Hope of Earth (34 page)

“Making those dangerous trips alone? Leaving her alone? That won’t be practical or safe.”

Jes knew it was so. So they put Wona in the back room, and began the siege of her illness. Now Jes saw how it was from the perspective of the caregiver. Sometimes when Wona felt awful, she did not look that bad, while at other times she looked far worse than she seemed to feel. Much of the time she was unconscious or delirious, and sometimes she unknowingly said things she never would have uttered when in control. Jes found some of them wickedly fascinating. Wona had evidently had a lurid history before marrying Sam, and she liked to make men react Her sexuality was merely a tool she used to achieve her objectives. Wona had explained that before, but her confidences of delirium suggested how cynical the process was. Jes wished she herself had such ability.

It also occurred to her that if Wona died, the family problem would be solved. Feeling guilt for the thought, she did everything she could to ensure that the woman survived.

The disease wended its course, and though Wona was extremely ill, it became apparent that she was not suffering any permanent damage. She would recover and be as lovely as before.

But after the stages of the illness passed, Wona remained quite weak. It took her a long time to recover strength. “That is the way of it, with some,” Crockson said. “They look well, but their resources are slight. It may be months before she is back to normal.”

“Months!” Jes exclaimed. “I have been away from home too long already!”

He shrugged. “Do you wish to remain at home all your life?”

That set her back. “Yes and no. Our family stays together. We try to marry outside, and bring our spouses in to the family. So I want to bring a husband in to the family.”

“Then you should be looking for a man to bring in.”

That was a difficult point. She knew her prospects in that respect were so slight as to be not worth pursuing. “First I have to get Wona placed.”

“But while she is recuperating she does not need constant attention. You could go out to search for your own man.”

She laughed bitterly. “What point? I am not man-finding material.”

“I think you are. You simply haven’t looked well enough.”

“How should I look?”

“What do you most want to do or be, in your life?”

“A sailor. On a trieres. I love the ships. I love seeing new shores. I love the water. But—”

“But they don’t take women. So sail as a man.” She had a tacit understanding with Crockson: neither betrayed the secret of the other, so she could change identities at the shop. He would even check to make sure her details were correct.

“I can fool most people when afoot and on my own, but how long could I do it on a ship? The moment I had to urinate—”

“You would do that on land. The ships put in to shore twice a day.”

“Or swim—”

“Few sailors swim. The water’s too cold.”

“Or when asleep, if my clothing should—”

“Not if you garb yourself carefully.”

“Or when there is contact with a man, as there sometimes is in close quarters. There are so many ways—”

“And if you are found out, what then? Will they execute you?”

“Rape me, more likely.”

“In the presence of the captain or an officer? That seems unlikely.”

“The captain would curse me and put me off the ship without my pay.”

“And meanwhile, you will have had your adventure. And have met two hundred healthy men, one of whom you might find worthwhile. And there will always be another ship.”

She reconsidered. “You make it sound possible.”

“Possible, if dangerous,” he agreed. “If your ship saw battle, you might be killed or injured, and injury could betray your nature when they stripped you for care. But maybe you would get through without discovery, if you were careful. If you prepared well.”

“How could I prepare?”

“Go down to Piraeus and study the ships. Learn their ways. Then you will know how to avoid mistakes, at such time as you board one.”

She nodded. “That might be.”

So on her next day off from work, with Wona resting comfortably, she assumed her male guise and walked down to the port city. Now that the siege was gone, most of the campers had departed and the road was clear. Traveling alone, she was able to walk swiftly, getting good exercise. She was glad of it, because she had not yet recovered her full strength either, and this should help.

The port city was in constant activity. There were ships coming in and departing every day. Because it was war time, and the ships were on constant patrol, some were damaged and were being repaired. She was even able to go aboard one as it lay in dry dock, awaiting the attention of the overworked repair crew. It was fascinating. She was able to step more than thirty paces along its curving main deck. She saw the covered places for oarsmen, their stools on three levels beside the holes for the great long oars. The highest was actually a special kind of outrigger; the oarsmen on that file were called thranitai. What phenomenal coordination was required to ensure that no oars banged into each other! No one person would be able to see all the oarsmen at once; there were a hundred and seventy of them, allayed along the length of both sides of the ship. How did they coordinate? It was a detail that hadn’t occurred to her, before actually looking at this layout.

Then she heard someone coming, and quickly got off the ship. She didn’t want to answer any awkward questions.

When she returned, Crockson was grim. “Perikles has got the plague.”

“But surely there are others to govern Athens,” she said.

“Not the way he does. He is largely responsible for the building of the Parthenon and other temples on the Acropolis. He pledged extra funds from the treasury to the goddess Athene. He has been very good for the city.”

“But isn’t he as unscrupulous as any other politician?”

Crockson nodded. “Politics is not child’s play. Thirteen years ago, when he was facing vociferous criticism for his policies, such as the massive building program, he used a device to eliminate his chief opponent.”

“He had him killed?”

“Not physically. Politically. He arranged for an ostracism.”

“A what?”

“The people meet in the Agora once a year and take a vote to determine if anyone is becoming too powerful, and is in a position to establish a tyranny. If a majority conclude that the danger exists, they meet again two months later. This time each person brings an
ostrakon,
a potsherd, along, on which hedías scratched the name of the person he wishes to get rid of. The man with the most votes gets ostracized, and is exiled for ten years. That time, Perikles’s opponent was exiled. He didn’t deserve it; it was a political ploy. But he had no choice; he had to go. So Perikles is not a man to fool with. But that is exactly the kind of man we need in power today. Now that he is ill—if he doesn’t recover, Athens will be in bad trouble.”

