Chapter 4 – One Sided
After ordering a crew member, whose name he did not attempt to remember, to jump overboard and retrieve his spear, Commander Narzissonius turned around and walked the length of his ship. He wiped the blood off the spear tip and onto somebody else’s tunic. He lifted the instrument up to his eyes again to make sure his chiseled visage was still visible.
Indeed.
He walked past row after row of exhausted oarsmen until he reached his scribe, Insipides. Insipides had observed the ordeal with great disinterest.
“What seems to be the problem, Sir?” Insipides asked though he desperately wanted to know of nothing less.
“There is no problem,” said Narzissonius but was clearly ready to follow up with something.
Insipides seized the small opportunity to wriggle free.
“Very good. I’ll be returning to my chambers then,” he said while turning away.
“I just… well, I'm just feeling a bit off today,” Narzissonius said.
Insipides cringed. “Off Sir?”
“Yes, unquestionably off.”
“Regarding our navigation mishap? I assure you that the navigator responsible for this embarrassing situation will be punished most…”
“No, those things don't concern me.”
“They don't? Then what Sir?”
“I’ve been thinking a great deal… about life… and death… and dying,” he said with a look of thickly padded thoughtfulness.
Insipides took a long breath and anticipated the worst.
“I don’t know if you saw it, but I stabbed a man today Insipides. I stabbed him right in his beating heart.”
“Yes, I saw,” Insipides said, “Though, I believe the point of entry was the abdomen.”
An overwrought sigh escaped Narzissonius’ lips. “Do you know how much I use to enjoy that? Impaling people? What a feeling. And now, well, it just doesn't feel the same.”
“What has changed?”
“Nothing. Nothing has changed,” Narzissonius scoffed, “That’s the problem. That is the very problem.”
“Have you considered beating someone with a mace?” Insipides offered.
At his own suggestion, Insipides pictured himself bringing a mace down upon the Commanders’ head. A brief sensation of warmth filled his cheeks.
“Yes, yes, I've tried the mace, just the other day. It just felt like every other blunt pummelling device,” said Narzissonius as he rubbed his forehead.
“Run over someone with a chariot?”
A similar mental picture ensued. Narzissonius’ mangled arms helplessly flailed beneath the wooden wheels before dropping limply into the mud.
“Yes, just last week, it was quick and disappointing.”
“Have you tried…?”
Narzissonius held out a halting hand.
“Stop talking. It’s not the technique. It's the killing itself. These days, I just kill a man, and then he dies, and then I look at him, and then that's it. That-is-it,” he said while angrily motioning to an imaginary dead person lying before him.
Insipides too stared at the imaginary dead person and said, “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. How could you? You haven’t killed a man in your life.”
Insipides’ free hand clenched shut.
Narzissonius continued:
“Where is the recognition? Where is the acknowledgment? If he could simply acknowledge that I killed him, then maybe it would mean something to me.”
“Sir…”
“It’s just such a one-sided relationship.”
Insipides worded his response in his head several times before saying it out loud.
“You want the dead man to acknowledge… that you just killed him?”
Narzissonius’ face lit up briefly.
“Yes, something like that. Otherwise, killing just feels like a thankless deed.”
Narzissonius was unique in being the only person that could reliably surprise Insipides.
“Well Sir, it’s not exactly…”
“I don’t think I’m being unreasonable,” Narzissonius said flatly.
“But…”
“You aren't allowed to say that I am being unreasonable.”
“No Sir.”
Already in a dangerously confessional mood, Narzissonius decided to delve into other unrelated concerns he had accumulated.
“Also, I feel like nobody appreciates what I do,” he said while resting his burdened head upon his palm.
Insipides groaned quietly to himself.
“Of course they do.”
“There’s been talk,” Narzissonius said covertly.
“Talk, Sir?”
“Yes, there’s been talk. And I don’t like it.”
“Talk of what?”
Narzissonius did not answer but looked straight into Insipides eyes for as long as he could stand.
“Do you appreciate me Insipides?” he asked in a hushed voice.
“I… of course I do Sir.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes… you are a great leader,” Insipides said, forcing each word out as if they were made of jagged stones.
Narzissonius gave an unsurprised nod. “Well yes, that is true.”
Insipides nodded.
“You know what Insipides? Something must be done.”
“About what?”
“About… everything, everything that is going wrong on this ship.”
“How should we proceed?”
“What are today’s sacrifices?” asked Narzissonius while tickling the hair beneath his lip.
Still lost, Insipides took out his clay tablet which served as his daily planner1. He moved his finger across the carved symbols.
“Well, today is Tuesday… so, we shall sacrifice a boar to Ares for victory in battle, a goat to Zeus for calm skies, and an ox to Poseidon so that he may think twice about smiting us for no reason2.
“Double it,” Narzissonius declared.
“Double what?”
“Double it all.” His clenched hands opened upon the word all.
“But…”
“Can’t you see? We aren’t doing enough. All of these problems exist because the gods are not pleased with us. You know how the gods are.”
“Well yes, but what have we done to warrant such a…”
“Doesn’t matter. You must know what happened to Agamemnon. Despite all his planning, he had to sacrifice his own daughter to Artemis for favorable winds. The gods demand our gifts. Yes, sometimes capriciously, but if we relax our efforts for just one moment… just one moment,” Narzissonius trailed off.
Insipides nodded and pretended to make a note on his clay tablet.
Narzissonius glanced over to Insipides.
“You don’t have a daughter, do you?” he asked.
“No Sir.”
“Sorry, stupid question. What sad woman would… well, the point is, we need more offerings. We all need to double our efforts,” Narzissonius said before pausing, “Nay, redouble our efforts. We need to redouble them Insipides.”
Insipides performed the math.
“So, you want me to quadruple our daily sacrifices?”
“Quadruple? What are you mad? We’re trying to please the gods, not engorge them.”
“But Sir.”
“Can you do anything Insipides besides disappoint?”
Insipides saw this as a good place to jettison from the conversation. “I completely agree. I’ll begin the preparations right away.”
Insipides turned to walk away, but Narzissonius grabbed him by the arm.
“You know Insipides, if we struck a rock, gods forbid, and we had to jump into lifeboats, you are the last person I would choose to be in mine. I want you to know that. I would take on empty crates and furniture before I would let you on. You are the last one.”
“Yes, Sir.”
- Translator's Note: Clay was a flexible material. If kept wet, it could be reused, or if fired, it could serve as a permanent record. Also, if you had crippling writer’s block, you could mold it into a giraffe or something. ↩︎
- Translator's Note: Poseidon would smite people for one of three reasons: either you incurred his wrath, you were standing in front of someone who had incurred his wrath, or unluckiest of all, the god had excess wrath and not enough people incurring it. ↩︎