The Corn King and the Spring Queen

by Naomi Mitchison

  ‘And what if they did?’ said Erif. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  But the faun said he was not certain. Kleomenes had known more than anyone ought to have known, things about the new camp east of the delta, various arrangements and surprises which the women might easily have heard of. ‘Sosibios is so stupidly realist,’ he said.

  ‘Will they be imprisoned?’ asked Erif, and then, after a little pause, in which she got no answer, ‘or what?’

  The faun said slowly: ‘I am afraid—the latter. And if I may advise, my Scythian apple-blossom, you and your brother would do best to keep out of the way. Sosibios is in the mood to overreach himself. I am going to the Divine Court at Canopus tomorrow, by boat. Rather a charming new boat; I think you’d approve. Would you let your faun carry you off in it, out of all these unpleasantnesses which, after all, none of us can do anything about?—quite, quite gently, Erif, in between the blue ripples, so that you’d hardly know? This is the weather for Canopus; there’ll be tiny breezes there. Alexandria is impossible. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘What?’ said Erif, when he’d finished, and then, one hand on his shoulder, the other up to her own forehead: ‘Oh—I’m sorry, my head’s aching. The sun. No, not tomorrow, I think, but perhaps your boat comes and goes? Yes, Alexandria is unbearable. I think I must go home and—lie down by myself. No, faun, not again! Let me go!’

  She went across the city almost running, as fast as a woman could without being noticed and delayed. She thought of the faun, whom she usually quite liked, with an extraordinarily violent mixture of anger and contempt. By the museum there were little agitated knots and crowds, discussing today’s doings in the shady ending of the afternoon. It was said that one of the professors was going to make it all into a text for a Stoic lecture, which would be amusing. This Spartan King had been a pupil of Sphaeros, hadn’t he? Sphaeros was rather out of date, of course; had lost touch during the years he’d been up north in Borysthenes, or wherever the place was. He was out of sympathy with the modern philosophic movements, the new rapprochements with the Mysteries, and all that. Most of these mainland Greeks were behind the times unless they’d had the sense to move. Their places were dead. Athens—Sparta—dead branches! The world was growing outward like a tree towards the sun. The green leaves and flowers were on the edges, Alexandria, Jerusalem, Carthage, even Rhodes, Macedonia perhaps, why, yes, Syria certainly, one must admit that one’s enemies were civilised!—but Alexandria above all was the central blossom—wise bees knew that. It was to be hoped anyhow that these disturbances wouldn’t lead to new police regulations. Such a bore not to be able to stay out after midnight!

  But Erif Der was at Queen Kratesikleia’s house. She heard that both Berris and Sphaeros were there. The servants knew her well and brought her through, but she could see that they were all terrified and on edge, even the old helot doorkeeper, whom one had never thought of as having any more sensibilities than a watchdog. Berris met her in the courtyard; she told him her news quickly. He nodded. ‘They think so too, but they don’t know what to do. And—Erif, I’ve seen her. She’d heard. The old Queen’s crying and howling like a girl—listen!’ They listened and shivered. ‘But she—Erif, she was as calm and hard as ivory. Erif, do you think that perhaps she really doesn’t care?’

  ‘No,’ said Erif. ‘No such luck, my dear. She’s being a Spartan. So will the old woman be, the moment she’s got over the first shock of it. Is Sphaeros with her? Mmm, I expect they set one another off. We’ve got to get Philylla and the King’s children away, Berris.’

  ‘It will be harder with the children. If this Sosibios really does mean business.’

  ‘She won’t leave them. I know. Beside—Berris, it may be stupid of me, but I’m not going to let these three stay and be murdered. Agiatis was very kind to me.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Berris, ‘you’re right, we must get Kleomenes’ kids out of it. That eldest boy particularly. I think we may have to run for it. If I do, I hope to God nobody will go mucking about with my statue! How much money have we got, Erif?’

  ‘Enough for the passage money, and bribes. Where do we go? Oh, Berris, north!’

  ‘We might. Erif, there she is. Erif, I don’t think I have ever seen her looking more beautiful!’

