I shook my head. ‘I liked it here last time. I met interesting people. You have a beautiful garden and there is a gentleness about the place. I thought it would be a good place to prepare myself for the final leg of my journey.’
‘Yes, we are quiet here. We like serenity.’
‘Serenity. Yes, that’s it.’
‘You didn’t come to see anyone in particular?’
She was clearly probing me for something. This was encouraging.
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Unless you know something of the whereabouts of a girl called Rian or a lonely stash of tin.’
‘So you know that Rian lives here?’
‘Here?’
She nodded. I must have acted surprised enough for her to believe it was news to me.
‘She lives here?’
She nodded again.
‘I had no idea.’
She said nothing.
‘Is her hair still the colour of this?’ I pulled out the amber bear.
The Keeper smiled briefly, but there was glinting stone in her eyes. She said nothing. The idea that Rian was here itched at me. I might see her, talk with her. Would she remember any of the Greek words I had tried to teach her?
‘Can I see her?’
‘Why do you want to see her?’
This person asked too many questions.
‘We travelled to the northern ocean together. We had incredible experiences. She’s beautiful.’
I am putting off telling you about our meeting, I know this. If I tell you every detail of the build-up to that moment, I may be able to defer it forever. Could I write in that much detail? I doubt it. I do not have the skill and my memory keeps jumping forward, to later, and I have to force myself to dwell on the period just beforehand, to interrogate myself about every nuance and inflection of thought, each phrase I exchanged with this lily-woman.
Why do I not just go on, get it over with? I could state it all so simply, but I want to pause here remembering the agony of believing Rian was close by. And the wondering, the doubt, the fear, the shame; I should admit to you that is what I felt.
Why should I be fearful, you may ask? Isn’t it obvious? How was she going to feel? It is so difficult to consider someone else’s inner state, especially someone like her, closed creature that she is. To care without knowledge is a curse. I knew she could not feel for me how I felt for her. I knew there was no reciprocation, that there could not be, and yet of course I could not help but hope, or at least wish. I wondered if I would still feel the same about her when I saw her, whether I would still find her lovely, though I couldn’t harbour that doubt for long. And I feared the worst: that she would remember me with disgust.
‘Does she hate me?’
The Keeper stood up and my eyes followed her so I found myself in a position of pleading, beseeching. It was a foolish question, heartfelt but stupid, and of course she didn’t answer.
‘When this boat leaves are you remaining with us, or going with them? I gathered that you want to go south across the Channel, is that right?’
I nodded assent and she continued.
‘You are welcome to stay with us, if you will work with us, until a boat comes that can take you. Perhaps you would be willing to do a copy of a manuscript for us. I will show you to a room where you can sleep and write. And we will see what can be done about an ingot.’
‘You’re very kind.’ I didn’t know if I dared ask, but I had to. ‘And Rian? Where will I find her?’
‘She is not on the island.’
‘Where is she?’ Were all my hopes to be dashed?
Scorn crossed her face. I saw that she thought I was completely naive, and then she composed herself. ‘I am not at liberty to say.’ She closed the shutter. I realised she was waiting for me to get up. ‘Are you ready?’
I pressed on. ‘My child. She had my child, my children, are they here?’
She hesitated.
‘They are, aren’t they?’
She would not meet my eye and I felt sure this meant the answer was yes.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, rising.
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘For boring you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
I was affronted, but her manner was now more garlic than lily and I wondered what she actually knew about me, what Rian had told people. I followed her out of the hut and around its side, and then up along the path running around the island, spiralling upwards towards the top of the hill. She strode, but not fast, and occasionally stopped to point out details of walling. By a strange piece, she said, ‘This was built by the old Keepers of the Moon. See the way it runs.’ She drew my attention to distant landmarks that appeared as we got higher, and showed me some flowers newly in bloom. She did all of this without appearing to desire any response and I was not in the mood to say anything to her.
When we stopped, I realised she had brought me to exactly the same place I had stayed the first time I was there, the same cell, with a small bed, two shelves in one corner and a bench outside to sit on and look down on the beach. I put my bundle down on the bed and she picked a pitcher off a shelf and showed me where I could fill it with fresh water from a barrel, and where I should relieve myself. They were fastidious about cleanliness on this island. I remembered it was something I had liked about the place.
She left me alone then and I dithered about, eventually lying on my bed, trying to imagine what I would do if Rian appeared, then realising that of course she wouldn’t and instead wondering where my children might be. I had an urge to go looking, but I resisted it.
A blooming honeysuckle smelled delicious near to my cell. Why do I call it a cell? I felt like I was a bee in a hive. It was not possible to have an independent will on Ictis; some Queen sprit ruled there and all the rest of us were drones or workers.
The blossom wafted billows of soft nectar-perfume through the door of my cell, drawing me out to sit on the bench outside, leaning against the wall as the sun idled westwards. A blackbird sang its desirous song, which seemed to contain all the longing there is.
There were many other sounds too: the quiet croaking of frogs in a pond somewhere nearby, part of their clever irrigation or water-holding system no doubt; twittering hidden birds; bees in flowers, humming; the shush-aaah of the breathing waves out on the beach.
