The Amber Seeker

by Mandy Haggith

  I recovered quickly from my fever. I now long for the health I had then, the walking I could do, striding out in the morning with no care of where I’d end up. I was in my prime and I was hungry for adventure.

  BELERION

  ICTIS

  I was sitting at dusk on the bench outside my hut, one of the cluster of buildings on the north-west side of the hill. I had been told the Keepers would perform a ceremony on the beach to welcome the rising full moon. This spot had a good view of the shore and caught the last of the setting sun, although unfortunately the landmass behind me obscured the moon. Ussa, as usual wearing her long white fur coat, joined me on the bench to enjoy the sunset painting the sky. I don’t remember ever seeing her so calm anywhere else. Perhaps it was the peach and rose-petal clouds.

  We watched the Keepers moving on the beach, a line of bending and stretching bodies. They formed into a circle and then a spiral, twisting out from one central dancer. I suppose they must have been singing, but the breeze and the waves hid whatever sound they made. Yet their motion was somehow even more mesmerising in its silent rhythm.

  ‘Don’t take this the wrong way…’ Ussa glanced sideways at me, with a sly smile. ‘I’m rather pleased you got ill. It forced me to spend some time here.’

  ‘You mustn’t feel obliged to look after me,’ I said.

  ‘No, I know that. But I’m interested in your adventure. I can help you. And something tells me you’ll be good for business. Already, just by hanging around for a few days, I’ve got wind of some opportunities coming this way, which I would have missed if we had moved straight on. And being here is supposed to be good for me, even though I can’t stand the place, really.’

  The Keepers were back in a long row again facing east. Given their arm movements, I presumed the moon was rising. I wished I was down there on the beach and could get the full effect of their ritual.

  ‘I remember coming here as a child. I used to hate it. I still hate it.’ She actually looked pretty relaxed and contented, leaning back, fingers running through her hair. ‘It’s so dreadfully boring here. The Keepers are so virtuous it makes me sick. All this wisdom and worship and insight and harmony, it’s enough to drive a woman to liquor!’

  ‘What brought you here as a child?’ I asked.

  She crossed her hands in her lap. ‘My grandmother,’ she said. ‘She was a Keeper. One of them. Her father was the Merlin.’

  ‘The Merlin?’

  ‘A great wizard, the chief of the Druids, magical advisor to the King. A powerful man. Some of the Merlins have been renowned bards, but my great-grandfather was just a magician. I say “just”. He was an alchemist. There are stories of his metal magic that are hard to believe. I wish I had just a fraction of his knowledge. I could make a fortune. They say he took most of it to the grave, although my cousin Gruach knows a lot of it.’

  ‘It’s a shame he didn’t write it down.’

  ‘Oh no. That would be dangerous. I’ll have no doings with writing!’

  ‘Why ever not?’ I have a reverence for the written word that brooks no criticism.

  ‘Anything that can be written shouldn’t be.’ She got up, and stood with her hands on her waist.

  ‘But why not?’

  She waggled her finger at me. ‘If it’s trade, it will cheat you. If it is magic, it will rebound on you. If it’s a message, it will lie to you. What else is there?’

  ‘But think of all the good it does!’

  ‘No good that I saw ever came from it.’

  ‘But knowledge! The wisdom of great thinkers can be shared even after they are gone. Think of Plato! Pythagoras! Herodotus!’ She tossed her head. ‘Never heard of them.’

  ‘What about poetry? The great stories. Homer! With books we can learn from the mistakes and the brilliant minds of the past. Without them we merely grope our way blindly into the future.’

  She had turned to me, a look of mockery on her face.

  ‘You are a dreamer, sweetheart. I’ve no knowledge of any of these people, and I don’t see how even if I had, they would have brought me more gold than I have gained in ignorance of them.’ She shook her head in a kindly way, as if I was a child doing something foolish but harmless. ‘Poetry and fine words, whether they’re spoken or written, achieve precisely nothing.’

  ‘What about your songs?’

  ‘Oh, a song is all voice and body, the words are irrelevant. They influence nothing. This conversation, it does nothing. It passes the time pleasantly, but it is idle and these idle words, spoken or written down, would be the same. The only words that matter are those of a business deal, or a magic spell or curse, or an instruction or request, and all of these spoken words cause trouble if they are written down and separated from the body of the person who speaks them. Even a messenger who passes on a request or a communication from another knows he risks his soul by acting on another’s behalf, speaking their serious words without them being actually present to give them their embodiment.’

  ‘And what about words of love?’ I said, thinking of the poems of Sappho.

  ‘Love?’ She chuckled. ‘All words of love are words of deceit, spoken or written. But at least there you may have a use of the quill, to titillate the senses with a little tickle.’ She stroked my nose in imitation of a feather, and I knew it was pointless to argue with her. ‘Even you, my dear, must recognise that all that counts in matters of love is conveyed by the body, not by the voice.’

