The Corn King and the Spring Queen

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The Corn King and the Spring Queen Page 22

by Naomi Mitchison


  ‘Was it so bad?’ he asked, kissing her hair.

  She nodded. ‘When I knew—when they told me—I think I nearly died. I would have, but for Essro; she helped me with her magic. She had a child just before I had.’

  ‘Was your magic no use then?’

  ‘No. You see, it goes with me. And I was so weak. I haven’t told you, Yersha tried to poison me before she went.’

  Tarrik let go of her suddenly. ‘Yersha—Eurydice! No! Erif, are you sure?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ She even laughed a little. ‘She’d been trying for a long time, months, I think. I didn’t understand at first; I thought it was your baby that made me feel so ill. But after she’d gone somebody told me. Just before she had to go out of the house I very nearly died; she thought I would quite. She hasn’t meant to tell you lies, Tarrik!’ And again she laughed and shivered. ‘So you see, between that and your baby—Oh, my love, I did want to give you a child!’ The laughter broke and passed into deep, bitter crying, partly the pain of all she remembered; the tiny things that no one could ever know, that she could never tell, not even to Tarrik; the silly dreams and wishes of any very young mother over her unborn first child, all unfulfilled; and partly anger at the life and effort and agony wasted; and partly pure, cold hate of those who had done it, for herself, for Tarrik, and for her son who was dead and could not even hate.

  She leapt on to her feet, clutching, gasping for air and freedom from pain, the pain which had smouldered in her for weeks, waiting till she could tell, and now was out and smothering her. She stood with her back bent over, her face to the moon, stiff and quivering. Tarrik stood away, afraid to take her in his arms, she looked as though she would break so easily. Berris was stroking her foot; she was not likely to feel it through her leather boot, but it was a certain comfort to him. He was dreadfully sorry for her and he, too, felt old and protective. He could not understand about Yellow Bull. He wanted to ask more, and about what their father had said and done. He wished she would stop and let him ask. The others understood that there had been a bad magic about. The Corn King and the Spring Queen were together again, but this was how it was. They shifted down towards the horses and wondered what other evil things had happened in Marob. They wanted to ask questions, too, and they did not like being so long under the white glare of the moon. The horses snuffed among the bushes but could find little to eat; Erif Der’s horse had gold on its bridle. At last Kotka and Black Holly, watching from below, heard no sounds, and after a time they saw the two dark shapes of the Corn King and the Spring Queen blot together as Erif got nearer and nearer, and at last ceased from consciousness of either pain or gladness or anything but rest and Tarrik’s arms round her again.

  Two days later a shepherd sighted them riding down into the valley and cried the news to his mate further south; so it got to Sparta, and all the rest of the Marob people rushed out in their best clothes to welcome the Chief. They had heard all that had happened in Marob from Erif’s men, and they were very anxious to get home as soon as possible and make their Corn King put things right immediately, at least make next year’s crops begin well. Tarrik said he would start in a week, but first Erif must say good-bye to his aunt.

  Berris alone was very doubtful about going back. He could not tell what was going to happen to his own immediate family. All his father’s plans would have been upset by Yellow Bull’s death—in whatever queer way it was that Tarrik had brought it about. Harn Der himself could not be Corn King; he was too old or would be in a few years; it was not worth while. And Gold-fish was too young. He, Berris, would not take it if it was offered to him by all Marob! He had his own cunning, the magic of his own craft, he would not take anything from outside. Besides, would it be like that? It seemed more likely that Tarrik would come back to his country as saviour and welcome to every one and have it all his own way from now on. Erif had gone over to his side. That was very likely a good thing, and anyway his father’s fault. But what would happen to Harn Der after Tarrik’s triumph? Erif would see that no harm came to the children, her small brother and sister, but she might not choose to stand between Tarrik and her father. Whichever way it was, Berris Der found he would not be able to meet his father with either love or hate entire. He thought he would not go back till the thing was settled one way or the other, but he put off saying so to his sister until she had come back from her errand.

  For Tarrik had given her the life of his Aunt Eurydice, his aunt who had brought him up from childhood and been in many ways a mother to him, with even a mother’s jealousies. It was just. He told his men all that had happened and they agreed. Erif and Kotka, with twenty others, rode over the pass into Messenia. Tarrik stayed in Sparta, getting ready to go, intent on thinking only forwards.

