by David Bell
“The bull was on him, and he was trampled before the catchers could entice it away. Some even said that the horns were greased, but how could that be, when the bulls are cleansed in the presence of a priestess before the ceremony? It was a sad loss, but the danger is always there for those who have failed in their gratitude to the Lady Mother, or have strayed from the advice of their instructors. His successors have brought me great satisfaction with their skills, and much profit in the wagers, I have to admit.
“What was the boy’s name?”
“I think he was one of the Chosen Children, but as to his name, it has quite gone from my mind. Is that not strange? Now, my Lord, let us talk of the other matter. You will tell me the purpose of your intrusion, and then we may find other things to amuse us.”
“It is not another matter, my lady. I wish to make a wager with you as to who will be the next Victor of the Games.”
For a moment she was taken aback, but quickly recovered her poise, and from her alert expression Kanesh knew he had judged correctly that she was one who could never resist a wager and the excitement it brought. She looked at him enquiringly but said nothing.
“There are two rivals for the chaplet at these Games: your own favourite, Thyras, who was victorious last year, and the Taphian who goes by the name of Dissias. I will wager that Dissias will be the victor.
“I had thought you wiser than that, Lord Kanesh. I have watched Dissias: he has the eye and the limbs, but he is a novice. But you have made the wager and I accept. What do you propose as the stakes?”
“If Thyras wins, you may ask of me what you wish. If Dissias wins, your gardener will be by my servant for one of my travels, and one only.”
“The subtlety of your words intrigues me, my Lord, but risk is part of the thrill of this game. Why you have need of a gardener on your travels I cannot tell. I should miss Luzar’s services for a while, but there it is; and when he is not training with the bulls, I suppose that Thyras could fill the space here that Luzar leaves empty. Before I consent to the terms, I should like to discuss them a little further, in more comfort. Perhaps over there, by the table with the vase of myrtle, do you think? Did I tell you that my portrait is being painted? The painter will be there again for the leaping. I must look my best.”
Luzar sped through the trees as swift and silent as a cat. He reached the deep pool with its floating lilies just as the moon’s reflection began to shine on the surface. His kilt and loincloth fell to the earth and he waded into the chill black water until he stood, waist deep, within the shimmering white disc. He sank slowly downwards until his whole body was below the ripples and the cold light shone on the long, floating strands of his hair. This is what she had commanded him to do every time before she took him to her bed, and this time, as every time, as his body began to move and shudder with the passion, he was silent, as she had commanded he must be.
***
“We’re all going,” said Namun. “Well, not Naudok: he’s scared of crowds, so Leilia has to stay here along with two guards to keep an eye on things. You’ll be with the high-ups, so you’d better put your best kilt on, young sir.”
Sharesh pushed him backwards into a breaking wave and laughed at the grinning face that came up spluttering. “Listen,” he said, “I have to do what Kanesh says and he’s told me that we have to ‘appear’; that’s the word he used and it means we stand in a special place and bow if we are looked at as the Procession goes by, and that’s all. After that I’ll get away somehow and meet you so we can go and watch some of the other games: I’ve got friends in the archery –”
“And somebody in the dancing who you’d like to be a friend, I’ve been told.”
“Who told you that?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Sharesh lunged again, but Namun dodged and shoved him under. Sharesh grabbed his legs and the two of them wrestled in the waves until both were breathless, laughing and coughing up salt water.
“Hey, you two out there, stop messing about and get back here. I’ve got a job for you.”
They looked at each other and nodded, sniggering: ‘Typhis’, they mouthed soundlessly at each other and set off for the jetty. There were baulks of timber and other stores being unloaded from a cargo ship which had docked the day before and they were put to their usual task of checking all the smaller items against the tablet lists and tally stones. At the end of the day as they were sitting watching the fish sizzling on a spit over a fire on the beach, Sharesh said
“Namun, we have to be sure to be back in the Great Court in time for the bull leaping. Kanesh said something special is happening this year.”
HONOUR THE BRAVE
It looked as if the whole of Keftiu was going to the Festival. Entire families travelled on foot from their villages on the coast, their farmsteads and cottages in the hills and their houses and shops in the towns, with babies in their mothers’ arms, youngsters on their fathers’ shoulders and older children trudging along behind or scampering ahead in play. Donkeys and bullock carts creaked under their loads of people and their goods. Sometimes a carriage would roll by, its richly dressed occupants chatting to each other as they nibbled sweet figs or sipped spiced wine from a flask. A company of archers marching along the road stopped to salute a chariot racing past and spat out the dust its wheels raised after it had gone. Those who had been lucky enough to find a place in a rest house for the night, or sleep near it for company, were packing up their bedding, watering a donkey or dousing squalling infants in the fountain basin before they got going again. Silent mountain people dressed in wool and skins paced along beside the road in single file, each man carrying a shepherd’s staff, each veiled woman a wicker basket on her back and a child on her hip. Wherever they came upon a shrine near the road or were in sight of a temple or sanctuary on a hill, the travellers stopped and made the signs of reverence before continuing on their way. Everyone was heading for the Palace, for the games, the gossip, the sights, and best of all, the market.