  It was hard to dispute the point, although if she had understood Greek I might have tried reciting poetry to her. Perhaps, on reflection, it was as well I desisted.

  She turned to go. ‘Come down to the beach later. You’ll be interested in what is happening.’

  ON THE BEACH

  Later that evening, when the tide was low, I saw in the moonlight a very large currach, with at least ten hands on oars, sweep onto the beach. The rowers stopped and six got out to haul the boat up into the shallows. A posse of figures emerged from buildings on the slope below me and they included the white, striding form that was unmistakeably Ussa. More people disembarked.

  I put on my coat, thinking I had yet to find myself some better clothes for seafaring on these wild waters, and set off, still a little wobbly from the fever, down towards the beach. Whatever the interesting thing was that Ussa had promised, I didn’t want to miss it.

  The path wended around the hill, past the wattle and daub shacks of the lower level. Even the children who lived there were heading for the beach.

  As I reached the sands I came out into the light of the moon, still low in the sky like a huge gleaming coin. I had some little ones like it in my pocket. There had been enough of a glint in Ussa’s eye and I was getting to know her well enough to deduce that ‘interesting’ could to her only mean profitable.

  A wagon was making its way across the causeway towards the island and a second one was not far behind. I guessed they were carrying tin. The boat’s crew had unloaded huge bundles, which they were very careful not to get wet. A thin woman hurried about gesticulating and shepherding the carriers up onto the dry sands where a short, fat man stood in conversation with Ussa. They were both watching the progress of the wagons. The causeway was only just visible, and it did not look like a good surface. Wooden wheels jolted as oxen tugged their burdens along.

  I made my way over to where Ussa stood.

  ‘Pytheas!’ she said, introducing her companion. ‘This is Nisien, son of a great chieftain of Silures. Pytheas is a traveller from a southern sea coast.’

  We bowed to each other.

  ‘You share an interest in the heavy stone?’ I asked.

  He shook his head, and my attention was drawn to the bundles that were being untied by the thin woman. The rough leather tarpaulin was pulled back to reveal heaps of thick sheepskins and cow hide.

  ‘You need some of this to make you some decent sea clothes if you’re planning to come any further with me. These are excellent quality.’

  Ussa bent down and
rubbed the fleece inside one of the sheepskins. It was as thick as any I had seen, it was true. But it was the final, smaller bundle that caught all of our eyes. Silvery fur, the distinctive pelt of wolves. Once my eyes had stroked it, I knew the coat I needed was made of this, and I was soon involved in my first trade mediated by Ussa.

  ‘It’s not the winter pelt, is it?’ She spoke with a note of scorn, as if the furs were rags. ‘It’s not going to keep a person warm, really. Not like bear skin.’ She stroked her own coat.

  I couldn’t believe this. I reached out to touch it and my fingers sank into the thick hair.

  Nisien confirmed what I could feel. ‘There’s nothing warmer than wolfskin, apart from that, possibly.’ He touched Ussa’s coat as if it could still bite. ‘But that’s heavy, where the wolf pelt is light. The wolves are out in the snow and sleet, up in the mountains, hunting in all weathers. Winter is their season, and their fur will withstand anything.’ He stroked it beside me. ‘Feel that thickness, the long weather-hairs and the shorter layer below, how soft it is. That’s what’ll keep you warm. And there’s nothing more handsome on a man. It is a regal fur.’ He turned to me. ‘You’re a traveller, sir?’

  ‘I am. I have come from the shores of the Great Sea in the south, and I am going north.’

  ‘The wolf is a great traveller. He roams far, his spirit will protect you on your journey.’

  Ussa rolled her eyes as if he was talking nonsense and turned one of the furs over to examine the skin. She pointed at some blotches. ‘The tanning is shoddy. Look, here. How long will it be before the hair’s falling out? Who wants a mangy old pelt like that?’

  Nisien pulled a fox fur from a pile and turned it over, lying it beside the wolf skin. ‘Look at this. The fox is simply done, and you can see how it is stiff here, especially around the edges. But now, feel this.’ He directed my hands to grasp a handful of the wolf skin, so that it crumpled in my palm. ‘See how flexible that is, right to the fringe. This is top quality tanning.’

  ‘How many would I need for a coat?’ I asked.

  ‘You’ll get a short jacket or a long jerkin out of one, but for a full coat, two is better.’

  ‘Oh, you can’t do anything useful with a single pelt,’ Ussa said.

  ‘And price?’

  ‘I need twelve drams of gold to pay a hunter for three pelts.’

  Ussa screeched in outrage and called him a liar. They haggled for a while, Nisien trying unsuccessfully to deal with me directly, but Ussa was determined to drive a bargain. It isn’t really in my nature. I always find I’m happy to give people what they want from me if I can. But Ussa had a rapier tongue and guarded my purse from my generosity.

