Kallista

by David Bell

“No, sir, no, it’s not that. He comes from a long line and he’s the only white bull born here in my lifetime, and my father’s before me. There was another one, but so long ago nobody remembers where he came from; some say he came from the sea and some say he was born up there in the Cave. But this one has to be the same blood, and the Palace says he’s sacred, so he must be. We have other bulls, some of them very good, but they only serve the cows for a year or two because their strength doesn’t last. We want him to keep the line going as long as he can, and when he can’t any more we’ll let him just graze and sleep in the meadow in summer and keep him warm inside in the winter. No butcher for him.”

  “The stockman told me that something happened at the Games that showed he was sacred,” said Sharesh.

  “It did,” said Dasitas. He looked up towards the mountains and made the gesture of reverence. “He wasn’t there for the sport; he was there for the sacrifice to the Lady Mother, after the Procession. He was standing there in the Great Courtyard, all white and purified and his horns gilded. He was hobbled and they had the net ready, just in case they couldn’t hold him with the ropes. Then the Lady Priestess chanted the prayers and made the offering and it went all quiet, like it does. And the axe went up, and,” Dasitas stopped and made the gesture of reverence again, and swallowed hard. “And the whole place, courtyard, walls, columns, doors, everything began to shake and the axeman dropped the axe, and it broke on the stones. All those people, all those lords and ladies in their finery, up on the terraces and looking down from the windows, they were all struck dumb. The Lady Priestess still had her arms raised to the skies, and the Consort, on his throne wearing the mask, he was as still as death.”

  Dasitas fell silent again. There was sweat on his face and his eyes were wide with wonder, or fear, the scene stark in his memory. Sharesh was spellbound. After a long pause, Dasitas relaxed, breathed in deeply and smiled at Sharesh.

  “And you know what he did? He lifted his head up and then down, as if he was going to charge, but he just trotted out of the place, down the ramp and off into the gardens, and started to browse in the flowerbeds. He knew he wasn’t for the sacrifice. The Lord Potheidan had spoken for the Lady Mother and he was theirs, to go on living. You couldn’t hear yourself think for the noise in the courtyard after that, people shouting and chanting and singing…”

  “No doubt in relief that the walls hadn’t fallen on them,” murmured Kanesh.

  “When things quietened down, they brought in another bull for the sacrifice. Then the Games could go on. That was four years ago and he was four years old; best age for the Games, and for the stud, come to that. It was a good year, full harvest, best wine for years and all because of him. And the Lady Mother, goes without saying.”

  “I was at the Festival Games on Kallista this year. I was in the boys’ running and the boxing,” said Sharesh.

  “Were you, now? And where did you come in?”

  “Second in the running. A girl won the hill race. She’s here now, in the Palace. Maybe she’ll be in the Palace Games. I’m going to be there.”

  “Well, there’ll be plenty for you to see, all sorts of races, boxing, wrestling, dancing, archery and best of all, the bull dance and bull jumping. That’s why we’re here, breeding the best bulls for the dance and the jumping. Wait until you see that.”

  “Can I see the bulls that are going to the Games?”

  “They went some time ago. We had a drive last autumn. It’s a long way to the Palace. The bulls lose a lot of weight on the drive and have to be fed up again properly when they get there. They have to get used to a new place and new people and it all takes time. You’ll see our bulls though, and you’ll see some others that aren’t as good. We’ve been breeding them for the sport longer than anybody else, but other people are pushing their way in nowadays and they don’t take the same care in choosing their stock. You get beasts with poor blood in them so they’re too wild and have to be given the weed. Ours are not like that; plenty of spirit but never vicious. You can’t learn about animals in a day, but some people think they can.”

