Only a few days had elapsed when the Siccanian priest came to me and said, “Somewhere a mighty battle is raging and many are dying.” He looked and listened in every direction, finally pointed eastward and said, “It is far away, beyond the sea.”
“How do you know?” I asked skeptically.
He stared at me in amazement. “Can’t you hear the thunder of fighting and the groans of the dying? It is a big battle since it carries this far.”
Other Siccanians gathered around us to listen and look toward the east. I also listened but heard only the murmur of the forest. They confirmed the words of their priest and quickly went to their sacrificial rock to propitiate the underworld gods lest the spirits of the numerous fallen enter the Siccanian newborn or the forest animals. Patiently they tried to explain to me that when so many men fell at one time their spirits would spread around the world and there was a possibility that the strange spirits might even enter the Siccanian forests in search of a resting place. The Siccanians were, however, unable to tell me who was fighting whom.
The Siccanian priest was drinking the sacred potion and in the grip of my restlessness I asked for some also. I knew that it was poisonous, but hoped that it would give me the Siccanians’ power to hear what was happening afar. Although the priest’s eyes were already inverted and he fell with twitching limbs to the ground, I swallowed the bitter potion greedily. But I did not hear the crash of battle. Instead, everything around me became transparent and the trees and rocks were like veils through which I could have thrust my hand. Finally I sank into the bowels of the earth among the voracious tree roots and in my trance saw the glitter of gold and silver under the sacred rock.
Upon awakening I vomited time and again until morning, and for several days thereafter felt more benumbed than I ever had after drinking wine. In my somber state of mind I no longer believed the Siccanians’ story of a battle, but considered it sheer delirium. Nothing made any difference to me and I could well understand why Mikon had wanted to die after drinking that poisonous potion.
But that same autumn brought with it a Greek merchant from Agri-gentum whom I had met once before by the river. He boasted that the Athenians had vanquished the Persian army on the field of Marathon near Athens and called it the greatest and most glorious battle of all times, since the Athenians had defeated the Persians alone without waiting for the promised Spartan reinforcements.
To me his story seemed incredible when I remembered how the Athenians had fled with us from Sardis to Ephesus, where they had sought shelter on their ships. Perhaps the Persians had suffered a defeat in attempting to land in Attica. But the Persians could not have transported many cavalrymen across the sea, and the use of ships in itself limited the size of an army. Such a defeat hardly weakened the King’s military reserves but on the contrary would provoke him to launch a real expedition into Greece at some opportune time.
The destruction of the free states of Greece was therefore but a matter of time. Instead of joy, the news of Marathon aroused evil forebodings in me. For me, the burner of the temple of Cybele at Sardis, Sicily was no longer a safe refuge.
One morning, as I bent over the spring to drink, a willow leaf fell onto the surface of the water before me. As I glanced up I saw a flock of birds flying northward so high that I knew they intended to cross the sea. I seemed to hear the rustle of their wings and their honking, and at that moment I knew that the moment of departure was near.
I did not drink or eat, but continued directly across the forest to the mountain slope and climbed atop some jagged rocks to listen to myself and to study the omens. Having left so abruptly, I had no other weapon with me than a worn knife. While climbing the slope I had caught the smell of a wild animal and heard whimpering. After a search I found the den of a wolf, some gnawed bones, and a small wolf cub tottering helplessly at the entrance to the cave. A wolf is a formidable opponent when it is defending its young, but I concealed myself in some bushes to see what would happen. When the she-wolf did not appear and the cub whimpered in hunger, I took it in my arms and went down the mountain.
Both Hiuls and Misme were captivated by the woolly cub, but the cat crept around it with arched back. I kicked the cat away and asked Hanna to milk the goat which the Siccanians had stolen from the Elymi. The cub was so hungry that it greedily sucked the goat’s milk as Hanna thrust her fingers into the cup for it. The children laughed and clapped their hands and I laughed also.
At that moment I realized what a beautiful maiden Hanna had become. Her brown limbs were straight and smooth, her eyes large and bright and her mouth smiling. She was wearing a flower in her hair and that is probably why I looked at her with different eyes.
Arsinoe followed my glance, nodded and said, “We will get a good price for her when we sell her upon our departure.”
Her words pierced me, for I had no desire to sell Hanna in some coastal city for travel funds, no matter how good a position she might attain as the plaything of some wealthy merchant. But I knew that it was wisest not to let Arsinoe notice my fondness for the girl who had so willingly shared the dangers of the Siccanian forest and had served us and cared for our children.
So certain was Arsinoe of her power over me and of her beauty that she ordered Hanna to uncover her body and show herself from front and rear so that I might observe for myself what fine merchandise we had obtained as a gift.
Hanna avoided my eyes in shame, although she tried to hold her chin up. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands, burst into sobs and ran out of the cave. Her weeping frightened the children so that they forgot their games. The cat took advantage of the situation, snatched the wolf cub in its teeth and slipped out.
When I finally found it, it had killed the helpless cub and was gnawing on it. In blind fury I seized a rock and crushed the cat’s head. As I did so I realized that I had always secretly hated the animal. It was as though, in killing the cat, I had freed myself of evil that had been haunting me.
I looked around to make certain that I was unobserved, found a crevice in the ground, quickly thrust the carcass into it and stopped it with a rock. As I bent to tear some moss with which to cover the evidence, I noticed that Hanna had approached silently and was scratching the ground as zealously as I.
Guiltily I looked at her and confessed, “I killed the cat in anger, although I didn’t mean to.”
Hanna nodded. “That was good,” she whispered.
We scattered moss and leaves over the spot and as we did so our hands touched. The touch of her trusting girl’s hand felt pleasant.
“I don’t intend to tell Arsinoe that I killed it,” I said.
Hanna looked at me with flashing eyes. “You don’t have to tell her,” she assured me. “The cat has often disappeared into the forest for nights at a time and our mistress has feared that it has fallen prey to a wild beast.”
“Hanna,” I asked, “do you realize that by sharing a secret with me you bind yourself to me?”
She raised her eyes, looked at me bravely and said, “Turms, I bound myself to you when I was a little girl, that night when you took me in your lap on the steps of the dog Krimisos’ temple.”
“This secret is insignificant,” I said, “and only for the purpose of avoiding an unnecessary quarrel, you understand. Never before have I deliberately lied to Arsinoe.”
I warmed to the brightness of her eyes, although I certainly did not desire her. Indeed, the thought did not even enter my mind that I could ever desire any other woman than Arsinoe. Hanna probably realized it, for she bowed her head humbly and rose so suddenly that the flower in her hair fell to the ground at my feet.