"Snakes," said he with a shudder.
"Yet snakes are kept as pets in Macedonia," said Pyrron.
"Forbye," I said, "they're kept in Thyestes' native Thessalia, too. We have a fine old mouser named Typhon, six feet long."
Vardanas gave a grunt that implied he cared no more for snakes than for frogs.
"Mauger that, I fears them," said Thyestes. "And how about our Indian Titan? What fear you, mighty Kanadas?"
"Nought," said Kanadas, scowling. "Least of all, you."
"O-ho!" said Vardanas. "I know better. True, Kanadas fears no mortal foe; none is braver in battle. But he fears foreign lands. He fears breaking his complex rules of religious purity. Most of all, he fears the spirit world. Ghosts and demons and fairies and other bogies terrify him."
Kanadas did not deny it. "That is only—how you say?—reasonable. A man I can hew down with my sword; but what can I do against spirits, which kill not only body but also soul?"
"If they exist," said Pyrron.
Thyestes said: "Now dinna tell me you believe no even in spirits, O Pyrron! Is there no limit till your skepticism?"
"All I know is that I've never seen a spirit. When I have examined one thoroughly, I shall believe. Even then I might be mistaken."
Vardanas said: "Having no religion, do you not even believe in a future life?"
Pyrron smiled. "I quote the divine Aischylos:
"I think the slain
Care little if they rise or sleep again."
"Allbody knows there's spirits," said Thyestes. "My uncle Antagoras saw one back in the hundred and tenth Olympiad."
"Does everybody?" said Pyrron. "I'm somebody, yet I know nothing of the sort."
"By 'allbody' I didna mean philosophers, who, it is well known, believe aught save plain truths. They even think the world is round, when anybody with eyes can see 'tis flat."
"Well then, let's define all non-philosophers as 'everybody,' and see how far that gets us. Are you a witch?"
"Eh? A witch? What are you talking about, man? Of course I'm no witch!"
"Then would you say that most of your fellow Thessalians are witches?"
"What a daft notion!"
"Yet if you inquire of the majority of Hellenes which part of Hellas is populated almost entirely by witches, they'll name Thessalia."
"Is that true? All I can say is, the other Hellenes are sillier nor I thought."
Pyrron spread his hands. "So much for the confidence one can repose in what everybody knows."
"Belike I kens not my own powers," said Thyestes, casting a sinister smile towards Kanadas. "Had I thought I was sic a deadly night bird, I'd have raised some fearful cacodaemon to deal with those who fash me."
Phrada, on the Phrada River, is a dismal little town of low mud-brick houses with curiously domed roofs. When it came into sight, looking like some vast bakery or smeltery with many ovens, Vardanas said:
"Let me ride on, Leon, to warn the viceroy of your coming."
"Why?"
"To let him ride forth to meet you. It is the Arian way of honoring visitors."
"As Stasanor's a Hellene, he probably knows it not," I said, "and in any case he may not wish to honor us. But go ahead."
Vardanas raced off with the Dahas. In half an hour they were back with four more horsemen: a Hellene, and three Ariaspians. The latter are a half-nomadic folk of the region. Stasanor had several as auxiliaries in Phrada, besides a score of Greek mercenaries.
The Ariaspians wore the usual Arian trousers. One bore a lance, one a bow, and the third a device I had not seen before. The man wore a wide belt around his goatskin coat. This belt had a hook, and hanging from the hook was a long coil of rope made of braided leather.
People have asked me if the Ariaspians are the same as the Arimaspians, the Sakan tribe supposed to have a single eye in the middle of the forehead. All I can say is that Ariaspians, whose name means "noble horsemen," have two eyes like everybody else. As for the one-eyed Arimaspians, I have heard many traveler's tales, including no doubt many lies, but I have never found a man who claimed to have seen these one-eyed folk himself. So many tales of the wonders of the East have I found to be untrue that I doubt if the Arimaspians exist.
The Hellene said: "Rejoice, Troop Leader Leon. I'm Hippokoön, secretary to Stasanor."
"Rejoice!" I said, a little downcast that the viceroy had not bolstered my dignity before my men by coming to meet me himself. "Is the Stasanor in Phrada?"
"No. He's downstream at Alexandreia, seeing to the building." Alexander had founded another Alexandreia in Zarangiana, near Lake Areios, which was to become the provincial capital when the main buildings were finished.
"When look you for his return?"
"It is uncertain. Perhaps in a ten-day."
"Have you received a letter from Menon, foretelling my arrival and asking him arrange the hire of camels for me?"
"I recall no such letter, but I'll look."
As we neared Phrada, we passed a pair of fire-altars with a Magos pottering around them. Then I knew we were in Persia proper, or Ariana as Vardanas would say. When I had chosen a camp site, I went with Hippokoön to the viceroy's house. The streets of Phrada were ankle-deep in dust, so that even at a walk our horses' hooves raised a cloud.
"Be glad it's not winter," said Hippokoön. "Then it's knee-deep in mud, which is even beastlier."
In the viceroy's house, the secretary got out a chest full of letters and went through the recent ones. Some, I saw, were in a foreign writing of many little loops and hooks.
"Syrian," said Hippokoön. "Most of the business of Dareios' empire was conducted in it. Learning Persian is bad enough, but Syrian, my dear, is simply appalling!"
There was no letter from Menon. As Stasanor had departed from Phrada on the same day we left Kandacha, he could not have carried it off with him. Either the letter had been lost on the way; or, more likely, Menon had neglected to write it. Were I Zeus, I would appoint a special fiend to harass those who do not write the letters they have promised.
I talked this matter over with my officers after Hippokoön had supped with us that evening. The secretary said:
"You'll find few camels here for hire, because this is the height of the caravan season and they're all in use. However, if you go a thousand furlongs northwest into Areia, you will come to one of the greatest camel-grazing grounds in Persia. There thousands are reared every year, and I'm sure you'll find some you can use."
"How far is that in leagues?" said Vardanas. After doing sums in the dust with our fingers we made it about thirty-five.
"Let me go," said Vardanas. "I can be there in three days and back in seven."
I was tempted to go on this jaunt myself. It would be a relief to shed my responsibilities and gallop off over the horizon without always craning my neck to be sure I did not get out of sight of my hipparchia.
But second thoughts prevailed. Nobody could beat a Persian at covering huge distances quickly without getting lost. With my weight I should only slow him down. Besides, there were many repairs to be made and precautions to be taken for crossing the Desert of Despair. I did not think any but myself could be trusted to oversee all the petty details.
Vardanas therefore went off with two of our Dahas and two of Stasanor's Ariaspians, while the rest of us sweltered in Phrada, breathing and eating dust. Every cart wheel was taken off, inspected, and greased. Every sword was honed to the sharpness of a razor, and every spear to that of a needle. Harness was repaired and replaced. The women sewed us extra waterskins and water buckets of leather. I bought an ox to drive along with us for a few days and then slaughter for meat.
Vardanas did not return at the end of seven days. This surprised me not, as I was a seasoned enough traveler to know that every journey takes longer than planned.