The storm split roofs and hurled boats ashore, uprooting trees, damaging walls.
Slowly, the old town pulls itself together.
Old town—you have seen many storms during your centuries. Is it true, you let this one slip past you and sent it to sea? You should have kept it! You can withstand battering better than a small ship! Is it true, what the fishermen say, that many were drowned?
Men and boys go about town, picking up tiles to load their baskets.
Driftwood clutters the beach.
P
Men were hurling stones, grabbing them off the beach and throwing them. I heard them hit Pittakos and saw him stagger, his flapping rags jerking, his arm flung over his eyes. Silent, feet wide apart, he stayed his ground.
Alcaeus, facing the sea, lidless-eyed, roared and lunged about, arms extended, yelling:
“Kill him...kill him...let me wring his neck!”
Beside him, the madman off the raft, howled and hurled stones.