Tenko waited for a full hour. He knew by then that in the northern summer it would be dawn. His plan was to create confusion and fear in the hut and to make Gerth rise from his bed. A bone shovel lay near the smouldering fire. Suddenly Tenko leaped to his feet and snatched the shovel. With it he lifted a smouldering peat and placed it at the foot of Gerth’s heather bed. The heather was dry. In a minute it caught fire and began to crackle. This was the moment for Tenko. He shook Gerth by the shoulder.
“Gerth! Get up! Get up! Your bed has caught fire!”
Gerth woke with a jerk, heard the crackling and saw the flames. He sprang to his feet. Tenko was already trying to beat out the fire with the shovel and shouting as he did so. The other occupants of the hut woke. Smoke was filling the hut. There was instant confusion. The older people rushed to beat out the flames too. The children rushed for the passage and fell tumbling out of the hut. Tenko still smacked at the burning heather bed with his shovel. He felt the shovel hit something hard. He knew in a flash that it was his axe and he snatched it from the smouldering heather. Like a hare he fled across the hut and down the narrow passage. The smoke hid his flight from Gerth, who was still beating out the flames. He had just got the fire out when the children came back shouting into the hut.
“The stranger! The stranger boy!” they yelled. “He ran out carrying the shining axe!”
Gerth swooped on what was left of his bed and kicked the heather aside. The axe was gone. He ran out from the hut shouting, “Which way did the lad go? Which way?”
A boy pointed towards the shore. “He went leaping and running down there.”
“The other two children? Were they with him?”
The boy shook his head. “I did not see them.”
Gerth shook his fist. “They will not get far on the beach. The rocks will cut them off to the north and to the south. We shall soon find them.” He snatched up a whip of hide that was beside the door. “When I catch Tenko I shall round him up like an ox,” he declared cruelly. He began to run down the hill, but his sore foot impeded him. The rest of the tribe streamed after him, not daring to overtake him in his wrath.
Tenko had counted on his start and on his quicker turn of speed. He made for the stream and ran along the bank above it. He knew it would bring him out at the sandy beach. Though he did not pause, he watched his footing carefully. If he stumbled and fell the pack might catch up with him. He could hear their yells behind him. At last the stream spread itself on the shore. Tenko scrambled down to the beach.
“Where are you, Kali? Brockan!” he cried.
Tenko knew they would make for the rocks near the cave. He ran faster, leaping over the rock pools.
“Kali! Brockan!” he cried again.
They appeared suddenly from behind a rock.
“Run! Run for the cave! We must get the boats out before Gerth reaches the beach!”
“Look, Tenko!” Brockan cried.
Tenko had forgotten that the tide would be higher than it had been a dawn the previous day. The water lapped round the mouth of the cave! It would be too deep for Brockan to wade through it.
“Wade out to the cave as far as you can go!” Tenko shouted. “I will go and bring the boats.”
He thrust his axe into Kali’s hands and splashed his way through the channels, the children following him. Soon he was up to his waist and began to swim vigorously. He reached the mouth of the cave and disappeared inside.
Fear lent him strength. He hauled the catamaran down the steeply shelving bank to the lapping water. Seizing a paddle he thrust it into deeper water and then pulled himself aboard. A few rapid strokes brought it to the mouth of the cave. He glanced across the sandy bay. The tribe of Saebar was streaming down from the sand dunes. In two or three minutes they would catch up with the wading children.
“Swim to me! Swim to me!” he shouted to Kali and Brockan. “Drop the axe, Kali, and swim to me!”
For once Kali disobeyed Tenko. She gripped the handle of the axe between her teeth and swam for dear life with Brockan after her. Tenko hauled them aboard as Gerth began to wade out after them.
“Your axe, Tenko!” Kali held it out to him.
Tenko flung it into the bottom of his boat. “Take your paddles and paddle your hardest!” he yelled.
Tenko brought the catamaran round with a sweep of his paddle and they headed for the open sea.
The tribe of Saebar stopped dead, almost as one man, astonished at the sight of the strange craft. Gerth recovered himself and shouted for them to go after the strangers. He began to swim powerfully, but the distance between him and the catamaran widened. He stopped swimming and stood shoulder-deep in the water threatening them with his fist.
“I am sorry I had to set fire to your bed, Gerth,” Tenko yelled back. “I had to have my axe back. When I have learned the secret of how the axe was made I will make you another.” Tenko was quite sincere, but Gerth gnashed his teeth in rage.
As Kali bent her paddle her heart was singing for joy. She was remembering that Tenko had told her to drop the axe rather than impede her own escape. In that instant she knew that though the axe was dear to Tenko’s heart, she was dearer still.
The sun was setting when they reached the Bay of Skaill. It was with joy that they saw the tops of the huts of Skara once more. As they came into the bay they were sighted by Birno, who had Stempsi beside him. They had watched all night and all day with despair at their hearts. Birno knew something must have happened, for he knew Tenko would not otherwise break his promise to him to return on the second day. There had been mist over the sea. In that case
Birno knew Tenko would try to put ashore, but Birno knew what a cruel shore it was and his heart misgave him. All the same he had great faith in Tenko and he did not give up hope. Birno gave a mighty shout when he saw the catamaran coming in across the bay, the three children outlined against the setting sun. He waded into the water to meet them. Stempsi with him. Birno’s shout had brought the rest of the tribe running. Arms were outstretched in welcome. Willing hands hauled the boats ashore and the three adventurers were borne in gladness to the village.