  Kanesh let all this go by without comment. The white bull was a fine big beast, of its kind, and a tribute to the care taken in keeping the bloodline pure. ‘Continuity,’ was that not what the lady had said? Pure-bred bulls destined for the well-organised festivals and Games, continuing year on year in the same way. On the high windy plains where he once rode, giant black bulls, higher than a man at the withers and striped along the spine, charged anything, hunter, wolf or other bull, who ventured near their herds with a ferocity that matched that of Tarhus, the god of storms, who peasants said rode on their backs. The young men, hungry for fame, hunted them for their horns with lance and bow, and if they survived the hunt, flaunted their trophies and boasted of the strength they had torn from the great wild beasts.

  “This is your last day here,” said Dasitas to Sharesh. “If my Lord permits, you can take a ride out with the stockman to see the three-year-olds we sent up to the high pastures. Your friends are out there doing some target practice, so watch out. And you can bring back the cheese; it’ll be ready when you get there.”

  Sharesh looked pleadingly at Kanesh who thought for a moment and then nodded his assent. Sharesh was soon on his way with the stockman, both riding donkeys and leading a third that had baskets strapped over its flanks full of supplies needed by the herdsmen who would be living on the high pastures until the end of the summer. The distance they had to travel was not great and though the last part, a traverse through a narrow gorge and a stiff climb up a steep winding track beyond, had to be taken with care, they reached the pastures well before midday.

  Lying before them was a small plain scattered with patches of grass bright with early flowers and clumps of oak and wild pear trees. Meltwater from snowfields striping the high peaks fed a stream that straggled across the plain to lose itself in reed beds before it reached the edge. A few cattle stood near the marshy ground, swishing their tails and occasionally lowering their heads to drink. Out on the plain sheep, many with lambs, roamed everywhere, busily nibbling the short grass left by the cattle. Smoke rose from the roofs of stone cottages built on the plain and the slopes round it. Each one had a small sheep pen with rough stone walls almost enclosing the whole house. The stockman pointed to a place near the stream where there was a larger enclosure with higher walls and a bigger house standing apart from it.

  “Over there,” he said. “There’ll be somebody waiting there for us.” When they reached the first patch of new grass, all three donkeys stopped dead and began to graze. “They won’t shift until they think they’ve had their share,” said the stockman. “Anyway, they’re our cattle over by the reeds. We have four three-year-old bulls and the rest are cows, all of them in calf so the bulls don’t get too excited and start fighting each other to get at them. Not that they would, I reckon; they’re always so quiet up here in the mountain air with this good grass to eat, and having all the sheep around makes it peaceful. It gets warm up here later on but it’s always a bit windy and that keeps the flies down, and there’s lots of trees for shade: if you look, you’ll see nearly every cottages has one as well. What is it? Can you see something?”

  Sharesh pointed towards a cliff face high up on the far slopes where some black specks were lazily circling in the blue sky.

  “Vultures. Maybe a sheep fallen off the crags. Not dead yet, or they wouldn’t still be wheeling round up there. It’s nothing to worry about: plenty more sheep around. That’s where the Lady Mother’s Cave is. We can’t go in there, so don’t ask. You leave your offerings outside and the Priestess and her women take them in. It’s like a temple inside, all white columns and altars and sanctuaries.”

  “How do you know, if you can’t go in?”

  “Never you mind. Everybody knows, because, well, they know.”

  Sharesh thought of the flock of seabirds on Kuros and what they had flown down to do. The vultures up there didn’t scream like the sea birds.
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  The donkeys finished eating and consented to be moved on. The stockman was eager to talk of something else. “People bring their flocks up here in spring and stay all summer. The women make cheese from the ewe’s milk and the men take it down to the markets. Some of it goes as far as the Palace now because it’s a fad with some of the fine ladies. It is good, though, especially now when the grass is new and sweet. They should be sowing a bit of barley about now: that’s what they live on, along with the milk and cheese and what they bring up from the lowlands, olives and suchlike. And they gather that blue flower with the furry leaves that grows up on the crags and sell it for medicine. They say it’s good for coughs and bad stomachs and cuts and other things you don’t need to know about. People will believe anything. Next time I come up here I’ll have a string of donkeys to carry wool and hides back. We’d better get a move on; the herdsmen need this flour and oil and the stuff for rubbing on the cattle to kill ticks later on. And the women will nag us if we haven’t got the baskets emptied and ready for them to pack the cheese in before it’s time for them to be off home for milking. Never get on the wrong side of a woman, young man, or you’ll have reason to regret it, I can tell you.”

