John William Waterhouse The SirenJohn William Waterhouse The Lady ClareJohn William Waterhouse FloraJohn William Waterhouse Circe offering the Cup to Ulysses
Next day the ship rounded a headland and the bay of Ephebe lay before it, with the city a white smudge on the horizon which time and distance turned into a spilling of blindingly white houses, all the way up a rock.
It seemed of considerable interest to Sergeant Simony. Brutha had not exchanged a word with him. And always silent, except when spoken to. Brutha tried to be friends.
"Looks very . . . white, doesn't it?" he said. "The city. Very white. Sergeant Simony?"
The sergeant turned slowly, and stared at Brutha.
Vorbis's gaze was dreadful. Vorbis looked through your head to the sins inside, hardly interested in you except as a vehicle for your sins. But Simony's glance was pure, simple hatred.
Brutha stepped back.Fraternization between clergy and soldiers was not encouraged; there was a certain tendency to unholiness about soldiers . . .Brutha, left to his own devices again as the crew made ready for port, watched the soldier carefully. Most soldiers were a bit slovenly and generally rude to minor clergy. Simony was different. Apart from anything else, he gleamed. His breastplate hurt the eyes. His skin looked scrubbed.The sergeant stood at the prow, staring fixedly as the city drew nearer. It was unusual to see him very far away from Vorbis. Wherever Vorbis stood there was the sergeant, hand on sword, eyes scanning the surroundings for . . . what?
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