The Arrows of Hercules

The other woman said: "Can I speak with the spirit of my dead child once more?"

Saphanbaal gasped, trembled, mumbled, and then burst into childish tones: "Hail, Mama ..."

The sitting went on and on. Saphanbaal spoke in the voices of several people. The sitters swore they recognized these voices as those of persons dear to them in life. She answered more questions with artful ambiguity. More hymns were sung. The witch uttered a small sermon on the power of spirits and the wonders of magical science. At last she said:

"The spirits wax restless. I must needs dismiss them, lest they wreak harm upon the living; especially Gulgoleth, whom I employ only for the most baleful tasks." She went into a stream of gibberish, waving her arms and crying at the last: "In the name of the god who must not be named, begone! Begone! Begone!"

Meanwhile Zopyros, acting upon his instructions, had tied a bunch of tow by a string to the leg of another bird. Holding the bird firmly in one hand, with the other he touched the tow to the rushlight. When the tow blazed up, he opened the curtain and tossed the bird and its flaming burden out into the cave. The bird took wing at once, trailing the blazing tow behind it. In the darkness, only a fiery streak could be seen. As the sitters cowered shrieking, the bird circled thrice around their heads and raced out into the night.

"That was Gulgoleth," said the witch in ordinary conversational tones. "The vain creature would fain make a show of his departure. Good night, my friends; the gods be with you on your long road homeward."

When the seekers had gone, Zopyros and Ahiram came out of hiding. Zopyros felt a belated pity for the bird whose throat had been cut, since the divine Pythagoras had forbidden blood sacrifice and unnecessary harm to animals. But the Tarentine salved his conscience with the thought that the other bird, now freed, would probably survive its fiery flight.

"Splendid, splendid!" said Saphanbaal, shaking the bowl in which the sitters had placed their offerings, until the coins clinked. "I would you could go into partnership with me. We could make a fine thing of this, my dear apprentice witches!"

"Nay; I have other plans, alas," said Zopyros. "Now, with your permission, madam, we'll withdraw to our quarters. It is far too late for such small fry as my charge, here, to be up and about."

"If it wax cold in that little side cave—" began Saphanbaal with a giggle. Zopyros picked up the sleepy child and hurried out, pretending not to hear.

At breakfast next morning, Saphanbaal swatted a fly on her dirty arm and said: " 'Twas cool in the night, was it not? Say not that I failed to warn you. Master Zopyros, I dreamt a dreadful dream last night, concerning you. Concerning you."

"Indeed?" said Zopyros. A slight chill made him shudder, even though he knew the woman for a charlatan. "What was it?"

"I dreamt of a great shining city, and war raged about that city. Then you came, tall as a cork oak tree, bearing a mighty bow. You set to this bow a fiery arrow, as long as a ship's mast. To the point of this arrow a bunch of tow had been tied. Another man—him I saw not clearly, but meseems he was as short and stout as you are tall and bony—kindled this bunch of tow with a torch. You let fly your arrow. It soared up into the heavens and swooped down upon the city. The flaming tow set fire to the nearby houses. Soon the entire metropolis was blazing fiercely. When the fire had burnt out, nought was left for the besiegers to loot—nought but one vast field of gray ash, stirred by the passing breezes."

"And then?" said Zopyros intently.

"That is all. Then I awoke."

Zopyros frowned. "I had a like message from the Sibyl of Cumae. Could you interpret such an oracle?"

She shook her head, as Phoenicians did to indicate the negative. "You've seen how a poor lone woman must sometimes cozen her clients when her spirits fail to furnish the wonders they demand. Mark you: I could easily concoct an interpretation to salve your soul. But it were not the true one. The true one, I do confess, I know not. But this dream frights me. It frights me, so vivid it was."

They finished their breakfast in uneasy silence. The morning was passed in chopping wood for Saphanbaal, watering the mule, and playing hide-and-seek with Ahiram. As he finished a meager lunch, Zopyros asked:

"Will there be another sitting tonight?"

"Nay, not for seven more. For we Canaanites hold the number seven sacred. Hence sittings are held at intervals of seven nights: on the nights of the full, half, and new moons."

"We Pythagoreans hold ten in equal honor," said Zopyros.

"Be that as it may, Captain Bostar comes tonight, if all go well and he see my signal, to snatch away you and the lad."

"How shall we get out to his ship, without any landing place?"

"I have a little skiff, hidden in yonder small cave. You shall row to the ship in it."

"How, then, will you get your boat back?"