I could see she was concerned for me; I told her I was happy enough, and that I had eaten all I wanted when I finished bringing the food from the kitchen.

"You said the Maiden promised you'd see your friends again. I wish she were quicker."

That was when I knew I had not always been in this place, and that I must have a family and a city of my own. Once there was a very large man and a very large woman who took care of me. I remember helping the woman carry cuttings away when the man pruned our vines. They had spoken to me too; and though I could understand everything Kalleos and the rest said, and speak to them as well as they to me, I knew their words were not mine, and I could speak mine to myself. So do I write, now. I did not know then who the Maiden was, because I had not read this scroll; by the time I wanted to ask about her, the woman had gone.

I stacked the dishes from the first meal and carried a stack into the kitchen. Lalos had told me his name when I had come to get the food. Now he said, "Have you heard about the Rope Makers, Latro?"

"No. Who are the Rope Makers?"

"The best soldiers in the world. People say they can't be beaten."

The other cook farted with his mouth.

"That's what people say-I didn't say it was true. Anyway, there's a lochos of Rope Makers going from house to house asking questions. The magistrates shouldn't have let them in-that's what I think. Of course they're our allies, and I suppose the magistrates didn't want trouble. Suppose they'd said no, and the Rope Makers had fought their way in. With so many away with the army and navy, who knows what would have happened?"

The other cook said, "You do. And everything else."

I asked, "Will they come here?"

"I suppose, some of them. They're going everywhere, asking crazy questions like what did you eat at the first meal yesterday."

The other cook said, "Then we'll tell them. What's the harm in telling a Rope Maker what you had at the first meal?"

"Yes, we'll tell them," Lalos agreed. "We'd better."

I carried in the rest of the dishes, and the cooks put little Io to washing them. There was food waste, mostly seeds and apple cores, scattered around the courtyard. Kalleos told me, "I'm your mistress, Kalleos, Latro. I want you to sweep all this up. You know about answering the front door?"

I nodded and told her I had read it on my own door.

"Good. And don't forget to sweep again tonight when everyone's left. You can remember that, and I like it clean in the morning. And Latro, no matter what they tell you, the girls have to look after their own rooms-they'll get you to do it if they can, the lazy sluts. And their rooms have to be clean by tonight. If you see one who doesn't clean her room, you tell me."

I said, "I will, madame."

"And when you go to the door tonight, don't let in anyone who's drunk until he shows you his money-silver, not bronze or copper. Or gold. Let in anybody who has gold. But don't let in anyone who looks poor, drunk or sober. And don't draw that crooked sword of yours unless you have to. You shouldn't have to."

"No, madame."

"Use your fists, like you did on what's-his-name the other night. And when Io's finished washing up, send her to me. Don't let those two idlers in the kitchen make her do all their work-I want her to go to the market with me. I'll have most of the stuff for tonight delivered, and she can carry the odds and ends. Make the deliverymen go to the back, and don't talk to them. And make them leave-after you have all the goods-if they try to snoop. I'm counting on you, Latro."

Men came as soon as it grew dark, mostly bald or graying men, too old to fight. I admitted them; when they were busy with the women, I slept a bit in my chair by the door, only waking when the first left. Some stayed, sleeping with the women in their rooms. When the courtyard was empty, I carried the cups and bowls back to the kitchen for Io to wash tomorrow and got out my broom.

Many of the lamps were dark, and a man slept in one corner. I could see it would be impossible to clean the place well, but I decided to clean it as well as I could. It was very pleasant in the courtyard anyway. The thinnest-possible sliver of moon peeped between the clouds and left shadows beneath the walls, and the heat had passed. The air was soft, perfumed by the flowers Kalleos had bought that afternoon.

I was sweeping near a corner where there were many urns holding many flowers, when a woman's hand stroked my shoulder. I turned to see who she was, but her face was lost in the shadows. She said, "Come, child of war. Do that later, or never."

Knowing what she wanted, I laid my broom on the flagstones and sought her among the blossoms, not finding her until she showed herself to me by kindling a silver lamp shaped like a dove, which hung over the couch in her chamber.

I cannot remember what women I have possessed. Perhaps there have been none. I know that for me tonight she was the first-that no other would have been real beside her, that our joy endured while cities rose and fell, and that while I clasped her the breezes of spring blew perpetually.

My lover was half woman and half child, her cheeks and all her flesh rose-tinted in the roseate light from the dove, slender yet round of limb, her breasts small but perfect, her eyes like the skies of summer, her hair like fire, like butter, like night, ripe with myriad perfumes. "You forget," she said. "But you will remember me."

I nodded because I could not speak. I do not think I could have lifted my hand.

"I am more lovely than my rival. Three faces she has, but none like mine. You have forgotten her; you will never forget me."

"Never." Her chamber was hung with crimson velvet; it seemed to glow in the dim light.

"And I am lovelier far than Kore, the Maiden." Her voice grew bitter. "Not long ago, I gave my favor to a poor creature called Myrrha. Better I had withheld it. Her own father bore her down, and she became a tree, a speechless thing with wooden limbs." A horned doorman fluttered wide, white sleeves to ensure our privacy. "Yet she bore him a child, the fairest ever seen. I locked it in a chest-so you would call it-to keep it safe, for I had lovers who would have used it like a woman."

I nodded, though I would rather she had talked of love.

"I trusted her-that vile girl who calls herself the Maiden, though her legs clasp Hades. She opened the chest and stole the child. I begged for justice, but she kept it four moons each year. At last it died, and from its blood sprang this blood-red blossom where we lie."

I said, "I would lie here forever, for every kiss of yours is new to me."

"Yet you will not, O my lover. Soon, how soon you must go! But you will not forget me, nor what I say."

Then she whispered in my ear, repeating the same thing again and again in many ways. I cannot write it here, because I do not remember what it was-and it seems to me that even as I heard her words they were lost; but perhaps they only sank into some part of me where memory does not go. She showed me an apple of gold and spun the dove to make its light play upon that apple.

Then she was gone, and her chamber too, and I was left leaning on my broom in the cold court. The moon glowed high overhead, a crescent glyph cupping some meaning I did not comprehend.

I got one of the lamps and searched among the flowers for the door to her room; when I found it, it was only a crimson anemone, half-open, before which fluttered a tiny white moth.

With my hand I brushed him away and held it up, and it seemed to me the heart of the blossoms held a spark of laughter, but perhaps it was only a tear of dew.

A woman touched my shoulder. It was Kalleos, her breath heavy with wine because she had been drinking with the men.

"You don't have to worry about that, Latro," she said. "Poking among the flowers with a light. Get it tomorrow, when you can see what you're doing. Put away that broom and come with me. You're a fine figure of a man, know that?"