Reincarnation (10 page)

"I can subdue her," Macar insisted confidently. "After all, she is but a female."

Artem sat beside his campfire. It snapped as the flames danced, devouring the brittle branch

he'd thrown onto it. It brought to mind the wild women at a bacchanalian feast.

He had taken his bow from his sack and removed an arrow from its quiver. Lying with the

back of his head resting on a flat rock, he fit the arrow into the notch in the bow, aimed

toward the fat, full moon, and waited.

A bat soared across its silvery path.

The arrow hissed through the darkness, taking down the creature.

Rising lazily, he strolled to where it had fallen and retrieved it. Not much meat on this, but

he'd been so

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involved in working on his Egyptian poem this evening that he'd forgotten to hunt for his

dinner.

He still had some figs he'd swiped from a nearby grove of trees. It would be enough.

He gutted the bat, pouring its blood into an earthenware cup. He had heard that drinking

bat's blood could make a man invisible -- a good quality to have when hunting. Then he set

the bat on a spit over the fire.

Lost in thought, mesmerized once again by the fire, he absently plucked the taut string of

his bow.

He could win her.

That he had the ability was never in question.

He wanted her. He had seen her from afar for years and thought her lovely, but when she

approached him two days ago and he spoke to her, he felt the uncanny connection between

them. It was surely something deeper than physical attraction.

She could not return to see him until tomorrow because she was committed to stand on a

stool in the sewing chamber and be fitted for her wedding gown. He could picture her in it,

the sun shining through crisp white lines; somehow he pictured her wearing a simple golden

band around her forehead instead of the traditional wreath of hyacinths and violets. It

would suit her better, in his opinion.

How much he longed to be the groom standing beside her. It was true that they had known

each other but a day.

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Yet it was a day with such a timeless quality: He felt as if he'd known her always.

But wanting things led to disaster. He had always been of this mind, although he was not

sure why or wherefore he had come to this conclusion. Perhaps it was simply that as a

person of no standing in the community he knew that nothing was coming to him. So why

try?

Artem took a flask of wine from his sack, drawing in a long gulp. He was not meant to

accomplish anything, to have anything. He had eluded the fates by avoiding slavery. That he

was yet a free man should be enough for him. Why long for a life that was not

his destiny to possess?

Once again he drank from the flask.

He did not intend to get yoked into the captivity of marriage. Lovely as she was, she would

soon turn demanding, reminding him constantly that all they owned in the world had come

from her dowry. He couldn't really imagine her being like this, but generally it seemed to be

the way things went.

Then again ... he had thought about competing in the upcoming Olympic Games even

before she'd brought it up. Perhaps with the winnings and status from an Olympic victory

their positions would be more equal....

No. It was too improbable an idea.

He had not eluded one kind of slavery simply to be tricked into another.

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When she came to see him tomorrow as they'd arranged, he would not be there.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and emptied the flask.

Perhaps I drink too much,
he considered.

Hyacinth vowed to find out what he'd meant about the Myth of Er. She had asked her

mother first, while she stood on a stool modeling her half-finished wedding garment. "I

know not and neither do you need to know of such things," her mother chided as she

pinned the white skirt into careful pleats. "You should be sewing this yourself. I hope your

new husband won't notice that you can't embroider or weave, either, if you sing to him all

the while."

"Perhaps if I knew how to create a clay vessel on the wheel he would be impressed,"

Hyacinth said. She had always wanted to learn the art of making pottery. The grace of its

forms appealed to her. It would be lovely to create such beauty from wet clay, she thought.

"Pottery is not suitable as women's work, and you know that," her mother scoffed. "Now stand still!"

Later in the day, she tried to ask her father, but he was too busy to discuss anything with

her. "I have ships coming into port in two days, the day of your wedding competition," he said absently as he pored over a wide ledger of accounts. "On them will be enough

goods to restore your dowry."

"Restore?" she inquired.

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He sputtered and his embarrassment showed. Apparently he had not intended to tell her

this. "I had to borrow against it to pay a debt, but it's a temporary measure. The goods that are on those incoming ships will return full value to the fund."

When she asked her eldest brother Agapenor, he told her that girls shouldn't bother

themselves about such things. So now, as a last resort, she would ask her other brother

Elpinor who was two years older than she but, in her opinion, acted like a ten-year-old.

"What's the Myth of Er?" Hyacinth asked Elpinor at lunch the next day.

Elpinor stared at her quizzically, as though he hadn't understood the question. "Where did

you hear of such things?" he asked. It wasn't the question that he didn't understand but the

fact that it was she who had asked it that had stunned him.

He still hadn't answered when Macar came in to join them for lunch. "She wants to know

what the Myth of Er is," Elpinor told his friend.

Macar didn't understand. "What use does she have for Plato?" he asked.

"Perhaps he can give her wedding advice!" Elpinor shouted, laughing.

"Toad," Hyacinth insulted her brother disgustedly.

Macar shrugged as he sat cross-legged against another bolster at the table. At least he

wasn't a total fool like

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Elpinor. Still, Macar's smug confidence made her dislike him immensely. She wished she

didn't dislike him so much because he was the most likely suitor to win her father's contest.

"I remember learning about the Myth of Er," Macar suddenly recalled. "It's a nonsense story."

"What is it?" Hyacinth dared ask.

"Oh, it's crazy. It's about a fellow named Er who comes back from the dead. He's the

only one who returns. He says the rest of the people who died went on to live in other

bodies. Instead of living forever happily in the underworld ruled by Hades, God of the Dead

-- as all sane people know happens after they die -- Plato thinks you go to some field and

take a number like you might in the marketplace. Then when your number is called, you get

to come back to this world in another body."