  He stood and watched her, amazed at the new strength and beauty of her face and bearing, but Erif went to her quickly and they kissed rather hard. Erif knew she could say nothing to help, either in love or magic. But the touch of hands and lips would talk. ‘We are going to get you away,’ she said, after a minute. ‘Yes, I know what you want to say!—you and the children.’

  ‘You think,’ said Philylla slowly, ‘that the danger is as certain as all that?’

  ‘I’ve been to the palace. I know.’

  Philylla shivered a little. She said: ‘We did not tell them at once. It was—difficult. But Sphaeros said it must be done. He and their grandmother are telling them now.’ She frowned. ‘I wanted to tell them myself, but the Queen would not let me. It would have been better for me to do it—being nearer Nikomedes and perhaps hurt in the same way.’

  It was the first chance Erif had found to say anything. ‘Is it too bad?’ she said. ‘Dearest, dearest, can you tell me at all?’

  Philylla said: ‘I don’t think I know yet. Only I don’t think I mind whether I live or not, for myself. That was my real life. Now it’s over.’

  ‘But it’s not over!’ said Erif, and Berris was beside her, saying the same thing. ‘You’re younger than me. You’re only twenty-one. You’ll get free again—as I have. I’ll make you a life, sweetheart.’

  ‘You and Berris,’ said Philylla, ‘you two dear—barbarians. You don’t begin to know what’s happened. It’s not my own single life, it’s not—not Panteus.’ She had hesitated, but managed to say the name without a tremble of the lip. ‘It’s the life I was part of that is gone. I feel—hollow. My God has left me. There’ll be no more Sparta. I’ve tried to face it as possible before, all these three years, but I suppose I never could. This is the hour I had not guessed.’

  Berris and Erif had each taken one of her hands. They tried to make her feel that she was part of their life, of their God. They told her their plans. Berris had been thinking them out. The best thing would be to get her and the children down to the harbour that evening—it would be dark in an hour—and embark on almost any ship that was due to sail at dawn. Berris could certainly bribe the captain and crew to say nothing till then.

  ‘I’ve no money,’ said Philylla abruptly, ‘nor have they. You understand I shall have to get them secretly without letting Kratesikleia know. She’d never let them go. She’d rather they were killed under her eye like Spartans! As though one hadn’t got to learn retreat too! But I can do that. They’ll come with me.’

  ‘You and they shall be the guests of Marob,’ said Erif, a little proudly. ‘Get your things, Philylla.’

  ‘A small bundle,’ said Philylla, considering, ‘for them. I’ll need nothing.’ And she turned.

  But as she did so one of the Queen’s women ran out into the courtyard and caught hold of her with a kind of flustered, half-suppressed, throaty shrieking. Philylla shook her. ‘What is it? What more? The Queen?’

  ‘No,’ said the woman. ‘Oh—oh, Philylla—it’s Nikomedes!’

  ‘What is it?’ said Philylla in a very queer voice.

  ‘When he heard the news about his poor father, he didn’t say anything at first, but—but he went up to the roof and jumped off!’

  Philylla asked stonily: ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No, but he’s hurt—all over—and his head, his face—oh, God save us, the blood!’ And the woman began to throw herself about again and shriek.

  ‘That seems to end our plans,’ said Philylla. ‘I’m going to him.’

  She went very quickly into the inner part of the house, from between Erif and Berris, leaving them to grasp at nothing. Then they both turned on the woman and pulled her to her feet and hit her till she stopped. They wan
ted to know more. But all the woman could tell them was about every one running out to pick the boy up, hardly daring to move him, he seemed so hurt; and all he did was to cry and curse them and say they must let him do it, they were his subjects now and they’d got to let him kill himself!

  Erif caught her breath in horror; she hated things happening to children. It seemed a quite unnecessary piece of cruelty. The woman went back to the house sobbing. After a time Berris said: ‘If he dies I suppose she’ll come with the little ones.’

