“Yes. Though he has no idea how much more I hate him now that I know what he did to Simmea. I wish I’d killed him long ago when I had his neck under my hand in the palaestra.”
“Why didn’t you?” Neleus asked.
“He was her friend and she valued him,” Father said, sobbing openly now. Maia was coming toward us. I waved her away, but she kept coming. “She thought he was her friend and he did that to her.”
He put his hands up to his face, pushed away from the rail and went below before Maia reached us.
“What’s wrong with Pytheas now?” Maia asked.
Neleus and I looked at each other. “Just missing Mother,” I said.
“I miss Simmea myself, but—” she shook her head. “I had thought the journey was doing him good.”
“It is,” I said, truthfully. “He hasn’t been like that anything like as often since we set off.”
“I suppose it’s hard for him to deal with knowing it wasn’t the Goodness Group who killed her,” Maia said, staring after him. “He was so hoping for spectacular revenge. You’d think he’d realize it does no good. It wouldn’t matter how much he avenged her, he wouldn’t get her back.”
Neleus grunted and went off after Father.
We were lost for two more days and stopped for water twice before we found somewhere that matched our charts. Father told me that he knew exactly where we were all the time, but of course he couldn’t let anyone know, other than by suggesting a direction, and they wouldn’t always listen. I didn’t have that sense, and neither did Phaedrus or Kallikles, but Father said it probably was just familiarity with the geography.
Once we knew our location we crept south along the shore of Asia until we passed Lemnos, which was full of savage villages. We didn’t go ashore. Then we reached Lesbos, where we arrived at a well-built city of marble columns and whitewashed stone houses with red tile roofs on the north shore. The Goodness was tied up at the wharf. It looked just like the Excellence except that it seemed to be missing a mast and the sides were visibly patched with wood of different shades. I wondered how difficult it was to maintain her without Workers.
“We have missed the festival,” Aristomache said sadly, as we tacked into the harbor under a blazing noon sun. “Today’s the last day. There’ll be nothing left but gladiatorial combats. And I was hoping your father would compete. I remember his music.”
“If his lyre didn’t get drowned in the storm I’m sure he will compete if there’s a chance,” I said. “And even if we have completely missed it, I’m sure he’d play for you. There’s nothing he likes better than singing, except maybe composing.”
We were close enough now to see that people on shore were rushing about in evident surprise. “We’re not going to be able to tie up the way we did at Marissa, there’s only room for one ship,” Erinna said.
After the envoys went ashore and negotiated with the Lucians, we arranged to anchor in the harbor, keep one watch aboard ship at all times, and send everyone else ashore in the little boat. “And no swimming!” Caerellia said, firmly. “We’re in civilization here and don’t you forget it!”
I went ashore with Aristomache and Maia and Neleus. Erinna had gone in an earlier group, with Ficino, though she had patted my arm and nodded when Ficino had said he’d see me ashore. Father had also gone ahead, his lyre slung over his shoulder, but he was talking to somebody on the quay. He finished his conversation and came over to join us. “The Goodness was in Troy when Simmea was killed,” he said.
“Oh Pytheas, you didn’t still think we might have done it?” Aristomache asked, putting her hand on his arm.
“I wanted to be sure,” Father said.
“He’s been a little crazed with grief ever since it happened,” Maia said, in that language she and Aristomache shared.
“Death is a terrible thing without salvation,” Aristomache replied, in the same language.
“What’s that?” Neleus asked, perplexed.
Father and I exchanged glances, and I saw that he understood, as I did.
“Sorry,” Aristomache said. “Come on. Most people will have gone to the agora. It’s Easter day, we celebrate Yayzu risen. Tonight we will eat lamb and bread.”
Lucia was decorated for festival, with flower garlands set on pillars, just the way we did it at home. It seemed very familiar, laid out on the same pattern as our cities and as Marissa, with broad streets leading to a central agora. On the top of the hill was a colosseum. We passed another huge marble Madonna, also garlanded with flowers. “Auge?” I asked.
“She’s our best sculptor,” Aristomache confirmed, clearly proud of her. “She lives and works here, but her work stands in all our cities. This is Our Lady of Peace.” It was lovely. I could hear choral singing as we came toward the agora. A man passing handed me a honey cake from his basket. Everything seemed peaceful and pleasant. Father took a honey cake but tucked it into his kiton. I wondered suddenly whether I’d seen him eating in Marissa, or just sitting at the table moving food around? He took hospitality very seriously. Well, I had bitten into my honey cake, so it was too late. These people were my friends. I took a colored egg from a smiling girl, and Aristomache gave her a coin. I’d never get used to paying for things.
In the agora, outside a temple, there was a gruesome wooden statue of a man being tortured. He was fixed to a cross by nails through his palms and feet, he had scars of whipping, and his face was distorted by pain. It was painted in full color, just to make the blood and everything more obvious. It was hideous, and yet also beautiful. I couldn’t look away from it. There were a couple of paintings in the Botticelli book that I now realized were also depictions of this story—in one he’s flanked by an angel and a person dressed in long hair, with a sad old man and a dove hovering behind. In the other a person and an angel are flinging themselves around at the foot of the cross. I had always wondered what was going on in those pictures. But Botticelli’s man pinned to the cross seemed peaceful and happy, and also the least interesting thing in the pictures. Here he was clearly in agony.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“Yayzu,” Aristomache said.
“They did that to him?” I said, appalled. I looked at Father. Clearly he had very good reasons for not letting people know he was really a god.
He smiled down at me. “Not a nice way to die,” he said. “Suffocation is what actually killed them. It took days sometimes. It was a Roman method of extreme punishment.”
“Why do they have that there?” I asked, as Maia opened her mouth to defend her beloved Romans.
“Yayzu returned from the dead,” Aristomache said. “And through him, so will we all. He conquered death, not just for himself but for all of us through all of time. He went through that to save us all. Looking at the cross reminds us not that he died, but that he went beyond death, and so will we all.” Even Maia looked moved. Father smiled again, a smile that made me uneasy.
Just then I spotted Ficino and Erinna on the other side of the agora, deep in conversation with a group of strangers. Ficino was always easy to pick out in a crowd because of his red hat. I waved, but they didn’t see me. I was looking at them, so I was surprised when I looked back and saw that a burly man in a floppy Phrygian cap had joined us. He was wearing leggings and a tunic, not a kiton. Since it was a festival, I assumed it was a costume for a play. He was about Father’s age, clearly one of the Children.
“Aristomache, Maia, Pytheas, joy to you,” he said. “What a surprise to see you here.”
“Kebes,” Father said, nodding. I took an involuntary step backward. This was Kebes? Apart from his fancy dress, he seemed so ordinary.