  The day before his wife was due to come back he told Sphaeros, who was horrified. He did not much like Eurydice, but equally he had a certain prejudice against Erif Der; she was the kind of person who disturbed life and made it run counter to its natural and divine order. She made stresses and violences, and as she grew older would make more. He was not now certain how much he believed that it was she who had bewitched Tarrik at the time of the bullfighting, though certainly when he had leapt into the flax-market he had believed it absolutely and acted in accordance with his belief. But it seemed to him that she made it impossible for Tarrik to act as a king, who was also his pupil and a Stoic, should act. He was doubtful how much the love of women was compatible with a good life. Agiatis was different, perhaps; her influence was for calm; she had learnt to master herself and change turbulent passion into kindness, and she was kind not only to one, but to all. Sphaeros, in his middle age, used to suffer most annoyingly from indigestion. He disregarded it, of course, and ate sour bread and black broth with the rest, but Agiatis used to make hot and comforting brews and get him to take them by saying that she knew she was a silly woman, but it would give her such pleasure, and smiling at him very nicely. Nobody else noticed at all.

  Erif Der came back the next afternoon, tired and heavy-looking. She was less beautiful than she used to be, but Tarrik had not noticed that yet. He went out along the road to meet her and Sphaeros went too, for he was anxious to counteract, if he could, the passions that would almost inevitably be roused in his pupil, the thought of blood, the thing which should be hidden, brought up to the surface of the imagination. Erif dismounted at the side of the road and came over to them; Kotka followed her. It was a piece of stony waste ground beyond the houses, half covered with crawling dusty plants of the bitter cucumber. She began popping the little green gourds with the toe of her riding boot, watching the yellow juice squirt out. Tarrik found himself unable to speak, unable to ask how Eurydice had died. When the last of the cucumbers within reach of her boot was popped, she said, without looking up: ‘I didn’t kill her after all.’

  During those days she had been gone Tarrik had managed to steady himself against the horror of the idea of his aunt’s death. Now the idea was taken away and he overbalanced into indignant anger and said: ‘Why not?’ Then he saw Kotka looking at him with his mouth open, idiotically surprised. He flung up his hands and plunged away across the dusty land.

  Erif Der looked after him. ‘I knew he’d do that,’ she said, miserable and helpless, biting her lip.

  Sphaeros had stayed. ‘Tell me what stopped you,’ he said very kindly.

  ‘I told her everything that had happened,’ said Erif. ‘I told her Tarrik knew I was going to kill her and had let me go to do it, and that hurt her through and through, yes, just like poison. And then Kotka brought in the man, her Rhodian.’

  ‘He went soft under my hands,’ said Kotka.

  ‘So after that I thought,’ said Erif, ‘that she had better marry him and go away and never come back to Marob. So I suppose she will. Then we went away.’

  Sphaeros nodded. ‘But can you not tell me what it was—what principle, what idea—that told you to spare her?’

  ‘No,’ said Erif, ‘I don’t know. I just did. After a
ll, she hadn’t been able to kill me, though she took such a long time about it, and it wasn’t she who killed my child. That will be different. I tell you what I did do, Sphaeros, on my way back. I found Apphé and killed her. I’ve always wanted to do that. She was a nasty worm with legs. Kotka held her arms and I cut her throat. It was nice. Do you think Tarrik is angry with me for not killing Eurydice after he gave me leave?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Sphaeros. ‘You poor, unhappy children! But how could any of you hope to get what you seek out of Hellas?’

  ‘I never thought we would,’ said Erif. She looked round into the hot, cloudless sky that now, after all these rainless months, seemed to have dried all bright colours out of the earth, leaving it as brown as the world was before there was any grass or trees or friendly beasts. She rubbed her dusty hands on her coat and smeared the sweat out of her eyes.

  ‘It was my fault,’ Sphaeros said again. ‘I should never have let your Tarrik think he could get any good of it. He persuaded me … against my judgment … that he and Kleomenes might be friends. It seemed possible in Marob, but I should not have allowed myself even to consider it.’

