the hills, too old to be of interest to the king, who knew how to use a sword and shield. The boss had made sure I was taught how to fight. But I had no weapons; the truce forbade me to be armed. What if we ran into something right now? Papa Dicty had an uncanny way of knowing what the king would do, and what he wouldn’t do. He thought we were safe to go hunting for Pali unarmed; that was all the assurance I had.
We were hurrying through the fields behind Seatown as I went over these thoughts, heading for the hill of the citadel by a roundabout route. Poor Kefi had to scamper to keep up with me.
“Master, dear master, please let me hold your hand!”
“Kefi,” I said, slowing down, “you can hold my hand if you like, but don’t be scared. There’ll be no fighting. We’re just looking for Pali and Anthe.”
“I am n-n-not afraid of the soldiers! I am afraid of the d-d-d-ark. Wicked things inhabit the dark. There may be ghosts.”
Mortals have an unfortunate habit of being afraid of
anything
that can’t harm them. Show them a sword, a whip, a club, they’re placid. Offer to beat them up, tell them a fancy food is poisonous, they don’t turn a hair. But they’re afraid to be alone, out of the sight of houses. They’re afraid of thedark, afraid of meeting a cat or being followed by a dog; afraid of a bubbling spring, or a tree that seems mean-tempered. I knew honorable exceptions to this mad rule, but our mule boy was not one of them.
We were unarmed, and heading for forbidden territory. I was scared that we might be running into a murderous ambush. Kefi was terrified that the dead would jump up and bite him. I held him by the hand and marched him to the road, which we met on the ridge, where it started winding to and fro, like a hank of yarn spilled on the hillside. There was a shorter way to the High Place from here, a flight of stone steps that had once led to a Great Mother temple. It had fallen into ruin and the king had had the ruins cleared; they were spoiling his view. The steps remained, overgrown but still painted in faded whitewash. It was because of them that we called going to the High Place “going upstairs.”
There was a hollow on the ridge, with a spring where the goatherds brought their flocks. I decided this was where Kefi and I would part company. We’d both be better off.
“Listen,” I said. “You’re going to stay here and wait for me, in the hollow. You can peep out and see the lights of the town, and the stars in the sky, so you won’t be scared.”
“Wh-wh-what if you don’t come back, dear Perseus? What shall I tell your mother?”
“You can tell the time by the stars, can’t you?” He nodded. “If I don’t come back by an hour past midnight, gohome, and tell my mother and the boss. Or if you hear any fighting, run like a rabbit straightaway. But in that case, stay off the road.”
The boy’s teeth were chattering. He clung to me like a burr.
“P-P-Perseus, you can’t leave me. It feels strange. There’s s-s-something wicked in the goat hollow. I’m sure there is. It will frighten me.”
I pulled a snagged thread from my tunic, spat on it and tied it around the boy’s wrist. “That’s a charm; it will keep you safe. Wait here. I’ll go and see.”
I unpicked his fingers from my arm and stepped down into darkness, the starlight immediately cut off by summer foliage. The spring made a faint, plaintive song as it rose from the earth and fell into an old stone basin. At first, I could see nothing, but there was a strong goaty smell. I caught the gleam of hooves, the outline of horns amid curly hair. It watched me, slant-eyed, without moving. My eyes got accustomed, and the almost-human face came clear. It licked its lips.
“Hey,” I whispered. “What are you up to?”
“Ssss.”
“Ssss
yourself. You don’t mess with me, I don’t mess with you. All right?”
“No harm, Perseus.”
“I should hope not. Listen, I want to leave a mortal boy here,
We were hurrying through the fields behind Seatown as I went over these thoughts, heading for the hill of the citadel by a roundabout route. Poor Kefi had to scamper to keep up with me.
“Master, dear master, please let me hold your hand!”
“Kefi,” I said, slowing down, “you can hold my hand if you like, but don’t be scared. There’ll be no fighting. We’re just looking for Pali and Anthe.”
“I am n-n-not afraid of the soldiers! I am afraid of the d-d-d-ark. Wicked things inhabit the dark. There may be ghosts.”
Mortals have an unfortunate habit of being afraid of
anything
that can’t harm them. Show them a sword, a whip, a club, they’re placid. Offer to beat them up, tell them a fancy food is poisonous, they don’t turn a hair. But they’re afraid to be alone, out of the sight of houses. They’re afraid of thedark, afraid of meeting a cat or being followed by a dog; afraid of a bubbling spring, or a tree that seems mean-tempered. I knew honorable exceptions to this mad rule, but our mule boy was not one of them.
We were unarmed, and heading for forbidden territory. I was scared that we might be running into a murderous ambush. Kefi was terrified that the dead would jump up and bite him. I held him by the hand and marched him to the road, which we met on the ridge, where it started winding to and fro, like a hank of yarn spilled on the hillside. There was a shorter way to the High Place from here, a flight of stone steps that had once led to a Great Mother temple. It had fallen into ruin and the king had had the ruins cleared; they were spoiling his view. The steps remained, overgrown but still painted in faded whitewash. It was because of them that we called going to the High Place “going upstairs.”
There was a hollow on the ridge, with a spring where the goatherds brought their flocks. I decided this was where Kefi and I would part company. We’d both be better off.
“Listen,” I said. “You’re going to stay here and wait for me, in the hollow. You can peep out and see the lights of the town, and the stars in the sky, so you won’t be scared.”
“Wh-wh-what if you don’t come back, dear Perseus? What shall I tell your mother?”
“You can tell the time by the stars, can’t you?” He nodded. “If I don’t come back by an hour past midnight, gohome, and tell my mother and the boss. Or if you hear any fighting, run like a rabbit straightaway. But in that case, stay off the road.”
The boy’s teeth were chattering. He clung to me like a burr.
“P-P-Perseus, you can’t leave me. It feels strange. There’s s-s-something wicked in the goat hollow. I’m sure there is. It will frighten me.”
I pulled a snagged thread from my tunic, spat on it and tied it around the boy’s wrist. “That’s a charm; it will keep you safe. Wait here. I’ll go and see.”
I unpicked his fingers from my arm and stepped down into darkness, the starlight immediately cut off by summer foliage. The spring made a faint, plaintive song as it rose from the earth and fell into an old stone basin. At first, I could see nothing, but there was a strong goaty smell. I caught the gleam of hooves, the outline of horns amid curly hair. It watched me, slant-eyed, without moving. My eyes got accustomed, and the almost-human face came clear. It licked its lips.
“Hey,” I whispered. “What are you up to?”
“Ssss.”
“Ssss
yourself. You don’t mess with me, I don’t mess with you. All right?”
“No harm, Perseus.”
“I should hope not. Listen, I want to leave a mortal boy here,
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