HECUBA It's true. When I was thirteen, I wouldn't have died for Troy.
ACHILLES (Irritably scratching his crotch) I don't understand why they said all those things if they weren't true. I thought you were my betrothed whom I defended.
IPHIGENIA My father used me as he would a slave or a sheep from his flock. I think that many fathers do the same. Then, having done, he claimed I'd wanted it. Perhaps it made him feel less vile. Men like to think well of themselves, and poets help them do it.
ACHILLES (Petulantly) Apollo save me from a clever woman. (He looks her over, head to toe) Still, it is said we were betrothed.
IPHIGENIA You may as well forget it, Achilles. There is no fucking in Hades.
"THERE IS NO FUCKING IN HADES," eleven-year-old Stavia had declaimed, striking a dramatic pose for Beneda as she did so. The two girls had been sitting in the sun on top of the city wall. Stavia had agreed to help Beneda with her math, though Beneda was almost totally impervious to math if Beneda would cue Stavia in Iphigenia's part. The test on the play was to be given the following week. "I like that line. It has a ring to it."
"I watched rehearsal yesterday," Beneda commented. "Michy won't say 'fucking.' She says it isn't womanly."
"Michy's mother is a very strange person. Morgot says she almost never takes part in carnival. She doesn't like sex at all!"
"Some women are like that. You know what I heard? I heard some men are like that, too. Do you believe that?"
"Not like sex?"
"Can't do it or something."
"Oh well, sure. That's physiological. Or sometimes psychological. There's stuff about it in one of my medical books."
"Can I read it?"
"If you want to. It's kind of dull, though. All about hormones and the prostate gland."
"Oh. I thought it was about penises."
"Well it is. Except the penis is just a protrusion of everything else, you know. It doesn't exist independently."
"Except to warriors."
"What do you mean?"
"They must think it exists independently," Beneda pointed at the barren field below them. "Look at that great thing they have out at the end of the parade ground. It's four times as high as the Warrior and Son statues. It's like a tower!"
"They call it a victory monument," objected Stavia, really looking at the pillar for the first time. It did look rather like a phallus.
"Oh for heaven's sake, Stavvy. It's even got a prepuce."
Stavia yawned. "I don't care if it's got an epididymis or what it is. All I care is that studies will be over for a whole month and we get to have carnival, and the boys will be home. I miss Jerby."
"What's Myra going to do?"
"Oh, she'll probably go ahead and have a liaison with Barten," Stavia said in a disapproving voice. "She's decided all that business between Barten and Tally was probably Tally's fault, if you can believe that. According to Myra, Tally seduced Barten and offered to come out to the Gypsy camp. Every time Barten does something dishonorable, Myra puts frosting on it and eats it. She is so dumb. Morgot just shakes her head and hopes a liaison will help Myra get him out of her system."
"You make it sound like an infection!"
"I was quoting Morgot. Well, it is how Myra acts, all feverish and delirious. She's talking about having a baby by him, just because he's so good-looking."
"There's nothing wrong with that," said Beneda, doubtfully. "Is there?"
"She's physically mature enough, so I guess not. There ought to be something wrong with it, though, you know what I mean?"
"Because he's the way he is?"
"Well, don't you think so? I mean, some of the warriors are perfectly honorable, aren't they? Some of them are smart, too. But Barten isn't. So, it doesn't seem right he should get to father a baby when he's that way."
"Except he's so good-looking. If you're going to raise a child, wouldn't you rather it was good-looking?"
"I guess. But suppose it's a daughter, and it grows up to be like him?"
"Yeah. A crowing hen! Cock-a-doodle-doo!" Beneda spread her right hand above her head like a comb and flapped the left arm like a wing.
"That's what I thought. Since Myra's thinking of it, though, Morgot's got her on all kinds of dietary supplements." She twiddled her fingers, then stretched, like a cat. "Myra will do what she wants, regardless."
Beneda put down the book she had been pretending to study and said, "Stavvy, talking about chickens reminded me. Mom asked me to go to market to pick up some eggs for the house."
"Go ahead," Stavia said idly. "I'll wait for you here."
"Come on with me."
"I don't want to. You go on. You always get to talking and take an hour when it should only take ten minutes. If I wait for you here, I won't be impatient."
"What will you do here by yourself?"
"Read." She looked at the scattered books around them. "Preconvulsion societies. I'll read your anthropology book, then quiz you on it."
"It's dull. All about islands and tropical places and Laplanders."
"What are Laplanders?"
"You want to read it, you find out." Beneda stood up and brushed herself off. "I'll be back."
She went off, looking not too displeased to be going alone. Beneda liked to talk to people in the market and Stavia didn't. But then Beneda's mother wasn't on the Council and Stavia's was. Beneda could say anything that came into her head, and usually did, and no one thought anything of it, but if Stavia said, "It looks like rain," everyone wondered if it had significance because of something Morgot had said at home. As though Morgot ever said anything at home! She was as closemouthed as a vinegar shaker.
