my heart, as I walked to some house unknown before; and how, when one required of me something not fit to be described, I remembered my father, no longer a noseless mask, but standing on the night of his birthday feast while by torchlight our warriors did the sword-dance. To honor his spirit, I struck the man and called him what he deserved.

My master did not beat me with the leaded whip he used upon the Nubian porter, for fear of spoiling me; but the cane cut hard. While it still stung, I was sent back to beg pardon and make amends.

This life I led for rather more than a year, seeing no escape till I should be too old. My mistress did not know of it, and I conspired to deceive her; I had always some tale for her of my day’s business. She had more decency than her husband, and would have been outraged, but she had no power to save me. If she knew the truth, the house would be in an uproar, till for the sake of peace he would sell me for the best price I’d fetch. When I thought of the bidders, I kept the hand of discretion before my mouth.

Whenever I passed through the bazaar, I imagined people saying, “There goes Datis’ whore.” Yet I had to bring back some news, to satisfy my mistress. The rumors were running, ahead of truth, that the King had fought a great battle with Alexander, at Issos by the sea, and lost, escaping with his bare life on horseback, leaving his chariot and his arms. Well, he got away, I thought; there are some of us would think that luck enough.

As proper news came in by the Royal Road, we learned that the Harem had been taken, with the Queen Mother, the Queen, her daughters and her son. I pitied them; I had good cause to know their fate. The girls’ screams rang in my ears; I pictured the young boy flung upon the spears, as I would have been but for one man’s greed. However, never having seen these ladies, and being bound for the house of someone I knew too well, I kept some pity for myself.

Later it was put about, by someone who swore it came straight from Kilikia, that Alexander had set up the royal women in their own pavilion, untouched by man, with their household to serve them, and that even the boy was still alive. This tale was laughed at, for everyone knew that no one behaves like that in war, let alone western barbarians.

The King had fallen back on Babylon, and wintered there. But it grows hot in spring; without much state he returned to Susa, to rest from his labors, while his satraps mustered another army. I was kept at work, and could not see the royal cavalcade, which, like the boy I still partly was, I had set some store by. It seemed that Alexander had not marched inland where he had been expected, but had had the folly to sit down before Tyre, an island stronghold which would not fall in ten years. While he kept up this pastime, the King could take his ease.

Now that the court was back, even though without the Queen, I hoped the jewel trade would prosper; then perhaps I might be let off my trade, to stay and serve the harem. Once I had thought it tedious; it beckoned now like a palm grove in the desert.

You might suppose by now I would be reconciled. But ten years are ten years, though one has left them behind for three. Far off on the mountain, I could still discern the ruins of my home.

There were clients from whom, if I had flattered them, I could have had good money I need not have shown my master. I could sooner have made a meal off camel-dung; yet some were drawn by my sullenness, and would court me to win a smile. Others would hurt me in various ways, but I divined they would do so in any case, and servility would encourage them. The worst, who left me covered in weals, my master denied me to, not from pity but because he damaged the goods. With others I learned resources. I did not refuse a small piece of silver, but used it to buy kif. Taking it seldom, I could smoke myself silly beforehand. That is why to this day the mere smell of it makes me sick.

Some, in their way, were kind. With these, it seemed that honor demanded a return. I would try to please them, since I had nothing else to give; and they were glad to teach me how to do it better. Thus I learned the beginnings of art.

There was a carpet-seller who, when he had done, would treat me like a guest, seat me by him on the divan, give me wine and talk to me. The wine I was glad of, since he sometimes put me in pain; not through his fault, for he was gentle and liked to please. I kept it to myself, from pride, or what modesty was left me.

One day he had a carpet of ten years’ work hung on the wall, to take pleasure in, he said, before it went to the buyer; a friend of the King’s, content with only the finest. “I expect,” he said, “he may have known your father.”