That night there was a great feast of rejoicing over their safe return. When the other folk had departed to their own huts Tenko talked with Lokar and Birno. When Tenko told how Gerth had taken the axe from him and held them prisoners, Birno’s face darkened into an ugly scowl.
“The men of Skara will go overland to the tribe of Saebar. I will see that Gerth gets a fitting punishment,” he declared.
Lokar laid a hand on Birno’s arm. “No, my son! That could begin fighting between tribes that might go on for many generations. You would bring war to Orkney. That you must never do. Birno, I have always taught you the ways of peace. My end is not far off now. Do not let me leave life in sorrow.”
Birno calmed down. “Very well, Lokar. I will heed your words.”
“What did you learn from your journey, Tenko?” Lokar asked.
“I learned many things from Stanga of the tribe of Saebar: that there are many islands to the north. I saw some of these myself from a high cliff. I learned, too, that there are islands far, far beyond these, to the north. To these islands people have come from lands across the great sea to the east. These people know how to make axes of bronze like mine, so Stanga had heard.”
“These are wise things to know, Tenko. It was good that you went on this voyage. What you have learned will be of great use to you in days to come. Out of it will come good for those who remain of the tribe of Skara. And now you must sleep, for you are weary indeed.”
Kali and Brockan were already asleep. Tenko lay down on the bed he shared with Brockan and soon he was fast asleep too.
10. The Night of Doom
It was in the autumn of the year that Tenko had made his voyage in search of the northern islands. The people of Skara were making ready for the winter. They cut peats from the black bog-lands and carried them to the settlement. There they were neatly stacked round the outer walls to str
engthen them.
The herdsmen slaughtered cattle and sheep and the women salted down the meat. In bitter weather snow and frost covered the grazing lands so the Skara folk always killed off part of their herds. Fresh heather had been cut in late summer and the beds had been renewed. Out of the skins of the slaughtered animals the women were making winter garments. This time they did not scrape off the wool but left it on for additional warmth. Now it was late October and the days were shorter and the nights long.
There were sad gatherings round the fire on these nights for there were no more tales from Lokar. Lokar was dying. He had lived longer than any man remembered. Now his old heart had grown feeble and his limbs would no longer carry him.
One night when Birno was watching beside him Lokar stirred restlessly and said, “Bring Tenko!”
“It is night and Tenko is fast asleep,” Birno told him gently.
“My time is getting short, Birno. Bring Tenko! I have things I must say to you both.”
Birno woke Tenko. “Come quietly. Do not wake the rest. Lokar wants you.”
They went silently as ghosts to Lokar’s hut.
“Sit beside me,” Lokar said. He took a hand of each as though he drew strength from them. “Now I am near death I can see and understand things better than ever before. What is to come is shown to me in part. I must tell it to you.”
Birno and Tenko bent lower so they did not miss a whisper.
“Death and destruction are coming to Skara. You must watch for the signs for I shall no longer be with you. You will know them when they appear. There will be a great wind. Skara will vanish in a night but it will not be lost for ever. The same power which overwhelms it will restore it, but not for many, many winters and summers.”
“You are very ill, Lokar. It is your illness that makes you imagine terrible things,” Birno told him.
“It is my illness that gives me the sight. Take heart, though, Birno. Not all of you will perish. When the night of doom comes, listen to Tenko. Do not scorn him because he is young. He will know what to do.” Lokar looked towards Tenko. “Tenko, you will do your utmost for my people?”
“I promise you, Lokar.”
“In you and Kali and Brockan will rest the future of the tribe of Skara. Be a son always to Birno and Stempsi.” He turned once more to Birno. “Birno, will you take me to the Place of the Dead at Maeshowe?”
“Yes, Lokar. Your bones shall rest with the chiefs and wise men of Orkney.”
“I am content.”
Not long afterwards Lokar sank into a deep sleep from which he did not wake. There was great sorrow among the people of Skara. There was sorrow indeed among all the tribes of Orkney when word was sent to them. Lokar had been the wisest High Priest of the Sun that Orkney had ever known.
It was a sad procession that set off from Skara to trudge the miles to Maeshowe. Birno and the strong men of the tribe carried Lokar’s body on a stretcher made of sheepskin. Behind them came the rest of the men and boys. The stone symbols of the Sun were carried cupped in the palms of the men, but Tenko carried his bronze axe, polished so that it shone in the wintry sun. So they came to the Place of the Dead, the great mound of Maeshowe. There they were met by men of other tribes, come to do honour to Lokar.
It was the first time Tenko had been to Maeshowe. He had seen it at a distance when the Festival of the Sun took place. The great green mound was shaped like a cone and rose high above the surrounding plain. Round the mound was a broad ditch, forty-five feet wide and six feet deep. There was a road across it to a doorway closed by a stone slab.
