by David Bell
Koreta had few questions about the arrangements. He did muse a little over the choice of Merida as provider of the most important sacrificial offering, and seemed mildly surprised that the High Priestess had decreed that the processional music would not include drums this year; but he agreed to guarantee the cost of the flower displays and garlands and provide extra guards to forestall any recurrence of the drunken and unseemly behaviour which had disturbed the previous year’s festival. He was more attentive when Akusha came to the matter of the boys and girls selected this year for sending to Keftiu for training in the customs and rituals of the Palace. He wanted reassurance that their parents were fully in agreement and that their future guardians and teachers were people of good character. It was an ancient tradition, he agreed, but some were beginning to have their doubts. Rumours about the revival of ancient practices had begun to circulate. His words struck a chord in Akusha’s heart, but she felt obliged to protest that it was a matter of education, and to be selected was a privilege that brought honour to the family and the chance of great rewards for the chosen, eventually.
“You have a son, my lady.”
She answered the unspoken question. “He is too young for the selection.” She paused. “My husband thinks he may be more suited to a different life.”
“A different life may fit him better for the world he will live in.”
“You foresee changes, my Lord? The Lady Mother never changes.”
“Which is not to say that she may not make changes. A life in the service of the Palace promises safety and continuity. A life outside promises nothing but the chance to learn how to deal with anything. ”
“That is hardly nothing, my Lord. He has begun to learn. The scribe who serves my husband’s employer is teaching him the script.”
“Now, that is a change of some importance. A guild is a jealous guardian of its mystery and scribes and smiths are more jealous than most. Your son has powerful patrons, my lady.”
“Little escapes your attention, my Lord. It is true that the merchant, Merida, has used his influence with the scribe.”
“And the survivor of the shipwreck, Kanesh by name, his with the smiths. Forgive what may seem to be an old man’s teasing, my lady; I mean you no disrespect. It is a way I have of seeking whether it is acceptable to talk in confidence of certain matters. I see that it is. Kanesh is to go to Keftiu on business of great importance. Your husband and his employer know what it is about and I will tell you, too, in confidence, as I said. What I am not sure of is how this may concern your son because it seems that he is also to go to Keftiu with Kanesh as his guardian. Although I have become convinced that Kanesh can be entrusted with this task, there is much more I should like to know about him and I wonder what has persuaded a mother that he is the right man to look after her son. That is not a matter to be treated lightly.”
Akusha’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Nor was it. He feels indebted to us for his rescue and treatment of his sickness, and that he is honour bound to repay the debt. This is his way of doing so. Men of his rank can be trusted. I know this.” She bit her lip. Koreta’s eyebrow was raised and she was sure that behind his mask he was smiling.
“Men of his rank?”
“All I can tell you now is that we are of the same people and our land is distant, a land of mountains, lakes and rivers.”
“And horses, and men who know how to use them, in peace and war.”
She did not reply. Koreta knew he had gone far enough and spoke to reassure her. “I am sure you are right to trust this man, my lady. He will protect the boy and teach him many things, the script of another tongue, perhaps, and the ways of defending himself. And if the enterprise of which I am going to tell you is successful, your son will learn much more that will fit him for the life your husband wishes for him. Clearly he is greatly attached to the boy. Kanesh, I mean. Now, about the mission to Keftiu; and, perhaps some time you may tell me how you came there yourself?”
It was Akusha’s turn to smile. “They plan to sail for Keftiu at the full moon after the festival. At this moment my son is on the ship as she is put through her trials in the Lagoon. Now, about this mission, my Lord?”
Only two people would ever be told how she came to be on Keftiu and one of them would be Sharesh, when he was old enough to know.
DEVIL’S BREATH
The sun had cleared the far horizon but the air was still cool as Sharesh stood by the bollard ready to cast off the stern line. Typhis had told him this was no holiday and, for a start, he would have to show that he could jump onto the ship as she pulled away and not fall in the sea because they wouldn’t be coming back for him. He was not frightened by this; in fact it made him feel rather important, and he looked along the ship to see if anyone might have noticed that he had been given such a responsible job. The only one looking at him was a grinning Namun who promptly put his thumb to his nose. The two of them had already spent what seemed like half the night to Sharesh, baling ship, then checking that all the water jars were full, securely stoppered and lashed steady, and sweeping the deck. He had asked if he could bring Tika but was told brusquely that dogs were not allowed on board ship at sea, only cats, but the last one had been washed overboard in the storm off Telchina.
He heard the call to cast off bowline and watched as the ship swung away from the jetty. Still no call came for him to cast off. The ship’s bow had now turned well away from the jetty and the stern line began to tighten. Would he be able to lift the loop free, and wouldn’t she move away too fast for him to be able to jump aboard? The order came. He just managed to claw the line free from the top of the bollard before it tightened too much, breaking two fingernails in the process. The line snaked away and splashed into the water. He ran three steps, took a flying leap towards the fast receding ship, just cleared the low stern rail and landed on the deck beside the cabin. He would have stumbled onwards into the loom of the steering oar if a strong hand had not gripped him by the shoulder and brought him to a stop. He hadn’t seen Kanesh go aboard. The bearded face looked down at him.
