Desert God

by Smith, Wilbur

  ‘Please forgive me, Lord Taita. I should have explained more fully. I assumed that you understood what was happening.’ He looked truly abashed. ‘That was the marriage ceremony we have just witnessed.’

  I could not remember when last I had been at a loss for anything intelligent or witty to say, but at last I rallied, although I could hear my voice croak as I spoke. ‘I don’t understand, Toran. I asked about the wedding of my Egyptian princesses.’

  ‘That was the wedding. They are no longer princesses. They are now Minoan queens. You and I have accomplished what we set out to achieve.’ He took my arm as though to steady me. I shook off his hand, still staring at him.

  ‘What happens to my girls now?’ I insisted.

  ‘The viragoes will take them to the royal seraglio.’ He indicated the green-uniformed bodyguards with an inclination of his head.

  ‘I am not yet ready to accompany them,’ I protested. ‘First I must pick up my possessions from the Sacred Bull.’

  ‘Men are never allowed in the Palace of the Royal Wives. I am really very sorry, my lord.’

  ‘You know full well that I am not a man entire, Toran. I have never been forcibly separated from my girls.’

  ‘In terms of Minoan law you are a man,’ he avowed.

  ‘What about these other creatures?’ I demanded as I indicated the green-uniformed guards who were lifting my princesses to their feet. ‘Aren’t they men – even more than I am, Toran?’

  ‘No, Taita. They are women of the Mbelala tribe of western Africa.’

  ‘But they have no breasts!’ I protested.

  ‘Those were amputated at puberty so that they are able to wield the sword more skilfully, but down below they are fully women. I shall give you proof of that.’ He turned to the captain of the viragoes and spoke sharply. Obediently he lifted the skirt of his green tunic and displayed his perfect cunny.

  ‘You may touch it if you wish, master. But only if you are willing to sacrifice your arm for the privilege.’ With her hand on the hilt of her sword the virago smiled, challenging me to make the attempt. I shook my head and turned back to Toran.

  ‘When will I be able to see my girls again?’ I heard the pleading tone in my own voice.

  ‘I hate to be the one who must answer that question for you, because the answer is never.’ Toran spoke with finality. ‘No man other than the Supreme Minos will see their faces again … until the day they die.’

  Looking back on it later with the wisdom of hindsight I realized the last part of his statement was intended as a covert warning; but I was so distraught in the face of my impending loss that it was lost on me.

  The four viragoes lifted my veiled princesses to their feet and led them away. Loxias followed them, but she glanced back at me and whispered too softly for me to hear, although I read her lips, ‘I will guard them with my own life.’

  I could no longer restrain myself and I started forward to prevent this thing happening, but Toran seized my arm and held me.

  ‘You are unarmed, Taita. Those viragoes are trained killers. They know not mercy.’

  I stood and watched them go. I could see that Bekatha was weeping; under the veils her whole body was shaking. In contrast Tehuti stepped out into the unknown like a heroine.

  In the wall behind the ebony throne a door opened silently. With an aching despair I watched them disappear through it.

  It was as though my life had ended. They were gone from me forever, those two who for many years had been my main reason for existing.

  Ambassador Toran knew how deeply I was attached to my charges and how bitterly I had been wounded by my loss. He proved now how he had become my true friend. He took it upon himself to shepherd me through the weird complexities of Minoan society. He had a carriage waiting for us in the courtyard behind the palace. In it we were driven up the winding road to the large mansion set on the mountainside above the city of Knossos. This was to be the Egyptian Embassy with me as its ambassador.

  As we climbed Toran chatted to me lightly to distract me, pointing out the salient features of the city spread below us. These included the naval headquarters and the spreading complex of government buildings by means of which the Supreme Minos ruled his far-flung empire.

  ‘At the head of our government is the State Council, which consists of the ten lords appointed by the Supreme Minos. Their duties and responsibilities cover every facet of our national existence; from the worship of the god Cronus, which is mandatory for all citizens, to the payment of taxes, which is not optional.’ Toran chuckled at his little joke. ‘The other major ministries are the Admiralty, the Department of Trade, and the Army.’

