The Etruscan (6 page)

“What are you planning to do?” I asked.

He glanced at me guiltily and finally confessed. “Don’t you understand, Turms? The Persians have enlisted in their service all the warships of Cyprus and Phoenicia as far as Egypt, leaving the sea open and defenseless as a cow’s belly. Kairos help me, I intend to serve the god of the opportune moment.”

“In the name of the immortals!” I cried in dismay. “Honest warfare for freedom is one thing, piracy on the open seas another. The life of a pirate is short, his death fearful, and his name forever disgraced. He is hunted from one end of the sea to the other, he can find no refuge, and his very name strikes terror into respectable people.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” warned Dionysius. “You, a temple-burner, accusing me!”

“Dorieus and I certainly will not follow you.”

“Then remain here,” he said with sarcasm. “Remain with these friendly priests and explain to the Persians who you are and whence you came. We’ll meet sometime in the fields of Hades, but I swear that I’ll arrive there much later than you.”

His words made me hesitate. “It will soon be dark,” he said urgently. “Tell me how best to snatch a physician. We’ll need a good one before many days have passed.”

“Learned physicians are careful of their skin,” I pointed out. “That’s understandable, for if a sword punctures it, all their hard-learned knowledge will ooze out together with their life. Not even the physicians of Miletus consented to board the ships although they promised to care for all the wounded gratuitously in the city after the victory. No, you will never get anyone to volunteer as physician for your pirate ships.”

“We’re not pirates if we continue the naval warfare in the enemy’s waters after the others have given up,” argued Dionysius. “I’ll make the physician a rich man like all the others who follow me.”

“Even if he were to survive, what pleasure would he have from his riches if he were recognized and his past discovered?” I asked. “Nobody would shield him.”

“Turms,” said Dionysius slowly, “I’m afraid that I shall leave you on Cos, like it or not, unless you stop chattering and do something.”

With a sigh I left him and began looking around. Suddenly I noticed a short man standing apart from the others. There was something so familiar about him that I called out a greeting before I noticed diat he carried a caduceus. His face was round, his eyes restless, and there was a furrow between his brows.

“Who are you?” I asked. “In the dusk I thought I recognized you.”

“My name is Mikon,” he said. “I am consecrated, but unless you give the sign I cannot recognize you.”

“Mikon,” I repeated. “On the expedition to Sardis I met an Attic pottery maker named Mikon. He went to war in the hope of winning enough loot to open his own kiln, but he returned to Athens as poor as he had left it. He was a strong man with arms like gnarled tree roots, and there was a feeling of security in fleeing by his side from the Persians. Still I never felt as close to him as I do to you.”

“You came at an opportune moment, stranger,” he said. “My mind is restless and smolders like ashes in a breeze. What do you want of me?”

To test his views I lauded Aesculapius, the fame of the temple and the wisdom of the physicians of Cos.

He replied, “A white beard is not always a sign of wisdom. Tradition hampers fully as much as it cures.”

His words startled me. “Mikon,” I said, “the world is large and knowledge does not grow only in one place. You are not yet old. Why remain here in the path of the Persians?”

He reached out a friendly hand. “Cos is not the only place I know. I have traveled through many lands, even as far as Egypt; I speak several languages and am familiar with diseases unknown here. What is it that you want of me?”

His touch was as familiar as that of an old friend. “Mikon, perhaps we all are slaves of fate. You are the kind of man needed by our commander. I am to point you out to him, whereupon his men will hit you over the head and drag you aboard our vessel.”

He did not flinch but looked at me questioningly. “Why are you warning me? Your face is not that of a Greek.”

As he looked at me I felt an irresistible power surging through me, raising my arms, palms downward, towards the golden thread of the new moon.

“I don’t know why I am warning you,” I admitted. “I don’t even know who I am. I only know that the moment of departure has arrived for you as well as for me.”

“Then let us go!” He laughed, tucked his hand in my arm and led me to Dionysius.

Bewildered by the suddenness of it, I asked, “Don’t you want to bid farewell to anyone, or to collect your clothes and possessions?”