I could feel my face drain of blood and my hands grow cold. All this while, I had supposed my birth my secret, my father’s name sheltered from my disgrace. Now I knew my master had had it from the dealer, and boasted of it. Why not? The Vizier, from whose vengeance I had been stolen, was disgraced and dead; it was no crime to have cheated him. I thought of our name in the mouths of all those who had had their hands on me.

A month’s custom dulled me a little to it, but not much. There were some I would gladly have killed for knowing what they knew. When the carpet-seller sent for me again, I was thankful it was no one worse.

I was brought into the fountain court, where he sometimes sat on cushions under a blue awning, till we went indoors. But, this time, he was not alone; another man sat with him. I stood stock-still in the open doorway, my thought, I suppose, clear on my face.

“Come in, Bagoas,” he said. “Don’t look so startled, my dear boy. Today my friend and I ask nothing but the refreshment of beholding you, and the pleasure of hearing you sing. You have your harp, I am glad to see.”

“Yes,” I answered. “The master said you wished it.” I had wondered if he had been charged extra.

“Come, then. We are both fretted with the day’s business; you shall soothe our souls for us.”

I sang to them, thinking all the while, They will be up to something later. The guest had not a merchant’s look; he was almost like my father’s friends, but smoother. Some patron of the host’s, I thought; presently I shall be served to him on a platter, dressed with green leaves.

I was mistaken. I was asked for another song; then they chatted with me of nothings; then I was given a little present, and dismissed. No such thing had ever happened to me before. As the courtyard door closed behind me, I heard their low voices, and knew they spoke of me. Well, I thought, it had been an easy stint of work. I should hear from the other man later.

So I did. Next day he bought me.

I saw him come to the house. Wine was sent for; the Nubian, who had served it, said some hard bargaining was going on. He did not know what about; he had only simple Persian; but already I wondered. When afterwards the master sent for me, I knew before he spoke.

“Well, Bagoas.” He was smiling from ear to ear. “You are a very fortunate boy; you are going to very good service.” And for a very good price, I thought. “You will be sent for tomorrow morning.”

He waved me off. I said, “What kind of service, sir?”

“That is your new master’s business. Take care to show him respect. You have had good training here.”

My mouth opened. But I said nothing after all. I just looked him in the face; his color changed, and his pig-eyes shifted. Then he told me to go; but it had done me good.

So, like the monkey, I was set for an unknown bourne. My mistress drenched me with tears; it was like being enfolded in wet cushions. Of course he had sold me without her leave. “You have been such a sweet good boy, so gentle. I know you still grieve for your parents, even now; I have seen it in your face. I do pray you have a kind master; you are still a child as the world goes, so quietly you have lived here.”

We cried again, and all the girls embraced me in turn. Their scented freshness was pleasant, compared with certain memories. I was thirteen years old, and felt I could have no more to learn when I was fifty.

I was duly fetched next day, by a very grand eunuch, some forty years old, who had been handsome and still watched his figure. He was so civil, I ventured to ask the new master’s name. He smiled discreetly. “We must first see you made fit for his household. But do not be anxious, boy; all that will be attended to.”

I felt he was keeping something back, though not from malice. As we walked beyond the bazaar to the quiet streets where the big houses were, I hoped the new master’s tastes were not too odd.

The house was like all such, shut off from the street by a high wall, with a great bronze-studded gate. The outer court had tall trees whose tops, even, had hardly showed from the street. It was all old and dignified. The eunuch took me to a little room in the servants’ wing, with only one bed. For three years I had fallen asleep to the chief eunuch’s whistling snores. On the bed were new clothes laid out. They were plainer than mine; only when they were on I saw their quality. The eunuch took my own clothes between finger and thumb, and sniffed. “Gaudy and shoddy. We can make no use of them here. However, no doubt some child of want will be glad of them.”

I supposed I should now be brought before my master; but it seemed I was not accounted fit to see his face before my training, which began that day.

