That is, one of them did. With an almost theatrical gesture and a sort of sub-theatrical voice, he quoted the proverb, “‘Like burning Elba in the dark of night.’” The forges of Elba were famous to the point of commonplace. Vergil said to himself, Like Elba, yes: in the dark of night, a light to guide by; ashore, in daytime, it would probably bewilder, with its guideless mazeways between the toiling, moiling forges — the Labyrinths of Elba, they were called. Olive-shaded Elba, shades of the days there before the Age of Iron; say, also, olive-haunted Elba; and where was oft-seen the pallid cheek-bones of the Frank, come to buy well-worked forged iron for the battle-hammer and the spiked battle-flail called “morning-star.”
But aloud Vergil merely said, “Some little sight.”
The Pune who had not spoken to him growled in his native tongue, “Ruman dog, die costive!” And at once the other remarked, in a tone of one already tired of the talk, “My brother does not know Latin well,” and turned aside. What was the point of this charade or masquerade? why had they not simply kept aside to themselves? A moment’s thought told him that the answer lay in the brisk wet wind: in this corner of the ship one was more sheltered; though this might cease in an instant, did the wind or ship change course — outwardly, he merely gave a sleepy grunt, and stretched some more, pulling his mauntle over him.
“Die ithyphallic, die!” the one Pune grated, grinding his teeth.
But his brother, if brother he really was, it was widely held that all Punes looked alike, had more on his mind than routine if sincere insult. “You are sure that they know it?” he asked, referring to … and in a moment revealing what he was referring to: “the long road to the pass of gold?”
“They know it, they know it, they all know it! Yes! Yes! Juno!”
“And does she know, too?”
“She knows everything else. She knows what we say now, slut! bawd! vulva!”
“Let her know, then. The long road…. You are quite sure? Yes, yes, very well … Only … even on the Greatmap of Reuben the Moor, it does not — Very well. — So. She knows about the gold. And the teeth? The teeth?”
“She does not allow the teeth.”
A string of curses followed; not all of them Punic … Vergil was not sure what some of them were, others he knew referred to the masturbation of the Egyptian sky-god (to which the Ægyptians attributed great cosmological significance), to the servitude of a great Punic hero as umbrella-bearer to a Queen of Lybya; others he simply did not recognize, though some of them he thought might be in the tongue of Tartis Land, and at some phrases he could not even guess, merely assuming by their tone that they, too, were curses. Suddenly Vergil decided that he simply did not care about the matter at all, made an effort to forget them: succeeded. Long later he was much to wish that he hadn’t. The Punes hissed, muttered, gurgled throatily; Vergil slept.
But that wish was after he once again remembered.
III
Isle Corsica
Deptune was pleased enough with the devoted offering to bring Zenos safe to Corsica. The next day as promised, the “fine, fat freemartin” was sprinkled with the hieratical white barley-meal, banged on the head, had its neck cut with despatch, gave up layers of the fat which were, together with anyway portions of its thighs, burned on the altar by the foreshore. There followed one of the best veal dinners — the master of Zenos just fancying himself as no mean cook — which Vergil had ever eaten.
And that night in the small room in the small inn where he was lucky to lodge alone merely because the Pune Brothers, swart beards and brows on a background of darkly rosy skin, on seeing him as they entered had turned backs without a word and walked away to (he supposed) lodge elsewhere — the innkeeper spat towards their retreating forms: Vergil at once assumed that this was an indication of social discontent with the Island’s former lordship, but, on seeing it followed by two more globs of spittle, and a knock on a wooden wall-post, changed his opinion: it was merely a commonplace precaution — had they chosen to remain he would have needs shared the room’s sole bed with them, or slept upon the floor. And although he had slept three-in-a-bed many times before, and could tell more than three tales about that, he much preferred to sleep alone.
In general, and in particular.
But he did not sleep quite alone after all.
The rough furniture of the inn’s sleeping-room, he noticed, was of oak, a cheap enough wood, the forests of Corsica must be full of them; giant specimens standing frequently alone even where there were no forests. The table, bed, and stool had likely been fashioned from an aged oak which had lain itself down to die in some storm; the Corsicans would not willingly cut the giver of the nourishing oaken-nuts — besides which, the tree was sacred, a fact not alone depending on its often majestic girth and stature. Neither was the oaken-tree holy just because the misteltoe chose to grow upon it, for misteltoe also grew upon other trees, the apple, lime, elm, maple, willow, and poplar, and was indeed a magical plant because it sustained itself on nothing … unless indeed upon the air … and then too because it was engendered by lightning; that heavenly meteor and messenger, even a lamb struck by lightning was holy, and so was the place where it was stricken: bidensal, such were called. The oaken-tree was held sacred by man because in one significant particular it resembled man: that is, a most important part of it resembled a most important part of man — one need not be a Druid to recognize that the acorn looked very like the glans peeping forth from the partially retracted foreskin. But such matters as this: which came first, and why it should be so, must await another occasion for thought. And yet there was the old saying, “As the scent of the walnut tree inciteth to lust, so the sight of the oaken-tree inciteth to awe.”
He did not know where the woman had come from, he was half-asleep. In the darkness, how could he have told what color were her eyes? He put his arms around her, grateful for her presence, and proceeded to do what a normal man would do; not knowing or caring or even thinking if he would find the visit on the bill in the morning, or if it were more complicated than that. Neither did he know where the light had come from, later, the light in which he had seen an older woman in the same soft white dress ask, with an air of concern, “What ails thee Claudia? thou didst neither eat nor drink.”
And the answer came, in a now well-remembered voice (had she spoken? before then?), “Oh, Volumnia, I have had such a longing to drink the sweet waters of Corsica, and to taste its fragrant acorn-meal —”
Volumnia’s face changed from concern to surprise and then to perplexity. “Well, I suppose we could send —” Then her face grew horrified. “Claudia! the goddess forbid, that thou be pregnant!”
— and Claudia saying, slowly, oh so slowly, “One night a man slept in my arms all night. His eyes were grey-green, his arms were strong, his chest broad, his waist was slim. We made love, Volumnia.” He heard Volumnia’s scream, and then he awoke, wet.
Loriano, and the mountains round about it; as a port alone it was not much different than other Roman ports … smaller than Naples or Ostia, of course … but the streets adjacent to the harbor in Naples or Ostia spoke (he now realized) of a broad and modern hinterland. One never saw there as one saw here, numbers of women in antique costume squatting on the pave, market-sacks or market-baskets by their sides, long lustrous hair not dressed and not confined, streaming down their backs. A point of interest, if not more, and a mildly welcome diversion from the fact that much of the merchandise displayed was at least a little bit old-fashioned when not indeed outmoded, or in poorer condition than similar goods on the Gallic or Italian mainland; and sometimes frankly battered or broken. A question: Who would buy these writing-tablets with their covers chipped or here or there a binding-ribband torn short or entirely missing? An answer: Someone who badly needed a writing-tablet in any better condition than the one he already had. Who.