Thessalonica

Then, without any warning, almost as if a wolf-demon, Nephele stepped out into the path in front of them. The female centaur nodded to George and asked, “This is the cleric of whom you spoke?”

“Yes,” he answered. Having introduced priest and satyrs, he introduced priest and centaur without a qualm.

Father Luke bowed as if Nephele were a lady high in the court at Constantinople. “I am honored to meet you,” he said. “I am honored you would let me meet you.” In an aside to George, he murmured, “I have, every once in a while, regretted my vows of celibacy. I never expected to do that quite like this, though.”

However quietly he spoke, Nephele heard him. The female centaur threw back its head and laughed. Listening to that laugh with his eyes closed, George might have thought it came from a drinking companion in a tavern. Looking at Nephele, he did not want to close his eyes-- on the contrary. To Father Luke, the centaur said, “I take’t as a compliment, being sure ‘twas meant so.”

“Er--yes,” the priest said. George could not recall having seen him flustered before. He did now.

“Onward, then.” Nephele turned to lead them. Seen from behind, the centaur seemed less human than when viewed straight on.

They came to the encampment bare moments after George realized they were on the path leading to it. Stusippus spotted them first, and made a sound more like a birdcall than any speech George had ever heard. The centaurs in the camp came out of their lean-tos. Demetrius cantered up to Father Luke, who stared at him in delight. “I never thought of there being young centaurs,” he said to George.

“I know what you mean,” the shoemaker answered. “Neither did I.”

Several centaurs whom George had not seen before were among those crowding round him and Father Luke. He caught a couple of names--Pholus, Tachypus (a female)--but missed more.

Crotus still seemed to lead the band. The male inclined its head to Father Luke. “We are told you fear not and despise not the linking of your power and our own against that to which both stand opposed.”

“If it can be done, I think we can do it,” the priest replied. “We have shared this land many years now; we can live at peace.”

“By share you mean your taking and our yielding,” Crotus pointed out, not without bitterness. “That you be preferred to the incomers and their powers, who would slaughter us for sport, meaneth not you are beloved.”

“I understand as much,” Father Luke said. “For the time being, though, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Xanthippe said, “Reasoning thus, we may cooperate, one side with the other. And afterwards, remembering our aid, it may be that you prove more inclined to leave us in peace.”

“For myself, I am willing,” Father Luke said. “I must tell you, though, for I would not he to you, that my superior, Eusebius, will remain set in his ways. To expect him to change is as foredoomed a hope for you as for him to expect you to become a member of my faith.”

“For the honesty, we are grateful,” Crotus said. The other centaurs and satyrs nodded. The male went on, “For the sentiment, we would it were otherwise.” The nods came again. Sighing, Crotus observed, “Necessity driveth all; we can but yield to it.”

George wondered how much that attitude had to do with the failure of the old gods against Christianity. Bishop Eusebius and, no doubt, Father Luke, too, in his gentler way, were convinced their faith would triumph, regardless of the adversities it faced. That was their notion of necessity: not yielding to whatever the passage of time might bring against them.

Nephele set hands on the narrowing of human waist above the outswelling into horses body. “Very well, priest: you say you are fain to make alliance with us. How then, this being so, shall we best combine against the foe tormenting us both?”

“How?” Father Luke looked straight at the female centaur, which impressed George. The priest smiled, but not altogether happily. “My dear, at the moment I have no idea.”

XI

The first thing George did was sleep till the sun, which had been low in the east, was low in the west. He was relieved to find some stew in the pot. “Aye,” Nephele said, “the world waggeth on, seek to stay it as we may.”

George ate and yawned, realizing he would have no trouble going back to sleep not long after nightfall. He set a hand on Perseus’ cap, which lay beside him on the boulder on which he was sitting. “I want to go into Lete,” he said, “and give this back to Gorgonius. I don’t want him to think I’m a thief.”

“We cannot do’t today,” Nephele answered, “the sun’s chariot, as you see, having drawn too near the western horizon to permit the journey.”

“Tomorrow, then,” George said.

“It could be,” Nephele said, “but then again, perhaps not. Surely we shall be undertaking many matters most urgent on that day, conferring with your priest, and--”

“Someone mention me?” Father Luke came up.