Sekara had sent a horse for Kanesh, the same mare he had ridden from the Palace down to the town on that night which now seemed so long ago. Sharesh was ecstatic when he was pulled up by one arm onto the horse’s back to ride behind Kanesh. He secretly vowed never to sit on a donkey again, if he could avoid it. He began to change his mind about that as the horse cantered along the track behind the dunes, setting his teeth chattering as he bumped up and down, until Kanesh told Sharesh to get into the fixed habit of gripping with his knees and make sure the horse knew who was master. They clattered along the streets of the nearly deserted town and past the harbour where all work seemed to have stopped. The road to the Palace had more people on it, hurrying as best they could to reach the market before all the best bargains had gone. Kanesh had been told that a groom would be waiting near Sekara’s quarters close to the great entrance ramp to the Palace to take charge of the horse. As they walked the horse to rest her along the last stretch of the paved way past the Commander’s mansion, they saw Luzar standing at the gate. Their eyes met but no words passed between him and Kanesh. As they reached the last corner, Sharesh glanced back. Luzar was still where he had been, his eyes still fixed on them.
They had to force their way along the road through the mass of people trying to get into the big courtyard where the market was still in progress, or leaving it to find a resting place on the tiers of broad stone benches round a paved square where masked dances and other mysteries were to be performed after the sun went down. Eventually they found Sekara’s groom who led the horse away, leaving them with a guide who took them to their allotted places at one side of the Great Courtyard to await the arrival of the Procession. A high-backed stool was provided for Kanesh, but Sharesh had to sit on the paving stones. He asked how long they would have to wait.
“Until the sun is a little past its highest. The ladies’ balcony, that one over there, on the upper level, will then be in shade, not too dark because they will want to be seen by everyone, but with
the best view of everything happens below. Now, I am putting you in charge of my chair, so do not leave this place while I am away. You will have time enough after the leaping to do the things you have been plotting with Namun. I have some important business elsewhere in the Palace before the spectacle begins.”
More people were arriving to take their places. All were richly dressed and most of them were women. They took their seats and began polite conversation with their neighbours. The few men among them wore a pendant or carried a wand showing that they were minor officials or stewards of households. There were very few children and Sharesh felt conspicuous. Although some of the ladies smiled, no one spoke to him. He wished Kanesh would come back or that he was somewhere else, roaming outside with Namun among the smells and racket of the market where you might just filch a fig or a cake if nobody was looking. It was beginning to get very warm in the Great Courtyard as the sun climbed up the sky. Some of the ladies put on big straw hats; others had the men hold rush shades above their heads.
“We always keep them here in the shade so as their blood doesn’t get too hot, but there has to be enough light coming in so they aren’t dazzled when they get out there in the Courtyard in all that sun,” said the stockman to Kanesh. He turned to Sekara. “See, my Lord, they’re trained to recognise a leaper, so they have to have a good sight of him, or her nowadays, and then they don’t get frightened and do something nasty. Don’t look surprised, my Lord; a bull can easily get frightened with all that noise, and people waving and horns blaring, if he hasn’t had the right kind of training, or he isn’t the right blood. Dasitas makes sure everything is done properly with our bulls, he does. I can’t say the same for everybody else, though. It’s not what it was. You want a noble-looking bull with a bit of spirit, enough to keep a leaper on his toes, if you know what I mean, and then you’re all set for some beautiful leaping, really exciting, and nobody gets hurt. But you’re getting people now who’d rather see a fight, and a nasty bull and somebody tossed. I don’t like that, my Lord. It ought to be stopped.”
“Yes, yes, I understand what you mean, stockman,” said Sekara. “Now, remember what this lord has said: Dissias is to have your bull, the one he has been working with these past few days. As for Thyras, if you have another bull, and the priestesses accept his purification, well and good. If not, one of the other animals is to be offered to him.”
“I’ll see to it, my Lord.”
Kanesh took his seat next to Sharesh, arousing a flutter of interest among the ladies. From somewhere in the distance outside the Palace came deep long notes from a triton shell, signalling that the procession had assembled and the ceremonial progress was about to begin. All who were to take part first dipped their hands in water poured into the sacred font by a priestess before they set foot on the processional causeway which led them into the Palace through a great entrance porch topped with sacred horns and decorated for the Festival with branches of green-leafed myrtle.
First came priestesses in their flounced yellow skirts and bodices open at the breast, their long hair pulled back and tied in the looped goddess knot on the nape of the neck. They held out their arms at waist level in the ritual all-embracing gesture; in one hand they held a freshly cut myrtle branch and in the other a long-stemmed lily. As they walked they sang a hymn to the Lady Mother that praised her power and called for her blessing on the ceremony. They were followed by white-gowned novices from among the Chosen Children of earlier years. Then came a gilded effigy of the sacred bull standing on a pedestal of cedar with padded handles that rested on the shoulders of four muscular young men, keeping in step to the words of a Palace steward walking behind them. Next came dignitaries in order of precedence each one wearing the robe, gown or tunic of their rank: first the Commander with his wife at his side, then the regional governors with theirs, and after them the deputy commanders, city administrators, town guardians and chief officials in the navy, the ports, the Watch, and Palace guard. Last of all came the tall axeman, holding the double-bladed ceremonial weapon before his chest as if ready to raise it for the fatal blow. A great crowd packing the spaces between the market stalls, which were still doing a good trade, stopped bargaining and gossiping to watch this display of piety, power and gorgeous finery in near silence, many making the gesture of reverence as the priestesses, and the axeman in particular, passed by. A few jeers and snatches of drunken song came from the back of the crowd but these were quickly silenced by Men of the Watch stationed there to ensure respectful behaviour.
