Priam, a little surprised at how easily all this seemed to have been decided, allowed himself to be helped up into the cart.
‘Come on, my man,’ the youth called across to the driver, ‘you’re holding us up.’ And the driver, seeing that the king had already submitted, went round to his side of the cart, spoke a word to his mules and, waving off the stranger’s offer of a hand, hauled himself up, but with a spring to his step that was meant to indicate to His Impudence that he at least, despite his age, had no need of assistance and might be better able to defend himself than some people believed. The youth shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
Slowly they moved on down the bank to the crossing place, the young squire walking sometimes at the head of the wagon, beside the off-side mule, sometimes a step or two behind.
‘Good day to you, little one,’ he said very affably to the mule, and she, responsive as always to any sign of attention, lifted her pretty head and rolled an eye at him.
‘Congratulations, old fellow,’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘I see your little sister here is one of the true servants of the gods.’ He laid his hand on the mule’s neck and tickled her softly behind the ear, and again she raised her head and responded. ‘It makes me think the better of you.’
Does it indeed, the driver thought, and he started them off with a lurch. Little sister, is it? I thank you for that. I’ll remember that!
He was furious. A good deal of it was jealousy. That his favourite had so immediately succumbed to the empty fellow’s charms.
They had come to the water’s edge, and the driver halted now to let his mules take in what lay before them. Moonlight ran fast over the river pebbles. Ten paces beyond, where the channel deepened, the stream, with its many eddies, was moving thigh-deep in a rolling sweep.
They edged forward, the mules resisting. Priam felt the wheels grind against pebbles and slide a distance on the chalky bottom, then take a grip. The channel was running at one speed on the lighted surface but another, stronger current moved thickly below. Suddenly the cart lurched and tilted dangerously with its load. The wicker hood, when Priam’s hand flew out to grasp it and steady himself, hung awry and seemed about to break loose.
The legs of the off-side mule had been caught by the force of the under-current, she was off her feet. Water, sluicing through the crescent-shaped openings in the wheels, had slewed the vehicle at a steep angle downstream. The whole outfit — mules, cart, its two helpless occupants, the load of treasure — were about to be pitched into the flood. Beside him Priam saw the carter rise unsteadily and prepare to leap in and attempt, hopeless though it might seem, to set them right. But the little mule was stronger and more self-possessed than she appeared. She propped, the wagon righted, and a moment later they were on firm gravel again with the water running easily round and past them; then, with shouts of encouragement from the driver and a vigorous heave, in the soft sand of the mid-stream island among shadowy bushes.
Their escort, though wet to the loins, had lost none of his cheery good humour. Having wandered downstream a little, ‘It’s safest down here,’ he called back to the driver. He was crouched on his haunches about fifty paces off.
The driver, taking this as a challenge to his own judgement in these matters, ignored him. But when, after climbing down and making his own investigations, he got back into the cart and urged the mules forward, he turned them down to where the youth, on his feet again, was standing slim and dark against the glimmer of the second channel. Slowly they rolled down through yielding sand.
Again the mules resisted.
This second channel was deeper than the last. Water, suddenly high and swift-flowing, brimmed in tumultuous eddies round the wheels as the midstream current struck them. It rose again and was pouring now over the boards under their feet like the spill over a weir.
‘An adventure, eh, father?’ the youth shouted at Priam’s elbow over the din made by the water. In to the waist now, he was wading strongly against it. ‘You didn’t expect this, eh, when you decided to set out?’
It was true, he had not. But here he was in the midst of it, and now that the first of his fear was past, he felt almost childishly pleased with himself. He was enjoying it. He hung on hard to the cross-bench and looked happily out over the expanse of sounding water with its eddies and haphazard cross-currents of light, already telling himself, in his head, the story of their crossing and feeling steadfast, even bold.
The bottom here was solid. For all the swirling around them of the icy stream, and the piled-up force of it against the body of the cart, they made good progress.
‘Good work,’ the driver shouted as they came within feet now of the bank; then, with water sluicing through the wheels, broke surface and struck the steepness of the rise. ‘Just one more pull now,’ he urged. ‘Just one. Now, Beauty, now!’ and he strained forward as if he could be a third beside them in the shafts.
The mules put their heads down, dug in with all the bunched strength of their hindquarters, and in just moments the wagon, Priam, the load and all were on dry land again. They were wet through, and as the wagon rolled on between low-growing maple scrub and sycamore figs and holm oak, water continued to drain away behind them, leaving muddy tracks. Meanwhile their escort had waded ashore, as easily as if water to him offered no more resistance than thin air. His tunic was soaked, but not a hair of his head was out of place and he showed not the smallest consequence of effort.
They came to a halt beyond the tree line. After the boisterous exertions and tumult of the crossing, there was only the sound now of their breathing in the muted stillness, and again the woo-wooing from far off of an owl. The expanse of open land before them was patched with shadow in some places, lighted in others by an early moon.
The driver, with his usual diligence, got down and inspected the cart, front and back, to see that all was well. Then, remounting, he led the mules this way and that till he felt the beginnings of a road under the wheels. Only then did he speak.
‘Well, that wasn’t so bad,’ he opined. ‘It’s a straight road from here on. Well done, Beauty! Well done, Shock!’
The mules, still glossy-wet from their ducking, responded and began to trot.
The moon was rising fast now. Soon, wafer-like and as if lit from within, it stood high over what had, till the war laid waste to them, been standing wheat fields and groves of ancient olives.
Priam sat silent. Till now he had seen nothing of this.
The landscape they were entering was one of utter devastation. Little starveling bushes sprouted from the dust, and all across the plain small squirrel-like creatures that had been gnawing at the slender stems sat up on their haunches to stare at them, noses trembling, then, with a scurry, dropped from sight into holes in the earth. In the windless sky big clouds edged with silver stood still before the stars: Orion, the Twins, the Pleiades, misty-white in their net.