"Another body!" Elpinor shrieked with laughter. "Imagine! I'm drowned at sea and the next time I open my eyes someone is wiping my bare behind and feeding me baby slop!" Gales

of laughter shook him.

"I don't think it sounds so funny," Hyacinth commented. It struck her as infinitely more interesting than endless days spent lolling around in some dull underworld.

"You're right!" Elpinor roared. "It's not funny, it's hilarious!"

Macar bit down on a smile as he reached toward a plate of dried apricots and nuts on the

table. "Leave her alone.

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Women are prone to such flights of fancy and childlike fantasy," he remarked. "It's perfectly normal."

Hot anger began to rise within Hyacinth, coloring her cheeks. "Plato was not a woman."

Macar chortled. "No, but he must have been dead drunk when he came up with that one."

Elpinor turned nearly purple with laughter at Macar's remark.

Hyacinth stared at Macar, narrowing her eyes angrily. Surely she could not be expected to

marry this smug, condescending fool.

She
had
to convince Artem to compete for her. It was her only chance.

Casting a disdainful glance at Macar and her still-cackling brother, she hurried from the

room and out to the balcony where she descended the side steps. Hurrying to the woods,

she found Artem packing up his campsite. "You're not leaving?" she cried, alarmed by what she was seeing.

"Is it so important?" he asked lightly.

"Yes!" she insisted urgently. "You must compete for me."

"We hardly know each other," he protested.

"I know you better than any of the others. I know you better than Macar, who is my

brother's friend. He comes to the house but I barely speak to him, and when I do, I am

repulsed. You like me. I can tell you do. You promised to teach me to read!"

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"I know Macar," he said. "He has often taunted me, calling me 'orphan of a slave.'"

"You don't like him any more than I do."

"No. Not much," he agreed.

"Then fight for me," she urged. "Don't let him win me."

Macar had trailed Hyacinth from the house. He could see she was angry with her brother

and annoyed at him for mocking that fool Myth of Er. If he could calm her down, talk sense

to her, she'd see what a strong voice of reason he would be as a mate.

It didn't matter if she loved him or even liked him. But their lives would go more smoothly if

she at least respected him. And they would have a life together. Of that, he was certain.

He was a good deal behind her when he saw her dart into the woods. Hurrying his pace so

he wouldn't lose her, he caught up and spied the light color of her dress moving through

the trees.

Creeping silently, he hid behind a tree to observe the other figure that had appeared. She

was speaking to someone.

Who?

Artem? The dirty vagrant?

Before Macar's disbelieving eyes, Hyacinth threw her arms around Artem and they kissed.

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From her balcony, Hyacinth looked out on the playing field as thunder blasted the sky. It

was an ill omen. At the horizon, the Aegean was blanketed by black clouds. The storm was

still out at sea but the sky above them was gray, and the foul weather appeared to be rolling

ever closer to land.

Her eyes were not on the competitors who were lined up for the javelin competition.

Instead, she scanned the crowd that had come to watch, searching for Artem. Like Odysseus

who had returned from the Long War to save Penelope from the greedy suitors who only

loved her wealth, perhaps Artem would show up, shedding a disguise at the last moment.

Just as Odysseus had used his expertise with a bow to best the others, Artem might step

forward and win her.

This could yet happen. At the moment, though, Artem was nowhere to be seen.

Still, he had promised her he would be there.

Macar was highly visible, so clearly the champion. He'd already won the long jump and the

wrestling competitions.

The archery event arrived with no sign of Artem. When the event ended, Macar was again

the winner. The skies opened, releasing torrents of rain.

Hyacinth rushed to her bedchamber, her eyes as wet as the ground. Why had Artem not

come? Had he no desire for the comforts of the life she could give him? Had he no desire

for her?

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Throwing herself onto her bed, she sobbed. Lightning flashed with angry illumination. She

was glad of the weather. It suited her mood.

In about a half an hour, her mother came in. She spoke gently though her words were firm.

"You dishonor Macar by not congratulating him. Arise and go to your future husband,

Hyacinth."

Hyacinth looked up, pushing back her tear-soaked hair. Before she could protest, her father

flew into the doorway.

He leaned in the entrance, red-faced and breathing heavily. "I have received the worst news

just now!" he announced, and he was so overwrought that Hyacinth feared he would

collapse there on the floor.

"What?" her mother asked, bolstering her husband at his side.

"A lone messenger has rowed ashore with the news. My ships have sunk in the storm. Our

fortune is gone!" he wailed.

"All praise to Poseidon!" Hyacinth whispered, suddenly filled with new hope.

She rushed past her parents in the doorway and ran at top speed down into the yard. The

rain soaked her in an instant but she didn't care. She had to find Artem.

Her dowry wasn't important to him. He would have her as she was. They could go away

together. Their life would be rich with adventure. Others might think her crazy but

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she knew this was not true. Being with Artem was the only thing that had ever made sense

to her.

Leaves spilled water on her as she crashed through the branches of the woods, running

toward Artem's campsite.

A ring of sodden ashes was the only thing that remained of it.

Maybe she could find him at the shore. Dashing through the woods, she came out to the

shoreline. Rain pelted the ocean water. A gray cloud sat on the land. He was gone. Gone.

It had been over two weeks since the competition and Artem still lay on a cot in a small

room behind the fish stall. Nadim the fish man came in. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Grateful for your kindness," Artem replied.

Nadim grunted. "I still say we should call for Macar's arrest. A man should not be free to

beat another man nearly to death and get away with it. What if I had not found you lying

there senseless? You would be dead now!"