“If I leave, I shall leave as I am,” he declared, “otherwise my departure will have little meaning. It would be helpful, of course, if I had my medicine case, but I fear that my departure would be prevented even though I have not yet given my oath.”

Dionysius warned him against returning. “But if you come with me voluntarily, I shall reward you suitably.”

“Voluntarily or by compulsion—they are but words,” Mikon said cheerfully. “Only that will happen to me which must happen and which I cannot prevent.”

We led him between us to the galley. Dionysius had the conch blown to summon the men, and our three vessels rowed out into a sea that had turned a calm amethyst. The moon of the merciless virgin goddess shone thinly in the sky as we left the harbor of Cos.

We rowed far out into the open sea until not even a shadow of land was visible. The rowers began to pant and some of them threw up the good food that they had eaten at Cos. They cursed Dionysius and raged that there was no sense to such rowing, since the first principles of seamanship demanded that one keep in sight of land and know where one was going.

Dionysius listened laughingly to their enraged complaints and lashed at the most garrulous with his rope, not so much in anger as in benevolence. They called him ugly names but none of them stopped rowing until he ordered the galleys to be brought together and fastened for the night.

“Not that I pity you,” he said, “but the intoxication of battle has probably faded, leaving your brains even more wretched than your bodies. So gather around me, for I have much to tell you.”

As Dionysius spoke, he did not remind the men of their bravery at Lade. Instead he compared them to the poor peasant who has come to the city to buy a donkey but has spent his money on wine, become involved in a fight, and awakened the following morning in a strange house, his robe torn and bloody and his shoes gone. He is surrounded by riches and treasure chests and realizes that he has broken into the home of some noble. Far from pleasing him, the sight of the riches horrifies him, for he realizes that at that very moment he is being pursued and has no hope of ever returning home.

Dionysius paused and looked around. “That is the situation in which you are, my friends. But thank the immortals that you have chosen a commander who knows what he wants. I, Dionysius, son of Phocaea, will not desert you. Nor do I demand that you follow me merely because I am stronger and shrewder than any of you, and a better navigator as well. Think carefully. Is any one of you better qualified to command than I? If so, let him step forth and say so to my face.”

No one came forward to question Dionysius’ authority, so he finally revealed his plans.

“Because lonia is lost we cannot return to Phocaea. But the Persian fleet is repairing its damages and is committed to blockading Miletus. and its allies. Thus the sea is open and I shall sacrifice to Poseidon that he may give us a strong west wind tomorrow morning.”

The men cried out in dismay, but Dionysius raised his voice triumphantly. “Yes, a west wind, so that you can rest your miserable limbs. and let the wind carry us to enemy waters as far as the shores of Phoenicia. There we will find the slow-moving merchant vessels with their bellies full of the riches of East and West, for trade must continue even in wartime. A quick voyage through enemy waters and within a month, I swear, we will be rich men, richer than we ever dreamed of being when we lived in the sooty wooden huts of Phocaea.”

But the men showed little interest in the plan. The thought of dangerous waters where death lurked behind every mast and wake did not arouse cheers.

Dionysius looked at them. “One month,” he pleaded. “Only one month, I ask for, no more. Then I shall summon the finest east wind in the name of the gods and we will sail directly west across the whole width of the sea to Massilia.”

A few of the men observed mildly that a fair amount of booty had come their way already at Lade. The voyage to Massilia through strange waters was fearfully long, and sometimes not even an entire season sufficed for it. So if their intention was to reach Massilia, it would be best to turn the prows in that direction immediately and pray for favorable winds. But the wisest course, they said, would be to seek refuge in the Greek cities of Sicily or Italy, in that great West whose reputation for wealth and extravagant living had spread throughout the world.

Dionysius listened, furrowed his brow, and then asked with assumed meekness if someone else had advice to give him.

“Say what you have to say, then we shall know where each of us stands. Everyone has the right to speak and vote and express his opinion, so speak freely. First let us see who wish to go directly to Sicily or Italy, where the Greek cities jealously guard their respective territories and the lands have been partitioned for centuries.”

