Near to the quoit there was a great building work underway, with a huge circular rampart and ditch, almost 100 strides in diameter. The boss of the labourers told Og that the warlord had a plan for a fortress. I hoped to meet such a man. Given the scale of his ambition, he would have had some good tales to tell, but he was away at some gathering of the tribes, the foreman said, along with most of the warrior men. Og was most disappointed.
As we walked away, he said, ‘I have friends among them, I’d have liked to introduce you.’
‘How did you come to be enslaved to Ussa if you have friends in such powerful circles?’ I asked. ‘Are you not tempted to run away and seek their protection?’
He shrugged. ‘When I was a boy I was given to Sevenheads, Ussa’s grandfather, to pay a gambling debt of my grandfather’s. I was handsome once, and Ussa took a fancy to me.’
‘Can your friends not negotiate for your freedom?’
‘It doesn’t work like that with Sevenheads.’
I never fully understood it, nor still do now. There are favours and systems of repayment in that land that flow down the generations in ways that we would never tolerate here in the civilised world. And yet the people there seem to act as if there is no other way of living.
From this high point we could see the coast for miles and the ocean seething out forever. It truly felt like the end of the world, the last place before the edge of knowability. I know now this is false, but that day I remember feeling I had searched out the margin of the known universe and was in a place where one false step could tumble me over the edge. I don’t know what it is about the inhabitants of Belerion, but they have had that effect on me each time I have visited them. Yes, I returned to this place. Why else bother going into so much detail about it if it were not to prove significant?
We continued on our way, Og and I, down from the fortification-in-making towards the coast, with its dramatic cliffs where the ocean rolled in and was brought to an abrupt halt, fuming and spraying white foam. We made our way out to a sacred spot on a clifftop, and Og cast some crumbs from his pocket and water from a skin as a libation to a god he called Belenos, who seems to be akin to Apollo, with the power of protecting seafarers from the danger of the ocean.
I would not want to arrive there by boat in a storm, for the rocks make it a treacherous shoreline. I am sure there are local men who can navigate in and out of the narrow coves that they call zawns, most of which are little more than gullies and no good as harbours. We did go to one good beach, backed by a steep cliff, where at low tide there would be hours of easy access by boat, even from a stormy sea. But what you would do with your vessel there at high tide was a mystery to me – behind the beach was nothing but boulders and sheer cliffs. I was reluctant to make the climb but Og was insistent that I see it, so we scrambled down a stream valley to get there. As I panted back up it to get out again, it was quite clear that a boat couldn’t be carried up such a slope.
I asked where people kept their boats. Og merely shrugged. ‘There are places.’
The reason he wanted to visit the beach was to seek the heavy stones from which tin comes. We searched the stream bed and swept the beach but found nothing unusual. I soon bored of the endless stone-picking and of Og’s scornful shake of his head as I showed him yet another cobble that seemed unusually heavy to me. I gave up the hunt and sat on a boulder watching the sea foam up the beach in that hypnotic pulsing that can be gazed upon for as long as you can spare the time, which always soothes the soul and calms the mind and restores the body to balance. I was tired after our long walk, and I had money to buy tin with. I did not need to grope about in cold water for dubious stones. I already had a sack of ingots of the purified mineral in my luggage at Ictis.
‘Yes!’ Og ran towards me with a huge grin on his face and dumped a stone into my outstretched hands. I almost dropped it; the weight was extraordinary for what was otherwise a nondescript dark grey stone that I could not have distinguished from a thousand other sleek wet river cobbles.
He snatched it back with glee. ‘Come on, let’s go to the Bunnies. Just wait till I show Uncle Suil I’ve not lost my touch.’
He set off up the river, across the boulders and then up the steep slope towards the clifftop. I followed as fast as I could. It was a formidable climb and I was tiring after walking all day. At the top he was waiting for me, cheery as a puppy again.
Still, it was a magnificent place, and I enthused at its grandeur as we strode along the clifftop. Ahead of me I could see him nodding in agreement and not a little pride, I think, at my praise of his native country. Waves smashed and plumed against rocks below us and although part of me shuddered at their ferocity, the like of which we never encounter in our own Great Sea, I have to admit it was exciting.
How enjoyable it is to be with someone who is happy, I thought to myself, as Og stopped to show me a white flower. Everything in the world is wonderful when a slave gets a taste of freedom. I wish I could free them all, although of course life here would be impossible if we were to do such a thing. Perhaps where you are it is different.
A bit further along the cliffs, over some more steep gullies, which were a scramble down and a trek back up again, we reached a cluster of stone huts. At the sight of us, the couple of children who were playing outside disappeared indoors and a moment later a woman came out. Evidently recognising Og, she dashed towards us.
‘It’s Auntie Suil.’ Og gathered her into a hug.
‘My heart, what a treat it is to see you.’ She peered up into his face. ‘My, my. You’ve not changed a bit. And how long is it?’
‘Too many years. Is Uncle here?’
‘He’s down the Bunnies, where do you think? And who’s this?’
