I’ll set it down so that I always remember what we did, and yet I might as well say it now that I’ve reached the end. All this happened years and years ago, and I’m an old bastard. I never learnt to read or write. I certainly tried, but I couldn’t seem to make it stick, and so I have to trust that clever Strabo has set it down, for he’s a man grown now and often stops in to see me. I’ve told it to him a piece at a time, and he says he’s writing it on great big rolls of papyrus. Really, I’ve no clue, ’cause my eyesight’s gone, and Strabo jokes that I’m like the blind bard, a second Homer.
