Theria, what with her love of her land and her love of mere knowing, felt actually ill from all this bafflement.
Late in the afternoon she caught Lycophron walking across the aula.
“Lycophron, stay with me! Talk with me only a little while. I’ll have Olen bring wine and the fresh cakes.”
“Now, Sis, what are you up to?” he asked. Her eyes were wide and starry. At such times they had the look of being new opened like a child’s.
“And Circe put wine before the Mariners,” he quoted, laughing. She finished the lines.
“You rogue,” he said. “I believe you know the whole of Homer by heart. Very improper for a girl.”
“No, I don’t; I only know most of the Odyssey. But don’t talk about that, please. Oh, please tell me of the war.” She caught his arm pleadingly. “Nobody but you will ever tell me anything. I am not afraid about the war.”
“But you’d better be,” he said shortly.
“Old Baltè says the great king is a god who makes the land a sea and the sea dry land.”