Jes appreciated his point. She hoped Perikles would recover. Unfortunately that hope turned out to be vain; the man remained too weak to get off his bed.

During other visits to the harbor, over the course of the fall and winter, Jes learned a great deal about the ships. They looked massive, but were actually very light. So light that they would not sink when rammed and holed; they would merely bog down in the water, becoming too sluggish to be effective. So nobody drowned when a ship went down, unless he got knocked into the water and couldn’t swim. That didn’t mean that nobody died; if an enemy force caught a ship, there could be a slaughter. So sea battles were dangerous for the same reason land battles were. Of course each ship carried ten hoplites and four archers whose job was to see that no enemy overran the ship. That might not be enough in a major battle, but probably sufficed for routine missions, such as reconnaissance.

Four archers. Now there was something she could do. She had a good bow, and good aim. Maybe she could sign on as a bowman, after demonstrating her capability.

But then she found a better prospect. Each ship carried one pipeman. That was the one who played the musical beat that enabled the rowers to coordinate by ear. The pipeman sat amidships or toward the front, facing back toward the captain’s deck, taking his cue from the captain. The pipeman did not have to be a great musician, she learned, but he had to have a strong sound and a good sense of rhythm. And he had to understand the operation of the ship, so as to give no miscues. The pipeman, almost as much as the captain, was the heart of a well functioning ship.

Jes was no expert piper, but she had played a wooden flute at family festivities and could remember a tune. In any event, she understood that “the tunes played for ships were quite crude, performed for the cadence rather than for entertainment. They related to real music about the way a baby’s cry did to adult communication. She suspected that this was a job she could do.

She went back to the shop and told Crockson. “Now I believe you are right,” he said, pleased. “You have found a way. And I happen to have a flute, given me by one of my lovers; I don’t believe he would be offended if I lent it to you.”

“Oh, I can buy my own—”

But he was already digging it out, and she couldn’t refuse, though it turned out to be a finely wrought instrument, surely of considerable value. He clearly liked the idea of her playing it. So she accepted it, and began to practice.

She was rusty, but soon enough she was getting it straight. They discovered that the loom workers became more efficient when they heard the music, and Wona was more alert. So periodically Jes played instead of working on her loom, and the work went well. She perfected several tunes that she could play with feeling and without hesitation. When she strayed beyond these, she became less apt, so she knew her limits. But the familiar ones seemed to be good enough for this group.

She continued to visit the shipyard and harbor, now listening as well as looking. She learned that though the tunes of the pipemen were simple, there were several different ones, and these were used to guide the oarsmen in different maneuvers. One tune was for straight ahead; another for reverse; others for turning, when the oarsmen on one side had to stroke more powerfully than those on the other side. She practiced these tunes, closing her eyes and imagining that she was playing on a ship as it forged through the water during maneuvers. It was a wonderful feeling.

By the time Wona was well enough to travel it was winter. “It will be cold out there,” Crockson said to Wona. “Your prospects would better in spring, when you can don light clothing and allow it to fall open.”

“You have an eye for the ways of women,” Wona replied without rancor.

“They are in some ways like the ways of young men.” Jes would have preferred to get moving, but they did owe Crockson money, though he never pressed them for it, and the winter’s work would go far to making it up.

Thus they passed the summer of Wona’s slow recuperation, and the fall, and winter, and Crockson’s shop did prosper with the management and work Jes accomplished. The surviving women returned, and were augmented by others, and there was a good market for the cloth. Crockson was quite satisfied, and actually Jes found herself satisfied too, because the shop was compatible. It was Wona who wanted to get on with their quest for her man, after their year’s delay. However, she was resigned to the situation and, having nothing better to do, did work reasonably well on the loom. Her endurance was not great, but that was also true for some of the other recovering victims of the plague. They rested when they had to, and learned to work efficiently, and accomplished about as much as the healthier but less attentive women. Jes filled in for them during those rest periods, so that there was no actual delay, and the women appreciated that. They liked Jes’s style of management, and this contributed to harmony. Crockson, assured that the shop was in order, felt free to go out to make deals, instead of having to watch every worker closely. It was a reasonably comfortable situation.

In the spring it was time for them to move on, before the Spartans besieged the city again; they needed to get well clear of Athens and into neutral territory, or at least some region where they could be anonymous. Wona dressed for travel rather than sex appeal, but remained an appealing figure of a woman. Jes dressed as a young man.

Crockson put on his formal robe to bid them farewell. He smiled, but he looked sad. “I wish you the best health and success,” he said.

Wona stepped into him. “Thank you for your kindness to us,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

Then Jes approached him. “Thank you for your generosity,” she said—and kissed him on the mouth.

Then they departed, leaving him stunned. They had rehearsed the little ritual, and realized that it was the best way to handle it. The man would have a memory of being kissed by what looked very much like a stripling youth. Jes realized that if she impersonated a male, she could afford to impersonate him in this manner also, considering the considerable assistance Crockson had been to them. They were departing Athens in reasonable order; it might well have been otherwise, had they worked for someone else.