Flin looked out the window. "I say, the fog's gone and the sun'll be up any minute."
"We shall have to go then." Bulnes tried on the larger of the two pairs of sandals that had belonged to the dead men.
"And start hunting for Thalia?"
"Not so fast! We don't even know she's here yet. We want to know just what we've gotten into first. Also, we shall have to secure a supply of meals, and you'll have to teach me enough Classical Greek to get along on."
"That shouldn't be hard, since you know Romaic." Flin rested his chin in his hand, then snatched away the hand. "We can't even shave — though this seems to be one of the bearded periods. At that we shall be conspicuous in these whiskers." He stroked his mustache and goatee.
"A few more shaveless days will fix that. Where can we get our money changed?"
"There was a building here called the Deigma, where the bankers had tables. They'll probably try to swindle us."
"When would they be open for business?"
"Around dawn. Nearly everything starts at that time."
Bulnes shuddered. "We seem to have fallen among people who take the old saying about early to bed seriously."
"Naturally, in the absence of an advanced lighting system."
Bulnes grimaced. "One word, Wiyem. When you don't like anything, please don't say loudly: 'This is outrageous — we'd never stand for it in Britain!' "
The streets were filling fast, not only with men in the garb of ancient Greece, but also with others: a few Negroes, some swarthy, shaven men whom Flin identified as Egyptians, bearded ones in jerseys and kilts who he said were Phoenicians, and various others. From time to time Bulnes and Flin were forced to dodge a burden beast, a cart, or the contents of a slop pail.
They climbed partway up the hill of the Munihia (or Mounychia, as Flin called it) near the arsenal, until their street petered out. Thence they saw the checkerboard plan of the Peiraieus stretching off to the southwest. In the other direction the Long Walls extended several miles inland toward Athens proper. The sun was just rising over the oak-clad swell of Mount Hymettos. As the sunlight compassed Mount Aigaleos to the north and crept eastward across the valley, something gleamed over Athens.
Flin burst out, "It's the helmet of the Athene of Pheidias — the so-called Athene Promachos — on the Akropolis! They said you could see it from here. This must be real!"
"What's that, a statue?"
"A big one, ten meters tall. This is simply wonderful!"
"Some food would be even more so," said Bulnes.
When Flin had feasted his eyes, they walked back down the hill toward the Kantharos Harbor, passing an open space in which stood a number of statues and other monuments, among which hucksters shouted their wares. The thickening crowd was almost entirely male. Nobody paid Bulnes and Flin any attention. Flin asked a man the way to the Deigma.
"What did he say?" asked Bulnes.
"He's a stranger here himself."
The next inquiry brought a more cogent response, and soon they found the Deigma: a huge covered colonnade full of noisy humanity. The garlic stench was almost overpowering.
One section of the Deigma was devoted to banks. Each bank comprised a large table at which sat the banker, surrounded by his slaves, his cash boxes, and his rolls of papyrus accounts. In front of most of these tables a group of customers had lined up.
"How much change have you?" inquired Bulnes.
Flin counted. "Three franks, four daims, one five-pen, six pens, three half-pens."
"Take a frank and try three or four of these fellows to see who'll give us the best price."
"Dash it all, I hate haggling," grumbled Flin, but lined up before the first banker's table.
By the time he had reached the third lineup, Flin was complaining about his feet. Even Bulnes admitted feeling a little faint from hunger and from the waves of garlic odor.
"Just this once, and we'll decide which to deal with ..."
"Hey!" said a third voice in English, "Are you the guys who showed up in the Peiraieus last night in civilized clothes and was attacked by Phaleas' gang?"
Bulnes and Flin turned. There stood a muscular young man with a round, snub-nosed, innocent-looking face, clad like their rescuer of the previous night in coat, pants, and pointed cap, and leaning on the bow of a Scythian archer.
Chapter Six
"Yes, said Bulnes. "Who are you, if I may ask?"
The youth advanced with hand outstretched. "My name's Diksen, Roi Diksen, from Yonkers. The Gricks calls me Pardokas."
Bulnes and Flin identified themselves, the latter adding, "What are Yonkers?"
"A town in the U.S.A. You guys English?"
Bulnes said, "Flin is. I am by adoption only."
"Where'd you come from originally, huh?"
"I'm technically Spanish, though by descent I'm a little of everything."
"You talk kind of like an American."
"I went to school there. How'd you hear about us?"
"Triballos told me, so I came down from Athens to find you. Been hunting all over the Peiraieus."
"How'd you get off from duty?"
"This is my off-time. I'm on night patrol work.
"What you two up to? Changing your dough into this Grick stuff?" .
"Yes," said Bulnes.
"How much they giving you?"
"The last banker there said he'd let us have half an obolos for one pen. How does that sound?"
"Pretty fair. I dunno how you done it — these Gricks is full of tricks. But say, when you get done, ain't there some place we can talk?"
"How about a place to eat? We haven't had breakfast, and it must be nearly noon."
The young man's face took on a look of disgust. "A-a-agh, these Gricks don't know nothing about real breakfast. They stick a hunk of bread in their lousy wine and call that a meal. What wouldn't I give for a good old plate of ham and eggs ... But you guys want lunch. Okay, I know a joint."
Flin had reached the head of his line. Since this banker offered a rate of exchange a shade over those of the preceding two, Flin and Bulnes disposed of all their silver and copper. The aluminum coins, Bulnes knew, they were stuck with.
"Lead on," said Bulnes to Roi Diksen.
The "Scythian" conducted them out of the Deigma. The spring day had turned clear and cloudless. Diksen stopped at the Agora and directed his companions to buy what they wanted for lunch.
"... on account of these joints'll cook grub for you but they don't carry it themselves — you gotta bring it with you. Ain't that a hell of a way to run a business?"
They turned in at an inn where they sat on benches facing each other across an elongated table.
"At least," said Bulnes, "it only stinks to low heaven here."
The meal that Diksen had assembled comprised a huge piece of bread, onions swimming in. oil, and wine. Bulnes tasted the wine. "Phew!" he said. "Essence of pine cones!"
"You get used to it," said Diksen, "like you get used to the way they soak everything in olive oil. O Kallingos!" He spoke to the proprietor in broken Greek and handed him the onions.
Bulnes said, "Now, Mr. Diksen, what's your story?"
"Well, it's like this, see? I save up the dough I get working for Kaplen's Hardware Store in Yonkers so I can take me a trip to Europe on my vacation. My girl thinks I need Culture. Of all the ... Anyway, everything goes fine till I get to Beograd. I'm walking through that big cathedral with the other trippers listening to the guide spout ancient history when everything goes black and I wake up at sea."
"What sea?" asked Bulnes.
"Dunno exactly — somewheres north of here. I'm in this boat with chains on my wrists and ankles, see, and a lot of other poor devils with me. We're in a kind of a pen at the bow, and the rest of the ship's full of guys pulling on long oars. I ask the nearest one what gives, but we don't understand each other's languages. These Gricks is all pretty ignorant — there ain't a one of 'em speaks English.