"I'm sorry," I said, "but that was lawful revenge for Xerxes' burning of Athens."
"Oh? But that too was revenge, for the Athenians' part in the burning of Sardeis."
"I never heard of that."
"It's true," said Pyrron. "Could we trace back all our feuds, we should probably find they originated in a controversy amongst the first men Prometheus made. Assuming, that is, that Prometheus did in fact create the first men."
"What's your idea of the origin of man, O skeptic?" I asked.
"Since nothing has been proven, I haven't yet formulated a definite belief on that score. However, I'm intrigued by Anaximandros' hypothesis that men are descended from fishes. The unintelligent manner in which they often behave" (he waved a hand towards the ruins) "lends support to the theory."
"Our myths have a first man, too," said Vardanas. "Gaiamarthen, begetter of the Arian people. But I do not fret over which myth, if any, be the true account."
Thyestes said: "If your Gai-something begat the Arians, whence came the rest of us?"
"That is simple. Some Arians had intercourse with demons."
"Papai! Mean you that I'm half demon?"
"Of course. I am sure, however, that your demonic forebear was of the highest quality. He must have been a king of the fairies at least."
"Phy!" said Thyestes. "Fairies, forsooth!"
We made our second assault on Artaxerxes' palace in royal Eastern style, riding upon the elephant. A canvass of the detachment had procured me a decent shirt and kilt, and I wore the bronze cuirass of one of the dead Arkadians. Vardanas, however, far outshone me. Aias knelt in front of the portal to let us clamber down. This time there was no insolence as Vardanas, with haughtiness that matched that of the viceroy, strolled up to the guards and said: "Fetch Gimillos, fellow."
Gimillos was a tall, thin Babylonian in a long brown robe. He rubbed his hands together and said: "Welcome, gentlemen, seven times welcome. And what can I do for you? How can I serve you?"
"You can do something better than let the Eyes and Ears of the King stand out here bandying words with these louts," said Vardanas.
"I am sorry; I am sorry. Do step inside." Gimillos led us through a maze of rooms to a chamber piled with records. "Sit down, my good sirs, sit down." When I had told him my mission, he said: "I suppose then you have come and will pay your taxes?"
I thought he was joking, but he was not. "Pay what taxes?" I cried. "Is everybody mad?"
"No, sir, seven times no. To guard the welfare of the people of Persis and to build the public works they demand takes money. There is the head tax and the road tax and the traffic tax and the horse tax and the property tax and the precious-metal surtax and the—well, to find all the taxes that apply in your case, I shall have to go over the schedule. Shall I visit your camp this afternoon and appraise your worth?"
"Do not be ridiculous. My property, so-called, belongs to the King Alexander. For a governor to tax his king's property were absurd."
"I am sorry; I am sorry. Inflexible are the viceroy's orders. All must pay, the tall and the short, and the sober and the drunken."
"There will be changes when the king returns," I said.
The Babylonian raised his hands. "Ah, my dear sir, who knows what the gods have in store? And how do we know the king yet lives? All sorts of tales-—"
"He lives, fear not."
"But he is not in Persis, and we are. No, no, sir, it is better to resign oneself to the inevitable. And who can evade the stars? They predict that Alexander will perish in the demon-haunted Eastern jungles, and we must needs make ready against that day. Perhaps you had better stay here in Persis; we shall have use for stalwart arms and deadly spears."
Vardanas yawned. "We waste time. We have not forced our way over a thousand leagues of mountain and desert, past ravenous beasts and hostile tribes, to be robbed by some petty clerk. Others have sought to stop us; the jackals have picked their bones." He suddenly seized Gimillos' long black beard in one hand, whipped out his dagger with the other, and touched the point to the Babylonian's throat. "I had no qualms about killing you now, did I suspect you of meaning us ill."
Gimillos leaned as far back as he could, his eyes popping. He tried uneasily to smile.
"Pray, gently, dear sir, gently! If this be a jest, it is not in good taste, and if this be a joke, ill-taken it is."
"No jest," said Vardanas. "Tell your governor that if he wishes to gather taxes from us, he must fight for them. It were not the first time we cut our way through greater numbers."
"Alas! As you say, I am but a poor clerk; crushed between the upper and nether millstones am I. If you be not here to pay taxes, then why do you come?"
"To collect, not to pay," I said. "We wish fodder from the public store. Arrange it."
"You can pay the going rate, of course?" said Gimillos.
"Whether or not we can, we will not." I flapped Eumenes' authorization in Gimillos' face. "Read this."
Gimillos stared at the papyrus, moving his lips in a painful effort to puzzle out the Greek. He said: "Fiends take it! Although I cannot understand half of it, I will assume this document is as you state. But what then? I assure you that Phrashavartes will not honor it, for all your threats and bluster. And if you try to seize the stuff by force, seven times seven soldiers will spring to arms to thwart you. So let us be reasonable, dear sirs."
"What is your notion of reasonableness?" said Vardanas.
The Babylonian, who evidently liked to ride on two anchors, went on: "Let us look at it this way. As a man of peace, I abhor violence; and, moreover, urgent letters to finish have I. Verily, they will use up the rest of the morning. This afternoon to your camp I shall come and appraise your worth. You will still be there, will you not?" Gimillos winked broadly.
Vardanas hesitated to tell even so small a lie, so I spoke in his stead: "Surely, surely. Come, Vardanas. We must prepare a suitable welcome for our friend Gimillos."
Back at camp, I called the officers together and said: "Strike the camp quickly and quietly. We must be off within the hour."
Soon we were clattering along the Kyros River on the road to Sousa. When I told what had happened, Pyrron said:
"These viceroys are all so sure the Alexander will never return that each is preparing to make himself an independent king."
Vardanas said: "The jackal fell into a dye pot and thought himself a peacock."
I said: "The Babylonian said something about Alexander's death's being written in the stars. What make you of this star science of theirs?"
Pyrron smiled. "I, too, am a prophet, without any stars to guide me."
"How mean you?"
"Why, I prophesy that you will die, and you, and you, and so shall I. I prophesy that the sun will rise tomorrow and that there'll be rain and cold weather in Athens next winter."
"But these predictions from the stars are more particular than that!"
"It's all the identical type of phenomenon. The astrologer scrutinizes the heavenly bodies and says: Ares conjoins Kronos, wherefore a king shall die. But how many kings are there? Scores that we know of, and perhaps hundreds in unexplored lands. Some are dying all the time, so how can the astrologer help being right?"
The fifth day after we left Persepolis, we caught up with a caravan going our way. When we came to a flat stretch where we could pass, we rode by, waving and trading jests with the caravaneers.
At the head of the line, a man guided a camel out before us and held up a hand. "Who commands this host?" he called.
"I do," I said, and gave my name.
"It is good," he said. "I am Thouchras by name, leader of this caravan. There is danger ahead."
"What danger?" I asked.