by David Bell
Sheltered now from the ocean swell and moving smoothly on the idling current, the Davina steered for the lee side of the island. As the ship drew closer a few figures emerged from some low stone huts and made towards a jetty of piled-up grey boulders that projected a short distance out from the beach.
“Crakluz?” said Kanesh.
Luzar nodded. “Crakluz,” he said in a voice that Kanesh could not decide was sad or content, it was so low, gasping almost, like a messenger exhausted at the end of a long journey he had thought he might never survive.
Kanesh and Potyr were sitting on the stern deck on a couple of rough stools fashioned by the ship’s carpenter. The quietness and soft cool air were slowly teasing away the strains and tension that the long voyage had grafted into their bodies and minds. The scents of woodsmoke and roasting meat drifted across the water from the village near the shore, the gate in its wooden palisade open to reveal the glow of a cooking fire in front of one of the huts.
“The time between sunset and night is long in these parts,” said Potyr.
“Luzar tells me that his people have a word for it that means deathbed of the day. Some fear it more than they do the night. I find it to be a very favourable time for reflection.”
“What are your reflections on our encounter today? Can such a pair as Luzar and Anavar truly be brothers? Did you not see that each one has the same tattooed lines on cheek and round the eyes, yet when they met they barely touched hands.”
“Only the rivalry between brothers shows in such coolness. One is the elder; the other may have been the favourite. One follows the father in guarding the home and managing the trade; the other returns after many years having lost everything: ship, cargo, brother. You saw how different they are: eyes, skin, hair, limbs, movement, speech. They are as from different peoples, yet brothers. Is it not most interesting?”
“Indeed, but our main interest in coming here is the trade and I felt more wariness than welcome in Anavar’s response when we raised the matter. There was no mention of a feast, as we were offered in other places.”
“They are restrained and cautious people, unsure whether to believe us when we say we come from a rich and distant land of palaces set in another sea. Luzar will talk to them but for the time being they will take their lead from their jealous and suspicious headman. He has his trade all settled and is satisfied with what he has. We must persuade him that we can do better for him. At our next meeting he shall see the richness of the goods that we have to offer in exchange for his metal and that will sway his judgment. And I shall speak to him, alone, in words that I will make sure he understands. Luzar, what is it you have to say?”
Luzar’s form seemed to flow out of the dusk itself. Potyr was unsure as to how long he had been standing near them.
“My mother sends for you,” said Luzar, indicating Kanesh. “When?”
“Now. Sharesh will come with you.”
“Now that,” said Kanesh to Potyr, as he got up from his stool, “is what I have been waiting to hear.”
There was just enough light for Potyr to see the three figures set out along the strip of land that linked the island to the shore. The boy, no longer a boy, Potyr reminded himself, stood the same height as Kanesh. They walked in the same way, too, except, of course, for Kanesh’s limp.
They were so alike, mother and son. The only light came from torches hanging on the stone walls and the flickering fire on the hearth but it was enough to reveal the same purple eyes, the barley-coloured skin and the copper hair, hers streaked with silver.
“You are Kanesh and this man with the pipes at his belt is Sharesh. I am Eluwena.” She spoke slowly in a voice as deep and as sweet as the lower notes on the pipes.
“The people have always been told you would come again, one day, in your ships, following them on the long journey the storytellers say they made long ago from the far off mountains and the islands in the other sea. There were signs of your coming, the storytellers said. The gold beakers and the bronze swords were sent to the chieftains as tokens that one day you would come. They were buried in the stone tombs to await your coming, the storytellers told the people.” Here she paused and looked steadily at Kanesh as if expecting him to speak. The gold crescent at her throat glinted in the torchlight.
“But you, my lady, come from another people who were mountain folk, who marched by the rivers towards the setting sun, and climbed the passes between snow-covered peaks to settle in the forests and on the grassy plains beyond. And there they stayed, but not you, lady. You knew you must find where the sun went down into the sea and this is the place you were searching for, where you found your man, or where he brought you, and where he has left you with your sons, one who takes after his mother and the other after his father.”
“I had another son and all that I have of him now is the stone that hung at his neck and his image, carved from the wood of his ship, by the brother you brought home to me.”
