Thessalonica

He didn’t throw the spear. Instead, he darted back in among the trees. So did George. The shoemaker began a cautious sidle to his right, hoping--praying--the Slav was alone. He’d gone more than halfway round to the other side of the clearing before he called to mind the expression on the barbarian’s face at seeing him. The Slav had been at least as horrified as he was. That argued the fellow was alone, too, and hoping George wasn’t part of a band of Romans.

When George got to the point from which the Slav had emerged, he stepped into the clearing and looked around. At almost the same moment, the barbarian poked his head out from the spot George had occupied. They stared at each other again, then both went back into the forest once more.

This time, George kept on heading south. He paused every little while, listening to make sure the Slav wasn’t stalking him. He never heard anything, and the barbarian didn’t leap out at him from behind with a savage shout. After he’d gone a few furlongs, he had a sudden mental picture of the Slav nervously traveling north, pausing every little while to make sure the fearsome Roman wasn’t on his trail.

George laughed. He knew he wasn’t particularly fearsome. If the Slav didn’t know that, he wasn’t about to tell him. Even so, George walked a bit more confidently after that.

He got back to Thessalonica a few minutes after sunset, with the last of the evening twilight still staining the sky. “You have a good day out there?” a militiaman at the Litaean Gate asked.

“Pretty good.” George patted the wallet so the guard could see how nicely fat it was. Nodding, the fellow waved him into the city.

A few minutes later, he was back on his own street. People waved to him there, too. He was something of a hero to his neighbors, not for anything he’d actually done while he was trapped outside the city--he had said very little about that, thinking the fewer who knew, the better-- but simply because he’d come back after being given up for lost. Even Claudia called, “God loves you, George,” as he walked by. George wondered how much God had had to do with it, and how much the pagan powers had accomplished. He didn’t argue with Claudia, though. Arguing with Claudia was a losing proposition.

Constantine, Leo’s son, nodded warily to George as they passed on the street. George nodded back. He remembered giving that same sort of wary nod to Irene’s father, back in the days when they were courting and their families were dickering. He supposed that meant Constantine was likely to end up his son-in-law. He sighed. He still thought Sophia might have done better. But then, Irene’s father had thought the same thing about him.

He walked into his shop. Sophia and Theodore let out squeals inconsistent with the adult dignity they usually affected. He hugged them both. Irene came downstairs.

He hugged her, too, and showed her the carcasses of the animals he’d caught on the way to and from Lete.

She ignored them. “That thing you had” --she would not dignify Perseus’ cap by its proper name-- “it’s gone?”

“Yes, it’s gone,” George said.

“You went to and from that place” --Irene would not dignify Lete by its proper name, either--“safely?”

George decided on the instant that she did not need to know about the Slav he’d met in the woods. “Yes,” he answered.

He thought he’d spoken without hesitation. Irene’s face told him he was wrong. But she didn’t press the point, saying instead, “And now that you’re back, you’ll stay here with your own family for a while?”

By a while, he knew she meant something like, the next thirty or forty years. Nevertheless, he said “Yes” again.

This time, he really must have spoken without hesitation. His wife smiled and said “Good” and kissed him. Right then, staying in Thessalonica struck him as a pretty good idea after all.

As if Rufus were making a command decision in the middle of a battle, he grabbed three of the rickety little tables in Paul’s tavern and pulled them into a line. “There,” he declared. “Now we can all sit together.”

Along with Dactylius, Sabbatius, and John, George slid stools over behind the tables. John kept his at one end of the new formation. “I’ll be going on in a while,” he said. “This way, none of you can trip me as I head up to the stage.”

“That’s true,” Rufus said. “We’ll just beat on you when you come back.” He spoke as if he might have been joking--but he might not have been, too.

Paul stepped out from behind the bar and walked over to his fellow militiamen. “First cup’s free tonight, boys,” he said, as he’d been doing since the Slavs and Avars abandoned the siege. George wondered how long such generosity would last. Not much longer, if he knew Paul.

John sipped the wine and made a sour face. “If it weren’t free, it’d be cheap, I can tell you that,” he said.

That’s good, John.” George made as if to applaud. “Go ahead--bite the hand that feeds you.”