Post by siobhan on Dec 2, 2014 0:13:51 GMT 7
An Incident in the Harbour at Troy
The most mild mannered man – as Arslip was – can change when in contact with power, even something so down-to-earth as an ox. Respectful he was to his hatchet-tongued wife, who in all fairness, was a bit of a bully, loving to his 5 children – daughters and sons alike, yet put him on the wagon behind his ox, making his bi-annual trip with his harvest of oats and wheat into Troy to sell to the civic authorities, and his mild manners deserted him. With ponderous slowness he took possession of the road and kept it against all comers – lowly peasant, aristos, even royal messengers had to give way with much annoyance to Arslip and his ox. But in Troy the stubbornness of Arslip had to give way before the intransigence of the civic officials who directed him to take his produce to the granaries of the docks rather than those of the citadel.
'We're full,' they said. 'The farmers of Ida got the harvest in first this year, take your load down to the docks for redistribution,' and the hulking monolith that was Arslip, his ox and his wagon had to take the road out of the citadel and down to the docks. He drove along the street, sulkily allowing his ox to shovel people aside with a scowl on his face for all the extra trouble he had to take, calculating the loss of profit because now he'd have to stay overnight, bed and board for himself, bed and board for the ox, somewhere to leave the wagon where thieving rogues wouldn't get their hands on it.
Now his ox, well, it wasn't a stupid beast, but it was a bit of a lazy one and his attitude to his driver was...'You're the one in charge so you'd better do your job – right?' So when the road veered left to avoid going into the unloading area of the dock, the ox carried straight on, straight into and then through a trestle table piled high with squid, pausing, for a brief moment of uncharacteristic curiosity, to peer short-sightedly at the glistening, tentacled things in his path. The irate fisherman trying to flog them threw one at the ox in an attempt to deflect him from his path, and the squid landed on his horn. The ox kept going, oblivious, as sailors scrambled for the safety of their ships, merchants cursed and the small boys gawped and jeered, having first nimbly hopped out of the way. Arslip finally managed to stop his ox, who looked vaguely festive with the squid dangling from his horn. Red-faced, and no longer the (slow) demon of the road, giving way to no-one, he hauled the beast around and out of the unloading area, grimly aware that he'd demolished another trestle table with the wagon as he did so.
An almighty crash behind him set the seal on his misery, but he needn't have worried, it wasn't his fault, or only indirectly so – a Greek trireme, the captain doubled up laughing at the sight of Arslip's ox ploughing through the dock side, had rammed a ship flying the royal colours of Thebes-in-Mysia. Arslip slunk away with his ox, the curses of two captains ringing in his ears.
The most mild mannered man – as Arslip was – can change when in contact with power, even something so down-to-earth as an ox. Respectful he was to his hatchet-tongued wife, who in all fairness, was a bit of a bully, loving to his 5 children – daughters and sons alike, yet put him on the wagon behind his ox, making his bi-annual trip with his harvest of oats and wheat into Troy to sell to the civic authorities, and his mild manners deserted him. With ponderous slowness he took possession of the road and kept it against all comers – lowly peasant, aristos, even royal messengers had to give way with much annoyance to Arslip and his ox. But in Troy the stubbornness of Arslip had to give way before the intransigence of the civic officials who directed him to take his produce to the granaries of the docks rather than those of the citadel.
'We're full,' they said. 'The farmers of Ida got the harvest in first this year, take your load down to the docks for redistribution,' and the hulking monolith that was Arslip, his ox and his wagon had to take the road out of the citadel and down to the docks. He drove along the street, sulkily allowing his ox to shovel people aside with a scowl on his face for all the extra trouble he had to take, calculating the loss of profit because now he'd have to stay overnight, bed and board for himself, bed and board for the ox, somewhere to leave the wagon where thieving rogues wouldn't get their hands on it.
Now his ox, well, it wasn't a stupid beast, but it was a bit of a lazy one and his attitude to his driver was...'You're the one in charge so you'd better do your job – right?' So when the road veered left to avoid going into the unloading area of the dock, the ox carried straight on, straight into and then through a trestle table piled high with squid, pausing, for a brief moment of uncharacteristic curiosity, to peer short-sightedly at the glistening, tentacled things in his path. The irate fisherman trying to flog them threw one at the ox in an attempt to deflect him from his path, and the squid landed on his horn. The ox kept going, oblivious, as sailors scrambled for the safety of their ships, merchants cursed and the small boys gawped and jeered, having first nimbly hopped out of the way. Arslip finally managed to stop his ox, who looked vaguely festive with the squid dangling from his horn. Red-faced, and no longer the (slow) demon of the road, giving way to no-one, he hauled the beast around and out of the unloading area, grimly aware that he'd demolished another trestle table with the wagon as he did so.
An almighty crash behind him set the seal on his misery, but he needn't have worried, it wasn't his fault, or only indirectly so – a Greek trireme, the captain doubled up laughing at the sight of Arslip's ox ploughing through the dock side, had rammed a ship flying the royal colours of Thebes-in-Mysia. Arslip slunk away with his ox, the curses of two captains ringing in his ears.