“Welcome aboard. Not the most elegant arrival, but at least you waited until you heard the order.”
“Get forward to the lookout, that boy, and quick about it,” boomed Typhis’s voice. Sharesh ran off, dodging between the oarsmen as they slid out their blades, and scrambled up onto the prow where the lookout stood, slapping his arms round his chest to warm himself. He was one of the crew now. He looked up at the man and tried to think of something one shipmate might say to another as a ship pulled away.
“This ship is the Dolphin, isn’t she?”
“More like the bloody Crab, the way she moves with a sea on her beam. Keep an eye on that boat over there. Man rowing it must be drunk.”
Dareka watched them clear the harbour entrance and head out to sea still under rowing power. At this time of year winds tended to blow onshore along this stretch of coast, so Potyr would want to get well clear before changing course to get the sun behind him, raise sail and then run for the high cape with its lookout tower and beacon that rose above the narrow seaway into the Lagoon. It would be a good test for the new sail and rigging, and, for that matter, of Typhis’s steering with the new oar. Dareka had intended to see for himself how the ship handled but Kanesh had dissuaded him from going, saying it might be better for the boy to start looking after himself; there would be plenty of other watchful eyes to see if he needed help. Once the ship had entered the Lagoon, Merida would be watching it from the terrace of his new house, so Dareka decided to join him there.
Potyr ordered the sail raised but some hands to be kept at the oars in case the onshore wind filling a larger sail than they were used to took them in too close. It proved a wise precaution; after their lay-off and softer living, some of the crew were not fully fit and the heavy sail went up slowly and jerkily. The oarsmen had to pull hard to keep her on course. Potyr suspected something amiss with the masthead lifting gear and Namun was sent up to pour oil on the ring
s. Sharesh watched him enviously as he went aloft as nimbly as if he were climbing a tree to get at a bird’s nest. When he came down he reported that the lines were snagging on a couple of rough patches on the rings that had been missed during the inspection. These could be filed smoother when the mast was struck later but the smiths would have to be told to get it right. No doubt they would say they had been given too little time for the job. When the sail began to fill, crewmen threw some water on it to ease out the folds in the new linen. Soon, she began to slap through the waves at a pace that made Potyr wonder whether the old hull might come under too much strain. Typhis was having no trouble with the new steering oar which he had carefully smoothed with pumice stone to remove any splinters; the test would come when they reached the narrows into the Lagoon where a sharp change of course downwind into the strait would demand some careful handling.
In the event they passed through as smoothly as if they were poling a boat across the harbour. On their starboard side was the high cape with its distinctive rusty coloured summit on which stood the lookout tower flying a long white banner to show wind direction and force; and on the port side a low shingle bank jutting out from the base of steep cliffs where gulls soared and dived. Ahead of them lay the dark blue waters of the Lagoon encircled by towering walls built from layer after layer of red, black, grey and white rocks, flat or crumpled, criss-crossed with dark streaks running up from the sea that turned into walls near the rim, and pierced with caves, some at sea level big enough to take a ship, and others further up where only a goat could shelter. The walls were higher on the side where the sun came up, and standing higher still in places were cone-shaped hills with grassy slopes and craggy peaks which looked as if a giant had torn stones from them to fling who knew where. Beyond and above all soared the Mountain, green and peaceful in the mid-morning sun. In many places at the water’s edge were flat layers of rock covered with sand and thin grass, stretching out into the Lagoon where fishermen had their houses and boats. Scattered all round the Lagoon, higher up, wherever there was a shelf of flatter ground, were smaller huts, lived in by peasants who kept a few goats and chickens and a canoe for fishing which was hauled up onto a strand when not in use. Looking across the dark waters Sharesh could see craft of all sizes heading homewards in all directions with their morning’s catch. He had never walked the whole island but Dareka had told him it was round, and now, as he turned his gaze from side to side, as he had been told lookouts must, and up and down the curved line of the cliffs, he pictured it in his mind like the big bowl that Sita filled with water in the kitchen for cooking the yellow peas she mixed with oil and garlic to make little cakes for frying; the bowl had a lip for pouring, like the gap between the cliffs that led into the Lagoon.
