The gravel stopped our movement. We finished with him on top of me, legs straddling me. I couldn’t get up, or get out of the way. Then something large and brown seemed to descend from the sky and whacked him in the side of the head. His eyes rolled up, and he slid sideways off me to reveal Diotima standing behind him, holding in her right hand a large and rather nasty-looking lump of wood, which was now spotted with blood and a few tufts of hair.
She tossed the wood aside. “Are you all right?” she asked me.
“Never been better,” I groaned.
The same couldn’t be said of the stranger. His movements were confused, and his arms and legs jerked about. As we watched he rolled over onto his front, pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, and then threw up. He was heartily sick for some moments, then with a final heave he fell back to a sitting position and stared hatred at us.
“What did you do that for?” he said in an aggrieved tone.
“Who are you?” I countered.
“My name is Melo.”
“What are you doing out here, Melo?” I asked.
“I don’t have to tell you,” he said.
“I’ll just hit him again, shall I?” Diotima suggested.
Melo glared at Diotima, eye to eye, but then his gaze traveled south. So did mine.
“Diotima, you’re dressed like Gaïs,” I told her.
“What?” Diotima said, confused. “But Gaïs doesn’t wear-” Diotima suddenly realized she might be missing something, such as clothes. She blushed. “Whoops.”
Diotima ran back to the sanctuary. I heard the loud voices of Doris and Gaïs as they calmed the girls, the deeper and even louder voice of Zeke, demanding to know what was going on, and Diotima’s equally loud voice doing some quick explaining.
“I’ll ask you again,” I said to Melo. “What were you doing?”
“I was looking for a girl,” Melo admitted.
This Melo must be one very sick character. Whoever had taken Allike and Ophelia must have crept into the sanctuary, exactly as Melo had done.
He must have read my thoughts, because he said in a defensive voice, “Look here, it’s not what you think it is. The girl I’m looking for is missing. Her name is Ophelia.” He put his head in his hands. “Did you have to hit me so hard?” he moaned as Diotima returned, now dressed in a chiton that she’d thrown on. She was barefoot, and her hair was still in the single braid she put it in for sleep.
“Who are you, Melo?”
“I’m Melo, as I said, the son of Thessalus. I’m the man who’s betrothed to marry Ophelia.”
This was the first I’d heard of a marriage!
“What are you doing here?” I said warily. “Why did you creep up on my fiancée?”
“I wasn’t creeping up on her. When I saw, through the window, someone in that bed, I thought Ophelia must have returned. I was happy! I crept in to see if it was her.”
“Staring through a window at sleeping children isn’t exactly a good way to prove your fine intentions.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-nine. I’ll be thirty in three months.”
That was the usual age. As a man approached thirty, pressure mounted on him to marry. Melo might be almost thirty, but his actions and manner made him seem much younger. I wondered if he might be a trifle simple.
Diotima had brought back a cup of water from the sanctuary. She gave it to Melo. He took a mouthful, swirled it in his mouth, then spat out the sand and grit and leftover vomit that was in there. He took another mouthful, and this he drank.
“You’re in search of a girl you barely know,” I said as he drank.
“That doesn’t matter. She’s my responsibility.”
“She’s her father’s problem until you’re married,” I said.
“Have you met her father?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
“Well, then.”
“All right, point taken,” I conceded. Thea-or was it Doris? — had said the same thing yesterday. Polonikos, the father of Ophelia, seemed to make a bad impression on everyone he met.
“I’m her only hope,” Melo said. “Besides, the way I see it, soon I’m to be married. That makes me a man with responsibilities. I’m not going to shirk my duties just because they’re not official yet.”
This was so close to how I felt about Diotima that I could only agree with him. Suddenly Melo seemed a lot more mature. I switched my evaluation of him from simple to just plain dumb.
Diotima said, “So you’re a concerned friend, are you? If you want us to believe any of this, you’ll have to tell us everything you know.”
“Why? Who are you, anyway?” he said.
I explained who we were, what our mission was, and finished, “So you see, you’re not the only one looking for Ophelia. Are you from around here?”
“My family has an estate not far from Brauron. My father lives in Athens, of course.”
That was normal. Wealthy landowners always kept a city house and lived there as much as possible; anyone who spent all their time in the country was dead to civilized life. Besides, the agora at Athens was the only place to hear the latest rumors and stay close to the political action.
“What are you doing out here then?”
“What do you think? When my father told me he’d found me a wife, I wanted to meet the girl. He said why bother, when he’d already checked her out and decided. I insisted I meet the girl before I’d agree to marry her. He was angry. He said I should trust him.”
“You didn’t, of course,” I said.
“No, of course not. What son in his right mind trusts his father’s judgment?”
Melo and I shared a moment of empathy.
“So I found an excuse to come down to Brauron-I told Father I was worried the slaves might be slacking off, and he believed me (the truth is, our farm workers are excellent); anyway he praised me for my care and I hurried to Brauron as quickly as I could to meet my fiancée.” He paused, then admitted, “I might have been somewhat brusque when I demanded to see Ophelia.”
“Oh?”
“I still bear the bruises from that old man of theirs.”
“Zeke?” I said.
“Yes, him. Of course, you two just added to them.”
“Zeke hit you?” Diotima said, amazed.
“Twice my age, but he packs a mean punch. I’m glad I didn’t have to face him when he was young.”
“I wish I’d been there,” Diotima said with feeling. “Nothing like that ever happened when I was a Little Bear.”
Melo said, “Imagine the disgrace if I struck a man older than my grandpa. There wasn’t anything I could do but go away.”
Two hundred paces away, the lights went out one by one at the Sanctuary of Brauron. Diotima’s assurance had done its work, and the priestesses were getting the girls back to bed. But I knew we’d have some explaining to do when we returned. Somehow Melo didn’t come across as the crazed homicidal type. He spoke like a fine citizen.
“What’s your plan?” I asked.
“I’m sure Ophelia’s not far from here. She said she would be. I’ll search until I find her.”
Diotima snorted. “She said she would be? You don’t know the girl, not even slightly.”
“That’s not true! I know lots about her.”
“What?” Diotima demanded.
Melo looked abashed. “I have a confession to make. Tonight wasn’t the first time I crept into the girls’ room.”
“Dear Gods.”
“After the slave punched me and the High Priestess sent me away, I crept back that night. I really wanted to meet her,” Melo said in a rush. “I woke her up and we talked. Ophelia was as curious about me as I was about her. Ophelia and I managed to meet a few times. We met beside the pond, where no one would hear us.”
To our accusing stares, he said, “It was only talk, you know? We didn’t … well, you know … do anything else. I swear it. We just talked.”