"Wherefore not?"
"Weather. You know not how lucky you were to find Katpatouka so warm at this season."
"Warm!"
"Yes, warm. Any time in the next fortnight a blast of cold may freeze the streams and make the earth as hard as brick. It would slay your tropical monster as quickly as leaving a fish out of water. Now, since you will be our guests for a while, relax, make yourselves agreeable to my father, and perhaps a chance will arise to do something about your money. But do not press the matter further now."
"I thank you for the advice," I said, and turned my attention to the king. The elder Arivarates was telling Pyrron of the glories of Kappadokia. He said:
"First was a great empire of Chatti, with capital at Chattysas. Sixty leagues northwest; I can show you ruins. Phrygians destroyed it."
Pyrron asked: "Could the Chattians be the same as the Keteians mentioned by Homer?"
"Maybe; Chattian kingdom was about the times of that Trojan business. Then we had another kingdom with capital at Pteria; Lydians destroyed it."
"When was this?"
"Times of King Kroisos. And that story about how the Persian king started to burn Kroisos and then changed his mind is a big lie. The rascal burnt himself up, right to the last cinder. Since then, Lydians, Medes, and Persians rule this countries. But now the land of the two-headed eagle is free again and, by Ma, we will stay free! We are a great people with a great past and a great futures, but nobody knows about us. You Hellenes say: 'Kappadokia? Oh yes, that is where our strongest slaves come from! Bah! So maybe you will stay and write history, yes?"
"I don't know, King Arivarates," said Pyrron. "I'm frightfully grateful for the offer, but duties call me back to Hellas."
"So? What duties?"
"When I set out, my city, Elis, fitted me out with new clothes and other gear, and money to enable me to join Alexander. In return, I promised to tell the citizens all I learned on my travels. Besides, my sister, with whom I live, will be fretting over my long absence."
"Write her a letters."
"I would, but I'm not authorized to use the royal post, and I've met nobody on his way to Elis for a year."
"I can change a mind about letting you go," said the king.
"No doubt, but a history under duress is likely to be a pretty poor piece of literature. You know how it is with creative intellects."
"So? We shall see, my friend of the godlike intellect ..."
After it was over, I asked Pyrron: "Why not write this history the king wants?"
"My dear old chap, you have no idea of the size of the task of writing a book. Why, Herodotos spent fifteen years in travel and research, preparing to write his history!"
"Perhaps this would not be so big a book."
"It would still be a task of months, if it were done at all creditably."
Pyrron now dwelt in the palace, and the rest of us in the barracks of the royal guard. For the next two days I had little to do but see that the elephant was well cared for and listen to the grumbles of my men about Kappadokian cooking.
Then there came a day of stir and bustle in the town. No Kappadokian said aught to us, as most could speak no tongue we knew and all were taciturn by nature. But as I lunched with Pyrron, Vardanas, and Klonios, in came Prince Arivarates.
"I have been looking for you," he said. "The news we have been awaiting has come. Antigonos has passed through Ipsos to attack us. My father and I ride to meet him as soon as the levies come in."
"I hope you come through it sound," I said. I could not quite wish success to his arms, as Antigonos was after all another servant of my master King Alexander.
"Thank you, Hipparch. Now, before I go, there is this to be said. You people worry about your money, which my father wishes to keep."
"That's a soft way of putting it," I said.
"Then hearken. Next to beating the Hellenes, my father wants that history of Katpatouka more than anything. If you can write it whilst we are gone—well, I make no promises, but something might be done."
"I should be glad to," said Pyrron, "but how could I compose a work of that size in half a month?"
"There is not so much Katpatoukan history to record as you seem to think. Seek out Rhatotes, the high priest of Ma, who is also my father's librarian. He knows as much of our history as any man and has custody of the records."
"I fear nobody will be able to read my scrawl," said Pyrron.
"Then tell Zardokes—my father's second secretary—to copy your writing in a neat hand. This need not be an immortal monument of scholarship; I do but wish something to show my father on our return."
Pyrron sighed. "I'll do my best."
So we went to the temple of Ma. We had to wait hours to see Rhatotes, as he was busy with prayers and sacrifices to the Kappadokian war goddess.
When Rhatotes at last received us, we found him a forbidding-looking man: tall, gaunt, stooped, and hook-nosed, like a plucked vulture. Despite the chill, he was sweating and blood-spattered from beating animals' brains out with a club. When he knew our mission, however, he was helpful enough. He took us back to the palace and showed us the library.
A small chest held all the documents bearing on the history of Kappadokia: a few summaries of the land's history, traditions, and legends, some letters and treaties from the days of Persian rule, and a few inscribed clay tablets from ancient times. These last, however, were in tongues that had long been out of use. Not even Rhatotes could read them.
Pyrron turned the documents over. A gleam came into his eyes, like a horse that feels its oats.
"I'll do it!" he said. "Leon! Fetch Zardokes, please. Tell him to bring all his writing materials. And hasten!"
I was astonished, not only because Pyrron almost never asked favors, but also because his manner had utterly changed. When I came back with the scribe, Pyrron and Rhatotes were sorting the documents so that the oldest were on top. Then, under Pyrron's direction, Rhatotes began translating, slipping into Persian when he could not think of the Greek for something. Pyrron scribbled notes and sometimes dictated passages to Zardokes.
I marveled to watch him. Pyrron, hitherto self-effacing, good-natured, lazy, awkward, and vague, was transformed into a brisk, energetic, forceful fellow with a godlike ability to grapple with the mass of strange names and unfamiliar facts. To watch him aroused the same awe that one feels when watching a skilled sculptor shape a block or a skilled fencing master show the methods of fighting with and without armor.
He looked up at me. "Oblige me by running along, Leon," he said. "It distracts me to have somebody staring at me when I'm working."
Thereafter I minded my own business, namely the hipparchia. Two days later the levies from the district round Mazaka had all marched in for the weapontake. I watched King Arivarates and his son (who was really his nephew and adopted son) ride off at the head of their mailed lancers, with the gilded two-headed eagle bobbing on its pole before them. They were followed by hundreds of Kappadokian peasants with spears and axes on their shoulders.
The Kappadokian horse, I thought, could ride over anything Antigonos could bring against them. On the other hand, the foot, though made up of big sturdy-looking men, was neither armed nor drilled to the point where they could stand against the long Macedonian pikes.
That night Pyrron, whom we had not seen since he began his work, came to dinner with the rest of us. His eyes were red from staying up late and peering at old papyri by lamplight.
"How goes the history of Kappadokia?" said Vardanas.
"Coming, coming. The first section is nearly complete, down to the time of the Lydian conquest."
"Wonderful!" said I.
"Not so wonderful, considering that hardly anything has come down from distant times. I'm sure more historical materials once existed, but the demons of destruction—fire and water, strife and stupidity, mice and mold—have had their way with them. Luckily I was able to squeeze a few traditions out of the king before he rode away. Now I'm trying to locate the oldest men amongst the educated class around Mazaka, to see if they can tell me anything."