It was a huge old house, very cool, with a set of rambling rooms upon a court, long out of use it seemed, some with just an antique chest or an old divan with burst cushions. Through these we came to another, with good furniture, set out I supposed rather for store than use. At one end was a table with a fine carved chair; there was a sideboard, with good vessels of enameled copper; yet at the other end stood a stately bed beneath an embroidered canopy. Strangely, this was made up, and had its clothes-stool and its night-table. All was polished and clean, yet had no look of habitation. Creepers festooned the fretted windows; the light came in as green as water in a fishpool.

However, it soon appeared there was method in all this. This was my training-ground.

The eunuch sat in the carved chair enacting the master, instructing me in serving this dish or that, or pouring wine, setting down the cup or putting it in the master’s hand. His manners were haughty enough for any lord’s, but he never struck or cursed me, and I felt no ill-will to him; I saw the awe he inspired in me was part of my training too. For I perceived that indeed I had changed my state, and was growing scared.

My noon meal was brought here; I did not eat with the servants. I had seen no one but the eunuch, since I entered this house. It began to seem uncanny; I dreaded being told I must sleep here too in the great bed; I was sure there would be ghosts at night. But after my supper I slept in my little cell. Even the privy I went to had no one ever about, but was overgrown and full of spiders, as if not used any more.

Next morning, the eunuch took me through all yesterday’s lessons. As far as a man of his dignity could show it, he seemed a little keyed up. I thought, Of course, he expects the master; and growing anxious, at once let fall a plate.

Suddenly the door swung open, and, as if it had revealed a flower garden in full bloom, a young man came in. He strode forward, gay, handsome, assured, richly dressed and adorned with gold, smelling of costly essences. It took me some moments to reflect that, though more than twenty, he had no beard. He had seemed no more like a eunuch than a shaven Greek.

“Greeting, Gazelle-Eyes,” he said, smiling and showing teeth like fresh-peeled almonds. “Well, indeed, they said no more than the truth for once.” He turned to my mentor. “And how is he getting on?”

“Not badly, Oromedon, for one who has had no grounding. We shall make something of him in time.” He spoke, not without respect, but not as one speaks to the master.

“Let us see.” He beckoned to an Egyptian slave behind him to put some burden down, and withdraw. I was taken through all my table-work. As I made to pour wine, he said, “Your elbow is rather tight. Curve it like this.” He flexed my arm in his hands. “You see? That makes a much prettier line.”

I continued to the sweets, and stood awaiting censure. “Good. But now let us try with a proper service.” From the slave’s parcel, he unwrapped a treasure that made me stretch my eyes; cups, ewers and dishes of pure chased silver, inlaid with gold flowers. “Come,” he said, pushing aside the copper. “There is a certain touch in the handling of precious things, which is only learned by touching them.” He gave me a secret smile from his long dark eyes. When I took the things up, he said, “Ah! He has it. You see? He is not afraid of them, he feels how they should be cherished. I think we shall do well.” He looked about. “But where are the cushions? And the low wine-table? He must learn how to serve the inner room.” The other glanced up at him. “Oh, yes,” he said, laughing softly, his gold earrings twinkling, “we can be sure of that. Just send the things, and I will show him all that myself. I shan’t need to keep you.”

When the cushions came, he sat, and showed me how to hold the tray to him kneeling. He was so friendly, even when correcting me, that I mastered this new work without nervousness. He got up, saying, “Excellent. Quick, deft and quiet. And now to the rites of the bedchamber.”

I said, “I’m afraid, sir, I’ve learned none of that yet, either.”

“You need not keep calling me sir. That was just to keep up your sense of ceremony. No, this is my part of your instruction. There is a great deal of ritual at bedtime, but we need do no more than run over it; most will be done by people of higher rank. However, it is important never to be at a loss. We will first prepare the bed, which should have been done already.” We opened and turned it back; it had sheets of thread-drawn Egyptian linen. “No perfume? I don’t know who got this room ready. Like an inn for camel-drivers. However, let us suppose the perfume scattered.”

