"Buckie," I said, "any wight who thinks to push an elephant overboard has his work cut out for him. More like, he'd pick you up with his trunk and toss you into the wine-dark sea. Still, that brings another thought to mind. This clever elephant understands everything the Indians say to him. Now, here's my idea. We'll carry the mast on deck. He shall pick up the mast with his trunk and put it into its hole. Then we'll use the mast to hoist the gangplank into place."
Iason said: "You forget, to do so the elephant's got to stand on the main deck, which can't support such a weight."
"Could you not strengthen this deck as you propose to do with the oar deck?"
"No, because it would take such heavy planking that the ship would be top-heavy and unsafe. But I think I have it. We'll ship, not our regular mast, but a short jury mast with a pulley block at the top. This'll be light enough for the sailors to manhandle into its socket without a hoist, and we'll strengthen the deck only where the elephant has to step to get on and off the ship."
"What's a pulley block?" I asked.
"It's a wonderful new invention: a block of wood with a little old wheel in it, so a man can pull a rope through it more easily than through a simple hook. The king's having the whole fleet outfitted with them."
Whilst we waited for the work to be done, Pyrron led us on a series of all-day picnic parties. We saw the sacred cypress grove of Ortygia, where Leto is said to have given birth to Apollon and Artemis, and where the Kouretes hid the divine children from the wrath of Hera. (I cannot help it if Delos also claims to be the birthplace of Apollon.)
To the south we rode to Priene, where the philosopher Bias was born. We went to busy Magnesia and to Panionion, where people from all Ionia gather in winter for the festival of Helikonian Poseidon.
To the north we visited Kolophon, where the philosopher Xenophanes was born and the seer Kalchas died. The Kolophonians claim that Homer was born there, but so do the people of other Ionian cities. We watched the famous cavalry at its exercises and visited the shrine of Apollon Klarios.
Another time we rode to Teos, where the Ionian Dionysia was in progress. We stayed there over three nights to see some of the plays, games, and religious services.
Here we had one incident. We had gone to a tavern after a play and were awaiting our wine when a gaunt, elderly Hellene sitting near us, who had already drunk deeply, suddenly cried: "That for you, Persian dog!" and spat in Vardanas' face.
At first, Vardanas was too surprised to move. Then, with a snarl like that of a leopard, he went for his dagger. He was bringing it down in a stab across the table when I caught his wrist. He was strong, but I was stronger; for an instant we remained locked in our effort.
"Let's no stab the body ere we know his reason," I said. "Put your knife away, man, and let me question him."
Vardanas relaxed. The Hellene had drawn himself back so that he nearly fell off the bench, his face ashen with terror. All the talk in the tavern had died as people turned to watch us.
"Now," I said to the Hellene, "talk, or you'll have not only my friend whom you insulted to deal with, but me as well."
The man sighed and mumbled: "I am Onetor of Lampsakos. Know that, over thirty years ago, Persian troops of the viceroy Ariobarzanes, serving under the tyrant Philiskos, seized my city. My father, mother, and brothers they slew before my eyes. My wife they raped before my eyes, many times, before they took her away as a slave. My sons they carried off to make into eunuchs. Ever since, I have hoped for a chance to requite those painted fiends, but it has never come. I was never strong enough for soldiering, and when Alexander invaded the Persian Empire I was too old to serve him. Now it's too late. I am a man without honor, lower than a slave. I have failed in my duty of vengeance."
The old man burst into tears. Vardanas, weeping also, went around the end of the table to sit beside Onetor, put his arm around him, and comfort him. He told the Hellene tales of friends and kinsmen of his who had been robbed or enslaved or slain by the invading Macedonians, until half the folk in the tavern were weeping, too. In the end Vardanas swore eternal friendship with old Onetor, and a sobered lot of revelers left the tavern.
I doubt, though, whether any of those there, if ever in later years he took part in the sack of a city, stayed his hand from the usual crimes of such an occasion because of this moment of sympathy for the victims of war in a tavern at Teos.
During our tours of the neighborhood of Ephesos, Pyrron kept up a steady stream of talk. Much of the talk was heavily philosophical, and I could make but little of it. On the other hand, when he guided us round the monuments and buildings and sacred places, telling the myths and histories connected with them, I found it fascinating. How he carried so much knowledge in one mind I know not, though I saw that he replenished his store when he could by questioning the priests and custodians.
But Pyrron was one of those enthusiasts who never know when to stop. From the time she met him in Sousa, his wide knowledge had fascinated Nirouphar. Starved for facts about the great world, she had striven to draw all she could from him. As lecturing was to him what bread and wine are to most folk, he had gladly complied.
Now, howsomever, she found herself stuffed with all the knowledge that one human mind can absorb in such a limited time, and longed to be let out of school for a while. But Pyrron kept relentlessly on, expounding the theories of Pythagoras and Demokritos and other sages about the nature of matter, the form of the cosmos, and the origin and destiny of mankind. So it came to pass that Nirouphar hung less and less eagerly on his words. As a well-bred Persian she was too polite and tactful to tell him to hold his tongue, but betimes I caught her in a yawn. More and more she reined her horse to walk abreast of mine.
Whilst we were touring, Elisas disappeared on his mule into the interior of Anatolia. He came back four days later with a fat roll of carpets, which he had bought in Sardeis.
"Will sell these in Athens," he said. "Why do you not buy Lydian wares to sell, too? Not rugs, please, because if we sell against each other the price will go down. But there are dyes, gaming sets, and other Lydian products that should sell well in Hellas."
I was tempted to take the Syrian's advice, having a bit of the commercial spirit despite my knightly upbringing. But I forbore lest my dignity as an officer suffer from such huckstering. Several of the Thessalians, though, did buy Lydian goods for resale in Athens, and some made neat profits.
At last Philoxenos sent word that the Destroyer was ready, and that fifteen talents of hay and greens had been placed aboard for Aias in the space once occupied by the oars and benches.
On the nineteenth of Thargelion we marched down to the beach. Here we dismounted and turned our horses and mules over to the dealers who had bought them. Many of the men wept, and hugged and kissed their mounts. I tried to kiss Golden good-by, but had to jerk away quickly to keep her from biting off my nose. The wagons and most of the camp gear had been sold, too.
"Let's go," I said, and led the hipparchia out on the mole.
The Destroyer lay at the end of the mole, which sloped up so that its outer end was on a level with the main deck of the ship. Vardanas and I headed the column. Behind us, Kanadas and Siladites led the elephant, who had been acting fractious of late. Then came Pyrron, talking philosophy to Nirouphar, followed by Elisas, the Thessalians, and the women and children. Lastly came the cook, the camp men, and the grooms bearing the heavier burdens, such as some squealing young pigs which Elisas had bought to assure us fresh meat on the voyage.
I stepped on the deck. Behind me, Aias balked. First he reached out his trunk and touched the deck and the railing. Then he extended a foot and tried the deck. Though the planking had been strengthened at this point, it still sagged and creaked beneath the elephant's weight. Aias drew his foot back, squealing.