It took Anklex almost an hour to realize that on his most glorious day, the day of his retirement, his wife had not come to welcome him back from the battlefield.
Just a short time ago, when the army ascended the last hill and came into view, the cheers were so loud and long that the walls rang like bells and half the crowd lost their voices. He was as elated as the others and followed the procession as it began to jog. He cheered and clapped his hands as his companions found their families and the ranks of soldiers began to blend into the crowd. But now he was left alone in the crowd of citizens, wondering why Della had not come.
The footsteps of more than 20,000 people almost trampled the wild flowers into paste. All were dressed in the most exquisitely embroidered robes, their hair was woven with jewels and gold, and they wore gold bracelets and gold rings. They certainly don't skimp on the scented oil. The entire field smelled strongly of essential oils and perfume, enough to make him dizzy. Even the slaves were dressed in better clothes than they would have been in any other situation; it was difficult to distinguish them from the townspeople. Only the soldiers themselves stood there, dirty, ragged, and plain-looking, which gave them a dignity that others did not have.
Still clinging to a rapidly fading hope that he had made some mistake, he decided to circle the field one more time before giving up. Androcles smiled slightly, imagining that if his old friend Athanasius were still alive, he would curse loudly in sympathy and be fined by a jury for violating public decorum. Or Nikon. Nikon would step aside and pay a bunch of people to pretend they were there for Androx. In fact, he did so once, when Della had the temerity to show up alone.
But, as far as he knew, his old friends and all his relatives were dead, and no one but Della could give him the honor he deserved. Last year she hired young men from the docks to greet him. The year before, she'd had some non-Indian citizens dress up, but no real Dikaians noticed. This year she had his pension to spend, a full four talents of fresh silver; he expected luxury.
She was nowhere to be found.
Androx walked slowly, trying to maintain his dignity. It was impossible for him not to attract attention; he stood taller than anyone else. As he walked, he always met the eyes of those people, and they must have noticed his embarrassment. They'll be talking about him for weeks. Lo and behold, great Andrus, a veteran of many battles, his wife has forgotten him! Some playwright will turn this into a comedy, and he will surely be laughed out of Dikaia. The cloak around his shoulders grew hot in the afternoon sun, and his shield hung heavy on his back. Although he tried not to show it, the shame tore at his heart and made his eyes burn.
As he completed his final circuit around the battlefield of glory, the crowds resumed their cheers of welcome. Now, the traditional welcome begins to echo off the majestic walls of Dikayana. For the gods, the festivities are rich enough that they will continue into the night and possibly into the next morning, and more people will sleep in the fields than in the cities.
It was all as perfect as one could imagine, but this time, he couldn't be a part of it. When he finally realized this, his shame quickly turned into deep anger. Dikaia was his city, it was his people, he had spent most of his life fighting for them, and for the first time he felt unwelcome here.
Humiliating him in front of everyone to win an argument, she had done that? He could forgive that. Rude, like blaming him for not having kids? He tolerated everything, mostly out of habit. But this is offensive on a completely different level. This is inexcusable. There is only one option: find her and divorce her immediately.
He was furious, his stomach churning and roaring. It quickly became inflamed, quickly out of his control, and despite his efforts to control it, some radiated out of his body. The rage that escaped the crowd spread like a miasma from a corpse, ruining the festive atmosphere wherever it went. People turned to look in his direction, then quickly looked away sullenly. Women stumbled and children fell silent or started crying.
His brows darkened, he turned around and walked resolutely towards the huge door. He could only picture his old mentor Diocles in his mind, sighing to himself with a sad look on his face. But Diocles was dead, so he had to wait. The ghosts of memory are often patient.
His Dikaia
The gates were so thoroughly decorated for the celebration that the delicate stone carvings were completely obscured by garlands of crocuses and myrtle. The scent of the holy flowers almost dulled his anger, but it increased when a guard stepped boldly up to him and tried to ask him a question.
"You are..." the stupid, useless young man was about to say angrily, but Androx interrupted him.