He stood by the bed and removed his fluted hat. “That would be done by someone of very high rank indeed. Now there’s a knack in taking off the sash; he will of course not turn around for you. Just slip your hands round and cross them; yes, that’s right. And now the robe. Begin unbuttoning at the top. Now lift it off from behind, and slip it down; he will just move his arms from his sides enough for that.” I removed the robe, baring his slender olive-colored shoulders, on which his black curls fell down, just touched with henna. He sat down on the bed. “For the slippers, go on both knees, sit back a little, and take each foot on your lap in turn, always beginning with the right. No, don’t get up yet. He has loosened the waist of his trousers; you now draw them off, still kneeling, with your eyes cast down all the time.” He lifted his weight a little, so that I could do this. It left him in his linen underdrawers. He was extremely graceful, with a flawless skin; the Median, not the Persian beauty.

“You have not folded them. The chamber-groom will take them away; but there must never be a moment when they lie about untidy. So, then, if this room were set out properly, you would put on the night-robe (my fault, however did I forget it?) under which he would slip off his drawers, in accordance with propriety.” He covered himself modestly with the sheet, and tossed them onto the stool.

“And now, if nothing has been said beforehand, watch carefully for the sign that you are to remain when the rest retire. It will be nothing much; just a glance—like this—or a small movement of the hand. Don’t stand about, but occupy yourself with something; I will show you, when all the right things are here. Then, when you are alone, he will motion you, like this, to undress. Go now to the foot of the bed, take off quickly and neatly, and lay them down there out of sight; he does not expect to see a pile of your clothes. That’s right, take off everything. You may now allow yourself to walk up with a smile, but don’t make it too familiar. That’s perfect, perfect; try to keep that touch of shyness. And now—” He opened the bed, with a smile so gracious and commanding that I had got there before I knew it.

I started away, reproach and anger in my heart. I had liked and trusted him; he had tricked and mocked me. He was no better than the rest.

He reached out and caught my arm; his grasp was firm, but without anger or greed. “Gently, Gazelle-Eyes. Hush now, and listen to me.” I had not said a word; but I sat still and ceased to struggle. “I have never, all this time, told you a word of a lie. I am just a teacher; all this is part of what I am here to do. If I like my work, so much the better for both of us. What you wish to forget, I know; soon you can do so forever. There is a pride in you, wounded but still unyielding; it is perhaps what shaped your prettiness into beauty. With such a nature, living as you have lived between your sordid master and his vulgar friends, you must have been holding back all the while. And very right. But those days are gone. There is a new existence before you. Now you must learn to give a little. I am here for that, to teach you the art of pleasure.” He reached out his other hand, and gently pulled me down. “Come. I promise you, you will like it much more with me.”

I did not resist persuasion. He might indeed possess some magic, by whose power all would be well. So at first it still appeared, for he was as skilled as he was charming, like a creature from another world than that I had been frequenting; it seemed one could linger forever in the outer courts of delight. I took all that was offered, neglecting my old defenses; and the pain, when it swooped on me with all its claws, was worse than ever before. For the first time I could not keep silent.

“I am sorry,” I said as soon as I could. “I hope I did not spoil it for you. I couldn’t help it.”

“But what is it?” He bent over me as if it really concerned him. “I cannot have hurt you, surely?”

“No, of course.” I turned my eyes to the sheet to blot my tears. “It always happens like that, if it does at all. As if they brought back the knives.”

“But you should have told me this.” He still spoke as if he cared, which to me was wonderful.

“I thought it must be the same with us all—with all people like me.”

“No, indeed. How long ago were you cut?”

“Three years,” I said, “and a little more.”