Eventually I went to find the sailors, drank enough so that I could sleep, and returned to my cell to wait.
Knowing Rian was hiding somewhere nearby, the guilt that I had been burying for three years finally erupted into my consciousness. I realised I must confess it fully, the deed I had done. Some men would say it is no crime, a mere commonplace, an act of normal nature, even a right. But I now know this cannot be. It would be an excuse, a pretence, to ignore my instinct, my certainty, that my behaviour, if not a crime, had wronged her.
What I did to Rian required a kind of violence in my soul that I have not mustered in any combat with a man, not that I have encountered much of that, I have to admit. I have never been in battle, but the few times I have been attacked and have had to defend myself involved a furious, righteous form of violence that left me feeling breathless and excited. That night on the ocean when I laid Rian down beside me and took her virginity was different. It was more like an act of theft, a stealing away, furtively and full of dread, with something beautiful that was not mine to take. It was like the killing of a small and exquisite creature for its fur. Some men may use euphemisms of seduction, or the language of the marketplace, but I must eventually confess to rape and admit to the true nature of my deed.
She said, ‘No.’ In that little voice. And then again. ‘No.’
I have heard a better man than me describe himself as having made his slave a woman by such an act. All I know is that I unmade myself as a man by it. To this day I have never recovered myself entirely. I meet the broken edges of who I was up until that night, but never again have I known myself wh
ole. I must break off now, finding one of those fractures within, which still hurts as much as it did when it was broken. If this is what it feels like to me, what must it have been like for her? I do not dare to imagine.
ICTIS
THE MEETING
The Keeper came back in the morning. I can’t remember her name, so I’ll just refer to her as ‘the Lily’.
I was sitting outside on my bench looking out at nothing: a thick sea fog was in, and the sea was almost silent, barely whispering over the shingle and sand. She approached from somewhere higher up the hill. My attention was drawn by the sound of children: a squeal, laughter, more squeals. There were the two of you, boy and girl, both fair-haired, being led by a nursemaid, walking alongside the Lily on the wide path. I saw the children around her, like ivy around a tree. I looked again at the honeysuckle clambering over the willow behind my cell.
‘Good morning,’ I said. My voice quavered.
The maid pushed you two children in front of her, her hands on your shoulders, and you both stared at me.
‘This is Pytheas,’ the Lily said. ‘He just said ‘good morning’ to you. Are you going to answer him?’
The two of you said absolutely nothing, guarding your voices from this unknown danger, but poking at me with your sharp eyes to make me speak again. I had the sense of what you might do with pointy sticks if you encountered a slow-moving animal.
‘How are you?’ I said. Four eyes looked down. I sensed some kind of intense communication happening between the two of you. You looked quite different from each other, yet in that moment it was as if you had a single consciousness. Two fair heads, a skinny, narrow-faced boy, a chubby, dimpled girl, one curious but wary soul shared between you. I intuited that immediately, I am sorry to confess, but in what happened from that moment I did not allow my intuition to guide me. I see now, looking back, that all the errors I have made in my life come down to ignoring my instincts, letting my rational mind be fed by greed and allowing it to govern my actions.
Although I don’t remember exactly what the Lily and I said to each other that morning, I do remember it was all banal, stilted pleasantries exchanged over the barricade of the two of you.
I asked you, my children, what your names were.
‘Soyea and Cleat.’ The nursemaid spoke for you.
The Lily explained. ‘These are the names of two islands close to Rian’s home.’ A pause. ‘They wanted to meet you.’
I registered all that this remark implied. They must know I was their father. ‘They must be a handful.’
‘They keep me busy when Rian’s away.’ The nursemaid chuckled.
‘Rian’s away,’ I repeated.
She looked at the Lily, who nodded and said, ‘We have heard Ussa the trader is in the vicinity. I believe you will understand why Rian does not want to encounter her.’
Of course I did. ‘So meanwhile you must take care of her children.’ I looked sympathetically at the maid. You see, I made sure to establish early on that you were a burden. And then I set about wooing you.
The Lily bowed to me. ‘I must return to my work.’ She turned away back up the hill, leaving the children in the care of the nursemaid, who looked as if shyness would overcome her now that her protector had gone.
‘Come inside.’ I gestured in, but she shook her head. I got up from the bench. ‘Then sit, please.’ She did, if a little reluctantly, the two of you on her left hand side. I crouched, looking up into your faces.
I found myself fascinated by the two of you. I did not know how to win your confidence but I could at least be interested and nod and express approval of all I learned. I asked the maid all manner of questions, which she answered at first in monosyllables, and then, gradually, as if she was relaxing slightly, if only slightly, she began adding a little more in the way of explanation.
I established that you were just past your third birthdays, that you were staying on Ictis only until Rian returned, when you would probably be going somewhere north for the summer, that your favourite food was honey and cakes and that you liked playing on the beach better than anything.
Then I said I wanted to make a note, and I ducked into my cell and fetched out my writing tools. I hoped it might impress you. I explained that I liked to write the name of everyone I met, so I would remember them.