A number of the men consulted hastily among themselves and declared that a partridge in the hand was better than ten on a branch. Therefore they humbly requested their share of the booty and one of the vessels with which to sail to Sicily.

“It is manly and right that you have spoken so freely,” said Dionysius. “You may have your share of the loot and a generous share, but I cannot let you have a vessel. The ships are my own and all your loot would not suffice to buy one. Still, it is best for us to go our separate ways as soon as possible, so take your share and start swimming towards Sicily with the golden chains around your necks. If you hesitate I will gladly help you over the railing with the tip of my sword. The water is warm and you can determine the direction by the stars.”

He took a few threatening steps and the other men laughingly began jostling the unfortunates towards the side, pretending to toss them overboard. Bitterly regretting their thoughtless words, the group pleaded loudly to be permitted to accompany Dionysius.

He shook his head and sighed. “What changeable creatures you are! One moment you want this, another moment that. But let us again be the same big family in which everyone has the right to express his thoughts freely and to vote as he wishes. Let each of us who wishes to follow me first to Phoenician waters and then to Massilia raise his hand.”

All the men, including Dorieus and me, raised their hands. Only Mikon, smiling silently, did not.

Dionysius moved among the men, patting their shoulders and calling them gallant. But in front of Mikon he paused, his face darkening. “What of you, physician? Do you intend to return home on the back of a dolphin?”

Mikon met his eyes unflinchingly. “I will follow you willingly, Dionysius, and will continue to do so for as long a time as is intended. But where we will go after leaving the Phoenician waters is completely up to fate. For that reason I do not defy the immortals by raising my hand.”

His manner was so docile that Dionysius could not even reproach him.

Turning back to his men, Dionysius shouted, “Tomorrow morning let us have a brisk west wind. For that I have already sacrificed to the Phoenician god on our ‘prow and bathed his face, hands and feet with human blood according to the wishes of Phoenician deities. But to Poseidon and the gods of the sea I shall now offer this golden chain worth several houses and vineyards to prove to you how thoroughly I believe in my good luck. I sacrifice it gladly, knowing that in the near future I shall receive another even more valuable.”

With those words he strode to the prow and threw his chain into the sea. The men groaned upon hearing the splash but, convinced of Dionysius’ belief in his luck, they praised him and began scratching the deck to confirm the sacrifice and conjure up the wind.

Dionysius sent the men to sleep, promising to take the watch himself until daybreak. Again the men praised him, and soon the only sound over the sigh of the sea and the creak of the vessels was a heavy snoring.

I could not sleep for thinking of the unknown future. The sheep’s bones had indicated the west, and whatever other methods of divination Dorieus and I had tried, they likewise had pointed westward. Stubbornly we had set forth for the east, but winged fate would soon take us to the westernmost shore of the sea.

My throat grew dry at the realization that I had lost lonia for all time, and I groped my way through the sleeping men to the water container. Then I climbed to the deck, looked at the silver of the sky and the darkening sea, listened to the slap of the waves and felt the slow rocking of the vessel beneath me.

I was aroused from my thoughts by a faint clanking against the side of the ship. Barefooted and silently I reached Dionysius just as he was pulling something up from the sea hand over hand.

“Are you fishing?” I asked.

Dionysius jumped so that he almost lost his balance. “Oh, it’s only you, Turms,” he said, trying to hide the object behind his back. But his effort was futile, for even in the darkness I recognized the golden chain that he had so ostentatiously thrown into the sea.

He was not at all abashed but laughed and said, “As a literate man you are undoubtedly unprejudiced about offerings and such. My offering to Poseidon was so to speak only allegorical, just as the Ionian sages call their fables of the gods allegories and interpret them in many ways. As a frugal man I naturally tied some string to my chain and fastened the other end firmly to the ship’s prow before throwing the treasure overboard.”

“But what about the west wind that you promised?” I asked.

“I sensed it already in the evening from the color of the sea and the sighs of the darkness,” confessed Dionysius calmly. “Mark my words, even without the chain we will have a brisk west wind. You will see that the sun rises behind a cloud and that with the wind we will have a drenching rain.”