  With an effort I was able to set aside the pain of my loss, and concentrate on this vital information. I was even able to join in the conversation.

  ‘Of course the entire world knows about the Minoan fleet, which surpasses those of all other nations, but I was unaware that you had a significant army.’

  ‘Our army musters almost fifty thousand highly trained men,’ Toran told me proudly.

  ‘By Horus, that must be the greater part of your total population,’ I exclaimed with astonishment.

  ‘All the senior officers are Minoan but the rank and file are mercenaries. The bulk of our own population are skilled workmen and not soldiers.’

  ‘Now I understand.’ I was so fascinated by this information. ‘And I am certain that your superb fleet of ships would be able, very swiftly, to transport these fighting men to wherever they are most needed.’

  Toran listed for me the names and responsibilities of all the senior military officers. Then he discussed the strengths and weaknesses of each of these men of power. ‘Some of them are skilled and far-sighted warriors, but too many of the others see only as far as their own purses, bellies or crotches.’

  However, when I tried to question Toran further about the Supreme Minos and the nature of the being behind the golden mask he became as skittish as an unbroken colt and shied away from the subject with a brief warning.

  ‘It is an offence of lèse-majesté punishable by death to discuss the person of the Supreme Minos. It is sufficient for you to know that he embodies the spirit of our nation. This time I shall take into consideration the fact that you asked that question in ignorance, but I caution you to take this warning seriously, Taita.’

  We both lapsed into awkward silence as we rounded a rocky buttress of the mountain and came suddenly upon the accommodation that had been placed at my disposal. It was a large building, but like all the others I had seen so far it was sombre and ugly. There were no gardens to embellish its stolid grey stonework. Instead it was surrounded with trellised grapevines.

  My household servants were lined up in front of the main doors to welcome me, although their welcome was as gloomy as the walls behind them.

  ‘Of course they are slaves,’ Toran explained offhandedly. ‘All of them have had their tongues and vocal cords removed so you will not be bothered by their idle chatter.’

  Neither will I learn anything of interest or importance from them, I thought, although I did not voice my reservation.

  ‘This is Bessus, your major-domo.’ He pointed out a sturdy rogue with a pleasant smile. ‘He understands Egyptian but for obvious reasons does not speak it. Ask him for whatever you need.’

  Toran moved on briskly, leading me on a tour of my new home. The rooms were commodious but austere. My personal effects and spare clothing had been sent up from the harbour ahead of our arrival. They had been unpacked, washed and neatly arranged in my living area. Adjoining my bedroom was a library with a hundred or more large scrolls stacked on the shelves.

  ‘That is the definitive history of the Minoan Empire, a great deal of it written by me. I hope you will perhaps find it instructive,’ Toran explained, and then he indicated the low writing table in the centre of the room. ‘There are inks and brushes, blank papyrus scrolls of fine quality for your exclusive use. I will be able to arrange delivery of your missives to any dest
ination in the world.’

  ‘You are very kind, good Toran.’ I thanked him with a straight face, but I smiled inwardly and qualified his offer silently. Presumably only after you had made fair copies. I understood that there was a limit to his friendship and kindness.

  ‘There are fifty amphorae of good wine in the cellars,’ he continued. ‘They will be replenished as soon as they are empty. Fresh fish and meat will be sent up from the harbour every morning. The two cooks are excellent; I know from personal experience. I chose them for you.’

  We went out into the stable yard where the head groom prostrated himself before me. I could see the fresh whip weals across his bare back.

  ‘On your feet, fellow!’ I hid my true feelings behind a friendly tone. Once I also had been a slave, and I remembered well enough the kiss of the lash. ‘What is your name?’ I demanded of him, and with an effort he gurgled his reply. He was a cheerful little fellow, very clearly not Cretan.

