dubious and something to do with his dead father and a ceremonial feast, and whose end was better unthought of for the moment. This was all very amusing. But Tarrik was distinctly aware of Harn Der and the possibilities of something unpleasant. However he was fairly clear that his luck was back now—if all went well at Plowing Eve. And he had given orders to his guard, whom he knew to be faithful, to follow not too far behind when he went out. If it came to anything open, he backed himself against Harn Der and half the Council. As to Erif— well, she was queer and unanswering nowadays. He began to look about for something better, but only half-heartedly; for the moment his mind was not on women.
And then a small trading-ship came into harbour. She was a squat, patch-sailed creature, that every one knew; she used to trade up and down the coast, even in winter, from one small harbour to another, never getting far out, or taking risks. She was going south now, and would probably fetch up at Byzantium in about a month if the weather was possible. Sphaeros said: ‘I must go.’ And he went down to arrange with the captain.
Tarrik knew not only that Sphaeros must go, but also that he would. He did not say anything at once, nor did he follow his first impulse—to have the captain strangled quietly, or the ship sunk. He considered what was the Good, and when Sphaeros came back from the harbour he said: ‘I think I might go to Hellas again.’
‘Why?’ said Sphaeros.
‘In case there are more men like you,’ said Tarrik, and the philosopher, in spite of himself, felt a curious glow of pleasure at the way of Nature here.
‘But how can you leave your kingdom and your people, Charmantides?’ he asked.
The Chief seemed to think it not too difficult. ‘I shall give my powers to two others,’ he said; ‘the power over my people to one, and the power over seed-time and growing-time to a second. And I shall be back by summer. I want—’ he said, suddenly shy and looking away from Sphaeros, ‘I want to see Kleomenes and Sparta!’
Sphaeros nodded. ‘It could be done,’ he said, ‘but— think it over. Be sure of what you are doing, and do not be led by appearances or any sort of pride. I do not know if the Hellenes you make pictures of are even like the real Hellenes. I do not even know what Kleomenes is like now he is a man.’ And Sphaeros sighed, with the knowledge that, whatever he was like, it would not be the eager-minded, strong boy he had said good-bye to that day in Sparta.
Tarrik had gone back to his old habit of talking things over with his aunt. Erif had been very good to talk to at first, but lately she had only made him feel a stranger, alone with her. He went to Eurydice’s room now, and sat down beside her on a cushion; she stroked his hair and wanted to kiss him, but thought he might not like it much. He looked up at her. ‘You’re tired,’ he said; ‘your eyes—you can’t have slept!’
She was so pleased to think he was noticing her looks again! ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she said; ‘I have not been sleeping well, that’s all.’
‘Why not?’ said Tarrik. ‘Would you like more music? Shall we see if anyone has a daughter who can sing?’ He brightened up at the thought, and Eurydice smiled inside herself—or rather would have smiled but for this pricking, pinching feeling that had lasted over from her dream. There was something very unpleasant about the dream; she could not quite remember what; it seemed—ridiculous!—as if it had been about two-legged pins walking all over her, hairpins in fact. She shook it off; she was too old to have idiotic fancies. What was Charmantides saying now? ‘So you see, aunt dear, I think it would be a reasonable thing to go.’
Reasonable! What long words the boy used nowadays!
‘Yes,’ she said; ‘I have been wondering if this was what has been going on in your head these last days.’ And that was true; she had wondered.
‘It would be for six or seven months,’ he said; ‘till midsummer (may all go well with it!) and then—I shall be satisfied.’
‘Hellas!’ she sighed, and then, ‘dear, shall I come with you?’
‘No,’ he said; ‘not in winter. Perhaps—in spring, if you wanted to. Yes. You might like to join me then.’
‘Spring on those hills!’ she said, flushing a little. And then came another idea: ‘Only—someone must take care of things when you are gone. Well, I must do that; it will be just like when you were a little boy, Charmantides!’
‘Yes; but remember, Aunt Eurydice, I am not sure yet if it would be good. I must be clear it is not my own desires—oh, I must talk to Sphaeros again!’ He jumped up and went out again, and walked up and down the garden, trying to make up his mind. Only he found that a big bough had fallen off the elm at the end, and this made a new way of climbing up—so he did climb up. And the serious course of his thought was somewhat broken.
He did think of consulting Erif that night. But she put it right out of his head. He found that she had made one of the guards bring in five crabs from the beach, and they were all in a ring on the floor, with the hungry, attentive look crabs always have, and they seemed to be watching her doing a dance for them in the middle of the room. He liked watching her dancing as well, so he sat down between two of the crabs, and waited very happily till she was finished with the first part of her dance, and, ignoring the original audience, began another for him. Very soon it was with him as well as for him, so much so that he felt it would be a waste to look for a new girl yet. He wondered just a little why she was so particularly delighted with herself, but he had better games to play with her that night than wondering, or even serious conversation.
But Eurydice was having bad dreams again, a very nasty, tangled kind, with hairpins walking accurately across them. ‘Apphé,’ she said, ‘what can the matter be? I can’t think!’ Apphé, who was arranging a scarf across her shoulders, looked round crookedly and caught her mistress’s eyes in the mirror. ‘Can’t you, my lady?’ she said; ‘I can. …’ Eurydice shifted and gave a little gasp: ‘Of course. And I never guessed. Well, Apphé, this time—I’ve come to the end of my patience. These tricks …’ She twitched her dress down impatiently, looked critically at herself in the mirror, and beckoned to the maid to follow her out and across the Chief’s house to Erif Der’s big, yellow-walled room at the other side.
Erif Der was still in bed, lying with one arm under her cheek, and poking the torpid crabs. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I wanted someone to take my crabs home. Will you tell Apphé to carry them down to the beach carefully, Aunt Eurydice?’
For half a minute there was an uncomfortable trickle of silence through the room: then Eurydice deliberately picked up one of the crabs and threw it against the wall: it was the smallest of them, and it was broken to bits. ‘So,’ she said.
Erif Der sat up suddenly, her face crimson with rage; she looked like a small child in her short, blue shift. ‘You—you—’ she gasped, ‘get out of my room!’ She picked up Tarrik’s dagger and held it with the hilt against her own breast and the point at Eurydice’s; then she got off her bed and moved forward.
‘Take care!’ said Eurydice sharply, ‘you little savage!’
Erif Der looked at the remains of the crab, and then across at the other woman. ‘How did you sleep last night?’ she asked.
‘You admit it, then!’ said Eurydice. ‘I thought so! Listen: Charmantides knows. He is sick of you. He is going away, and while he is gone I shall take his place. And I shall teach you yours.’
They were nearly at the door now, Erif Der still coming on with the dagger. ‘He is not going!’ she cried.
Eurydice