"I am Androcles, son of Palamonos! I am the last Agapeteide! This is my city! My ancestors put the stone on that mountain! How dare you stop me ?he shouted.
The young man fell unconscious under the fury of Androcles, and his companions quickly drew him away before he fell. They made way for Androcles, beckoning him sheepishly to go forward.
The streets were much quieter than usual as most of the citizens were on the battlefield of honor. A few slaves and servants hurried past carrying baskets containing the last necessities for the all-night feast, but no one else stood in his way. He followed the road up the hill near the center of the city, passing where he could see the square, the assembly, and the temples of the gods. The majestic building stood as always, its brightly colored painted marble sparkling like a crown jewel in the afternoon sun. He walked past the home where he was born, where his father lost his home, where all his ancestors were buried, but he had no time to stop there. not yet.
The road took him to the other side of the mountain, past the best homes and into the rough areas near the docks, where the poorest citizens lived side by side with foreigners and non-citizens in small houses Inside, leaning against each other, it was chaotic. The shame of his family's depravity has never escaped his eyes, even 25 years later, and today it stung him deeply and fueled his anger even more.
When he finally arrived at the house he had rented from a kind benefactor, he found no light in the windows and no smoke on the fireplace. Of all the houses in the street, it was the only one that looked empty. He paused, a little uneasy.
He wasn't here to let the mystery distract him. He placed the hilt of his spear on the stone pavement and shouted into the closed door: "Della, you've gone too far! Come out!" He was glad that his voice was still angry enough for her to understand what he meant.
No one answered. He waited in silence for an uncomfortably long time. It was enough to make him doubt himself. Did he miss her on the battlefield of honor? No, that's impossible. If anyone was looking for him, they would find him; he stood out in the crowd.
He considered kicking the door open but decided against it. After all, this is not his door. Then it suddenly occurred to him that something might have happened to her, and his anger disappeared instantly, replaced by worry. He didn't even think about it; every villain and pervert in Dikaya knew whose wife she was, and the nobles wouldn't notice her. But now that he thought about it, it seemed obvious.
He calmly opened the door, hoping not to find a body or two. What Androcles saw, however, was not a rotting body but a house that had been emptied, or almost emptied. The wooden furniture was still where he had left it—a chaise longue, a table, and a school desk. All this furniture is included in the rent by the landlord. Everything else, everything that belonged to Androx, was gone. The jar that had been his great-grandmother's trousseau no longer stood on a short pole at the back of the front room. All the tapestries had been taken down, even the gold armband his father had hung above the stove. He found himself dumbfounded and stunned. All the pots, all the food. All lights. All clothes. His wife and her slave. Even the fire in the fireplace, which should never have been extinguished, was extinguished. The house had been empty for so long that he couldn't even smell the smoke.
In such a small house, it didn't take long for him to look into every room and find them all empty. Even the few worthless keepsakes he had saved from his dead friends were gone—and that made him sad. In his wife's room he found the only thing left - a piece of cheap parchment tied with string. It lay on the now-empty bedstead, even the mattress he'd bought her with a large dowry missing. He looked around the room, trying to recall exactly what he had been when he left.
He suddenly realizes that he has been trying to hold on to the past, hoping that something from his family's glory days will not be lost but live on in him. Now, looking around the empty, dark house, he found himself feeling that even the little he had held on to had been taken away from him, leaving him impoverished and completely bereft of sustenance. This thought led to another: he was poor now. He is no longer a citizen. Unless he can find out where his money went, he's just a resident for now. He could not prove his qualifications to be a suffrage man.