Left behind, Stavia picked up the red book Beneda had been reading. Preconvulsion societies. Tropical island tribes. Tribes based on trade. Migratory tribes, the Laplanders.
Stavia read, entering the world of the Laplanders in their padded coats and tall boots (not unlike the winter wear in Women's Country), picking the most docile reindeer to breed so they could lead their great herds from pasture to pasture without losing them. She could almost smell the huge rivers of animals moving north and south with the seasons, almost hear the lowing of the beasts, feel the bite of the snow, the weight of felted coats and boots, the tug of the leashed bull being led along so that all that river of beasts would follow. She lost herself in the words, becoming one of the migrants, feeling it....
When Beneda came back, Stavia was sitting on the wall, the book open in her lap, tears running down her face.
"Stavvy! What happened?"
"Reindeer," she said, half strangled by her own teary laughter.
"What do you mean 'reindeer'?" "Just... we don't have them anymore."
Beneda's mouth dropped open. "Stavvy, honestly. There's lots of things we don't have anymore. We don't have... clothes-drying machines and mechanical transportation and furnaces that heat your whole house, and cotton and silk and... and cows and horses and... and all kinds of other animals and birds and... oh, lots of things."
"I miss them."
"You've never had them!"
"Yes, but I know about them. That makes it different."
"You're weird." Beneda threw her arms around Stavia and squeezed tight, half laughing. "I love you best, Stavvy, because you're weird! Will you always be my best friend?"
Stavia laughed at herself, drying her eyes on the hem of her shirt. "I'll always be your best friend, Beneda. Forever. And I know I'm weird. That's what Morgot says, too."
"I wish we were sisters."
"Why? Sisters aren't so much." Stavia made a face, thinking of Myra.
"Oh, it's just I wish you were my own family. I wish you belonged to me." Beneda flushed, embarrassed at this declaration. "That sounds silly."
"No, it doesn't. It sounds nice. But I don't have to be your sister to belong to you, Beneda. We'll belong to each other, all right?" She put the book she had been reading down and hugged Beneda back, suddenly full of joyous warmth to replace the vacancy the book h
ad evoked. "I wasn't really grieving, I guess. I just hate those people who made the desolations, that's all. They robbed us."
"Which is why we must obey the ordinances, so we don't rob our own descendants," quoted Beneda primly, waiting for Stavia to recover herself. "Do you want to quiz me about the Laplanders?"
"Tell me about the Laplanders," Stavia asked obediently, still wet-eyed, taking hold of Beneda's hand.
"They lived way up in the north where it was cold and snowy most of the time. They made clothes out of felt, like we do. Way back they followed these wild deer around, and it was hard to keep the animals together, so they picked the bulls that didn't run off and bred from those. And they milked them, too, the females, I mean, the cows. And they used deer hides to dress in. And the Lady knows what they did for fresh vegetables, because the book doesn't say...."
"I wonder if they're still there."
"Where?"
"In Lapland. I wonder if they still exist. They might, you know."
"Well, we'll never know. That was on the other side of the world. But the book says they guaranteed both their own survival and the animals' by domesticating them, so maybe they still exist."
"Maybe one of these days, when the Women's Country exploration team goes out, they'll find a way through! Or maybe they'll decide to send a ship all the way across the ocean!"
"They did that hundreds of years ago, Stavia! The ship never came back!"
"Maybe they'll decide it's time to try it again. Things could have changed. Anyhow, when the next team goes in ten years, maybe I'll go along as medical officer."
"Small chance." Beneda made a teasing face.
"No, big chance. I think I'm going to Abbyville to the medical academy. Maybe in a couple of years. There could be a chance." She stopped, her eye caught by movement on the parade ground below them. "Someone's waving at us." Stavia jumped to her feet, surprised.
Someone was crossing the parade ground toward the stairs which led to the roof of the armory. From the armory roof to the wall top was only about twelve feet, which made the armory roof a favorite spot for the arrangement of assignations. "Is that Chernon?" Stavia asked. She had seen Chernon only in his white ceremonial tunic. This boy wore dull tan sheepskin work clothes.
"Stavia?" he called as he came up the stairs. "Remember me?"
"Chernon?"
"Right. Is that Beneda with you?"
"Are you my brother?" Beneda leaned across the wall, and Stavia caught her around the waist, afraid she would tip herself over.
"I haven't seen you since you were about six or seven years old." Chernon smiled up at her from under heavy eyelids, a measuring smile.
"Mother told me what happened. I'm so sorry, Chernon."
"Me, too. That warrior, the crazy one, the one who was bothering me, well, he's dead now. He got killed during a bandit sweep. Would you tell Mother? Please. I'd like to come home this carnival. Or at least visit. Aunt Erica is fine, but I'd like to see you. And Mother." His eyes were frankly pleading now, his lips quivering, ever so slightly.