“I don’t understand it. Let me look again. But this is beautiful work; I never saw cleaner scars. It would surprise me, cutting a boy with your looks, if they took more than just enough to keep you beardless. Of course it can go wrong. The cuts can fester so deep that all the roots of feeling are eaten away. Or they can butcher you so that nothing is left for feeling, as they do with the Nubians, I suppose from fear of their strength. But with you, short of giving her fill to a woman—and few of us can do that, though one hears of it now and then—I can’t see why you shouldn’t enjoy it with the best. Do you tell me you have suffered this since you began?”

“What?” I cried. “Do you think I let myself be moved by those sons of pigs?” Here was one to whom I could speak at last. “There were one or two … But I used to think myself away from it, when I could.”

“I see. Now I begin to guess the trouble.” He lay in thought, as grave as a physician, then said, “Unless it is women. You don’t think of women, do you?”

I remembered the three girls hugging me by the pool, and their round soft breasts; then my mother’s brains spilled on the orchard pebbles, and my sisters screaming. I answered, “No.”

“Never think of them.” He looked at me earnestly, his lightness gone. “Don’t imagine, if your beauty keeps its promise, that they won’t be after you, sighing and whispering, and vowing to be content with anything you have. So they may believe; but they never will. No; in their discontent they will turn spiteful, and betray you. The surest way to end on a spike in the sun.”

His face had turned somber. I saw there some dreadful recollection, and, to reassure him, told him again I never thought of them.

He caressed me consolingly, though the pain had left me. “No, I don’t know why I considered women. It is clear enough what it is. You have fine senses; for pleasure certainly, for pain therefore as much. Though gelding is bad enough for anyone, there are degrees of feeling. It has haunted you ever since, as if it could happen again. That’s not so rare; you’d have got over it long ago, with me. But you have been going with men you despised. Outwardly you had to obey; within, your pride has conceded nothing. You have preferred pain to a pleasure by which you felt degraded. It comes of anger, and the soul’s resistance.”

“I didn’t resist you,” I said.

“I know. But it has bitten deep; it won’t be cured in a day. Later we’ll try again, it’s too soon now. With any luck in your life, you will outgrow it. And I can tell you one thing more; where you’re going now, I don’t think it will much trouble you. I have been told to say no more, which is taking discretion to absurdity; but no matter, to hear is to obey.”

“I wish,” I said, “I might belong to you.”

“I too, Gazelle-Eyes. But you are for my betters. So don’t fall in love with me; we shall be parting all too soon. Put your clothes on; the getting-up ceremonial will do tomorrow. The lesson has been long enough for today.”

My training took some time longer. He came earlier, dispensed with the haughty eunuch, and taught me himself the service of the table, the fountain court, the inner chamber, the bath; he even brought a fine horse, and in the weed-grown courtyard showed me how to mount and ride with grace; all I’d learned at home was how to stick on my mountain pony. Then we went back to the room with its green glimmering windows and great bed.

He still hoped to exorcise my demon, giving much patience to it; but the pain always returned, its strength increased by the pleasure it had fed on. “No more,” he said. “It will be too much for you, and not enough for me. I am here to teach, and am in danger of forgetting it. We must accept that this is your lot just now.”

I said in grief, “I’d be better off like those others, feeling nothing.”

“Oh, no. Never suppose so. They put it all into eating; you can see what becomes of them. I’d have liked to cure you, just for your sake and mine; but as to your calling, that’s to please, not be pleased. And it seems to me that in spite of this trouble—or maybe because of it, who can tell what makes the artist?—you have a gift. Your responses are very delicate; it is this which made your late employment so disgusting to you. You were a musician forced to hear howling street-singers. All you need is to know your instrument. That I shall teach you, though I think you will excel me. This time, you need not fear being sent where your art will shame you; I can promise that.”

“Can’t you tell me yet who it is?”