  ‘Waaga?’ I repeated the sound and he blubbered with laughter. ‘Very well, Waaga, show me your horses.’ He ran ahead of me to the stables emitting unintelligible but enthusiastic sounds through his empty gullet.

  There were eight fine mounts in the small paddock behind the stables. Waaga whistled them up and they came to him at once, whickering with pleasure. He fed each of them with a small baked corn cake from the leather pouch on his hip. If the horses trusted him then I determined to do the same, at least until he proved me wrong. Horses usually show keen judgement.

  ‘One day soon I will need to ride to Krimad on the south shore. I will need a guide to show me the road. Do you know the way?’ Waaga nodded emphatically. ‘Be ready,’ I warned him. ‘I will give you very little notice and we will ride hard.’ He grinned. It seemed that we were already reaching an accord.

  On the following morning I rose before the sun and ate a hurried breakfast before I rode down the mountain to the Admiralty. I spent the entire day there arguing and negotiating with the vice admiral Herakal and his staff, all to very little avail. They offered me eight decrepit biremes which had clearly spent many years as trading ships and had now reached the limit of their useful life. With these they expected me to subdue the Hyksos hordes. I was learning that the Minoans in general were a sullen and difficult people, and extremely hostile towards strangers and foreigners. The only one I had met so far who was an exception to this rule was Ambassador Toran. He was so affable and obliging that he could have been born an Egyptian.

  That evening I rode back to my new home, spiritually exhausted and discouraged. I hardly tasted the meal of grilled lamb that the cook had prepared for me. However, a flagon of the delicious wine that Toran had laid down in my cellars gave me the strength to persevere and at dawn the next day I rode down the mountain to the Admiralty once more.

  It took all my bargaining skills, and some little assistance from Toran, but by the tenth day I had finally assembled a flotilla of six almost new three-deckers. The vice admiral had reluctantly given me experienced Minoan officers to sail them and hardened mercenaries drawn from amongst the savage tribes of northern Italia to crew them. These people called themselves Latins or Etruscans. Toran assured me that they were excellent sailors and fearsome warriors. With 120 of these savages aboard each of the triremes I was content that we could match any ship in the Hyksos fleet.

  I ordered my new captains to sail around the island to the port of Krimad where Zaras and Hui were anchored with my Sumerian biremes ready for sea. From now onwards this would be our main base of operations; from which we could strike at the enemy who were only six hundred leagues to the south: five days’ sailing with favourable winds.

  The morning after my squadron of freshly acquired triremes sailed from Knossos, Waaga and I set off in the darkness of pre-dawn to ride to Krimad ahead of the ships. Following my instructions Waaga had saddled two of our horses and we had four others on lead reins. We would be able to change horses as soon as the ones under us showed the first signs of fatigue.

  I had been warned by Toran that there were occasionally bands of robbers and outlaws skulking in the forests which covered the mountains of the interior. With this in mind I carried a short sword in its scabbard hanging from my cross-belt, and my long recurved bow slung over my right shoulder.

  As a slave Waaga was prohibited from carrying edged weapons, but he was armed with a slingshot and a leather bag of round river stones. I had watched him killing high-flying partridges with this weapon, and I had seen him drop a spotted deer that had been raiding our kitchen garden. I was sure he could crack a bandit’s skull just as efficiently.

  We started out before sunrise; as soon as it was light enough to descry the rough path. Waaga was a skilful horseman so he was able to keep pace with me. He knew every twist and turn, and every fork in the track. He rode at my right heel, directed me with animal grunts and hand signals.

  To begin with we cut obliquely across the lower slopes of Mount Ida, heading to pass to the east of the highest peak, which was still covered with snow even so late in the summer. At this altitude the mature forest trees had been decimated to provide fuel for the forges and furnaces of the factories. The destruction saddened me. The axe-men had left not a single tree standing.

  At last we reached the virgin forests at higher altitude and we rode in amongst the magnificent trunks of trees that had stood tall since the time when the gods were young. The upper branches entwined high over our heads, shading the aisles between them with a cool cathedral hush. The hoof-beats of our horses were muffled by the thick banks of green moss. The only sounds were the cries of the birds and small animals. We watered our horses at the streams that ran clear and clean as the mountain air and icy cold from the snow melt.