I was introduced as a friend, interested in the heavy stones, and the woman smiled at me with suspicion in her face. She was swarthy like the trader I’d bought my tin from, but with wide-spaced eyes, a broad forehead and a big mouth. The wrinkles in her face suggested a life of laughter and tears, a life fully lived. But I could see that strangers with interests in tin were not her favourite visitors, and I was spoiling what would otherwise have been a joyful reunion with Og.
‘Shall I leave you two to catch up?’ I offered. But the prospect of a stranger with my interests wandering around unaccompanied was clearly even more alarming to her.
‘No, no. You come along in, the two of you. Where’ve you come from? You must be starving.’
Og was always ravenous, and I was thankful for that as I had also worked up an appetite and would have seemed to be wolfing down the bread and butter we were offered by our hostess, were I not beside him. No free man knows how to eat like a hungry slave. He waved away his aunt’s apologies for not serving us meat. ‘Bread’s what I need.’
I nodded agreement, though some cheese or fish would have been welcome after our long day’s walking. We ate heartily what she gave us, the children watching us intently. It did not occur to me until Og made a rude remark to me later that his family were too poor to offer us anything else and that we probably ate the children’s supper. No wonder the woman’s smile seemed unconvincing.
AT THE BUNNIES
After food, we set off down towards the shore and before long reached the clifftop, where Og told me to watch my feet. Sure enough, there were holes and gulleys and the ground was rough. We picked our way down to a place where we could hear the sound of tools, stone on stone, and voices. Around a corner we looked down into the mouth of a cave, and under the rocky overhang three men were at work. One was grey-haired and beside him hunched two young men – one a burly, dark-haired replica of the old man and the second a lanky youth, with a similar visage – presumably both his sons. The dark-haired youngster was bashing away at a pile of rocks and the other was taking up the pieces and rinsing out the heavy ones using a shovel and a bucket of water. The older man seemed about to head off into the cave depths with a sack when he turned and saw us.
With a single hand gesture he silenced th
e others, their hands literally paused in mid-strike. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Uncle Suil, it’s me, Og.’
Dropping his sack, he strode out from under the overhang, barring the way with what I could now see was his formidable body. He was not tall (I imagine that would be a hindrance to a miner) but he was thickset and it was clear from his posture and his bare arms that he had the strength of a bull. He was dressed head to toe in thick leather except for his arms, and he even wore a leather hat, like a round helmet, with a string under his chin. On anyone else it might have looked comical. On this man, all it did was emphasise the thorny blue eyes that poked from under it. Their glare was directed at me. ‘I don’t welcome visitors. What’s your business?’
I was certain we had made a mistake, but Og seemed strangely relaxed. ‘This is Pytheas,’ he said. ‘He’s from far away south where they have no heavy stone, and he is studying it. He has pockets full of gold but he’s too mean to part with it. He has come to steal your magic and tell everyone your secrets. I’m his right hand man.’
He was grinning at his uncle, who had braced himself as if about to wrestle me to the ground and beat the life out of me.
‘Look, Uncle. I found this on the beach at Pendeen.’ He brought it out from his jerkin. He had lugged that stone all this way, wearing it like a mother carries a child.
His uncle reached out a hand but didn’t take his eyes off me. He weighed the stone that Og proffered and curled up his upper lid in a snarl.
‘It’s a good one, eh? Isn’t it?’ Og said.
‘It’ll do.’ He chucked it behind him without looking at it, and his dark-haired son dodged it as it crashed onto the pile beside him. He picked it up and started to batter it into pieces.
The old man’s eyes were still pinning me to my spot.
‘Like I said, he has gold,’ Og said.
‘There are plenty of traders to buy from in Ictis.’ His accent was thick and I had to work hard to understand him.
‘I will pay you gold just to learn what you do, where you work, how you produce the tin,’ I said. Then, noticing the snarl forming on his lips at my use of the word, I rapidly corrected it to the phrase I had been taught, ‘The casting metal, I mean.’ His face relaxed a little, but he gave no sign of being amenable to my request. At least he was listening to me. I hoped I would make no further blunders of etiquette. ‘I need to prove, when I go home, that I have been to the source of the metal. If I return with the metal itself, it only shows that I met a trader. But my reason to visit you is to understand the way you take it from the earth, to know its origin. I need a guide to its source and I’m willing to pay him handsomely.’
‘How do I know you won’t send an army?’
‘Traders will come after me, but not soldiers. My land is so far away. When have you ever seen or heard of an army from the Mediterranean coming here? It’s not possible.’ I thought about Alexander, to whom nowhere is unconquerable, but I wasn’t going to mention him. I wondered if the old man, like the trader, had experience of the Carthaginians. If he did, he didn’t say so and I had no intention of invoking those warmongers by name.
He was glaring at me, his mouth a thin line. ‘Why should I trust you?’