  Kotka brought up the horses and told two of the men to dismount so that Tarrik and Sphaeros could ride. He was glad they had finished with Greece. Tarrik came back and mounted and rode on sharply, but Sphaeros said he would rather walk. He waited until the dust from the riders ahead had settled, and then followed them, more slowly.

  Chapter Seven

  ON HIS WAY BACK Sphaeros met Phoebis, who was on the whole sympathetic about the Scythians and how little good they had got out of Sparta. He himself was rather distressed and indignant because some of the Spartiates who had been friendly enough to him and his likes before they were citizens, were now not nearly so ready to consider them brothers. Sphaeros soothed him down. ‘It’ll pass, Phoebis,’ he said, ‘after the next battle! And I know it’s none of the King’s own Mess.’

  ‘No,’ said Phoebis, ‘but I’m the only one who’s in that, and the others mind more than me. They’ll get their own back some day, or their sons will. I’m half and half, but some of them are pure helots, though we all pretend not to think so—except the King, who does dare look straight because he’s an eagle! And they’ve been kept down all these years and years, oh, beyond time, Sphaeros! And now they’ve got their rights. It’s like strong wine.’ He scratched his head and grinned. ‘Well, we’ve all got something wrong with us. There’s our poor Therykion gone and fallen head over ears for a pink-and-white boy who can’t run across two fields!’

  ‘I heard that,’ said Sphaeros. ‘One hoped he might have been able to choose more wisely at his age: if one must fall in love, as you all seem to do whatever follies you can be certain it will lead you into.’

  ‘Some people are fools,’ said Phoebis. He laughed and felt better. He quite liked Therykion, but thought him fussy about his beard and nails and the hang of his otherwise very plain tunic. ‘Panteus is the lucky one,’ he said. ‘Everything he touches goes right. I do like it when he sings. He and the King have got each other’s heart for keeps, and when she’s old enough he’ll have Philylla, who’s the same for the Queen or as near as makes no difference. She’s a picture, isn’t she, Sphaeros?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Sphaeros. Phoebis had hold of his arm and was walking him along rather fast. He stumbled once or twice. ‘Is she gentle, do you know? When I’m there she scarcely speaks, but I have seen her racing about the fields by herself.’

  ‘She’s gentle and wise,’ said Phoebis, ‘and she knows something about my people. She doesn’t mind the smell of cows and pigs and old thatch and garlic. She’ll give him children. Sphaeros, did you know I was married? Well, I am. I married young and I married back, too. None of your fine useless ladies! She looked after the goats on the farm next ours. I’ve got two boys.’

  ‘Does it hinder you?’ said Sphaeros.

  ‘No, it helps me. Because of the children. She’d stick to me too, whatever happened, even if the King was beaten in the end, as Agis was, and my citizenship was taken from me.’ But that was a thing Phoebis didn’t care for thinking about. He let go of Sphaeros suddenly and jumped over to the side of the road where there were bushes with milky-blue flowers, the kind that had been sacred to Hera in old days. They made quite a good garland flower, and Phoebis picked a whole bunch of them and began knotting the twigs together with a handful of stiff grasses. He made a pretty, straggly sort of crown and wanted to put it on Sphaeros. He was rather ashamed of having said so much and wanted at least to turn it into play, but as Sphaeros was extremely firm about refusing to put it on, he crammed it down over his own forehead and gay eyes, and then went rushing off, while Sphaeros went on towards the King’s house.

  He asked to see the Queen and waited. They brought him a bench with cushions into the front room, but by that time he had got out his tablets and was writing on them and not in a state to notice whether he was standing or sitting. One of the maids of honour went to find the Queen. There was a big, cool room at the back of the house, whose only windows opened into the covered walk round a courtyard full of green plants and the trickle of a fountain, so that they could not let past the dusty glare of the unveiled sun or the heat on the roads. The ceiling was made carefully of reeds, though there was a big rafter in the middle with two hooks on it for a rope swing, which was now looped back; the walls were blue and the floor had lately been sprinkled with water. Agiatis lay on a couch along the wall with the little girl tumbling about her feet. She was looking merry enough then, and soft and pretty as a young, new-married wife. Philylla had been reading to her, but now she had stopped and was talking about the nice baby Gorgo, whose mouth was full of her own silly curls and who wriggled and squealed with laughter and brightening eyes as her mother’s strong toes tickled her. Philylla said: ‘I do wish you’d have another baby, Agiatis. I would love to see you with a tiny fat baby.’ She came and stood beside Agiatis and touched her breast gently with one finger and patted the edge of her white dress which the little princess had tugged down off her mother’s shoulder. ‘Oh, Agiatis, I would love to see you suckling a baby! Did you feed them all yourself?’

