"Ea!" said Thyestes. "But we've no told our blue-bearded comrade what we think of the Indians' burning widows, and their other cruel customs."
"I am sleepy, too," said Kanadas. "Some other time, perhaps. All I say now is Hellenes do one more wicked thing. They make poor Kanadas of Paurava go on this horrible journey, through wild countries, amongst fierce evil peoples, sleeping on hard ground and eating vile, unholy food. I think gods make your king into spider in next life because of that."
After another guide deserted, it dawned upon me that these folk never went more than a few leagues from their homes and could be made to do so only by force. Thereafter, I hired a man at each village to guide us to the next and then engaged another.
Ere it reaches Kandacha, the post road leaves the Arachotos and trends west over broken country. Here we suffered not only from heat but also from the wind. Boreas howled and shrieked all day. He stung our faces with sand and filled our gear and garments with dust until our eyes were like red-rimmed grapes looking out of brown masks of dirt.
The wind blew off Pyrron's hat. The first time, he rode after it while it rolled ahead of him like a runaway chariot wheel. He passed it several times but failed to retrieve it until Skounchas the Daha galloped by and snatched it up.
The second time, Pyrron tried to pick up the runaway hat from the ground as the Daha had done. Instead, he fell off his horse into a thornbush. He came back limping and bleeding from a score of scratches, while Skounchas rode behind him grinning and flourishing the hat.
"Philosophical detachment is sometimes difficult of attainment in the face of material annoyances," he said. "But, as Aischylos says, time teaches many lessons. I shall forgo my hat till we reach a more suitable clime." He began to tie a scarf over his head. "Oh, damn this abandoned wind!" he cried, as it whipped the scarf out of his hand and carried it far out over the waste.
"This is nothing," said Vardanas. "Around Lake Areios it blows like this for half a year on end. Be thankful; were it not for the wind, the midges would devour us."
"You can scoff at the wind," I said, "for you're the only fellow clad for it. Could I get one of those head bags in Kandacha?"
"I see no obstacle," he said.
Besides his Median coat and trousers, which kept the sand from stinging his skin, Vardanas had put on the headdress that Persians wear in such lands. This is a kind of bag pulled over the head. It has a hole that leaves the visage bare, but in these gales the bag is tucked up under the felt hat until all the face is covered save the eyes. This headgear not only guarded his face but also kept the wind from blowing his long hair into a tangle.
We reached a high plain flanked by hills. At its western edge, this plain breaks up into gorges, which level out into the valley of the west branch of the Arachotos River. The city stands on the edge of the tableland. A citadel rises from a nearby peak. Alexander found the Arachotian village of Kandacha here, renamed it Alexandropolis, and made it a major garrison town. Now, less than four years later, the village had been swallowed up by new construction.
At the sight of this bustling place, we looked forward to getting indoors out of the wind. This, alas, was not to be. I sought out the viceroy of Arachotia, a graying Hellene with a look of harassment, named Menon, son of Kerdimmas.
"Rejoice, Troop Leader Leon," he said. "It's good to see you. Did you say you wished quarters in the town? Dear me; more decisions! I fear it's impossible."
"Why, O Viceroy?"
"Because our own folk are moving into the city faster than new houses are built. We burst at the seams now. You I can put up in my own hut, but not your men."
I was tempted to ask him to pitch a few of these thieving Arachotians out to make room for us, but forbore. He might refuse, and the king had warned me against such overbearing.
"Thank you, but I must decline," I said. "My father taught me— and King Alexander showed me by example—that one must share the discomforts of one's men to keep them true. Now, how about the road to Phrada? Can I get my force thither without a guide?"
"Oh no, Hipparch. You must have a guide."
"Why? Our experience with guides has not been happy."
"During the windy season, the shifting sand often wipes out the road. Unless you know the lie of the land, you'll get lost in the sand dunes and salt marshes around Lake Areios."
"Then can you get me a trusty one? I'm weary of their desertions."
"Surely, surely. I know such a man—I can't think of his name—"
What is it? What is it?" Menon struck his palm against his forehead. "This responsibility is driving me mad. By the! Never let the king make you governor, Leon. It's the shortest road to your grave. Because I had some small success in Chalkidikean politics, the king set me over a province larger than all Hellas. It sounded wonderful until I found myself in this howling wilderness, amongst all-depraved savages, with nobody I can trust, seeing the same few Greek faces month after month ..."
Menon collected himself and said: "Forgive me, blessed one, but the cursed loneliness makes my mind wander. As Pindaros says, to fools belongs a love for far-off things. I'll ask my secretary for the name of that guide. Whence go you from Phrada?"
"Across the Waterless Plain to Karmana. We shall need camels to carry water. Can I hire camels at Phrada?"
"Given time; the caravan routes from the north run together there. Let me write to Stasanor—"
"Who's he?"
"Viceroy of Zarangiana; my opposite in Phrada. I'll tell him to spread the word you'll hire camels. The letter will reach him by royal post days before you do."
"Thank you."
"It's nothing, nothing. But do think again about staying the night with me." Menon placed a hand on my shoulder and toyed with my tangled hair. "It's seldom I get a handsome gentleman like you through here. I think we could be very close friends indeed."
So that was it. I affirmed my refusal and went back to my tattered tent outside the city. The wind drummed on the cloth and threatened to blow the whole structure into the distant Arachotos.
We spent two days there. We had our hair cut and beards trimmed by a Greek barber. We washed the dirt off in the west branch of the Arachotos. I replaced a few worn-out horses and mules with fresh stock. And, of course, we sweated and swinked to feed the elephant.
We set out again at the beginning of Boedromion, traveling mostly at night because of the frightful heat. Some Thessalians laughed at my Persian head bag and hat, but I said: "Laugh away, buckies; we shall see who laughs last."
Sure enough, within two days, tormented by the wind, they were tying scarves about their faces and cursing themselves for not having bought such headgear. Then Elisas brought out a dozen hats and head bags he had bought in Kandacha and offered them at outrageous prices. The men cursed him for a swindler, but he only shrugged and said:
"Everything is dear in a growing town. If you like them not, I will find others who do."
In the end, they bought all the head bags. Those who failed to get any cursed and struck Elisas for not having enough to go round. I rescued him from a serious beating. He, however, said with another shrug:
"A trader learns to take the rough with the smooth."
Menon's guide was a fat Arachotian named Dastiger, who rode a mule because he feared horses. I thought I might do better with him, being not exactly slim myself. True, he did not demand more money at every step.
Howsomever, Dastiger's vice was laziness. He took in ill part every moment on the road and tried by every sleight to cut it short. He was ever the last man ready at the starts and the first to urge stopping.