  Sharesh watched the lazy young bulls in the reed bed. Two were rubbing their muzzles together. He tried to imagine them in the dancing and wondered whether they would be maddened during the jumping. The cows were so quiet they might have been asleep, except that their jaws moved round rhythmically as they chewed the cud. One of them had a young bull leaning against her flank. Perhaps she was his mother and had his brother or sister inside her. His head and back were a warm reddish brown colour and his chest and underbelly were white. He turned his head and saw Sharesh. The head went up, then down and the great horns seemed to take aim. He snorted and the muscles tightened in his shoulders. Sharesh felt his skin prickle with alarm. The head went up again and froze in position, long ears lifted as if catching some distant sound. He turned back, eyes closing again, to lean against the warm flank of the cow that seemed completely unaware of any of his movements. On the ridge overlooking the plain, where the track came up from the gorge, a shaggy horse lowered its head searching for a tuft of grass to crop. The big bearded man on its back shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked down towards the stockman and the boy.

  “Time to be off,” shouted the stockman as he came out of the herdsmen’s lodge carrying two loaded baskets that he strapped on the pack animal. “Let’s be off. Your archer friends are over the other side near some pear trees. Give a good shout well before you get near.”

  The archers had set up some straw targets for their shooting practice but that was over and they were now sitting in the shade of the trees polishing arrow shafts and filing the points of the heads. One of them handed Sharesh a bow and told him to try his hand. He found it impossible to bend.

  “Better catch your man when he isn’t looking and stab him with your arrow,” said the archer with a grin. “Never mind, lad; I’m sorry. We’ll get you a bow you can bend and then we’ll see. You’ve got to learn how to do this, you know. Be sharp now; mustn’t keep the lord waiting up there on the ridge.”

  ***

  “She is the Commander’s wife,” said Sekara with a faint smile. “Of course, you will see her in the Procession, and in her seat in the gallery at the Games. She has a passion for bull sports and an eye for the most daring leapers. Her wagers are remarkable. For this meeting, however, we must be more discreet.”

  “A chance encounter in a garden usually arouses curiosity and that is all one needs, to begin with.”

  “The Commander will be in his chambers in the Palace at sunset receiving a delegation from Telchina, here to discuss trade and piracy. You remember the house.”

  Young, strongly muscled, barefoot, he looked levelly at Kanesh. He wore only a loincloth and a short kilt of dark green cloth. His shoulder-length hair was of a colour Kanesh had never seen before, reddish brown like old copper, and his skin was like barley darkened by the late summer sun. His eyes were purple, fathomless, feline. Lines of blue dots arched over his eyebrows and formed faint circles within circles on his high cheekbones. A bronze sickle hung from his left hand.

  “Lady asks why are you here, sir.” His voice was soft, rising and falling, almost like song.

  “Say to her that I ask permission to explain my intrusion in person.”

  As the man made his way past the flower beds towards the house, Kanesh could see old scars from a lash striping his broad shoulders. Harsh shrieking cries broke the silence, coming from two peacocks on a stately walk among the almond trees. When they fell silent the only sound in the garden came from a fountain splashing into a white alabaster basin. The rays of the setting sun flashed colours like the peacocks’ feathers from the fountain’s tumbling drops. She seemed to materialise out of the fading sunlight itself. Her long gown was the same colour as the blossom petals, white with the faintest tinge of pink.

  “I am waiting for your explanation, sir.”

  “Lady, I am Kanesh. The scent of almond blossom is at its sweetest just before the setting of the sun, and your almond grove is famed throughout Keftiu. The gate was open: who could resist such blossom and such scent?”