“Haven’t you guessed even yet? But no, how should you? One thing, though, I can say, and don’t forget it. He loves perfection; in jewels and vessels, in hangings, carpets and swords; in horses, women and boys. No, don’t look so scared; nothing dreadful will be done to you for falling short; but he might lose interest, which would be a pity. I wish to present you flawless; he will expect no less of me. But I doubt if your secret will come to light there. Let us think no more of it, and apply ourselves to useful knowledge.”

Till now, as I found, he had been like the musician who takes up an unknown harp or lyre, testing its resonance. Now lessons began in earnest.

Already I hear the voice of one who has known no more of slavery than to clap his hands and give orders, crying out, “The shameless dog, to boast of how he was debauched in youth by one corrupted before him.” To such I reply that I had been debauched for a year already, rolled in mire without help or hope; and now to be tended like something exquisite seemed not corruption but the glimpse of some blissful heaven. So too, after being the sport of rutting swine, seemed the subtle music of the senses. It came to me easily, as if by nature or remembrance. At home, I had sometimes had sensual dreams; if let alone, no doubt I should have been precocious. All this had been altered in me, yet not killed.

Like a poet who can sing of battles though not a warrior, I could conjure the images of desire, without suffering the sharpness of its wounds which I knew too well. I could make the music, its pauses and its cadenzas; Oromedon said I was like one who can play for the dancers, yet not dance. It was his own nature to take delight in the measure he gave it; yet I triumphed with him. Then he said, “I don’t think, Gazelle-Eyes, you have very much more to learn.”

His words dismayed me like news unknown before. I clung to him, saying, “Do you love me? You don’t only want to teach me? Will you be sorry when I am gone?”

“Have you learned to break hearts already?” he said. “I never taught you that.”

“But do you love me?” I had asked it of no one since my mother died.

“Never say that to him. It would be considered far too oncoming.”

I looked into his face; relenting, he hugged me like a child, which did not seem strange to me. “Truly I love you, and when you go I shall be desolate.” He spoke like one who reassures a child against ghosts and darkness. “But then comes tomorrow. I would be cruel to make you pledges; I may never see you again. If I do, maybe I cannot speak to you, and then you would think me false. I promised not to lie to you. When we serve the great, they are our destiny. Count upon nothing, but make your own nest against the storm … Do you see this?”

His brow had a scar, growing old and pale. I had thought it gave him distinction. Among my father’s friends, anyone without a scar or two seemed scarcely like a man. “How did you get it?” I asked.

“I was thrown at the hunt, doing something that needed doing. It was that same horse you rode; it’s still mine, you see; I have not been treated shabbily. But he can’t bear flawed things. So try not to get yourself knocked about.”

“I would love you,” I said, “if you were covered with scars all over. Did he send you away?”

“Oh, no, I am very well provided for. Nothing is done unhandsomely. But I belong no more with the perfect vase and the polished gem. Don’t build upon the wind, Gazelle-Eyes. That is the last of my lessons. May you not be too young to bear it, for you are not too young to need it. We had better get up. I shall see you again tomorrow.”

“Do you mean,” I said, “that tomorrow will be the last?”

“Perhaps. There is one more lesson after all. I have never told you the proper motions of the prostration.”

“Prostration?” I said puzzled. “But they do that for the King.”

“Just so,” he said. “Well, that took you long enough.”

I stared at him in a kind of stupor. Then I cried aloud, “I can’t do it! I can’t, I can’t.”

“Whatever is this, after all my trouble? Don’t stare with those great eyes as if I’d brought you a death warrant, instead of your fortune.”

“You never told me!” I grasped him in terror till my nails dug in. He loosened them gently.

“I dropped you hints enough; it was clear you’d do. But you see, till you are accepted in the Household, you are on probation. It is assumed you might fail, and be turned away. Then, if you had known whose service you were training for, it was thought you might know too much.”

I threw myself on my face, convulsed with weeping. “Come,” he said, and wiped my eyes on the sheet. “You have nothing, truly, to fear. He’s had some hard times, and is in need of consolation. I am telling you, you will do very well indeed; and I ought to know.”