Avram Davidson - The Phoenix and the Mirror

Presently the King rose, unhindered now, and, clapping his jeweled hands, went down the steps of the throne and joined in the quickening steps of the dance. Faster now, and faster, faster, faster whirled the King, flinging his head and rolling his eyes up till only a thin rim of color showed in the staring whites. The music stamped into a quicker, frenzied beat. The King leaped like a stag set upon by dogs. There was a hand laid gently on Vergil’s arm. The hermaphrody gestured toward the chamber’s door. There was a gray hair in the thin, whorled beard, and the breasts were fleshless and limp. The expression of his face was sad, patient, resigned. Hermaphrodies never lived to be old.

Moving down the long corridor, Vergil heard behind him a series of quick, sharp, rhythmic screams. He was sure that the voice was that of the Paphos King.

And so the time went on and continued to go. For a while An-Thon the Red Man made daily, fretful visits from the harbor, then he ceased to appear. Bayla was totaly absorbed in his devotions. Basilianos answered Vergil’s urgent treaties with invariable politeness and assurances that he was prosecuting inquiries about copper with (he said, languidly) the utmost vigor. And the representatives of the copper cartel informed him that messengers had been sent upcountry on swift mules to make inquiries about the very small amount of ore required.

But nothing actually came of any of this.

It was not to be expected that he would be long content merely to sit still and wait on others. He hired mules himself, and set off alone. The palms gave way to pines and cedars. Roses burned in great crimson clusters by the roadside. Here and there were the crude little shrines of the country people and their old, original religion — shapeless cairns usually set up alongside some low tree or large bush bearing fewer leaves than shreds of knotted rags, blossoming with the prayers and petitions of those who tied them there. Off in the fields the peasants, with long thin staves, urged the red oxen to bend to the yokes and pull the wooden plows. Chestnut and carob trees fed the black swine and brindled sheep. It seemed that nothing could really go much wrong in this Arcady-like landscape, stone bridges over brooks of bark-dark waters, cobs and pens and cygnets arching their necks like lily stems as they glided along the streams.

Nothing really much did go wrong, except that his mules cast a shoe each, it required a day to find the smith, find charcoal, heat the forge, find iron, heat the forge again, and shoe the beasts. He passed an impatient night, scrupulously followed the directions to the mines given him at the inn… and, after another day’s journey, found himself back in Paphos again. When this happened in similar wise a second time, he was bound to pause and wonder if he himself might not be bewitched.

Likelier — almost certainly — the copper agents simply did not believe him and his story of wanting no more than the small quanitity of ore for a scientific and philosophical experiment. Why should they? No one had ever come to them with such a story before. They might even have had word by a swift, many-oared blockade-runner, before Vergil arrived, from Thuraus Rufus; warning them that some plot to overturn the copper monopoly was under way; that Vergil, the prime mover, was not to be openly flouted, but subventuresomely to be thwarted in every way.

There was no consolation to be had from this logic, of course. The agony of his condition was not abated. Impatient, here, he — what must be Cornelia’s state of mind in far-off Naples? by nature yielding, by way of life imperious, unused to anything but immediate gratification, unaware of the difficulties in the way here at the scene. There was no assurance but that at any moment she might, either in a sudden rage, or by a deliberate calculation, or by direction of someone else, commence to torment that part of him which she held captive.

He remembered Tullio’s words with a shudder. Do her work, and I return it to you. Refuse — fail — I destroy it. Tarry — I punish it. Dally — but I do not think that you will dally.…

Yet now, in effect, despite himself, that was what he was doing.

Angustus the Ephesian received him half propped up on the narrow trestle board which evidently served him as bed. The old man did not bother with conventional apologies or greetings, merely looked at him with his burning gaze and invited him by a curt gesture to speak.

“I have been informed that the meeting place of your group is known to the Soldiery. It might be wise for you to arrange to meet elsewhere.”

The old man at first said nothing. Then he said, “Can it be that you have made it known?”

His visitor showed his genuine surprise. “I, sir? No, sir. Not only would I have no inclination to do so, I could not do so, for I do not know where it is.”

Still the eyes would not relinquish their gaze. “That is strange… seeing that you have been there with us.”

“No, I assure you,” Vergil said, more astonished than before.

There was a pause. “I do not feel that you are lying,” the old man said. “Either you are mistaken, or a veil has been placed over your memory, or — or I may myself be mistaken. Wait, wait…” He ran a thin hand over his long gray beard, reflected. “Either you have been with us,” he said after a moment, “or else it is the future I see, and not the past. In which case, you will have been with us.”

The room was small and bare. Vergil was faintly aware of something that confused him… perhaps only because he could not identify it. “I do not understand,” he murmured.

“Nor do I. But I will. And so will you.”

It had not been the easiest thing in the world finding this strange old man. It was, however, obvious that no help was to be expected from anyone in established authority anywhere in Paphos. Therefore it became equally obvious that help must be sought from someone not in established authority… and the more distant therefrom, the likelier the success. Vergil had thought of attempting to contact the criminal level of Cypriote society, but — supposing such to exist in this easygoing island — it would be more sensible for those in it to take his money and then reveal the matter to the overlords, than not to. Who, then, was in such irreconcilable hostility in regard to the establishment that betrayal need not be feared and assistance might be hoped for?

The answer was Angustus the Ephesian.

Who now said, “You came here like a trader, with intelligence in one hand and the other hand outstretched to receive intelligence in return. But that day has come when no trademen are seen in the Temple. Nevertheless, I shall give you the knowledge which you desire — give it you as freely as our Lord and Savior Daniel Christ gave His flesh to be torn by the lions in order that we might be saved and have everlasting — ”

He broke off and gazed at the suddenly speechless man in front of him. “Ah,” he said. “Now you remember.”

“Yes. Now I remember, It was in a dream.”

The old man nodded. “Then it has not yet come to pass.”

“No, sage. Nor need it.”

Softly, gently, “Yes, it need. It need,… Now I see it all, I know it all now. Captivity, chains, torture, the arena, the mocking crowds, the lions. The lions! Think you-of-the-paynim that I or any of us would have it another way? We are not worthy only” — he lifted his clasped hands and tears filled his sunken eyes and broke his voice — “if our blessed Lord Daniel desires nonetheless to grant us, freely, of His grace, the same death — oh, blessed gift and charity! — the holy privilege of dying as He died, the sweet and sacred bounty of the lions.…” His face seemed radiant and transfigured by joy. He bowed his head and moved his lips in prayer.