“And you have a daughter, my lady. I see garments in your house that are those of a young woman and I think it must be she who brushes your hair and binds it with those gold braids. Only a daughter would take such care.”
“We know each other, you and I, Lord Kanesh, as I may address you for your courtly manner. Yet it is many years since you were a courtier, if ever you were. I see that your leg still aches from your fall from the chariot and that the scars on your back still pain you.”
“Less by far than the loss of your husband and your son pain you, my lady.”
“My son is with his father now. Luzar has placed the stone and the likeness in the tomb where my husband lies.”
Sadness gradually gave way to serenity in her face as she and Kanesh held each other’s gaze in silence. Sharesh sensed that questions and answers, evasions and refusals, and eventually acceptance and trust were being exchanged between them without a word being spoken. They had spoken in that ancient tongue he recognised but did not yet understand, except for the occasional word or name. He had heard Luzar named and thought he understood the word she had used for the pipes because she had looked at his when she spoke it. He puzzled over another word Kanesh had said that brought a soft smile to Eluwena’s face: it sounded like the word in his own tongue for girl or daughter. So, did Luzar have a sister? Suddenly he wanted very much to hear the lady speak again, and to his amazement she did, and this time it was to him.
Watching her lips move he heard his own tongue spoken and he could understand, but when he glanced away from her lips at her gold crescent, the words he heard were the ancient ones. Without knowing why, he felt for the pipes at his waist and looked at her again.
“A man who brings music with him is welcome in any house. You feel the pipes tremble in your hand. That is my voice you hear from the mouth of the old god carved on them. Know then that my daughter is named Ariadana and that I gave birth to her at dawn and to Luzar at noon on the same day. Your… Lord Kanesh spoke of the pain of sadness in my heart.”
Sharesh understood her unspoken wish and lifted the pipes to his lips. The melody sang of golden summers remembered in the cold mists of winter and the hopes of warmth when spring returned. Kanesh watched as Eluwena’s eyes closed and a rapt expression smoothed the lines from her face. He heard the slight noise at the door, but made no move. Sharesh was too absorbed in his playing to notice the hooded figures that had slipped silently into the room, and out again when the pipes at last fell silent.
“Go. Follow them,” said Eluwena. “Let your music speak for them.”
“Follow the star,” said Kanesh.
The palisade gate was closed. Sharesh slid the heavy timber bar from its brackets and pulled back one side of the cross-barred double door. He stepped outside and took the path that climbed away from the village towards the woods crowning the low cliffs above the beach. The moon was up and the Sailors’ Star shone bright for him to follow. He set off at a run, knowing he would find them, or they him.
“A father would be proud of such a so
n, handsome, accomplished, guileless, a musician who can turn hearts. Do you not think so?”
“He might well be. A little guile would not come amiss.”
“You have guile enough, Lord Kanesh. How is it working with my son the headman?”
“It has not yet been used, my lady, but I fancy your son is not easily swayed and therein lies our difficulty. We have been longer on our voyage here than we had hoped and, if we cannot agree on trade without too much delay, we will miss the season for our safe return.”
“Would it be such a disappointment to remain our guests until the year turns again?”
“A most tempting suggestion, my lady, but as I am sure you understand, a speedy return is essential if we are to persuade our authorities that the trade is sure.”
“I see you need my help and for returning my youngest son to me I will tell you how to convince his brother that yours is the trade he should favour.”
“Before you say more, my lady, you should know that for my help in avenging his brother your son Luzar has bound himself to return with me to Keftiu.”
“I had hoped you would say this to me yourself and did not doubt that you would, but Luzar has already told me of his pledge and of your assurance that once he has returned to the land of palaces he will be free to do as he then decides. I am content. Now, as to the other matter, this is what I advise you to do.”
Sharesh stood at the edge of the forest and looked at the moonlit heath stretching before him as far as he could see. The clear path that had led him through the trees was no longer to be seen. Many small tracks made by animals wandered about through the low brush, leading nowhere. He knew he must go on and there was only one way to go: he would follow the star. It led him at last to within sight of a lonely smooth-surfaced mound set like an island in a sea of long grass bending in the wind in long sinuous ripples like a smooth swell on the ocean. He felt no surprise when he saw them, the two figures, standing near the edge of the mound: Eluwena had said to go follow them and they had come here to wait for him. He knew what he must do.