With a light breeze half-filling the sail, the ship moved slowly past a headland and across a broad bay at the head of which a green valley led down to a white beach where boats rocked at anchor. Small houses with tiny fields clustered along the sides of the valley where after heavy rain a short-lived stream watered the ground. Rounding another headland, they steered closer to the shore and came opposite the settlement of Balloso, well known for its smoked fish. Sharesh could see nets drying on roofs and rows of fish strung on lines through their gills hanging over smouldering fires in front of some of the cottages. The smell coming on the air made his mouth water. The sail was lowered and anchor stones dropped overboard. Two boats were soon being sculled out to the ship and crates of crisp smoky mackerel were hauled aboard, part of an order made by Dareka some days before, and destined for Keftiu. The usual jokes and friendly insults about the fish smelling better than the people who caught them and lucky buggers out on a holiday jaunt were being exchanged, when Potyr cut short the banter by ordering the anchors raised and men to the oars. Typhys bellowed out the stroke and the ship pulled smartly away and headed deeper into the Lagoon. Sharesh felt something hit the back of his head and heard it drop to the deck: an olive. He turned to see Namun grinning at him and pointing up towards the top of the cliffs on the starboard side. There near the edge was the Merida mansion, its white walls glistening in the sun which was now nearing its zenith. He could see two tiny figures on the terrace. One raised an arm.
“Eyes ahead, there, forward lookout, or you’ll have us aground,” boomed the voice of Typhis. Sharesh turned hurriedly to look ahead, casting a guilty sidelong glance at his companion on the bow. Somehow the man had managed to get hold of one of the smoked mackerel loaded at Balloso and was just swallowing the last mouthful. He skimmed the head and backbone over the side and looked mournfully at Sharesh.
“Got eyes in his arse, that helmsman,” he said.
“She looks pretty steady,” said Merida to Dareka as they gazed down at the ship, tiny as a toy so far below. “Sail’s not up; hope it’s all right, and the gear; cost me plenty.” Dareka was thinking that they had two more ports of call to pick up orders, Palaka, where he could see the ship was now heading, and after that Lemaka which they should reach before mid-afternoon if they were to be sure of returning to the harbour before dark. There was not enough time to take in Mitoia as well, and, in any case, Mitoian ships would be coming to join in the Festival celebrations and receive the blessing of the Lady Mother. They would bring the fine wool and leather for which Mitoia was well known, for transhipment to Keftiu. At Palaka they had to load stone flooring slabs from the quarry and the jars filled with green, red and black earths dug from pits in the hillside above the quarry, which were used by potters to colour their ware, and for making paint by artists who decorated the wealthier houses in the town. Dareka had also ordered a quantity of the soft white powder found near the same pits which some potters still used, although now that it was in fashion as a cosmetic the price had risen so much that it could be used only for the finish on the best pottery. At Lemaka, where there was a good anchorage in a sheltered cove, the people collected salt from hollows in black rock where the sea water splashed in when the wind was strong and then dried out in the sun later. There were other places on the island where salt was gathered in larger amounts but the Lemaka salt was reputed to have special qualities for curing meat and salting fish and it was always in demand. Dareka had an order for Keftiu where Lemaka salt in the food was a mark of a prosperous and fashion-conscious household.
“We’ll save money on transport for these orders with this voyage. It’s always cheaper to move heavy things by sea than on the backs of men, or donkeys, for that matter,” said Merida. “Just wait until the new ship starts in the long-haul trade.”
Dareka kept looking down into the Lagoon where the ship was nearing Palaka. He could see black specks moving out from the shore and across the blue surface towards her: boats carrying her intended cargo, he hoped. A new ship for the long haul, he was thinking: a very long haul that one was going to be, if it ever happened. There would have to be more than one ship on the run to keep the supply regular and to give any hope of increasing the trade and profits. Merida seemed to have read his thoughts.
“We know what we want to bring back on that long haul, although you can never tell what else you might find that somebody would pay for back here; but we’d better start thinking what we might take to trade with. I’ve no idea what they want in the Tin Islands, although nobody ever turns his nose up at good wine and Keftiu dried fruit, if they would keep on such a voyage, that is. Look, Potyr’s stopped. They should start loading soon.”
Everything had been ready and waiting for them at Palaka and the ship was soon being loaded with the heavy stone slabs. Potyr ordered them to be stowed in strong wooden crates lashed down securely. Although the sea was calm and the sky a clear blue here in the Lagoon one could never be sure that outside in the wider sea a squall might suddenly blow up, and he didn’t want stone slabs sliding about the deck and breaking bones or strakes.
Under sail and oar the ship crossed a broad bay and then followed the line of the shore, about ten lengths out. Sharesh had been told to stand down from the lookout an
d get something to eat and drink. Namun appeared beside him and, after looking around, unwrapped a piece of cloth to reveal two smoked fish. Sharesh wondered how much of the Balloso order would get back to the harbour. After they had eaten, they sat on the rail below the cabin on the side opposite to Typhis who was still at the steering oar, and warmed themselves in the sun. They watched the jagged, hummocky mass of Korus seem to creep slowly past them as the ship made its way at an easy rate towards the cove of Lemaka.
“See those birds near that little red hill,” said Sharesh. “Why are they fighting and screaming like that?”
“Must have found a dead goat to tear to bits,” said Namun squinting in the sun’s glare. “Typhis said some of the people living in the Lagoon put goats there now an again, as a sacrifice. What the gods don’t take, the sea birds will.”