He clutched the book tightly, trying to swallow down the fear that crept into every thought. He turned around and walked numbly outside, where it was bright enough to read. He had to squint for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the warm afternoon sun, but soon he untied the scroll, opened it, and read:
To Androchus, written by Della. I will return to the land of my ancestors. You came back from the war, and I lay under you for fifteen years. You didn't bear me a son, or even a daughter. I was barren and alone. I listened to you talk about your dead father and your vows. I hear your promise of wealth and riches. I met many old pagans in this land which you arrogantly call glorious, and they were kind to me. But I have no relatives or children here, and I don’t love you either. I'm going to take away your money. I sold your pathetic property. I think this is the price you pay for lying to me, the price of 15 years of lonely marriage. Don't follow me. You will never find my people, and if you do, I will have them kill you. No one knows about this, I have released Hetaria and sent her away. I didn't tell her.
Andrew read the letter twice more before he really understood it. Everything is really gone. There is nothing wrong with that. Everything is gone. He felt dizzy, nauseous, and soon felt like vomiting. He leaned a hand against the outside wall and spat out. He originally had nothing, but once his stomach was empty, he found that it was replaced by despair, which gripped him almost tightly and made him unbearable.
He instinctively tried to analyze the feeling of despair within him, to quantify it in some way so that it wouldn't affect him too much. After all, he is no stranger to this. He felt it when his father died, and again a few years later when his mentor Diocles died, and again when Euphemias died, and Acoleus died, and Nikon died, and Ty When Si passed away. At this point, despair seems to be a constant visitor.
He tried taking deep breaths to calm himself, but he couldn't calm the miserable darkness gathering in his gut. He has been dreaming of this day for 25 years. No, long; ever since his father's death, he had dreamed of the day of redemption and the Agapati family would once again be honored and respected. On this day, decades of suffering and toil came to an end, and his longing turned to joy. That should be today.
Knowing that he was about to lose his dignity, he went back into the house and closed the door. He avoided the eyes of passers-by, knelt in front of the cold fireplace and cried. This passion surprised him and he could not resist it. The betrayal was too deep for him to push away, and his loss was too great.
After a while, the feeling passed and he was left alone with nothing but painful thoughts. Now without money, he could never redeem his father. Their graves no longer belong to the family. He could never pass on his bloodline. The great clan Agapetus, whose patron was none other than the revered Agapetus himself, would die with Androcles. It's too late to get married again. How could he take another wife without money? His fathers would be forgotten, their shadows destined to wander the earth, lost and cold, forever. Now he will die with no one to honor him and suffer the same fate.
Androclus knew that he had never been too religious, but he had always respected the gods and made sacrifices. In return, they just seem cold and distant. However, now he realized that they hated him and he hated them. They must have cursed his family. There are too few sons, not enough farmland, and each generation is getting smaller and smaller. Until he, the only son of Palamonos.
In fact, there was nothing he could do to respect them and win back their favor. He has no rituals of his own, he is no longer a citizen, which means festivals and sacrifices do not apply to him. So why should he care about them? He stood up, walked outside, and spat on the ground by the door in a show of contempt for religion. No one saw it.
Then he turned and looked up the hill at the city his father had helped build, a city that was no longer his.
He looked at the sun shining on the tall temples and buildings that were the envy of the whole world. Androclus gave the city and its people enough blood to fill a man ten times over. This is a city truly worthy of preservation, ancient and noble. The memory of its beauty warmed his heart as much as anyone's on countless long and tiring roads. Just looking at it can comfort your restless soul.
After a while, when his mind relaxed a little and he was able to think, he felt that he had given up too early. If he is not from this city or a descendant of his clan, then who is he? He has nothing. He spent most of his life on the battlefield, always coming home. Maybe he just fought his last battle, unlike the others.
He walked back up the hill, not quite sure where he was going, until he found himself in the empty courtyard of his ancestral home. He walked along the familiar path around the north, through the small gardens of the new residents, and stopped at the old mausoleum and his father's grave. By law, the new owner must let A
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okles came here, but he never gave any gift himself. Indeed, his father had gone months without an offering, and the offering bowl was empty, not even the coins he had left them last spring. But at least the area is clean. The new owners swept the area clear of leaves and debris.
