"Entauthoi?" said the archer, leaning his bow against the balustrade. He opened one of the gates and led the visitors to a stair to the gallery overhead. Here the flicker of the torch showed shelves along the outer wall of the building (interrupted at intervals by windows) on which were piled coils of rope. Thicker hawsers were coiled on the floor. Triballos spoke.
"He says," said Flin, "we can sleep on the rope, but we shall have to be up and out before dawn so as not to get him into trouble."
Bulnes watched as the torch receded down the stairs, throwing back distorted shadows. "What's your opinion?"
"About what? Gad, my head aches!"
"About this alleged ancient Greece? Have we slipped back in time, or is it all an act? Or are we dreaming or dead?"
"I think we're really back in ancient Attika."
"Why, my dear sir?"
"The little details."
"You think the Emp has some sort of time machine that works inside his force wall, so he can run history over like a film?"
"Something like that."
"Won't work, comrade."
"Why not?" said Flin.
"The acts we commit in the ancient Greece would affect all subsequent history. Therefore, when our own century comes around, we shall never be born as and when we were, so we shan't exist to go back to ancient Greece to commit those acts."
"We haven't affected history yet."
"We've killed two men, fought four others, and bribed still another."
"But they're not persons of importance!"
"Still, I can imagine the effect of these acts spreading out like ripples until they affect all history. Besides, the Dagmar's lying on the bottom of Zea Harbor. If they dragged her ashore, she'd give them some neat ideas on shipbuilding. With a Marconi rig and a magnetic compass they could discover the Americas a couple of thousand years before anyone did. That would change history all right!"
Flin said, "Well then, if we'd affected history, we should have vanished like a puff of smoke, I suppose. And since we haven't vanished, it's evident your paradox won't hold water."
"If you assume that this is ancient Attika. I should say it is evident, rather, that we aren't back in time. By the way, have you any more exact idea of when we are? 'Ancient Greece' covers a lot of centuries."
"Mmm," said Flin. "While I don't know when Apseudes was archon, I think this ruddy building was built late fifth century b.c. Therefore we can't be earlier than that."
"When does that put us? The Persian invasions?"
"No, later. The age of Perikles and the Peloponnesian War — the Golden Age of Greece. It's the real thing, too."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Call it intuition."
Bulnes refrained from snorting. "I wouldn't jump to conclusions yet. Just because we find a section of Piriefs put back into its Periklean condition, and see a few characters flitting about in bedspreads, we shouldn't conclude that all Greece has been likewise transformed." Bulnes yawned. "In the morning we can go out and ask anybody if he's seen Aristotle."
"But Aristotle wouldn't be born yet ..."
"And if we find him, we'll pinch him to see if he's the real Aristotle or only some ex-restaurateur in a tablecloth and three safety pins."
"All joking aside ..."
"Please, comrade! If you insist on talking, I shall become wide awake again and get no sleep tonight. Good night."
Chapter Five
Several factors conspired to awaken Knut Bulnes well before the sunrise of which Triballos had warned him: the song of the birds, the sound of voices without, the snores of Wiyem Flin, and the unyielding nature of the pile of rope that Bulnes had made his bed. There were also his own inner turmoil and excitement. What the hell had they stumbled into? Could they ever hope to get back?
Bulnes sat up, rubbing his itchy eyes. Flin still lay asleep, a large lump showing in the predawn light through the sparse hair that thinly veiled his pink scalp.
Bulnes went to the nearest window: a simple rectangular hole provided with a crude wooden shutter, now wide open. As he stuck his head out the window the sound of high voices came more loudly, though he could not see the source of the sound. The immediate neighborhood seemed to be filled with buildings not at all like gracefully columnated Greek temples: crudely plain one-storey brick structures without outside windows or decorations.
The owners of two of the voices came in sight: a pair of young women in long-draped coverings, each balancing a large jar on her shoulder. Slave girls fetching the day's household water from the nearest public fountain, thought Bulnes. If a fake, it was a most convincing one.
Though absorbed in this spectacle, Bulnes became aware of a melancholy within him which he finally identified as sorrow for the loss of his yacht. He braced himself with the thought that if he ever got out of this, he'd have the most remarkable piece Trends had ever published. That is, if Prime Minister Lenz had not assumed autocratic power and imposed a censorship.
As the girls passed out of sight, a man hurried in the other direction, bearing a bundle upon his shoulder. In the quarter-hour that followed, others appeared. Bulnes watched, fascinated, until the waxing light warned him that he would do well to waken Flin.
Flin, shaken, muttered: "Nex' watch already? Where are my oilskins — Oh, goodness gracious, then it wasn't just a bad dream of being back in ancient Greece!"
He bounced up from his coil of rope and hurried to the window. Bulnes remarked, "You've been talking about how you'd love to step back into ancient Attika, my dear Wiyem, so now's your chance. I fear, however, we shall be conspicuous in dungarees and yachting caps."
"You mean to wear those?" Flin indicated the heap of native garments salvaged from the casualties of the night before.
Bulnes grinned at his companion's expression of distaste. "Yes. How the devil d'you put 'em on?"
"We'd better look them over for — ah — parasites first."
They dragged the garments to the window, shook them, and began inspecting. Bulnes said, "Hell, this thing's nothing but a big rectangle of cloth. No sleeves, no tailoring at all!"
"Of course. That's a Doric chiton. Ah, got one!"
"Good for you. How d'you wear it?"
"Fold it so and wrap it around you under the armpits. These safety pins will fasten it together over both shoulders and along the open side. If you'll take off your clothes, I'll drape you."
"I feel like the model of some damned couturier," said Bulnes. "Ouch!"
"Sorry, didn't mean to prick you. There!"
Bulnes took a few experimental steps. "Draftiest damned thing I ever wore. Now it's your turn, dear comrade ... What are the remaining pieces? The big ones?"
"Himatia or cloaks. You drape one around yourself any way you like."
"What keeps it in place?"
"A kalos k'agathos holds it with one hand. That's how you know he's a gentleman — his hands aren't otherwise occupied."
Bulnes experimented with the blanket-like rectangle of cloth. "Shouldn't there be belts to go around these chemises?"
"I don't see any. Perhaps they got lost in the dark."
"Then we'll steal a little of the Athenian navy's cordage," said Bulnes, making for a pile of light rope with his knife.
"What about our things?"
"You can stuff your watch and pocket knife into your wallet and hang your wallet over your belt, I suppose. Our own clothes we shall have to wad up and hide here."