Thessalonica

Here came a fellow swaggering along as if he owned the street. The stout bludgeon he carried in his right hand was doubtless intended to persuade anyone who might doubt his view of the situation. George reached up to make sure the cap was firmly on his head. This was a fellow Thessalonican he had no interest in knowing better.

Away from the main avenues, which formed a grid, Thessalonica’s streets wandered crazily. Without a torch, George got lost a couple of times and had to backtrack. If the Slavs and Avars broke into the city, he suspected some houses would go unplundered simply because the barbarians couldn’t find them.

Shouts told him he was getting close to home. They weren’t shouts from anyone who’d seen him. They were Claudia’s shouts, aimed at Dactylius. In the nocturnal stillness, they carried a long way. Anybody who cared to listen could get an earful of Claudia’s views of her husband’s shortcomings. Anyone who didn’t care to listen was liable to be awakened.

You could throw a rock or an old shoe at a cat. George had no idea how to make Claudia shut up.

Partly guided by her abuse, he found his own front door. He tried the latch. The door was barred. He knocked on it. The same problem applied here as it had at the postern gate: he wanted to wake his family, but not the neighbors. He knocked again, louder, and hoped he wasn’t being too loud.

After a while, he heard someone moving inside. Theodore’s sleepy voice came through the door: “Who’s there?”

“I am,” George said.

“Father?” Theodore undid the bar. Before his son opened the door, George remembered to snatch the cap off his head. He didn’t want Theodore thinking he was a ghost.

He took off the cap just in time. The little lamp Theodore held in his left hand seemed dazzlingly bright. In Theodore’s right hand was the longest, sharpest awl in the shop, in case George had turned out to be somebody else. Theodore dropped the awl with a clatter, set down the lamp, and embraced his father, bursting into tears as he did.

Somehow, George got into the shop and closed the door before Irene and Sophia dashed downstairs and added their embraces and tears to Theodore’s. “Thank God you’re safe,” Irene said, over and over. “Thank God you’re here to stay.”

“I’m not here to stay,” George said. His wife stiffened against him. He had to drag his words out one at a time: “I have to leave the city again, or else, I think, it will fall.”

“How can you leave the city?” Sophia demanded. “Stay here with us. You’ll. . . you’ll. . . Something bad will happen if you don’t.” She’d probably been trying to say something like, You’ll get killed if you don’t, but hadn’t been able to do it.

“I don’t think so.” As George spoke, he set Perseus’ cap on his head. His wife and children cried out in astonishment as he disappeared. He took off the cap and became visible once more. “You see? The Slavs won’t even know I’m anywhere around.” He knew he was making it sound easier than it would be, but he didn’t want his family worried.

Irene pointed to the cap. “Where did you get that? Who gave it to you? Who--or what?”

Quick as he could, he explained what it was and where he’d got it. Irene’s disapproval grew with every word he said. He tried to forestall her: “Could you get me something to eat, please? I’ve been tramping all over everywhere on not very much, believe me.” Bread and honey and olives and wine put new heart in him.

But no sooner had he taken the last swallow than Irene said, “Now--why did these pagans and these, these creatures send you into Thessalonica and expect you to come back out again?”

“They want me to bring Father Luke to them,” George said.

He’d thought that would startle his wife, and it did. “But they’re satyrs and centaurs and fairies and pagans,” Irene protested. “What do they think a man of God will do for them?”

“Help drive back the Slavs and Avars and their powers,” George said. “They aren’t strong enough to do it by themselves. We may not be strong enough to do it by ourselves. Together, God willing …”

“Would Father Luke go?” Sophia asked. “I can’t believe a priest of God would hobnob with these, these things.” She shivered.

“I think he will,” George answered. He explained the penance Eusebius had set on Father Luke for manipulating the Avars’ thunder gods. “I’m going to ask him, anyhow. He’s not so set in his ways as most of the other priests I know.”

“What if he won’t go, Father?” Theodore said. “Will you stay here then?”

“Yes, then I will stay,” George said. “If we come through the siege, I’ll have to go up into the hills afterwards and give the cap back to Gorgonius. But for now, I’ll stay.” He held up a hand. “But if I do go with Father Luke, don’t let anyone know I’ve come back into the city now. just say you hope I’m all right and you think you’ll see me again.”

“What I hope,” Irene said fiercely, “is that Father Luke tells you he wants nothing to do with this scheme, and hat it’s mad, pagan wickedness. And I hope you listen o him, too.”