Page 3 of Sword Dance

Damiskos reached for a dish of olives on the table in front of him. The female half of the couple on the couch beside Aristokles asked how he had found his journey around the coast from the city.

“Actually, I came overland.”

“What, through the mountains?” The husband, Kleitos, looked aghast. “But why? It must take three times as long—not to mention the risk of bandits.”

“I didn’t encounter any trouble,” said Damiskos stolidly. “There are quite good inns all along the road. It does take longer, but it was a matter of economy. My office would have had to hire a vessel and crew to transport me here by sea, but I was a cavalry officer—I already had a horse.” And he strongly preferred riding to sea travel, but he did not admit that.

The guests seemed divided between approving of his frugality and thinking him mad.

“What was your legion?” asked Helenos, when everyone was finished exclaiming.

“Second Koryphos,” said Damiskos, looking into his wine cup.

Murmurs of admiration and surprise circled the couches. Damiskos kept his hands in his lap, not particularly wanting anyone to notice the bracelet on his right wrist that might have told them what his rank had been. These days he often wondered why he still wore it, but somehow he had yet to take it off.

“You’ll have served in Sasia, then, won’t you?” said Aristokles, using the Pseuchaian name for the kingdom rather than attempting the mildly difficult consonants of “Zash.” He didn’t look down at his slave, whom he seemed to have all but forgotten.

“Yes,” said Damiskos. “I was stationed for several years in the colonies, at Seleos.”

“I long to see Sasia,” said Aristokles. “But the journey.” He shuddered. “Still, one day I will attempt it. To see the great walls of Suna, and the gardens of Ratases!”

“I don’t imagine you had much time for that kind of thing,” said Helenos dryly, casting another conspiratorial look at Damiskos. “Serving in Seleos. What with the warring clans and so on.”

Damiskos would have liked to agree with Helenos, but he felt the need to be honest. “We were certainly kept busy, but I was there for several years. I have been to Suna and Rataxa. They were … worth seeing.”

Aristokles sighed enviously. His slave had shown no sign of following the conversation, but sat with eyes discreetly downcast, face expressionless, apparently studying the floor.

“You can settle a dispute for us, Damiskos,” said Kleitos. “We were talking of Sasia earlier, of the barbarity of their so-called ‘justice.’ Is it true what they say about how they punish criminals in that backward place?”

“I don’t know—what do they say?”

“Oh, you know,” said Kleitos, waving a hand, as if surprised to be asked to substantiate his slurs. “Horrible stuff. Cutting off hands for thieving, putting out eyes for looking at another man’s wife, breaking the kneecaps of runaway slaves with—”

“Come now,” Aristokles interrupted. “Not in front of ladies, if you please. Unnecessarily grisly.”

“And the part about looking at other men’s wives isn’t true,” Damiskos felt the need to add.

“But the others are?” Phaia pressed, eyes wide, casting a playful glance at Aristokles.

“Yes, the … ” Damiskos gripped his wine cup. “Yes. Those are punishments that may be meted out. Amputation and the breaking of bones, as you describe. As well as various other things. But we have known equally brutal punishments in Pheme not so long ago.”

“Oh, gods, let’s not go into it,” said Aristokles faintly, looking ill. Obviously not concerned so much about the “ladies” as about his own sensibilities.

“In the Ideal Republic,” Gelon spoke up, “punishment would not exceed the bounds of reason.”

“Sasia is neither a republic nor ideal,” said Eurydemos dryly.

“No,” Damiskos agreed, because the philosopher’s remark had seemed to be addressed mostly to him. “It is a very large kingdom, very difficult to govern. Reforms have been attempted—indeed, made successfully, in certain regions—but over such a vast territory, with so many different peoples, you cannot expect overnight change.”

“But they’re barbarians, though,” Kleitos insisted. “Fundamentally different from us.”

“Fundamentally!” Gelon echoed, raising his cup unsteadily to his lips.

“You have fought them,” said Helenos, smiling enigmatically at Damiskos. “You must have a different understanding of them than those of us who have stayed at home, debating good government in the safety of our schools.”

“I have no love for Zash,” said Damiskos, not wanting to prolong the conversation. But that was a bare-faced lie, the bleat of a man whose mistress has left him claiming, “I never cared for her anyway.”

Helenos raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps,” he addressed the other guests mildly, “we should let Damiskos enjoy some refreshment after his hard journey instead of interrogating him about Sasia.”