Читать книгу Demophon, a Traveller's Tale - Forrest Reid - Страница 6

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As spring drew near again, Demophon more and more frequently might have been discovered on his hill-top. He would sit there in the young bright grass with his back against a hollow stone, his whole body so quiet that birds would alight at his feet, and King Mouse, who had his nest under this particular stone, found him a terrible nuisance. His time was always the late afternoon, and when the sun sinking in his fiery bed had turned the horizon to a cloud of gold it was easy to believe that that brightness hung above a dragon-guarded orchard, or even marked the gateway to Elysium. Out there, at all events, somewhere in that wide world, was his friend; out there, at this very moment, was the boy with the golden rod. If only he knew where he was most likely to find him; if only he knew which path to take! And Demophon would linger till the light had faded to an ashen grayness, and the moon had floated up the darkening sky, before at last, and with an ever-increasing reluctance, he retraced his steps and descended the hill to his own home.

In the farm house they would be sitting waiting for him, the supper laid, Keleos half asleep, Metanira at her spinning-wheel. But Iole had found her pirate lover and was lost for ever, and Rhodea was married to an image carver in Eleusis. The laughter of the old creaking house was silenced, its light was hidden; the shadow of old age rested upon it. Metanira was busy as ever, but she had grown rheumatic and was hard to please. Tauros was dead. Keleos had become so deaf that unless you shouted in his ear he heard nothing. As for Demophon himself, he still attended the school of Pittakos, but his days there were numbered: the farm awaited him, the farmer’s life, though his spirit, his intelligence, all his instincts, reached out towards something utterly different.

One evening, having returned later than usual from school, he climbed the hill and sat hugging his knees, with his back to the farm house and the fields surrounding it. Behind him the ground dropped steeply to the ancient homestead, but in the direction in which he gazed the slope was more gradual, ending in a small coppice whose trees were now distinguishable only as a blur of deeper darkness on the twilit landscape. Demophon was not thinking of the coppice, though his eyes rested upon it, when out of its obscurity a vague white shape for a moment emerged. It was gone again on the instant, leaving him puzzled, for it had been considerably larger than a goat, and yet it was unlikely that one of the oxen could have strayed. It had indeed been more like a man on horseback than anything else, only horses were rare in the neighbourhood, and why should a man on horseback be hiding in that spot? Demophon gazed intently at the point where the mysterious form had appeared, but though he now and then fancied something was looking out at him through the fringe of shadowy branches, he knew it to be fancy, because, at that distance, no face really could be visible. It would not take him long to run down the slope and explore the little wood, and he felt he ought to do so. It might be a ghost, for though, from its size and shape, it could not be the ghost of a man, Demophon knew that animals had ghosts, having himself seen in dreams the phantom of the old dog Tauros. To tell the truth, if he had thought it to be a human ghost he would not have ventured near it; but the ghost of a beast could do him no harm, since there is no such thing as an evil beast. Therefore, after some further deliberation, he descended the slope, keeping a cautious watch on the whole line of trees.

When he had nearly reached the wood’s edge he heard the sound of a branch snapping, and then a rustling in the tangled brushwood. This was no ghost; and from the heaviness of the movements he guessed it to be an ox, after all. He came to a standstill. Whatever was there was straight in front of him and not fifty yards away, hidden by the matted bushes and trees.

Again he heard a heavy plunging sound, and this time caught a glimpse of something pale moving between the branches. Then, all at once, a white shape broke through the wall of leaves and stood facing him, remaining at first as still as Demophon himself, but after a little taking a step forward, and then another, till, seeing that the boy did not run away, the shy, beautiful creature trotted quietly up to him.

Demophon was far too surprised to think of running away. The monster before him was as strange as he was splendid. He understood why he had thought of a rider on horseback; for from the body of this great milk-white horse there did spring the body of a man—but he was neither man nor horse; he was a centaur. His long tail switched the tops of the tall grasses; from time to time one delicate hoof pawed the ground. Then half proudly, half defiantly, like an impulsive child, he said, “I am Pholos, and you are the boy on the hill.”

“Yes,” Demophon answered in wonderment.

“I saw you first,” said Pholos quickly. “I saw you long before you saw me.”

But Demophon did not think of disputing this claim. “I wasn’t hiding,” he said. “I was on the top of a hill, right out in the open: it would have been strange if you hadn’t seen me.... Why did you hide?” he went on, his interest overcoming his first feeling of alarm. “I thought you must be an ox strayed from the farm.”

“I hid because I was not sure of you,” said Pholos.

Demophon was disappointed. Such a confession, coming from so large and powerful a creature, was not what he had expected. “Surely you weren’t frightened!” he said.

“No, not exactly.” Pholos pawed the ground again, with a slight air of embarrassment. “You see—— Well, once or twice accidents have happened, and I didn’t want another.”

“Accidents!... Accidents to you, do you mean?”

“No, not to me.... But boys—and even men—are inclined to snatch up stones when they see any one who is not just the same as themselves. That is what happened before; and then——”

“You don’t mean that you killed them!” Demophon exclaimed, very much shocked.