For centuries, these polished marble tombstones have stood in place, some in rows and others lying flat on the ground with sculptures or metal vessels on top. Everything is neat and organized. He patted his clothes, wanting to leave something as a sacrifice, then picked up the last ration and placed it on the altar in the center of the cemetery. Then he sat down again, looking at the altar, thinking about what to say. How much, he wondered, could his father see? Did they know they were in danger of being lost forever? If so, surely they would have helped him. They didn't seem to have much choice - he was the last of the family, and the gray in his sideburns and beard couldn't be ignored. At forty, he had outlived half his countrymen.
A ray of warm sunlight hit his back and began to heat his long braid, making him sweat. It was hotter than normal and the sun was brighter, although he hadn't noticed it until now. The gods, especially those of Turos, went too far in blessing him to return home, as if they resented him. His beard was like a scarf wrapped around his chest. As he considered what to say to his fathers, he heard nothing but the faint echo of celebration coming from the valley below.
When he finally spoke, he didn't pray his customary prayer. He didn't think it was worth visiting them like that. Instead, he said, "Sons of Agapetus, my fathers, no one prayed for this, so it won't be very poetic. I'm sorry, but there's no way. My wife stole my pension, a whole Three talents, and the other I've saved up over the years." He paused for a moment to let this sink in. That's a lot of money. More than he could fully comprehend. If his father heard it, they would be horrified.
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Okles continued: "The money was enough to buy back our homes and land and rebuild our tribe, which is what I planned to do with the money. But now it's gone. Della stole everything and ran back Her country. She left this note."
He placed the scroll on the altar, just in case. "I've always respected you, even when I couldn't afford the money and had to starve. Now, you either help me get the money back, or we call it a day. For the sake of the whole family. It's over. Grant me The wisdom and strength needed. Please. Please.”
He barely said please, but they knew he wasn't one to beg and pay attention. In fact, he almost felt his mouth contorting into an unfamiliar shape as he spoke the word "please" out loud. They'll see how serious he is. He concluded: "I will come back with our money. I swear an oath to Arcos, to each of you, to Agapetus. You have watched me in the army for so many years. The spoils for which I fought have been Stolen, but I'll get it back. So don't stop."
Since he couldn't think of anything else to say, he stopped talking. In the silence that followed, he expected to receive some kind of answer, some indication that his father's spirit had heard his prayers to them. But no power surged through him, no cymbals or flutes sounded. No, the only thing that happened was that he realized he meant it. He found that the despair within him turned into determination. He's chasing Della.
He took a deep breath, straightened up, shrugged his shoulders, and looked around. Through the wall that surrounded the house, he could see the city, vast, rich, and beautiful. Sharp stones, painted in various colors. Gardens, markets, shops and gymnasiums. Everything that makes civilized people happy. Beyond the city walls lay the rich, rolling farmland that was the life of Dikaia and many other cities; in the other direction, the sea sparkling in the sun, beautiful and unpredictable.
Andros admired the view for a moment, trying to calm the fear within him, still convinced that he was alienated from the city. It didn't take long for him to convince himself of what he'd known all his life: Digaya City was his, and he was hers.
He turned to leave, but then he remembered the note, and for some reason he felt uneasy about leaving it there, even though he had done it. After all, the issue would never come before a jury and no one would care about the evidence. He reached down and took Della's note from the altar. As he did so, the feeling of missing something continued to haunt him, so he unfolded the note and read it again.
As far as he knew, Della had never learned to write. Her weaving and spinning skills were also average, and he thought she might just have bad hands. He looked carefully at the letters, trying to make sure they had not been made by the untrained hands of a woman he had just met.
But the letters were too square, too perfectly shaped. Even he couldn't draw letters so accurately, and his father taught him how to write at a young age, before most citizens had even begun to receive education. There was no way she could write such a thing.
This means there are others involved. The thought hit him like a horse's hooves, and the feeling of missing some detail left him immediately. He stared at the altar, wondering if his father had really tipped him off. There was a line in the Autumn Hymn of the Priest-Archon: "The dead speak more quietly than silence." But he had never thought of this before. He bowed deeply in the direction of the altar, then looked quickly around the cemetery to see if he could see the outline of a shadow. he can not.