He began with a long, low, husky note, fading like the light of day as dusk approaches and they loosened their hooded robes and let them fall to the ground. He played sad cadences and they stepped gracefully towards each other, nearing but never touching, and passing by with backward glances of farewell. He slowed the time and drew out the notes and they stopped beside each other and, slowly, bent their bodies over and down, bowing to the ground, lower and lower, until they lay, backs curved, heads forward and knees drawn up, still and quiet, as if in death.
Luzar and Ariadana, naked with their arms about each other, in homage and farewell before their father’s tomb.
Two crates had been brought up from the hold and manhandled into a small boat that took them the short distance to the jetty. Kanesh and Potyr were there to see that the Crakluz men carried them carefully to the warehouse for opening.
“Now that’s done,” said Typhis to Kerma and the riggers, “it’s get her out into the bay and clean ship. Skipper wants it done by midday, so get a move on.”
“Clean ship,” muttered the younger rigger, “what about going ashore, stretching your legs, see what’s going on behind that palisade?”
“All in good time,” said Kerma grinning. “Can’t have your ugly face scaring the kids, can we? Have to take it slowly.”
“They scare me. How would you like your face all blue circles and dots? And that’s only the men.”
“Hold oars!” shouted Typhis. “That’s far enough out. Any further and the anchor won’t touch bottom.”
“Now that,” said Kerma, “is something I haven’t done for a long time.”
“Well you’ll have a job finding one here,” said the head rigger. “All the ones I’ve seen are well wrapped up.”
“Unpacking is all part of the fun,” said Kerma. “Mind you, it is a bit fresh at night in these parts. I could do with one of those woollen shirts they wear.”
Kanesh could see that Anavar was impressed by the bolts of cloth but determined not to show it. It was the movement of his dark eyes, his glances flickering over the richly coloured cottons and linens that gave him away. He had never seen anything like this before. He stretched out a hand to touch the soft sheen of the silk and hastily drew it back, lest he should be thought to be at all interested.
“These are poor stuffs, as you can see,” said Kanesh apologetically, “picked up in haste, we were so pressed to set sail, but they may give you some hint of finer cloth that could be shipped. Here, you,” he said, calling to one of the Crakluz men hovering in the doorway, “take this away before your master starts laughing, and get it back to the ship.” He watched Anawar’s eyes following the crates as they were carried outside. “If you care to look,” he said casually, “we can bring ashore some of the other goods we carry, the pottery and the honeyed fruits, say, for you to see, and taste. But you must have far better things to do with your time; perhaps tomorrow?”
“I may find some time at the end of the day,” muttered Anawar. “Have them taken to my house in the village.”
“Have I your permission to allow my men ashore?” said Potyr. “They have been many days at sea and would welcome the chance to set foot on dry land and clean themselves and their gear in some stream nearby. You need have no fear of them. I have a disciplined crew.”
“You are thirty men, all told. Half may come ashore and prove themselves to be as you say. Then we shall see about the others.”
“They are all strong and skilled men,” said Kanesh. “It could be that while we are here, they may be of help to you and your people.”
“As I have said, we shall see.”
“Little by little we shall draw him in, as one draws in the monkey with a titbit on the end of a string,” said Kanesh. “Today, a glimpse of the finery and luxury that could be his; tomorrow, a chance revelation about the silver we carry and to add the final sweetener, some of the best wine, the Halaba, for a mouth that has never tasted such wine before. He will see himself becoming the greatest and richest trader in the land. And at that moment I will lay the final lure before him.”
“The mysteries of the mines?”
“Just so. I have already looked at some of their workings. They are in need of guidance.”
“I am concerned about the time that all of this is taking,” said Potyr.
“The devices I will show the miners are readily understood.”
“He is a jealous and suspicious man,” said Potyr. “When will we know whether we have persuaded him?”
“When he invites us to join in the hunt for the wild boar,” said Kanesh. “Or so the lady Eluwena tells me.”
Potyr looked at him with a faint smile on his face and a slow shaking of the head. “Why is it that women seem always to reveal freely what you wish to know?”
