How could she discover what had become of her lover? How could she, a woman, whose lot in life is to be with her man, the mistress and protector of his home, his companion when travelling and the healer of his wounds-how could she overcome the distance that separated them? There was but one road for the woman who refused to obey a man, be it her father, husband or brother, and that was to become a hetaera in the city or the harbour. She was a woman — she could not set out for another country, she could not even make an attempt to search for Pandion.
There was nothing left for her to do but wander up and clown the shores of the mighty sea. There was nothing she could do! No way in which she could help!
Even if Pandion had perished she would never, never know where he had died.
A deluge of silver-blue moonlight inundated the entire valley. It was cut off by deep black shadows from crevices in the steep cliffs but it streamed along the river following its course from south to north.
Darkness filled the square well of the slave compound near Nut-Amon, or Waset, the great capital city of Aigyptos.
The wall was brightly illuminated and cast a dull reflection from its rough surface.
Pandicn lay on a bundle of coarse grass on the floor of his narrow cell. With great caution he thrust his head out of the low entrance that looked like a rat-hole. At the risk of attracting the sentries’ attention the young Hellene got up on his knees to admire the pale disc of the moon floating high in the heavens over the edge of the gloomy wall. It was painful to think that the same moon was shining over distant Oeniadae. Perhaps Thessa, his Thessa, was asking Hecate where he was, little suspecting that from his stinking hole his eyes, too, were fixed on that silver disc. Pandion drew his head back into the darkness that was filled with the dusty smell of heated clay and turned his face to the wall.
The raging despair of the first days, the fits of terrible grief, had long since passed. Pandion had changed very considerably. His thick, clean-cut brows were knit in a permanent frown, the golden eyes of the descendant of Hyperion were dark with the fires of wrath that secretly but stubbornly burned in them, his lips were now kept tightly pressed together.
His mighty body, however, was still filled with inexhaustible energy, his intellect was unimpaired. The youth had not lost heart; he still dreamed of liberty.
Pandion was gradually developing into a fighting man who was to be feared not only on account of his courage, strength and boundless determination but also because of the urge to maintain his spirits even in the hell that surrounded, him and to carry his dreams, desires and love through all trials and tribulations. That which had been impossible to a lonely man ignorant of the language and the country had become eminently possible — Pandion had a companion, a comrade. A comrade! Only he who has had to stand alone in the face of menacingly superior forces, only he who has been alone in a distant foreign land can appreciate to the full the meaning of that word. A comrade means friendly help, understanding, protection, common thoughts and dreams, wise counsel, timely reproach, support and comfort. During the seven months he had been employed on jobs in the vicinity of the capital Pandion had learned something of the strange language of Aigyptos and began to understand his fellow-slaves despite their many tongues.
He began to distinguish those who had clear-cut, well-defined individuality from amongst the five hundred slaves confined in the shehne and daily driven out to work.
On their part the other slaves gradually learned to trust one another and some of them became friendly with Pandion.
The terrible privations which they shared, the common longing for liberty united them in a common struggle to win their emancipation, strike a blow at the blind, oppressive forces of the rulers of the Black Land and return to their long-lost native lands. “
Home — that was a word they could all understand although to some it meant a land that lay beyond the mysterious swamps in the south, to others somewhere beyond the sands to the east or west and to the third, like Pandion, a land beyond the seas in the north.
There were but few in the shehne, however, who had strength enough to prepare for the combat. The others, exhausted by their heavy drudgery and perpetual undernourishment, were slowly fading away without a murmur. These were mostly people of advanced age, who had no interest in what was going on around them; there was not a spark of resolution in their dull eyes; they showed no desire to communicate with their companions; they worked, ate slowly and sank into a heavy sleep and next morning shuddered at the cries of the warders who awakened them to trudge along in the column of slaves, sluggish and indifferent.
Pandion soon realized why there were so many separate cells in the slave compound: they kept people apart. After supper it was forbidden to hold communication with one another; the sentries on the wall watched for infringements of this rule and next morning an arrow or a stick fell to the’ lot of the disobedient. Not every slave possessed either the strength or the courage to take advantage of the darkness and crawl to the cells of his companions, but some of Pandion’s comrades did.
Three men became Pandion’s closest companions. The first of them was Kidogo, a huge Negro almost four cubits in height who came from a very distant part of Africa to the south-west of Aigyptos. Kindly, jolly and exuberant Kidogo was also a skilled artist and sculptor. His expressive face with its broad nose and thick lips immediately attracted Pandion’s attention by its intellect and energy. Pandion was used to well-built Negroes, but this giant immediately drew the attention of the sculptor by the beauty of his well-proportioned body. Muscles seemingly forged from iron suited Kidogo’s light and lithe figure. His huge eyes seemed all attention and were astounding in their animation against the background of a black face.
At first Pandion and Kidogo communicated with each other by means of drawings made with a pointed stick on the earth or on walls. Later the young Hellene began to talk to the Negro in a mixture of the language of Quemt and the simple, easily remembered language of Kidogo’s people.
In the pitch darkness of moonless nights Pandion and Kidogo crawled to each other’s cells, and talking in whispers, gained fresh strength and courage in the discussion of plans for escape.
One evening after Pandion had been there for a month a group of new slaves was driven into the shehne.
The newcomers sat or lay near the door gazing hopelessly around them, their tormented faces bearing the seal of grief and despair so well known to every one of the captives. On returning from work in the evening Pandion was going to the big water vessels to get a drink when suddenly he almost let fall his bowl. Two of the newcomers were talking softly in Etruscan, a language with which Pandion was familiar. The Etruscans were a strange, rough and ancient people who frequently visited the shores of Oeniadae where they enjoyed the reputation of sorcerers knowing the secrets of nature.
So great was the power of memories of his home that had been evoked that Pandion’s whole body trembled; he spoke to the Etruscans and they understood him. When he asked them how they fell captive to the Egyptians both of them sat silent as though they were not at all pleased with the meeting.