  Erif didn’t answer. She was also, in a way, jealous of the King’s children—of the remaining Spartan idea—which kept Philylla from coming with them to safety. But she also loved them because Philylla loved them. In a way Berris did that, but not gently and deliberately as Erif did, not as a mother separated from her child could love other children. He sometimes turned his imagination on to them and saw them beautiful—more beautiful because of their danger—but other times he turned his feelings of jealousy and ownership and need of Philylla on to them and saw them only as obstacles in his way. He recognised those last feelings and hated them, for they were unproductive, they stopped him working, even. But he could not always have the other thing, the imaginative well-wishing; that was more than human; that was—yes, god-like. He walked up and down in the quickly lengthening shadows, thinking that, sometimes deeply sorry for Nikomedes, aching with imagined pain, anxious and hurt with Philylla, and sometimes just angry. But Erif stayed still, asking herself if she had any possible magic which would take effect here in this Greek household, but knowing there was none. And she became rather frightened at the realisation of how deeply she loved Philylla. If anything happened to Philylla—as it would, unless—unless—And then Sphaeros came out of the house, all grey and untidy and more distracted than they had ever seen him.

  He said: ‘What have I done? Why did he do that? Couldn’t the child have waited and thought?’ And then: ‘It is—it is a very horrible mess, Berris. I helped to get him on to a bed. All the time he was angry, hating us for trying to help him.’

  Berris answered, rather hardly: ‘You taught him to be a Stoic, you taught him not to regard his body, Sphaeros. And now he seems to have thrown his body away very completely. Those beautiful eyes and straight temples of his!’ he ended, suddenly furious at the waste, his anger at that mixing with his anger at the delay and danger to his love. Then he said: ‘I suppose you realise that Sosibios will be after the women and children now?’

  Sphaeros turned rather white. He said: ‘I was afraid that might be so. Kleomenes should have known.’

  ‘Known—or cared. Yes,’ said Berris Der. ‘But I’ve got to get Philylla, the widow of Panteus, away, and the two younger children.’

  ‘Why Philylla?’ said Sphaeros, with an old man’s finicky panic at someone else’s perhaps dangerous idea. ‘Why not—’

  ‘Because I choose!’ said Berris.

  ‘Because of Agiatis,’ said Erif quickly.

  Sphaeros seemed to understand that. ‘Tell me how I can help,’ he said. ‘If there are any risks I can take—naturally, I should be most willing to die for them.’

  ‘You won’t get the chance, worse luck,’ said Berris grimly. Then Philylla came out again; her hands were washed, but there was a fleck of blood on the front of her dress.

  Berris said: ‘Are the little ones ready to go?’

  She said: ‘I’ll bring them. But you must take them, Erif– you and Sphaeros. I must stay with Nikomedes now.’

  ‘You shan’t!’ said Berris, and caught her up to him and kissed her hard on the lips, regardless of Sphaeros, who stared, a little wearily, as though he had already seen too much that day.

  She kissed him back once with an almost stinging violence, and then shoved him away with both hands. ‘No!’ she said. ‘Take the two children. Take them back to Sparta some day. Tell them about the New Times. Tell them about their father and—and his friends. Only—don’t make it too terrible, Erif. Little Gorgo dreams so. She ought to marry young—someone kind. Oh, Erif—Erif, my darling, I don’t want to leave you yet!’ And for a moment she ran into Erif’s open arms and sobbed against her breasts and her hair was soft against Erif’s neck and her body was soft and so much too easy to hurt. And Erif felt suddenly more like a sister than a friend, more like a mother than either. Sphaeros and Berris looked on, for the moment equally out of it. This was a woman’s business, the she side of things suddenly showing itself to the men, a great fish leaping out of dark water. Abruptly, Berris felt his eyes prickly with tears. He knew that Philylla, his love, must do what she thought best. And Philylla raised herself from Erif’s breast and shook out her dress and gasped and smiled and said: ‘I’ll fetch them now. And good-bye.’

  Only, then, there was a very loud knocking on the outer door and men’s voices, and all at once the courtyard was full of soldiers, forty of King Ptolemy’s soldiers and an officer, with written orders in his hand, and two women marched along with them, Leandris carrying her baby, and Neareta with her hands tied and her face red with anger and her dress torn as though she’d fought. Philylla said to the officer: ‘What do you want?’ And the officer said he had orders from Sosibios to take out and execute the mother and children of the late Kleomenes and all the women who were connected with them.

