The Bronze God of Rhodes

So full was I of my message that I did not at first notice that my hearers had begun to squirm with impatience. At length their scowling, yawning, and whispering reminded me that I had been speaking longer than was altogether tactful. I finished my speech with a flourish of Lysippos' letter of commendation.

Somebody muttered: "If that's a few words, the gods protect us from a full-blown address!"

I expected that it would be moved that I be accepted into the Guild; that I be asked to step out while the matter was discussed and voted on; and that then all would be over but the congratulations. Instead, Protogenes stood up and said:

"As it is nearly midnight and too late for further business, I adjourn this meeting. Good night, blessed ones."

"But—" I said. "But what about me?"

Protogenes: "We will take up that matter at some future meeting. If we take any affirmative action, we will let you know."

"Don't hold your breath while waiting," said Lykon.

"Your mortal subjects bid you farewell, O god," said another.

"We shall see you again, we hope—after Protogenes has finished his 'Ialysos'," said yet another.

This brought a laugh, as Protogenes had been working on his huge picture for six years, and nobody thought he would ever complete it. I said to Makar:

"I'll see you home." When we were out of earshot, I asked: "What's wrong? They seem displeased."

"No wonder!" he said.

"But why?"

"Chares, are you out of your mind?"

"I think not. Why?"

"You come here, a young sprout just out of apprenticeship. You harangue the established artists of Rhodes for three hours, like you was a god teaching the first mortal men how to live civilized. You brag about how good you are and what wonderful things you're going to do. Then you wonder why they don't fall all over themselves welcoming you!"

"I only told them the truth!"

"That may be, but what do you suppose they think of your way of doing it?"

"I don't care what they think. I know my own worth and the value of my innovations, so it is for them to change their thinking, not me mine."

"You might as well say to a piece of clay that won't take the shape you want: 'It's for the clay to obey me, not for me to act humble to it.' But suit yourself. It's your life."

I trudged home in gloomy silence while the stalwart Kavaros walked ahead with his link. He said:

"Master dear, if you would only be listening to good advice, now—"

"Shut up!" I cried and aimed a kick at his shin.

The Kelt moved like a shadow. My kick went wide and caused me to stumble. As I recovered my balance, I heard a snicker. Grasping my walking stick in both hands, I swung. The stick struck Kavaros' shoulder and broke with a loud crack. The link fell to the ground and went out.

"Aral" he said. "That hurt, sir. Someday you will be doing that to a free man and it will not be well for you."

Although I was in a mood to kill anybody who crossed me, the quiet menace in Kavaros' tone made me pause. True, he was not likely to risk death by attacking me. But then, one could never tell with these irrational foreigners, and his execution would do me no good if I were no longer there to enjoy it.

With his usual lack of foresight, Kavaros had not brought any tinder to relight the link, so we groped our way home in darkness.