Kanesh smiled back at him. “Old friend,” he said. “If you believe that, you are not as astute as I thought. There is always a price to pay for their revelations.”
Sharesh went through the tedious tasks of cleaning ship like any other member of the crew but his mind kept slipping back to the happenings of the night. He scraped the planks clean with the pumice stone, scooped the bilge water into the bucket for Namun to haul and then took his turn on deck with the rope, but always before his eyes were the two bodies lying together on the moonlit grass before the mound, then on the one that rose and came up to him. Was it Luzar or Ariadana who drew him towards the other, Ariadana or Luzar, so that all three clasped each other under the moon? They moved along the path through the woods in front of him like wraiths. His feet seemed to fly over the trodden earth but always they were ahead, beyond touch. As he ran, reaching out for them, the moonlight flashed through the leaves and flickered in his eyes, making him see strange sights of great birds swooping, white tops leaping from waves, sails aflame, white-robed figures with arms upraised, tall standing stones, walls crumbling in ruin, and more and more, until his mind whirled and spun and
he stumbled and fell into darkness, the fearful darkness of the forest.
“What did they do to you?”
Namun’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. Sharesh tried to speak but no words came.
“Who were they? Where did you go? Did they make you drink something? Was it Luzar?”
“Luzar, yes, Luzar and someone who wasn’t Luzar but was, in a way. We were in a forest.”
“Well now you’re on deck with a bucket of slops dangling from your hand and Typhis up there watching and getting ready to give you an earful. Don’t look! Get on with it and you can tell me later.”
But he never did tell Namun what happened, or what he thought happened because whenever he tried, he could not find the words.
He woke from darkness into darkness but he could see her standing there looking down at him. She was a darkness that he could make out only because the moonlight outlined her body with its soft silvery glow. You saw things you were meant to see, she said; some have happened to you and some will happen, who can tell when? There are more things you should see but you have not the time to see them. Because you are a singer of songs and sang for me, I will show them to you in my way. You will know when to come to me to see these things. Sleep again now and wake at dawn and go back to your ship. When he woke he was still gripping the pipes tightly, his forefinger on the horns of the little, ancient god.
THE HUNT
Eluwena lifted the nippled jug with the backward-tilted spout up to the light to see more clearly the olive leaves and swallows painted on its plump body.
“This pitcher would grace any table and make your suppliers from the far island burn with envy when next they bring their goldwork for barter. And look at this, no, do not touch! It is too delicate for a hand like yours,” she snapped at Anavar who was about to lift a vase patterned all over with white spirals and red flowers with wide open petals made so fine and light that it seemed almost to float above the crumpled hanks of wool that had wrapped it. Sharesh had been given the task of unpacking the pottery for show and had just brought out the last piece, a stout bull’s head vase with horns for handles. He placed it carefully in the centre of the long table made from boards resting on trestles that was covered with the finest pitchers, jugs, vases, bowls, plates, dishes, cups and lamps from the potters’ wheels of Kallista and Keftiu. Swallows swooped, lilies opened, wheat-ears sprouted and crocus flowers nestled on the gleaming surfaces among the circles, spirals and loops of white, red and brown. On a smaller table nearby jewellery had been almost carelessly scattered on dark red cloth: a necklace of tiny gold roses, another of minute silver nautilus shells, gold and silver rings with stones set in them carved to show rearing bulls, dainty gazelles, lions with lifted paws and hovering dragonflies. There were glass beads from the Black Land, blue, fiery red, yellow, green and colourless, and polished discs and ovals of turquoise, lapis, garnet and amethyst in alabaster boxes, and thin-toothed combs carved from the ivory of the river horse. Sharesh lifted a sandalwood box from another crate and opened it before Eluwena’s gaze and invited her to take and open the delicate little phials and flasks it contained. One after the other, the perfumes of lavender, musk, rose petal, almond oil and sweet resins, gums and herbs, spread through the room and, although Anavar’s nose twitched suspiciously, Eluwena’s eyes closed in ecstasy so consuming that at Kanesh’s nod Sharesh held back the tiny pots of soft, scented creams, salves, paints and powders for her to find later.
