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depend their own estates, granted by kings for Her worship. They also fight a tendency, mostly in the cities, to elevate as deities our ancestors: those mighty Heroes of olden time, founders of royal Houses, Zeus and Poseidon.
    But I digress - a tedious vice belonging to ageing men.
    Within a couple of days Diores and Gelon between them organized the running of Rhipe out-of-doors and in. I was given a hundred sheep and banished to grazing grounds a morning's march from the manor: my realm for seven moons, a spread­ing river valley ramparted by hills. My companions, besides the sheep, were two spearmen and a surly-tempered dog: the spearmen a condition that Atreus commanded; he had told Diores I was not to be left unguarded while shepherding the flocks. We repaired dilapidated folds and huts which com­manded grazing areas, rebuilt walls and roofed the huts with tamarisk fronds on olive-wood rafters.
    So began an idyll I gratefully remember, a happy, carefree interlude never to be repeated. I saw to the year's first mating, ensured the rams shirked none of their work and favoured all the ewes. Spring drifted into summer, hot sunlight faded the flowers - hyacinth and crocus, violet and lily - and sucked aromatic scents from herbs and grasses. I discarded my woollen tunic, wore deerskin boots and knee-high leggings to guard against the thorn scrub of Rhipe's rocky hillsides. A short spear and dagger completed my equipment - everyone, slaves ex­cepted, always has a dagger at the belt: an all-purpose imple­ment for shaving, hair-cutting, carving food and whittling during idle afternoons.
    At every dawn and sunset I inspected and counted my charges, collected stragglers and rolled silly fat ewes to their feet. Otherwise I basked in the sun or drowsed under shady trees. The hillsides' grassy slopes, dotted by white fleeces, fell from forested heights to a willow-tasseled stream meandering through the valley: a fragrant sun-drenched kingdom I re­garded as my own. Occasionally I bade the dog - an obedient creature despite his snarls - to retrieve a wandering wether. I cut flutes from streamside reeds and piped melodious tunes that tinkled in the still clear air like raindrops falling on water. I rolled dice with my guardian spearmen, breakfasted on wheat- cakes spread with honey, dined on cheese and barley-bread and figs washed down by rough red wine. At night, cloak-wrapped against the dew, I lay on a couch of grass beneath a sky black- purple and counted the glittering stars. Doubtless it rained from time to time, but my memory pictures days that were ever bright and golden.
    Every seventh day Diores paid us visits and brought baggage- laden slaves to replenish our supplies. He examined every sheep, prodded pregnant ewes and ran fingers through their fleeces. Early in the summer I was warned to prepare for shear­ing, and spent laborious days washing struggling sheep in the stream. Then Diores arrived with a shearing team and ox-carts to carry the wool. 'We'll have a good crop,' he said content­edly, sitting beneath a willow and watching the knives at work. 'In high summer you'll be lambing; send word to the manor before it starts and I'll send you men to help.' He paused, and frowned at the forests that canopied the hills. You've seen nobody in the woods?'
    'Nobody,' I said, surprised. 'Why? Whom would you ex­pect?' Diores beckoned a spearman and led him aside. Intrigued by his question I strained my ears to hear what he said.
    'You scout the forests, Echion, as I instructed?'
    'Regularly, my lord, and find not a soul. They were there last winter: you can tell by the bitten-down saplings.'
    'Um. They shouldn't be down from the mountains for many moons yet. Keep a sharp watch, Echion, when the leaves begin to wither.'
    'I will, my lord.'
    When Diores and his workmen went I questioned Echion, who shrugged and muttered something about boar attacking the flock. I thought the fellow stupid: I had walked every pace of the grazing