  ‘So,’ said Philylla, and she looked the officer up and down. Then he gave an order in a loud voice, and half the soldiers marched past her into the house. Sphaeros and Berris both at once rushed at the officer and began to argue. Another order. They were both violently arrested, their arms twisted behind them and their mouths gagged. Erif had said nothing. She stood very quietly beside Philylla and she saw Philylla’s hands clench and quiver with rage, and her eyes, when they took Berris, struggling blindly against four of them, and kicked and twisted him into obedience, were like a growling chained bitch’s when men take her puppies away.

  It was then that Leandris said, sobbing, the thing she had obviously said over and over again already: ‘Don’t kill my baby! Why need you kill my baby!’ Erif went forward quickly to take it, but she was barred off with spears.

  ‘Saves trouble,’ said the officer. ‘Clear out, the lot of you. Now then, you Scythians and you old dodderer, you Sphaeros, out you go or you’ll be for it too!’

  And at that all three of them were grabbed and gripped and frog-marched and pitched out of the house, and the door was clanged to after them. Berris got the gag out of his mouth and ran at that door and beat on it and yelled and turned again and seized hold of a man out of the crowd who had collected outside, and screamed at him to help beat down that door! But none of the crowd were in the least willing to do anything. They laughed or made helpfully helpless remarks, both to Berris and Erif and also to Sphaeros, who was appealing to them too, and they laughed still more when the two barbarians began to drop their Greek and shriek and shout at them in some fantastic and ridiculous language. Two red-faced Scythians and an old man, whose bottoms they’d seen kicked by the King’s guards! It was as good as a show. And inside there—ah, there was a pack of women being killed!

  Chapter Two

  IT WAS NOON OF THE next day at Canopus, and very hot; the room faced north to the sea through square openings, and naked fan-girls, alternately black and white, created an artificial breeze, cooled by the constantly watered marble of the steps. In the room itself there was a fountain playing through silver swan necks, and there was a silver statue of Dionysos resting against a rock, while birds clustered at his feet with offerings of flowers and berries. Ptolemy and Agathokles were both naked to the waist. In some ways that was a pity, as Ptolemy was beginning to get fat. There were little rolls and creases all over his body that Agathoklea found it amusing to run her fingers along. She and Metrotimé wore straight dresses of Egyptian muslin, butter-coloured and completely transparent. Nobody ate much, but they drank snow-cooled wine and dabbled their fingers in the fountain and picked at an olive or two and a few nuts. ‘When do you expect him?’ said Agathoklea at l
ast.

  Ptolemy smiled and said nothing, but her brother answered: ‘Kottalos? Any time. Sosibios will have sent him off at dawn.’ Then he too was silent and smiling a little and breathing rather fast.

  Metrotimé said: ‘And after that we shall be sure it has happened.’ And she stared in front of her between the two men.

  ‘We’re sure now,’ said Agathokles, ‘when Sosibios says a thing of this kind has been done—!’

  ‘Dear Sosibios,’ said Agathoklea mechanically, ‘how well he manages everything!’

  ‘I am not sure it was supremely good management,’ her brother said, ‘to have Kleomenes running amuck in the streets like a mad elephant. It argues perhaps a lack of finesse, of political foresight. I had ventured to warn him myself once or twice, but there—I’m not a general!’ He glanced at Ptolemy. But the Divine King was squeezing and rolling a piece of new bread in one hand, and looking towards the door. Agathokles went on: ‘And not very subtle to make amends by simply killing the women.’

  ‘And the children,’ said Ptolemy, in a sudden whisper, that showed he had been listening, after all, ‘and the eldest son!’

  Agathoklea glanced at Metrotimé; they both remembered the episode with Nikomedes. ‘Try this Thera wine, dearest,’ said Agathoklea; ‘it’s stronger. You’re looking pale.’

  Then there were quick footsteps and an officer in armour came in and saluted. He was the man Erif and Berris had seen in the courtyard of the old Queen’s house. ‘Ah,’ said Ptolemy, stretching out a hand, ‘ah, my dear Kottalos. You’ve come all the way from Alexandria?’

  ‘At your Divine Majesty’s command,’ said the man, ‘to report how—’

  ‘But sit down, sit down,’ interrupted Ptolemy, ‘and take your armour off. Yes, and a cup of wine before you start your report. Yes, first. Positively, you make me sweat, you look so hot!’