'FO SAIL beyond the world-"
Hanno's voice faded away. Pytheas looked sharply at him. Against the plain, whitewashed room where they sat, the Phoenician seemed vivid, like a flash of sunlight from outside. It might only be due to the brightness of eyes and teeth or a skin tan even in winter. Otherwise he was ordinary, slender and supple but of medium height, features aquiline, hair and neatly trimmed beard a crow's-wing black. He wore an unadorned tunic, scuffed sandals, a single gold finger ring.
"You cannot mean that," said the Greek.
Hanno came out of reverie, shook himself, laughed. "Oh, no. A trope, of course. Though it would be well to make sure beforehand that enough of your men do believe we live on a sphere. They'll have ample terrors and troubles without fearing a plunge off the edge into some abyss."
"You sound educated," said Pytheas slowly.
"Should I not? I have traveled, but also studied. And you, sir, a learned man, a philosopher, propose to voyage into the sheerly unknown. You actually hope to come back." Hanno picked a goblet off the small table between them and sipped of the tempered wine that a slave had brought. Pytheas shifted on his stool. A charcoal brazier had made the room close as well as warm. His lungs longed for a breath of clean air. "Not altogether unknown," he said. "Your people go that far. Lykias told me you claim to have been there yourself."