The celebrants passed through the opened doors of the entrance porch and filed along a broad paved corridor with doors leading off one side into some of the Palace’s many store rooms. On the opposite wall were paintings depicting a different kind of procession. Life-sized figures of smiling long-haired young men, in tightly fitting blue or yellow kilts drawn in at the waist with silver belts, stepped forward in line like stewards at a banquet, carrying large pitchers and two-handled vases used for mixing wine and water before the feasters. Graceful bright-eyed girls with jewels in their hair seemed to dance by with bowls of fruit and slender goblets in their hands. Around these figures the walls were spangled with stars set among rippling bands and spirals of blue and yellow. The corridor turned sharply and led into another, brighter and fresher with its open windows. More striding and dancing painted figures continued to lead the way, seeming to move more quickly, and now joined by animals, a bounding dog here, a stealthy cat further on. Another turn in the corridor, and another, and still the painted figures urged the procession on, seeming to beckon and promise of delights to come. One last turn in the long, dizzying journey remained, and the wanderers found the corridor widen before them into a chamber with a high roof supported by massive painted columns. Ahead lay an open gateway through which sunlight poured in, its rays falling on the leader of the painted procession, the Lord of the Dance, with his crest of lilies and peacock feathers, his striped kilt and pipe thrust into his blue sash, his arms glittering with bracelets of silver, his left hand behind him holding a cord fastened to the collar of a prancing monkey.
The procession emerged into the sunlit glare of the Great Courtyard to a buzz of admiration from the spectators, and wound its way like a long glittering snake towards the shade of a covered staircase. The priestesses, novices and Chosen Children filed through the doorway of a chapel at to one side of this and the effigy of the bull was carried in after them. The doors were closed and the axeman took up position in the doorway. The ladies in the procession now separated from their escorts and took the stairs up to join others already present on a long balcony overlooking the courtyard. The grandest sat proudly at the front for all to see, looking this way and that, as they waited for the spectacle to begin. They wore yellow and cream striped fold-over flounced skirts and short-sleeved bodices with criss-cross patterned gold panels hemmed with blue embroidery, all open to the breast. Their cheeks were rouged and their fingernails painted red. Each one wore a necklace with several strings of beads carved in the form of crocus flowers or blue birds, and on every wrist were matching silver bracelets. Their oiled hair was elaborately arranged with small curls pressed on the forehead separated by a jewelled band from high-piled waves set with strands of sequins. A long curled tress hung down before each ear, and a thick banded coil of hair was led across the back of each neck and carefully pinned to rest on the right shoulder.
One of them was different from the others. She had no band on her forehead, no sequins in her hair and no jewels round her neck. She wore a simple gown covering her breast and an open blue bodice striped in blue, red and black with a splay of ribbons over one shoulder. Her nose turned up a little at the tip, like a fawn daintily nuzzling a flower, Sharesh thought. He saw her large almond-shaped eyes looking steadily in his direction, and her red lips pursed as if her thoughts were on him, but she was not yet certain as to what she should do with him. He felt so uneasy that he whispered to Kanesh, asking who the lady was and why was she looking at him.
Sharesh did as he was told but he was not sure Kanesh was right. He was sure the lady had looked at him too and in a very direct way.
The clamour of conversation echoing round the courtyard suddenly faded, then died away completely. Every eye turned towards the Ruler’s Sanctuary, the colonnaded temple with its roof parapet of sacred horns, built higher than any other part of the Palace so as to catch first sight of the rising sun. From its height the High Priestess and her Consort could survey all the land and sea that was theirs to command. White-robed priestesses appeared between the columns, ceremonially cleansing the way with their brooms of reeds, and then retreated out of sight. Sharesh held his breath. Even the grand ladies were hushed. A white form came into view, rising in the temple like the first pale wisps from a fire smouldering before it kindled. It moved forward until it stood still and clear as a staue between the dark red columns. The High Priestess laid the twisted myrtle wands across her breast, raised them to the sky and then lowered them towards the expectant faces gazing up at her from below.
“Ata-nia, Pot-in-ya,” breathed all the ladies in unison, placing their hands on their bosoms. Another figure appeared beside the High Priestess, its great bull’s head bowing in deference to her. She touched his golden horns lightly with her wands and she and the Consort turned towards the courtyard, stood motionless for a moment, and then took their seats on thrones that had been placed ready for them. A deep sighing sound filled the whole courtyard, followed by a low excited murmuring that rose higher and higher as people became impatient for the spectacle to begin. They did not have long to wait.
