We then began to leave the beach, and approach the trees. Before we entered the trees, I looked back, briefly, at the cold beach, and the restless, shimmering expanse of Thassa, and the horizon beyond it.
As we entered the trees, I saw two fellows. They wore tunics of a mottled green and brown. As they stood very still, I did not even notice them until we were almost at their side. Each held a strung, but not drawn, bow, a large bow, with an arrow, a long arrow, light at the string, as though it might be ready for flight.
A few moments later, I heard again, this time far to my right, the mighty roar which I had heard before, that roar which seemed it might have taken leaves from the trees. It had been said to be that of a larl. Occasionally I would hear it again during the next few days, as we trekked to Tarncamp. The beast, somewhere, off in the forest, was apparently accompanying our march.
Chapter Ten
I had expected the two ships to beach together, but they had not. Indeed, our vessel did not even beach at this point, but turned about, and rocked in place, parallel to the shore, some yards from the beach.
I had some sense of the cargo of the first ship, tools, supplies, slaves, and such, but our vessel was clearly a transport for armsmen. I kept the girl from Asperiche muchly in the first hold, as I did not wish trouble on the deck. In this decision Tyrtaios, whom I took to be first amongst the armsmen, though not amongst the mariners, concurred. “It is well,” he said, “not to lose men.” He had said this looking toward the coast, said it rather as one might have preferred not to lose pieces in a game. In Tyrtaios I sensed intelligence and power, and a prudential sense of instrumentality, unqualified by extraneous considerations. In a way he was far less dangerous to his men than an idealist or fanatic, who would sacrifice armies and continents to pursue a face in the clouds, a goal he does not even understand, an end which, if achieved, would betray the dreams in terms of which it was sought. Let the idealist and the fanatic curse the inevitable fruits of his success, the brass he took for gold, the unexamined shadow he took for substance, the bright illusion he took for reality; he does not lament the downfall of peoples and states, the carts of bones and the lakes of blood; his grief, rather, is for himself, as the innocent victim of alleged lies and treasons which, had he opened his eyes, would have been as obvious as a cliff’s edge. But Tyrtaios was neither an idealist nor fanatic; he was well aware of the balance between means and ends, between resources and their limitations. I was sure he would shepherd his men, and nourish them, but, as a dark player might, regarding not only the board, and a particular victory, but the larger game, a different game, one not played on a board. Tyrtaios would be a practical commander, whose expenditure of men and supplies would be rational, and judicious, and cold. I wondered if Tyrtaios was an Assassin. Assassins are not blinded by dreams. They do not draw their weapons irresponsibly, in righteousness, in drunkenness, in rage. They consider matters, bide their time, and, when ready, paint the dagger. They do not kill for ideals, or dreams. They kill for coin.
Unaccountably I was furious at the disappearance of the first ship. Why should that be?
What was it to me?
It was not even clear to me why I had ventured north. Ah, yes, two golden staters!
I wondered how Tyrtaios saw me. I suspected that my hire had not been purchased for the quickness of a blade, the edge of a sword, not for two staters of gold. How, I wondered, did he understand the Merchants, the Slavers? What was his caste? Was he an Assassin? I was not. I had told him so. Did he believe me? How did he understand me? I feared he saw me in terms of himself, as one might look into a dark glass.