He left the cemetery and walked up the hill towards the center of Digaya. In the marketplace, he visited every scribe he could find, asking if anyone recognized his handwriting. Most of them were slaves and had no reason to attend the homecoming; they sat bored in cubicles, gossiping among themselves. But none of them recognized the handwriting, although each of them politely told him he could ask someone else. Androcles checked nearly thirty different scribes until he had written them all, at least the public scribes.
He did not go to the nobles' servants, but it was impossible for him to go to them with the wallet swinging from the god Tulos. Asking their scribe if they wrote the letter is tantamount to asking if they were involved without citizenship or any money, which could be fatal.
Seemingly running out of options, he sold his belt and belt buckle and tied up his skirt with a short cord. Then he bought a jug of premixed wine and sat on a bench by the market to think. What if there really is a noble after him? After all, that is a lot of money. Four talents were enough to inspire the greed of the wealthiest nobles. Or what if someone had a grudge against Agapatis and wanted to stop him? There was no way he would know what was going on unless he managed to find out where the money went. Simply finding it is not the end of the matter: he must convince the jury to punish them and restore his property, and then withstand the wrath of his enemies to establish his own position. None of these things are easy.
With so few people around, the market's wide, flat paving stones appear uncomfortably bare; one rarely even sees the ground amid the crowds passing by. Yet the tents and awnings remained as colorful as ever, hanging limply in the windless sunshine. City slaves clean up the trash effortlessly, making the area smell better than usual. What if Della had walked over on purpose and cheated on him on purpose? She could have given the money to her family in the city to find an escort girl.
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Okles took a deep sip and stared into the pot, thinking deeply. He watched as laden wagons rolled up the hills to the market, bringing supplies to the slaves and delivering them to them once the celebrants' supplies were gone.
A Thunder patrol passed them, their bright armor gleaming and distinctively decorated, their tails swishing in the air behind them. They vaguely reminded Androx of cats, though they would be offended if anyone said that. These orcs from the east are Dikaea's neutral enforcers, and for generations they have managed to stay out of politics. They are content to take their money and live well enough that even the noblest citizens of Dikai'an try to stay in their good graces.
Such a smart man would have heard the rumors, so Androcles stood up and shouted after them: "Guards! Good masters, come here, I want to ask you something."
The four orcs turned and stood before him, bows slung over their shoulders, one hand on the quiver at their waist. Their posture showed that anyone who made them angry would be hit by fifteen arrows in the blink of an eye. A
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Okles suspected they practiced their body language and gestures when no one was looking.
A serious-looking man with crimson fur and tufts of down on his ears said: "Ah, Androcles, the big man of Digia. What do you want?"
Androx blinked, a little surprised that they knew his name, since he'd been out of town for almost half the year. After hearing a rumor, I wanted to ask. Have you heard that anyone has made a fortune recently?"
A gray-haired one replied: "Inquiries are a matter for the courts. We don't seek these things on our own. With all due respect, Master, don't distract us unless you want to share your wine. You know that." Then. He nodded to his companions, a serious and blank expression on his face under the smooth cat fur. They turned to leave, and Androcles let them go without another word. Their disregard for him may inflame his anger, and it doesn't help knowing that it's not directed at him. This is not the first time, A
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Okles wonders if someone pinned Sky Thunder Man to the ground, cut off his ears and tail, and shaved his fur, would he be mistaken for a Raphaelian?
But now was not the time to fight, certainly not in the middle of the marketplace, under the sun, with an armed Skywalker. He sat back on the bench and finished his drink while thinking about what to do next. In the end, it came down to one question: Either Della went north with his money, as the note said, or she didn't. Regardless, if he could find her, he could find his money. He had to know if she was really gone.