  “If that is all…”

  “White blossom, sweet fruit, sweet oil to soothe the skin. Your trees bear promise of much pleasure to come, my lady. But look here, at this young leaf; there is a blemish that may grow into a scab and cause first this, then all the others to twist and die unless they can be cleansed. Surely your gardener has told you.”

  “Luzar? He has said nothing.”

  “‘Luzar’; the name has a distant sound to it, as they say of my own. The colour of his hair and skin and the marks on his face suggest some far off land for his birth.”

  “Did you see his eyes? Deep blue like the sea near the horizon,” she said quietly.

  “You know him better than I, my lady. If the almond tree does not grow in his land, he would not know how this blight begins.”

  She tossed her head. “And you appear to do. What must be done? Are you a gardener also? You do not have the look. I have heard of you, sir, but not of your knowledge of trees.”

  “I do not claim much knowledge. I am a traveller and I see and hear things. They say on Alasya that their almond trees do not suffer from this sickness because it will not venture where coppersmiths work their furnaces.”

  She stared at Kanesh in disbelief. “To deface my almond grove with a stinking furnace would bring down the Lady Mother’s curse on me, and make me ridiculous in the eyes of the Court.”

  “No furnace, my lady; but perhaps water that has flowed through the ground near where the furnaces burn may carry the remedy. It could be fed to the roots or splashed on the young leaves.”

  She stared thoughtfully at him for a long time. “Lord Kanesh,” she said finally, “the light is failing and I shall go to my receiving chamber now. The steward will come to conduct you there when I am ready. Then we shall talk about the real purpose of your intrusion into my garden. But, please, continue with your examination of the almond blossom for the present, if you wish.”

  It was dark when the steward came for him, carrying a lantern to guide their way along the paved pathway that led towards the entrance to the house. The coals in the brazier glowed red like sunset and gave off the same aromatic scent that had filled the chamber of the High Priestess. The walls of the room were of pure white plaster without any decoration. Through one window could be seen the lights of the Palace on its hill; in the wall opposite another window was open to the night sky and the first stars of evening. A large soft couch lay in one corner with a low table next to it on which stood a vase containing slender branches of myrtle. Save for the two chairs on which they sat, the only other object in the room was an ivory carving of a slender naked bull leaper, outstretched with head up, arms down and hands open in the instant before landing on the bull’s back.

  “This is skilfully done,” said Kanes
h. “Ivory of the river horse, the most difficult to carve; the joins are so fine as hardly to be seen. The craftsman has caught the grace and boldness of the leap.”

  She looked intently at the carving, her gaze lingering on every part of the slim form. “Oh indeed he had boldness, that boy, and such grace in the way he moved. His hands had the lightest, surest touch. I saw the promise in him on his first day in the training field: the spring in his vault over the bull’s back, with the pole, or a press of the hand.” She slid her fingers slowly over the smooth white surface of the figure. “So I made certain, but not obviously, that he had the best instructors and anything else he needed to fit him for victory in the Games. I can still savour the envy of all my friends among the Court ladies when the chaplet was placed on his head, and their chagrin over the wagers they had lost and I had won. I had this likeness of him made at that time. There is a painting of him in the Palace on the wall of a chamber above the court that opens towards the river valley. Not a good likeness. Not like this.” She took her hand away from the carving and smiled sweetly at Kanesh. “He was very grateful, yes, very. I wondered how one so young could have learned how to be so… grateful, in so many ways.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her tone was at first aggrieved, and then resigned. “The reason, of course, was that he was being trained in other arts than bull leaping, and his teachers were some of my very own friends. That was very ungrateful of him.”

  “I take it he was victor for that year only.”

  “You are right. How did you know? How could it be that one so gifted should not win again the following year, Lord Kanesh?”

  “Let me think. Yes, he must have overexerted himself in training – as you say, he devoted many hours to it – anyone would think that a reasonable suggestion, given the boy was so young and, in some ways, inexperienced. Then, at the last moment as he approached the bull, fatigue caused him to misstime his grasp for the horns, even slip as he leaped, and then…”