"And the girls."
"And the girls." He cast a watchful look at the garrison grounds. "I can't stay here. Boys aren't supposed to be up here, only warriors. Besides, I'm on sleeper-in duty. I've got one quarter of the eight century to look after. Listen, there's a storeroom in the wall down past the west end of the parade ground. It's got some junk in it, but if you come to the outside wall there's a hole you can talk through or shove stuff through. Some of the warriors use it to make assignations. Bring me word there, will you? I can be there at noon, tomorrow...."
His voice trailed away as he heard a trumpet calling from behind the barracks. "The fourteens! My section," he said, then called softly as he raced down the stairs and away, "Remember."
The two girls stared at one another, scarcely believing the brief encounter. "Chernon," breathed Beneda. "Oh, Stavvy, that's wonderful. I think he likes you, you know? The way he looked at you."
"Let's find this place he spoke about," Stavia suggested in a practical voice. Her insides did not feel at all practical. They felt liquefied. It was a strange, almost indecent feeling, and she did not want to deal with it, or even consider it. "If you're going to be there at noon tomorrow to give him the message, then you'll need to know where it is."
There were stairs from the wall down into a street slightly east of the plaza. From there they crossed the plaza, speckled with lunchtime sun-searchers, and found a twisting alley leading between the wall and a two-storied row of assignation houses, their doors and windows open for a semiannual cleaning prior to carnival. Along the alley were several locked doors and, at the end, an unlocked one. The room within was spider-veiled and full of rubbish, but someone had made a path through the trash to the far wall. The hole was at shoulder level, an opening the size of a hand, broken through a four-foot width of wall. Light came in from the far end, a pale spot marbled by wavering shadows.
"It's behind a tree," mused Stavia. "That's why no one has reported it."
"You won't report it, will you, Stavvy?"
"No. At least not until you've told Chernon whatever your Mom says."
"I don't think you ought to report it at all," Beneda said, examining the almost dust-free path among the rubbish, made by the prints of many feet of different sizes. "Somebody comes here a lot."
CHERNON WENT DIRECTLY from the armory roof to report to Vice-Commander Michael who was sitting with Stephen and Patras under a spreading tree near the officers' residence. The slatted chairs and low tables under this tree were part of officers' country, and when they beckoned Chernon over, he hoped that some of his century were watching. It wasn't often that century Commanders were seen talking with a boy who was not even a warrior yet.
"You saw her?" Michael asked.
"Yes, sir."
"And?"
"And... and what, sir?" "How did she react?"
"Fine. I mean, she seemed interested."
"Your sister?"
"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, Beneda was interested, too, but I thought you meant Stavia."
"He did mean Stavia, grub," smiled Stephen, a tall, angular centurion with a tight, narrow face, heavily lined around the eyes. "Your commander wants to know if you'll be able to get into her... good graces." The smile turned chill, like a knife, and his smooth black eyebrows joined forces above his nose.
"Yes, sir. I will, sir."
"You know what this is all about, don't you?"
"Yes, sir. Michael told me."
"What did he tell you?" This with a confiding, easy glance at Michael, who lay back in his chair regarding Chernon under eyelids so heavy they looked almost swollen. When Chernon sought guidance from those eyes, they did not blink.
"He told me...."
"Spit it out, grub."
"He told me the women know something. Something they're keeping from us."
"All the women?" This was the third man, bulky, bear-like Patras.
"No. No, sir. That is, probably not. But the Councilwomen do. And Stavia's mother is on the Council. And Michael said maybe I can find out something if I get Stavia to visit me at home during carnival, or if I get to visit her...."
"Very good, Chernon," murmured Michael. "And of course you'll tell us everything you find out?"
"Of course, sir."
They waved him away, and he went, his head spinning with the honor and glory of it all. Most boys his age didn't even get to talk to the officers, much less do a special job for them.
"Not much chance of getting anything from that, is there?" bear-like Patras, furry Patras murmured to the other men as the boy went out of sight. Patras had hair where other men had skin, and even his voice sounded soft and growlly, as though there was fur in his throat as well.
"You never know," said Michael. "We keep detailing enough of our best-looking men to court the Councilwomen and their daughters, we're bound to find out something. They can't all be as tight-mouthed as Morgot is. The kid might pick up on something, or one
of the others might."
"And it might all be for nothing. Jik could be lying through his teeth, just to keep you from killing him."
"That's possible. Likely, even." Michael stretched, smiling his lazy smile. "Next time the fool cheats me on a woman, he'll lose some vital anatomy over it. Meantime, though, we won't disbelieve him just because he's a thief. He's been to Emmaburg and Annville. He's been to Tabithatown, which is a damn long way north of here. Jik hears things. If he says he's heard that the women are hiding something, he's probably heard just that. Secrets, he says."