“No, no, I hope not,” Pholos answered quickly. “I expect they recovered. But they are so easily hurt.”

“I don’t believe they recovered at all,” said Demophon sternly. “And I don’t know why you should have come here. You must have known that there are always men and boys where there are farms.”

“Yes,” Pholos admitted. “But I came very early in the morning, and all day I slept in that thicket.... And to-morrow morning I knew I should be leagues away—among the mountains of Thessaly, most likely.”

There was a long silence, and then Demophon sighed. “When are you going?” he asked.

“Now—now—at once.” Pholos seemed suddenly all eagerness to be off. He shook himself and kicked up his heels. “Jump on my back and I will take you with me. What is your name?”

“My name is Demophon and I live in the farm house on the other side of the hill. You can’t see it from here, but it is quite close.” He added this by way of precaution, just in case Pholos should think he was all alone.

But Pholos was not listening. “I will take you to Cheiron’s cave. He lives at the foot of Mount Pelion, and he will make you his pupil.”

“I have a master already,” Demophon replied. “And Mount Pelion is too far away. I must be going home.”

“Far! What matter how far it is? Cheiron is a great teacher. He has had lots of pupils—Herakles, Odysseus, Iason, Achilles, Helen’s brothers—I can’t tell you how many. But they all did very well afterwards.”

“Why should he teach a stranger?” Demophon asked suspiciously. “And why should you want to take me to him?”

“Because you want to go. Besides, I think you are really a little God, or else that a God has you under his protection.”

Demophon shook his head. “I’m not,” he answered. “I am only an ordinary boy. My father is just a farmer, and I am going to be a farmer too.”

“What made you sigh, then, when I spoke of a journey?”

“I didn’t know I had sighed.”

“Well—you did—I heard you,” said Pholos. “Quite a deep sigh, too. I will take you to Cheiron. He has nobody just now: at least, nobody very promising.”

Demophon drew back a pace. “Thank you; but I can’t possibly come,” he answered. “For one thing, I shouldn’t be allowed.”

“But you want to come—I know you want to come,” Pholos said impatiently. “And that is all that matters. So jump up——”

“It isn’t all that matters. If I had a brother who could take my place, then perhaps——”

“Was it of this you were thinking while you sat up there on the hill-top?”

“No.”

“What were you thinking of? I could see even from here that it was something difficult. Was it a problem? If five crows eat five plums in five minutes, how many plums will six crows eat in an hour?”

“I don’t call that difficult,” said Demophon. “It’s nothing to what Pittakos gives us. Seventy-two is the answer.”

“It isn’t,” said Pholos.

“Yes, it is. And at any rate I wasn’t doing problems: I was just remembering—remembering what happened once—when a stranger came to our house.”

“What happened?” asked Pholos curiously. At the same time he drew a step nearer, while Demophon took two steps backward.

“It was when I was a child. The lady Deo was my nurse. She stayed with us for nearly a year disguised as an old woman. But my mother made her angry and she went away.”

“It is dangerous to make a Goddess angry.”

“We did not know she was a Goddess.... You are not a God, Pholos, are you?”

“The Gods are the children of Earth and Sky and Night and the Sea. My mother was the nymph Philura, and my father was Kronos. He married her in the shape of a horse—I don’t know why. It was very unfortunate, really, for mother was ashamed of us because we were monsters. So she deserted us. And Kronos is shut up in his tower in the Holy Islands.”

“Poor Pholos.... Where are the Holy Islands?”

“I don’t know.”

“If I found them I might find——” But Demophon broke off to sigh once more. Then he could not help adding, “There was a boy with a golden rod and winged sandals who used to come to us in the woods. He was my friend, my playmate.”

Pholos, with his head cocked on one side, looked at him triumphantly. The white moon threw their shadows on the grass—a big black shadow for Pholos and a slim little shadow for Demophon. “I knew there was a ‘something’ about you,” Pholos said, “and you told me there wasn’t.”

“Neither there is.”

“Nonsense. Do you imagine ordinary little boys have Gods for their playmates?”

“But it happened—oh, ever so long ago. And perhaps he wasn’t a God....”

“The road to the right leads to Elysium,” said Pholos. “Further than that I cannot guide you.”

Demophon turned to the right; but the silvery dusk was all around them, and he could see only a little way.

“Over hills and valleys and rivers and seas,” Pholos went on in a drowsy sing-song, “and the sun shines there while it is night here.”

Demophon stood close against the white horse, with his arm round his shoulder. “Tell me more, dear Pholos,” he coaxed, stroking the smooth silky coat.

“There are fields of crimson roses, and three times a year the trees bear fruit. No storms blow there, and there is no snow. But neither is it too hot. The land is never parched, and the sea wind breathes softly through the branches. There, by the streams that flow through green meadows, every one is happy after his own fashion—making music or poetry, or wrestling, or playing games, or running races, or dancing—and the lover is with his beloved.”

“There is a magic in the night, isn’t there?” Demophon half whispered. “It seems to be all round us, and the leaves are glittering.... Suppose I went with you, but only just a very little way?”