I offered three gold coins. As he bit down on each one in turn, his face impassive, I said, ‘I seek only knowledge and only what you’ll give willingly. You do not need to show me your deepest secrets, although I am hungry to learn anything you’ll tell me. I will pay you for all you show me. I know that to survive whatever is down there,’ I gestured to the cave mouth, ‘you must have special knowledge. Please share what you can with me. I am sure, though I cannot prove it, that it will increase the value of your metal.’
He fixed me with those piercing eyes, then shook his head and handed me back the coins. He returned to his work, making out he had finished the conversation. I put the coins down on a stone between us and stood, waiting. I noticed him glancing towards me out of the corner of his eye. Og looked at the sky, going nowhere. I took my cue from him, willing Suil to change his mind.
I watched an idea come to him. He looked over at the gold coins and a grin started to form, then he pulled his face back to seriousness. He turned to me, and in a gruff voice said, ‘You’ll get dirty.’
I had won!
He got to his feet and touched the thin youth on the shoulder. ‘Boy, give him your clothes.’
The lanky lad had a face full of amazement but immediately began removing his outer layer.
‘The boots’ll be too big,’ the old man said.
‘No matter.’ I too began shedding clothes. I must have been smiling like a boy given his first real sword. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. The jerkin and leather trousers of the lad were a bit tight on me but not uncomfortable, and the boots were as big as he suggested they would be. But the leather cap was a snug fit. I beamed at the lad and nodded to my clothes. He seemed awkward about wearing them but I didn’t care. I was raring to go.
The old man poured oil into a tallow lamp, a tiny thing of clay, like a cat’s paw. He blew the smouldering fire into a flame, then fed a wick into the little spout and lit it from a birch taper. ‘Do you know how to ask the earth’s permission to enter?’
I shook my head.
A grin of utter mischief crossed his face, then, looking serious again he patted me on the shoulder. ‘Come this way.’
He led me away to a quiet corner beyond the overhang. I am not going to tell you what he had me do. It is a secret that I paid well for and have no need to divulge to anyone, even you. Suffice to say I returned with an offering to the earth, in a pot, which I carried down with me into the underworld. I hoped this man was not simply making fun of me, a gullible foreigner.
UNDERWORLD
It was the darkness that made it wonderful. Darkness reveals mysteries that our eyes hide from us.
When we first entered the cave mouth, the great bright sky was replaced by the wobbling light of the little flame. The roar of the sea, pounding the cliffs, faded into the sullen quietness of rock. I felt as if all my senses were numbing as we penetrated into the depths. All my attention was focused on following the bobbing lamp in front of me and not knocking my head on the roof. You must walk in a strange, crouching way. It is uncomfortable and the passage is so narrow you graze your arms and body against the sides.
‘Is this a natural tunnel?’ I asked.
‘No.’ The reply came from up ahead.
‘Why make it so small?’
‘You’ve never hauled rock, have you?’
That shut me up.
We carried on in silence. The darkness and narrowness began to weigh on me. My back ached from hunching. But we persisted, shuffling along.
Eventually the lamp stopped and I saw the glowing face of Uncle Suil. The flickering lamplight revealed we were in a slightly bigger space, higher if not wider, and there were tools here. We had reached the working edge of the lode. His eyes were gleaming.
I pointed to a glittering strand of rock. ‘So this is it?’
‘No, that’s quartz. This is what we’re here for.’ He stroked a band of dark, pinkish rock.
It was freshly hewn. I touched it and it felt no different from any other stone but I could see that it formed a distinct band within the granite to either side. I imagined him working his way along the lode. There was barely enough height to throw a hammer.
‘The falling rock must be dangerous,’ I said.
‘There aren’t many of us with all our fingers.’ He held his right hand up and sure enough, there was a digit missing.
We each said nothing for a while. We were in the depths of the earth. I felt the rock pressing in on me.
‘I am here at the frontier,’ I said, more to myself than to him. ‘This is the source.’
‘This is where it comes from. The mother’s vein, this is, you can hear her heart beating.’
It was true: there was a deep, throbbing, sound. Perhaps a distant rumble of the waves, or perha
ps it was what he said it was.
‘You love it in here, don’t you?’ It sounded trite as soon as it was out of my mouth.
‘Where’s your pot?’ he replied.
I brought it out from where I’d tucked it into his son’s jerkin.
‘You can empty it there, in that corner, see, far side of the spoil.’ He reached over with the lamp over so its light licked a cavity.
I caught my breath. A creature sat there, eyes glowing. Suil put down the lamp and moved away with a chuckle that I can’t say sounded benign.
‘Feed the mother’s little helper. Go on. Feeding time.’ His voice was sing-song and strange ‘Fee-ee-eeding time.’
I am not a person who is easily frightened but there was something beyond the natural about what I was looking at. I was deep underground with a man who I did not know. He laughed like a demon and his voice echoed; I was not sure if only he was laughing, or also this weird creature sitting in the alcove.
‘What is it?’ I asked. He only laughed harder.
Then it began to rise from its spot, lifting up off its perch, and into the jumping light of the lamp. My heart lurched as I saw its face fully, eyes glowing with flames and long, slimy hair over its mouth.
The Amber Seeker Page 4