  Agiatis laughed up at her. ‘Yes, these ones,’ she said, ‘they were dears. It was what Kleomenes wanted. But I didn’t with my first one. Nobody thought it possible or fitting for the Queen. But it’s a sweet thing to do. You will, Philylla.’

  Then Sphaeros was announced and Agiatis sat up straight and held the little girl in her arms, jogging her to keep her quiet. Philylla went over to the corner of the room and got herself distaff and spindle and would have gone out, but Agiatis called her back, for Sphaeros had just asked if she knew that Phoebis was married, and this was a thing that Philylla knew more about than she did. ‘I’ve ridden over there,’ said Philylla, ‘oh, four times anyway. The place is full of bees in spring, tearing in from the hillsides. I always have bread and honey there and sometimes butter, for they’ve got cows: two more since the dividing up of the land. It’s a big farm; all his people live there. She’s nice, Sphaeros. Her name’s Neareta. I think their own names matter a great deal to people of that sort; perhaps it’s because they don’t belong to one another the way we do. Her voice is rather thick and country, and she’s getting fat, but I can see she must have been a lovely girl when he fell in love with her. And strong! she told me she could carry a big nanny-goat on her back, in those days. She’s wonderful with animals now; they don’t seem to mind what she does to them. And they’ve got two little boys.’

  Sphaeros, used to estimating pupils from the answers they least thought he was attending to, on the whole thought that Phoebis was right about Philylla. He said: ‘I want you both to be kind to the young Queen of Marob who came here to find her husband and is sailing off with him in two days.’ And he told them all he knew about Erif Der and how he wanted the Scythians to go back to their queer outer land with not too bad an idea of the Greeks.

  Agiatis listened and nodded and kept t
he child still, and Philylla listened and held the distaff in her armpit and set the spindle twirling with her clever, unconscious fingers. She had been curiously startled to hear the Scythians were going so soon. Why hadn’t Berris Der told her? He was her property and he’d got no business to run away. Then she felt ashamed of herself and the thread broke, and for a moment she did not hear what Sphaeros was saying. She would be nice to this Queen, of course she would! Hospitality was a sacred thing. She had been right to lend her the horse at once without question. Then Sphaeros went out and Agiatis said: ‘He is going to bring this little barbarian Queen to see us. I wonder what she’d like to have said to her. You’ve seen her, Philylla. How is one to talk to her?’

  ‘Oh, she’s just as nice as a lot of people,’ said Philylla. ‘Besides, she’s a witch.’

  Agiatis burst out laughing. ‘You silly dear goose, you don’t believe that?’

  ‘She told me so herself,’ said Philylla, ‘and so did her brother. They ought to know. And I think, as well, that I understand the sort of way women can be witches.’

  Agiatis sighed. ‘I think I did when I was your age. One feels full of power, doesn’t one? But it never lasts, sweet; not if one lives a full woman’s life. One’s giving too much all the time. Now, run and fetch me my comb and a mirror.’

  Philylla went to the door of the King’s house to meet Erif Der and bring her in. Erif was very nervous and hot, running with sweat in her best clothes, one of those stiff felt dresses embroidered all over with sets of toothed concentric rings in every colour. On her head was the heavy felt cone, and round it the very elaborate Spring crown that she had brought away with her: flower sprays with improbable blossoms and little animal running in and out, gold and coral and various enamels. Her hair was plaited with the queer patterned Chinese ribbons, and there were rings on all her fingers, most of them solid, hollowed amber. Philylla tried hard not to seem surprised and took it all in. Erif Der thanked her for the horse, which Kotka had led behind her as far as the door, for she could not possibly ride with that dress. Philylla said it was sad that she must go away so soon without seeing anything. Erif answered that her brother would do the seeing for her, as he was staying on. ‘Oh,’ said Philylla, as unconcernedly as possible, ‘isn’t he going with you, then?’

 

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