extra ration of meat. They will need it later."
Daniel said, "You can die for this, Pendril, when we get back ... if we do. Why have you done it? What are the Hesperides to you?"
"That is my affair," Pendril said.
The rowmaster stuck his head up through the hatch. "The slaves want you to speak to them, Pendril. It is not my doing," he added hastily.
Leaving One-Eye on the poop with the steersman, Pendril ran down the ladder and faced the galley slaves. "We shall starve!" one cried.
"We have food and water for three months," Pendril said. "The ship is sound. Have no fear."
"We shall fall over the edge of the world," another cried. Pendril hesitated. Lying on the bare, bleached rocks at the summit of the Rock, gazing through the strait at the Western Ocean, he had often tried to see the edge of the world, to imagine it there where the water poured over in an endless cataract mightier than any fall on any river. But then there would be a current, and here there was none....
To the waiting slaves he said, "There must be a rim to keep the water in. Or perhaps the sea is not flat. You, as I, have seen ships coming over the horizon. From all directions they rise up, wherever we are. It is as though we were always on top of a round ball."
A slave said, "The sea cannot be round, master. The water would all roll down."
"I know not why it does not fall," Pendril said. "But it does not, and it will not." He surveyed the banked, gaunt faces. These men had nothing to live for; they could be allies. He had been a boatswain ten years and knew sailors and galley slaves as well as he knew the comers and crannies of the Rock. "In the Hesperides," he said, "the ripe fruit falls into your mouths from the trees! Women more beautiful than goddesses, more lustful than kedeshot, crowd to serve you."
The slaves set up a ragged cheer and rattled the oars in the tholes with a low thunder.
Pendril raised his voice. "And you rowers, strong men all, there is a marvel there above aught else on earth. The women are slit across, not up and down!"
The rowers had all heard the old fable when they were children and set up another laughing cheer. Pendril said, "Rowmaster, a ration of wine to all."
He left to more cheering, went straight to his cabin, and lay down. He would need all the sleep he could get while the sailors were still surprised and disorganized and perhaps a little excited with the idea of the Hesperides. So far, so good. But the naked women? The apples? How? Where? He fell asleep.
Tamar and Daniel came down later. Tamar sat at her husband's side in the gloom, staring at the canvas curtain. Pendril was there. Pirate! She caught Daniel's arm, pointed at the canvas, and made a gesture of strangling. Daniel shook his head wearily. She felt in the little box where she kept a few jewels and knick-knacks, pulled out a small knife, and showed it to him. He shook his head again, but she hefted it in her hand and looked longingly at the canvas. Daniel glanced uneasily at her and mumbled, "I am going back on deck."
She stayed where she was, holding the knife. She felt taut and on edge. When Pendril had called them to the poop at dawn, she had been fondling her husband, trying to arouse him to make love to her. He had seemed to welcome Pendril's call as a last-minute reprieve. She frowned, picked the big fang out of the box, and began to scrape at it with the knife. The ivory was very old, but gently, carefully, with this sharp knife it could be worked. What should she make of it? It was a thing such as men liked to handle. Smooth to the touch, rounded, waiting. Should she make a dagger of it? She stared at the ivory, trying to bring the shape hidden in it clear to her eyes.
On the third night out of Carteia the wind dropped and on the fifth turned contrary. The sailors struck the sail, and from that moment the sea began to rise, slowly but inexorably, more each day. At first Tamar crouched in the cabin, feeling the ship rise giddily, then
Daniel said, "You can die for this, Pendril, when we get back ... if we do. Why have you done it? What are the Hesperides to you?"
"That is my affair," Pendril said.
The rowmaster stuck his head up through the hatch. "The slaves want you to speak to them, Pendril. It is not my doing," he added hastily.
Leaving One-Eye on the poop with the steersman, Pendril ran down the ladder and faced the galley slaves. "We shall starve!" one cried.
"We have food and water for three months," Pendril said. "The ship is sound. Have no fear."
"We shall fall over the edge of the world," another cried. Pendril hesitated. Lying on the bare, bleached rocks at the summit of the Rock, gazing through the strait at the Western Ocean, he had often tried to see the edge of the world, to imagine it there where the water poured over in an endless cataract mightier than any fall on any river. But then there would be a current, and here there was none....
To the waiting slaves he said, "There must be a rim to keep the water in. Or perhaps the sea is not flat. You, as I, have seen ships coming over the horizon. From all directions they rise up, wherever we are. It is as though we were always on top of a round ball."
A slave said, "The sea cannot be round, master. The water would all roll down."
"I know not why it does not fall," Pendril said. "But it does not, and it will not." He surveyed the banked, gaunt faces. These men had nothing to live for; they could be allies. He had been a boatswain ten years and knew sailors and galley slaves as well as he knew the comers and crannies of the Rock. "In the Hesperides," he said, "the ripe fruit falls into your mouths from the trees! Women more beautiful than goddesses, more lustful than kedeshot, crowd to serve you."
The slaves set up a ragged cheer and rattled the oars in the tholes with a low thunder.
Pendril raised his voice. "And you rowers, strong men all, there is a marvel there above aught else on earth. The women are slit across, not up and down!"
The rowers had all heard the old fable when they were children and set up another laughing cheer. Pendril said, "Rowmaster, a ration of wine to all."
He left to more cheering, went straight to his cabin, and lay down. He would need all the sleep he could get while the sailors were still surprised and disorganized and perhaps a little excited with the idea of the Hesperides. So far, so good. But the naked women? The apples? How? Where? He fell asleep.
Tamar and Daniel came down later. Tamar sat at her husband's side in the gloom, staring at the canvas curtain. Pendril was there. Pirate! She caught Daniel's arm, pointed at the canvas, and made a gesture of strangling. Daniel shook his head wearily. She felt in the little box where she kept a few jewels and knick-knacks, pulled out a small knife, and showed it to him. He shook his head again, but she hefted it in her hand and looked longingly at the canvas. Daniel glanced uneasily at her and mumbled, "I am going back on deck."
She stayed where she was, holding the knife. She felt taut and on edge. When Pendril had called them to the poop at dawn, she had been fondling her husband, trying to arouse him to make love to her. He had seemed to welcome Pendril's call as a last-minute reprieve. She frowned, picked the big fang out of the box, and began to scrape at it with the knife. The ivory was very old, but gently, carefully, with this sharp knife it could be worked. What should she make of it? It was a thing such as men liked to handle. Smooth to the touch, rounded, waiting. Should she make a dagger of it? She stared at the ivory, trying to bring the shape hidden in it clear to her eyes.
On the third night out of Carteia the wind dropped and on the fifth turned contrary. The sailors struck the sail, and from that moment the sea began to rise, slowly but inexorably, more each day. At first Tamar crouched in the cabin, feeling the ship rise giddily, then
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