The stretcher bearers laid down their burden outside the door and removed the stone slab. It revealed a long narrow stone tunnel. A man from a nearby settlement came carrying a bowl of smouldering peats. Four young men carried torches of sheep’s wool dipped in whale oil and bound to long bones. The young men kindled them at the bowl of peats; then, stooping, they went first to light the way into the great tomb. Only two men could carry the stretcher now, for the passage was only three feet wide. Birno took the foremost ends of the bone supports and Lemba brought up the rear. They carried Lokar to his last resting place. As they disappeared into the tunnel the tribes set up a sad wailing and keening that rose and fell like the wind.
Tenko followed the men down the tunnel. To his astonishment they arrived in a great square chamber. The burning torches revealed lofty walls of great stone slabs placed one above the other, with edges projecting to make a beehive roof. Tenko caught his breath at the size of the place and the immensity of the slabs of stone that built it. There were three large openings in the walls, two of them closed by slabs of stone. The entrance to the third was open and a massive wedge-shaped block of stone lay below it. Into this cell Birno lifted Lokar’s body and placed him in his last resting place. As he did so a terrible sad cry broke from the lips of the men of Orkney. It was their last salutation to Lokar. The cry was repeated three times. Tenko trembled. It was a cry that sent a cold shiver down his spine.
Once more the tomb was closed by the stone and Birno sealed the gaps with wet clay. A great shivering sigh broke from all the men in the Place of the Dead as the flames of the torches began to die. Then the men turned and in silence stumbled their way out of the darkness of the tunnel into the sunshine.
It was a quiet company that made its way back to Skara. Birno felt glad when at last Tenko broke the silence with a question.
“Who built the great Place of the Dead at Maeshowe?”
“Men of our tribes long, long ago. Lokar told us once that they came from the shores of a great sea to the south. There, it is said, are other tombs of the pattern of Maeshowe.”
“Those great blocks of stone must have been difficult to quarry and to set in position,” Tenko remarked.
“That is true. The men of those days had great skills in handling stones and in building, greater perhaps than we have now.”
“Some of their skill and knowledge must have come to you. Remember, you shaped and raised some of the great stones of Brodgar,” Tenko reminded him.
Birno smiled a little. “Who knows from where we draw our knowledge and our skill? Father teaches son and the son teaches his son and so it goes on through many, many lives. Now and again some man discovers some new things and adds it to what men know already.”
“I wonder if the people who built Maeshowe knew how to make bronze axes too?” Tenko said.
“I do not think so,” Birno said. “If they did, surely some careless worker would have left his bronze axe lying about and we should have found it.” He laughed a little. “You are still troubling who made your bronze axe, Tenko?”
“Some day I shall find the men who can make axes like this one. I will not rest till I do,” Tenko told him.
Birno shook his head. “I do not think you will find them in Orkney.”
As they reached Skara the sun was setting. There were hump-shaped clouds on the horizon and the sea heaved and moaned with a heavy ground swell. There was an uncanny stillness in the air and a shimmering over the sea. Birno looked over the great expanse of water.
“It is a strange sky and sea tonight,” he remarked, giving a shiver. “Perhaps winter is coming on us already.”
As if to affirm his words a chill wind blew out of the west making cat’s paws on the water. It was the beginning.
The people of Skara did not linger in the meeting place as they might have done at other times. Perhaps they were weighed down with the burden of mourning for Lokar: perhaps the chill of winter was already entering a little into their bones, but they went quietly to their own huts.
Stempsi blew on the peats and grilled steaks of mutton at the end of a long bone that served as a toasting fork, while Kali warmed milk in a bowl. They ate in silence. Suddenly Birno raised his head. “The wind is rising,” he said.
They listened. The sound had grown to a steady whine. The thatch of rushes and turf that Birno had laid over the jaws of whalebone rustled and rattled as if a rat were among them.
The pitch of the wind’s whine grew higher.
“It sounds like a storm blowing up,” Stempsi remarked.
Tenko rose to his feet. “I will go down to the beach and see that the boats are well pulled up.”
“I will come too and help you,” Birno said.
When they reached the sand dunes the wind whistled about their ears. The bent marram grasses quivered and rustled: the sea heaved and twisted, flecked with spume. It seemed as if the whole world was stirring, uneasy and menacing.
They went down to the beach. The waves were breaking hard on the distant reefs and there was a heavy drag of shingle in the undertow on the beach. It was still low tide. Some instinct told Tenko to lift the boats to some other place instead of just above the high-water mark on the beach.
“Let us carry them to the rocks that are close in to the shore at the place where the stream of Skara flows into the sea,” Tenko suggested. “The tide never covers those rocks.”
“Yes, we will do that,” Birno agreed.
It meant carrying the boats nearly a quarter of a mile to the south of the Bay of Skaill. Tenko and Birno bent their backs to the task. It was a grim struggle. The wind was blowing off the sea against them, a cold biting wind that raised little scurries of sand and blew it into their eyes. Their lips were gritty and salt with the feel and taste of it. At last, breathless, they reached the rock well above high-water mark. There, in the shelter of the rock they had a brief respite from the wind.
The Boy with the Bronze Axe Page 12