“There is always a magic in the moon,” Pholos answered. “And I have seen the witches of Thessaly draw her down out of the sky to lie foaming and sick upon the grass.... Climb up on my back, little Demophon, for I am swifter than the wind, and yet I will carry you so smoothly that you may drop asleep and still not fall off. Lean forward and put your two arms round me.”

It seemed to Demophon that he had not moved, and yet somehow he was on the centaur’s back.

“Hold tight,” Pholos called out in sudden excitement.

“But I don’t want to go far,” Demophon answered uneasily. “You will stop, Pholos, when I tell you to stop, won’t you?”

“Yes—yes. Have no fear.”

“Remember, you’ve promised.”

“I’ve promised that no harm will come to you.”

“You’ve promised to stop——”

But the wind was humming in his ears, and the trees slid past him, and in a minute or two they were out in the open country, and in another few minutes all the old familiar landmarks were behind them. They rushed through the moonlight, and the rhythmic beating of the centaur’s hoofs was like a music that shut out everything but the passionate joy of speed. The moonshine spread a silver carpet over the wide plain; they heard the calling of owls, and now and then, when they passed within earshot of some outlying farm, they set half a dozen dogs a-barking. But soon the barking sounded faint behind them, and still they flew on and on. They crossed streams and skirted the rocky walls of mountains, and Demophon kept crying, “Stop—stop,” and at last Pholos stopped.

Demophon slid dizzily to the grass. “Where are we?” he asked. “You have brought me too far. How am I to get home again?”

“You will get home quite easily: it is no distance.” Pholos knelt down and then rolled over on the grass just like an ordinary horse.

“But where are we?” Demophon persisted.

Pholos did not answer at once, but at last he said, “I’m not quite sure where we are.”

“You’re not sure!” Demophon repeated.

Pholos wrinkled his brows. “I ought to know, of course. But—— You see, I wanted a run so badly that I didn’t bother much about the direction. We passed Parnassos on our left....”

“I must go home,” Demophon cried indignantly. “You had no right to bring me all this distance. Nobody knows where I am. They will think an accident has happened to me, or that I have run away. How long will it take me to get back?”

Pholos considered while he scratched his head. “That is a very difficult question,” he confessed at length. “Because—— Well, it depends so much, doesn’t it, on how fast you can run and how soon you get out of breath.... But very likely it will take you longer to get back than it has taken me to come. You have only two legs, whereas I have four, and am considered to be an exceptionally fast runner even by my brothers. Suppose we put it as a problem. If four legs can run four miles in four minutes, how long will it take two legs to run——”

“It isn’t four miles, and it will take me days and days,” declared Demophon angrily. “You know it, and I told you to stop ages ago.”

Pholos looked very repentant. “Something seemed to get into my feet,” he explained apologetically. “There was a magic in the night, and——”

“You are only saying that because I said it,” Demophon interrupted crossly. “You know perfectly well you could have stopped any time you wanted to.”

“I will take you to the cave of Cheiron. He is wise and good and you will be his pupil.”

“I told you before I didn’t want to be his pupil. You keep on repeating the same things. And now we are lost, and I don’t believe you have the least idea where we are.”

He looked up at the dark silent mountain which rose high above them. A stream fell down with a splashing sound between the rocks, and the ground they rested on was thick with heather. Certainly, at this hour, it seemed a singularly wild and lonely spot.

“We are not lost,” Pholos said. “Because, though I do not know the name of this particular place, we can go straight from here to Mount Pelion, when we have rested for an hour or two.... And over there is the sea.”

“That helps us a lot!” Demophon muttered sulkily.

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” Pholos agreed. “And if you insist on going home, all you have to do is to go back by the way we came.”

“I tell you I don’t know the way we came. What’s the use of talking like that!”

Pholos seemed surprised. “But surely at your age you can find your way home as easily from one place as from another!”

“Oh, indeed! Well, it so happens that at my age I can do nothing of the sort.”

Pholos was still incredulous. “But how can you go wrong? You just have to turn in the right direction, and keep on till——”

“How am I to know it is the right direction?” Demophon cried, raising his voice a little in increasing exasperation. “Really, Pholos——!”

“You can feel it. It will be the right direction.”

“It will be nothing of the sort,” said Demophon; but he saw it was no use arguing and relapsed into a moody silence.

Pholos remained puzzled. “Why not?” he presently asked. And “Why not?” he kept on repeating till in the end Demophon was obliged to answer.

“Because everybody isn’t the same as you. I can’t feel directions. I hadn’t the slightest notion we were near the sea.”

“It isn’t so very near,” Pholos admitted. “A few miles, perhaps.”

There was a long pause during which the boy yawned twice. The scent of the heather and the soft springiness of it, and the splashing of the stream, had begun to make him drowsy. He was still annoyed with Pholos, but he was becoming more sleepy than angry; and as he nestled up closer to his companion and began to feel warmer and cosier, he told himself it was his own fault, for getting on the centaur’s back, and that very likely in the morning he would be able to persuade Pholos to take him back to the farm. He had now grown quite accustomed to his monster, who seemed really much more like a horse than a man. Yes, it would be easy to get him to go back in the morning. And with this thought Demophon fell asleep.