  We paused in a clearing in the forest on the shoulder of the mountain to watch Helios, the god of the sun, thrust his golden head above the eastern horizon.

  This was holy ground: where Cronus, the father of all the gods, had been born and his sons and daughters after him. I could sense their presence and smell their perfume in the sweet air and the forest loams. It was an eerie sensation to be so closely in touch with the immortals. Perhaps my heightened sensitivity was due to the kindred blood coursing in my own veins, of which Inana had first made me aware. Then I reminded myself sternly that Inana was almost certainly only a creature of my dreams, and that I was the victim of my own idle superstition. It irked me that her image returned to me so persistently.

  I determined to put Inana firmly out of my mind, and as I made the decision I heard the echo of her indulgent laughter. Dream or goddess, I knew she was close and my brave resolution crumbled.

  I turned my horse down the steep slope, towards the port of Krimad nestled against the rocky southern shore of Crete. It was still two hours short of noon. We had made excellent time.

  Even at a distance of twenty leagues I fancied I could make out the bare masts of my Sumerian ships huddling in the harbour. When I turned in the saddle and looked back over the way we had come I saw the volcano in which the god Cronus was imprisoned. It dominated the watery northern horizon. A placid stream of creamy-coloured smoke trailed from its twin peaks. I smiled. The god was in an affable mood.

  Waaga had taken advantage of this brief pause in our journey to dismount and squat behind the nearest tree. The mere fact that he had done so was an indication that before being taken in slavery he must have been a person of breeding and manners. Only the lowest and commonest classes of men and women spray their water while standing.

  Suddenly Waaga leaped to his feet, letting the skirt of his chiton drop around his knees as he pointed at the earth close to where he had been squatting, uttering incoherent snorts and grunts. He was so perturbed that I dismounted and hurried to his side to investigate the cause of his concern.

  The soft earth at the base of the tree was so churned and broken that it took me a few moments to pick out the great cloven hoof prints impressed in the dirt. They were many times larger than those left by the milk cows o
n my own estate at Mechir on the banks of the Nile.

  I went down on my knees to measure one of these prints against the full span of my right hand with my fingers and thumb spread to their utmost. My single hand was not large enough. I was forced to spread both my hands over one of the hoof prints to cover it completely.

  ‘In the name of Seth the Malign, what monstrosity left these tracks?’ I blurted out my amazement at Waaga. I could make no sense at all of his response. He repeated the same sound in a rising inflexion while hugging himself and shivering in a parody of fear. Then he turned and ran back to his mount and scrambled up into the saddle. He gestured to me to mount up, and at the same time he darted fearful glances into the forest surrounding us. His agitation was infectious and I jumped on to the back of my own horse and urged it forward.

  I was trying to find a rational explanation for these gigantic hoof prints. Their size seemed to be fantasy rather than reality – until I remembered the massive skulls and horns of the aurochs that I had seen amongst the hunting trophies of King Nimrod in Babylon. However, the remote Zagros Mountains to the far north-east of the Euphrates River where he had obtained them were half a world away from this tiny, densely populated island.

  It seemed highly unlikely that there were wild aurochs still surviving in these lovely forests; unless they were protected by decree of the Supreme Minos. Perhaps he had declared these monstrous creatures royal game as the heraldic symbol of the Minoan nation, and the creature sacred to the god Cronus. The silver mask that the Minos wore gave some credence to that possibility. However, I doubted the wisdom of trying to discuss this with even Toran. He had already warned me not to pry too deeply into the affairs of the Minoan ruler.

  I glanced around at Waaga. He was still highly agitated. He was sweating and his lower lip was quivering. He swivelled back and forth in the saddle, darting anxious glances into the undergrowth on either side of the path. He was beginning to annoy me. Even if there were wild aurochs still surviving in these mountains his extravagant behaviour was unwarranted.