‘Have you seen anyone writing?’ I asked the two of you. I unrolled a parchment scroll with a flourish, waved my quill close to your noses as if going to tickle you with the feather and then did the same, cheekily, with the maid. There was almost a giggle from you at that. Your grumpy little sibling remained deadpan of course, but I knew I had the interest of both of you by your wide eyes. I set about making some ink, scraping my stick against the block and adding a little water. ‘Do you want to stir it?’ I proffered the stirrer. You both shook your little heads, but at least you were responding to me.
I stirred vigorously and then dipped my quill into the ink. I lifted it out and threatened to write your names on the ends of your noses. Your hands came up to cover your faces.
‘Whose name will I write first? Rian?’
I penned the letters carefully, spelling it out. Then I did the same with Cleat and Soyea, and your eyes were big green pools of wonder.
‘Do you want to try?’
‘Don’t waste your parchment,’ the nursemaid said.
‘What? It’s not waste. A child’s first letters? They’re as precious as a child’s first steps.’
One by one, the two of you took the quill, and tried to scribble with it. You were much the better of two of you. That’s why I have some confidence, writing to you, that you’ll be able to read what I have laid out here at such length. Not that either of you managed actually to write, but your scrawl at least resulted in a mark on the page that might evolve into a letter, with practice. Still you both seemed to enjoy playing with the feather and making splats with the ink.
‘It’s a kind of magic, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘Perhaps next time you’re on the beach you can write your names with sticks in the sand.’
I could see you liked this idea
‘We’d better go,’ the nursemaid said, getting to her feet. I got out of the way, so you could slip down from the bench.
‘Well, thank you for coming to see me. I’ve enjoyed meeting you.’ I meant it. I was pleased to have been able to make you this gift of writing.
‘Say thank you to Pytheas.’
‘Thank you,’ you both said together, your first words to me. I can’t tell you how moving it was, what a sense of achievement it brought. I had given you something worthwhile, sown real seeds.
GREED
I was taking my morning walk after breakfast, before I settled to my scribing duties for the Keepers. As with each day, I walked out to where I could see the sea horizon, scanning for ships. Riding in to the calm water behind the island – the tide was high – was a boat I knew intimately, its white-coated proprietor at the stern. As they approached the wooden jetty, lowering the sail, the boat passed beneath my view. As you can imagine all kinds of emotion arose at the sight of Rón, trepidation not the least, but I found myself hurrying down to meet the boat, like a drinker after a period of abstinence.
That woman. She was already on land by the time I reached the shore, shouting instructions to her slaves to unload her goods. I didn’t have time to observe her before she recognised me, but the creature who strode towards me, arms outstretched, was, despite the eye-patch, still the same glamorous harpy of my first visit to this island. So the world goes around, and around again. She hailed me as if I were her favourite son. ‘Pytheas!’ Was there a tinnier note to her voice? Her face was still full, her body strong, her presence utterly in command.
I smiled into the hawk’s eye, accepted her embrace and, with a squeeze, said, ‘So, Ussa. I’m glad to see you. You owe me some tin.’
I pulled away to see her laughing at me.
‘And how’s that?’ she said.
‘There was a sack of my
tin in the boat when you abandoned me to the mercy of the Greatmother.’
‘You’re not feared, are you?’
‘Not of you, no.’
‘I got a good price for you.’ She was still smiling but her eye had narrowed.
I stared straight back.
She glanced behind her. Two of her slaves were approaching, big, brawny men as she always had. Behind them a tall robed man was clambering off the boat. I didn’t recognise any of them. But then Ussa was looking beyond me, re-fixing her smile, and I turned. A group of six Keepers was approaching, the Lily at the front.
‘You’ll get your tin.’ Ussa spoke without adjusting her wide, false, smile. Then she stepped aside. ‘Greetings, Keepers! I am honoured to be here again. I hope all is well on fair Ictis?’
The obsequious tones of her diplomacy made me squirm, and several of the Keepers couldn’t hide their revulsion. The Lily, of course, was a model of composure.
‘Ussa. I will not pretend that you are welcome. What is your business here?’
‘The druid was wanting a lift here.’ She gestured at the tall man. One of the Keepers had run forward to hug him. I guessed he was her father. ‘And there’s always trade.’
‘It is not the season.’
‘The season! This is the modern world! Look, this man understands.’ She pointed at me. ‘It’s always the season, everywhere but here, for trade.’
‘As you said, not here. You may take your goods elsewhere.’
I had not heard the Lily speak with quite such acid tones before, and to my surprise, Ussa was bristling and talked back.
‘People everywhere else flock to me to exchange what they have for what they want.’
‘You feed on greed, and greed alone.’
‘I nurture desire, that’s all.’ She tossed her head and allowed her voice to drop in pitch. ‘People like to possess things. See Pytheas here, he’s travelled half way around the world, and what’s the first thing he asks me? Where’s his tin? I have exactly what he wants. You have only ideas, and faith, and rituals.’
The Amber Seeker Page 20
