Lacuna 8: Watch and Listen, Learn and Wonder
Dusk was coming on, and the great tactician’s arms were sore. This had been the longest conversation Kevan had had with another ship since leaving Troy, and it had not gone well. With relief he set down the heavy signaling flags, and set off for the crew quarters for what was sure to be an uncomfortable chat.
***
Having towed the prophet out of the crew quarters, Kevan sat her down in his private chamber. He decided to skip the preliminaries. “I just spoke with the Eriphyle,” he said, his voice carefully controlled. “I demanded to know why they shot at us. They tell me Brother ChinDoGu of the sober jests had a vision in which he saw you praying to Poseidon to hamper the Eriphyle. Is this true?”
Second-sighted Keitalia nodded. “I was thinkin’ on it, and it seems ta me that th’ fair shores of Ithaca arna for they devotees of Eris ta see. At least, not afore we, bein’ the weary an’ devout lot we are, make port ourselves.”
Kevan was revolted at Keitalia’s disregard for the chain of command, but he had expected that. A different aspect of her answer was what struck him. “What, aren’t you going to tell me Poseidon told you to do it?”
Keitalia shifted uneasily. “Well… I’m much afear’d the sea-god has been a mite strange lately. Tired or summat. He’s emptied the great sea of fishes, an’ they’ve been nae birds to cast auspices by. He answers prayers, right ‘nough, but he don’t seem to be in a talkin’ mood.”
“Maybe he’s trying to tell you that you ought to spend less time on your knees asking him what to do and more time on your feet asking me what to do. Sister, you put me in the position of having to defend a meaningless and… well, hostile… action that I didn’t even know you took. We may have to go to war against the Eriphyle for our own protection – not to say dignity! – and we’ll look like the aggressors. I can only imagine what Brother Cayvie, traveler of islands, would say if he knew.”
The invocation of Cayvie’s name set even second-sighted Keitalia back for a moment. Cayvie had been well-respected at Troy, keeping the heroes in good spirits even as the tide of battle had seemed to turn against the Greeks. And it was true that Cayvie had condemned infighting in no uncertain terms.
“I thought about throwing you in the brig,” continued Kevan, pressing his advantage, “but decided against it. I told the Eriphylers your prayer was in retaliation for their ‘unconscionable treatment’ of Royce, the long of hope. Now that they’ve shot back at us, we have justification for pressing an attack. If I decide to press an attack. And it will be I, not you, who makes that decision. Understand?”
Keitalia only smiled. “Oh, ye may decide ta fight or no, ta speak or no, ta sing and dance or no, but ye’re but an actor in a scene set by the gods. And ’twill be the gods, ne’er you, who set that scene, cap. ‘Tis a conceit to think elsewise.”
“It may be their scene, but the script is damned well mine, not theirs.”
“Is it, cap’n? In the end, nary a man amongst us can be aught but who he is. An’ we all alike will do as we must, bein’ where we are on th’ stage. What ye do be like with where ye are. And that, dear cap’n, be the gods’ purview.”
***
Having towed the prophet out of the crew quarters, Kevan sat her down in his private chamber. He decided to skip the preliminaries. “I just spoke with the Eriphyle,” he said, his voice carefully controlled. “I demanded to know why they shot at us. They tell me Brother ChinDoGu of the sober jests had a vision in which he saw you praying to Poseidon to hamper the Eriphyle. Is this true?”
Second-sighted Keitalia nodded. “I was thinkin’ on it, and it seems ta me that th’ fair shores of Ithaca arna for they devotees of Eris ta see. At least, not afore we, bein’ the weary an’ devout lot we are, make port ourselves.”
Kevan was revolted at Keitalia’s disregard for the chain of command, but he had expected that. A different aspect of her answer was what struck him. “What, aren’t you going to tell me Poseidon told you to do it?”
Keitalia shifted uneasily. “Well… I’m much afear’d the sea-god has been a mite strange lately. Tired or summat. He’s emptied the great sea of fishes, an’ they’ve been nae birds to cast auspices by. He answers prayers, right ‘nough, but he don’t seem to be in a talkin’ mood.”
“Maybe he’s trying to tell you that you ought to spend less time on your knees asking him what to do and more time on your feet asking me what to do. Sister, you put me in the position of having to defend a meaningless and… well, hostile… action that I didn’t even know you took. We may have to go to war against the Eriphyle for our own protection – not to say dignity! – and we’ll look like the aggressors. I can only imagine what Brother Cayvie, traveler of islands, would say if he knew.”
The invocation of Cayvie’s name set even second-sighted Keitalia back for a moment. Cayvie had been well-respected at Troy, keeping the heroes in good spirits even as the tide of battle had seemed to turn against the Greeks. And it was true that Cayvie had condemned infighting in no uncertain terms.
“I thought about throwing you in the brig,” continued Kevan, pressing his advantage, “but decided against it. I told the Eriphylers your prayer was in retaliation for their ‘unconscionable treatment’ of Royce, the long of hope. Now that they’ve shot back at us, we have justification for pressing an attack. If I decide to press an attack. And it will be I, not you, who makes that decision. Understand?”
Keitalia only smiled. “Oh, ye may decide ta fight or no, ta speak or no, ta sing and dance or no, but ye’re but an actor in a scene set by the gods. And ’twill be the gods, ne’er you, who set that scene, cap. ‘Tis a conceit to think elsewise.”
“It may be their scene, but the script is damned well mine, not theirs.”
“Is it, cap’n? In the end, nary a man amongst us can be aught but who he is. An’ we all alike will do as we must, bein’ where we are on th’ stage. What ye do be like with where ye are. And that, dear cap’n, be the gods’ purview.”
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