Note: Hellenic moons [or months] were split into three 10-day dekads: waxing, middle, and waning. The calendar was basically a mess and required entire months to be periodically inserted, like a "Second December."

It was the first day of the waning dekad of Poseidon, or so he had been told. Unfortunately he was not free to leave his prison, not even to make observations of the heavens. He did however, have the comfort of his companion, and the good company of Sebastian. He sat naked on the edge of his bed and observed Arlene as she went through her obsessive examination as had been her habit on the first of each dekad since they became the captives of Menander at the Eryhthraen Gates five moons past.

They say my death was foretold for as early as this winter, or into the spring; that I was not to live out the next year.

Bah you fool—soothsaying is not even a proper discipline.

They had predicted the death of Alexander, and know much about you and your work that only senior students could know.

Continue to observe and question and perhaps you will learn.

I never thought that my own modest existence would become the subject of study.

It is the key to understanding these remarkable and hitherto unknown people.

And so he observed Arlene, not with the eyes of the lustful old man that had wondered over her erotic skills a few short hours ago before dawn creased the sky above the house of the dispossessed aristocrat that was now his prison. He looked upon her rather as the ever-categorizing wisdom-lover that he was, wondering at this woman with the mind of a man, a companion with the body of a Spartan maid.

She was a contradictory person on at least two counts. Arlene possessed more medical knowledge and means than had his father, who had been the court physician to the Makedonian King. She was also a better mathematician by half than the best at the akademy—to death surely they had sentenced you my love.

Stop admiring her breasts old fool. It is so very obvious that she has not nursed.

But I am growing to love her.

No you are fading into shadow old man, merely pining for your youth as you gaze at her emerald eyes and maiden form.

Sebastian stood watch at the entrance to the master’s chambers to insure his privacy. The house might have been built in the days of Odysseus, save for its floor of slate, polished by countless generations of the fine Oetaean family who had been so recently and rudely dispossessed of their ancestral home, so that the cruel Spartan adventurer might house his captives in style and secrecy.

Sebastian masquerades as the Spartan’s Sicilian advisor and you the old recluse who takes auguries in secret.

This is absurd. At least the brute does not appreciate the ironic depths of the insult. Aristotle the soothsayer attended by an emerald-eyed witch of Furthest Gaul!

He shall at least permit you to live until he has made off with your treasure.

Her voice came like water as her hand pressed to his chest, “My Dear, relax, it is necessary.”

He relaxed and she struck him with the tool called a reflex hammer, that she claimed would show signs of damage to his mind or an obstruction in the mind’s link to the body.

I think it is just one of their superstitions concerning the linkage. I suppose, however, that it is a good measure of my mechanical health.

Despite the slate floor and walls of lacquered ash planks the place did not echo, for the many tapestries and pelts hanging on the walls. This family had once been renowned hunters who claimed descent from Herakles—don’t they all—buttressed by the lion pelts in the master’s chamber. Her voice soothed him, “Aside from the one adhesion in the low back from not getting enough exercise, you are physically sound.”

She then smiled and whispered, “Your penis and testes are—we know—in perfect working order. I can forgo that portion of your physical.”

I am mud in her hands.

Next she brought into play his favorite diagnostic tool, the one he wished he had in the past, when he made his living in Asia and on Lesbos as a physician: the stethoscope. With this she listed to his lungs and heart and pulse, and even tapped his bones and listened for any signs of breaks or bone disease. She looked up at him and smiled, and produced the mechanical wonder in her kit.

Arlene wrapped the band of strange snakeskin-like material about his arm and used the small bellows attached to it to make it constrict around his arm as she observed a round marked panel enclosed in uncommonly perfect glass which supported a needle which gave her readings. He had avoided questioning her about this odd instrument, which he was initially convinced was some form of soothsaying device. The grip of the thing on his arm was disconcerting at first, but now welcome. Finally, after all these dekads he ventured a guess, “Arlene, is this device for the measuring of my humors? Does it provide you with an indication of my balance?”

She stopped and batted her eyes in contemplation, then looked into his. “That is not strictly the case, although, considering the state of medical knowledge in your Time, I think it is an adequate explanation.”

“My Time? You speak of Time as if it is a place. Have you misspoken?”

“No, but don’t worry Ari, we shall speak of this shortly. As soon as your physical is over.”

She then kissed him tenderly on the lips and produced her candle and mirror for gazing into his throat, ears, and eyes. This was a procedure he was familiar with, and she seemed pleased, almost surprised to find that once again he was sound and free of disease. She completed this portion of the examination and smiled to him again. Sebastian had grown curious concerning the results and had turned about, observing her work. The household could be heard bustling beyond the tapestry depicting a boar hunt on horseback that covered the archway to the great room, beyond which was the kitchen, woman’s wing and servant’s quarters. Arlene gave a commanding glance to Sebastian and he turned about shame-faced.

Something different is about to transpire. The looking light was always her last means of examination.