The only way was to go to all the doormen, who were usually citizens' sons and more talkative than Skywalker, and ask them if they had seen her. Since he no longer had room to store the jars, he left them empty on a bench and asked some beggar to take them and sell them. He walked back to the front door, the same door he had walked through earlier when he was in a bad mood. Thankfully, the shift had changed and he no longer had to face the young man he had humiliated.
He handed the scroll of Dera to one of the young men and asked: "Good master, look at this for me and tell me what you see." Then he stood there and let them read it, wondering what he should do posture. He wanted them to know he was in a difficult situation, but he didn't want them to think he was undignified.
He pretended to be upset while they turned and whispered to each other. That was a good sign, and he tried not to laugh, lest they think he was laughing at them. After a while they ended their discussion, and the shortest one, a particularly handsome young man with a newly grown beard, replied: "Old soldier, we don't know how we can be of any help. But Gorgias said approx. Fifteen days ago, a cloaked and veiled man left the city with four Thunderbolt bodyguards. They were carrying heavy backpacks."
Androx quickly replied: "How do you know it was 15 days ago?"
The one named Gorgias was about 18 years old, with a spotted but muscular face. He said with some embarrassment: "It was the day before my sister's birthday. We joked about it. That's why it's stuck in my mind."
"I see," Androx mused. "Why don't you know who's in the veil?"
"We don't interfere with the Skywalkers, Master, there are four of them. We just think it's Skywalker
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Let them pass the matter. "
"Well, I guess I can't argue there. Wait, why do you say "someone" wears a veil, rather than "a certain woman"? What man would wear a veil? Androcks asked.
The short handsome man replied: "That's the point of the joke, master. The joke is that it's Gorgias sister's fiancé. I still think it's a woman, but others think she's a bit too direct to be. A Decian woman, even a vile one.”
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Okles nodded. That was all the confirmation he needed. It could only be Della. She was always a little too masculine. Her parents were somewhat of an immigrant and they raised her poorly.
"I understand. Can you tell me about the bodyguard?" he asked.
Gorgias replied: "Although they have swords and bows, they do not wear the clothes of guards. We only wish we could recognize them in the gymnasium, but we do not. They can exercise anywhere. I'm afraid that's it, Master. Like Theklos said, we didn't stop them."
"Do you know where they might have gone?" Androcks asked.
"I don't know, Master. The Sky Gate is far to the east, and they should have gone out through another gate. But if it is your wife, they may have gone north from here. I heard that they have trade relations with the barbarians, There might be some in the north. Who knows? said the handsome young man.
"Masters, how do the northern merchants know about Skywalker? Any ideas?"
"Master, the only thing we get from the savages in the north are furs. Find a fur trader and ask him. But only large fur animals like bears."
Androchus knew this, but he wondered if they knew something he didn't. He said: "Very good. I won't interrupt you and continue your work. Thank you for the information."
Androx's ensuing inquiries were almost fruitless. The only fur trader in town currently had never been to the North himself, but he had heard that the only Skywalkers there were a tribe that traded with everyone along the east-west route, including those who hired demon mercenaries. So, of course, being a good citizen, the man had never had any dealings with them.
Androx didn't know how much to trust him, but this was his only clue. Della's parents are dead, and no one knows where her hometown is except herself, and maybe no one knows either if Androx can find the group of Thunderbolt merchants.
Because he didn't want to sleep in an empty rented house, which was his home, he wanted to find an inn where no one knew him. He was recognized, but he spent a little money and made up a story about the renovation to cover up his shame. The next morning he sold his bronze helmet, the only piece of armor he really owned, to buy bread and figs for the journey. With these supplies and the remaining bag of money, he walked straight out of the door through which he had entered the City of London, turned north, and followed the road that ultimately led to the kingdom of glory.
Before he climbed the last hill and Diggaya disappeared from sight, he paused for a moment to look at it, trying to impress forever upon his mind the image of its beauty—the grandest city in all its glory. The moment grew longer and longer, and finally he turned, trudging, and began to walk again.
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Okles advanced north alone.