  We settled eventually on four drams of gold and a glass bracelet for the two biggest and best pelts, including their cutting and preparation for stitching, plus sinew to sew the pieces together, bone buttons, toggles and some sheepskin mittens thrown in for good measure. Although I felt I’d got the better deal, he chewed on my gold coins with evident satisfaction, complimenting me on my excellent taste. I was surprised by how valuable he seemed to find the glass beads, and I wished I had brought more with me. I thought of them as no more than trinkets to give to people in exchange for hospitality, but clearly they were a valid tender.

  By the time I had completed my transaction, Nisien’s big boat was settled well up the beach and the wagons had arrived. Three people had disembarked from each. One stayed by the oxen, the other two made their way down onto the beach and stood just above the reach of the frothing waves. The moon gleamed on the wet sand all around them and their shadows reached far up the shore. I wondered why they wanted to be so close to the water and guessed that it must be so they could keep track of the level of the tide and not get caught by the causeway submerging, leaving them stranded on the island.

  As soon as the coins had changed hands between me and Nisien, Ussa was off down the beach. She placed herself between the two pairs of men and I saw her beckon them to come closer together.

  Even from a distance I could see hostility between them. Of each pair of men, one was carrying the goods and the other seemed to be a kind of defender or bodyguard. When I got closer, I was amazed to discover that both of the men with the items for sale were in fact women. I thought that there had been considerable bargaining for my wolf skins, but once I got within earshot of their trading with Ussa I realised what I had experienced was nothing.

  I guessed that Ussa had wanted to get the suppliers together so she could compare their goods, or more likely control the deal, but they clearly wanted to negotiate one by one. Ussa was talking ten to the dozen and one of the traders was having to argue hard with her. She was red-faced and earnest.

  ‘It is pure, pure.’ She thrust an ingot towards the side of Ussa’s head. ‘Listen! Listen!’ She stopped, seeing me watching them. ‘Who’s this?’ She pointed at me with the ingot. She was dark-haired and bright-eyed as a weasel. The tin glinted in the moonlight.

  I bowed. ‘I am Pytheas. I am from Massalia.’

  She looked blank.

  ‘Many days sailing to the south.’ I thought this might interest her but she turned her back on me and handed the tin to Ussa, who pressed it against her ear to check its quality. The purest tin will crackle if you try to bend it. Buy nothing else.

  ‘Does it talk to you?’ I asked, and Ussa grinned, nodding.

  ‘What is it you’re after, exactly?’ The trader said, swinging around to me. For some reason I was annoying her, but I hadn’t come so far to be put off easily.

  ‘May I listen to it too?’ I put my hand out to Ussa, seeking to test the ingot but the trader snatched it from her.

  ‘Are you with her, or what?’

  ‘I have come a long way in search of the smelting metal.’ I hoped my voice was conciliatory.

  But the trader was putting the ingot back in the box and now Ussa was starting to look anxious.

  ‘I came here because you asked me, Ussa, and first they turn up…’ The trader pointed at the boat and the other wagon, ‘and now this…’ She closed her chest lid and gave me a dirty look. She was set to leave and the man beside her was standing too close for comfort.

  Then Ussa’s hand was in the crook of my arm. ‘Pytheas, come and see this.’

  She led me off to the other trader who was smiling nervously at me, and I was soon the proud owner of an ingot of tin. She had watched the drama with the first seller and offered us a fair deal straight away. I could see the scales and it was far cheaper than the going rate in Massalia. And it was pure and dense and crackled perfectly.

  When I bought only one ingot the trader showed no sign of being put out, and with Ussa’s help we negotiated the cost of a larger shipment. With a little persuasion from my charming hostess her prices got better and better. I couldn’t believe how little they valued it.

  ‘You Carthaginians always drive a hard bargain.’ The trader grinned at me. ‘When do you want it?’

  It didn’t seem worthwhile to disabuse her about my origins, though I had to bite my lip at being taken for a thug from Carthage. ‘I can’t say.’ I had to be honest. ‘I have a journey ahead of me, northwards, and I have no idea how long it may take me. But if the gods are kind to me I shall return, and I shall take all the tin my gold will buy. Back home I’ll be a hero if I return with tin. They all have enough gold but tin is in short supply.’

  ‘Take it and carry it with you,’ Ussa said, hooking her arm into mine. ‘There’s plenty of room on board my boat.’

  I took it that she was as pleased with the deal as I was, so I unburdened myself of a modest weight of gold and acquired a sack of tin ingots that I needed help to carry. The trader and I parted friends and I was a happy man. I wished I could write a letter to tell people back home what I had discovered but I knew no way of getting correspondence to Massalia from so far north. Even now I will have to make a leap of faith to send this epistle to you.

  TO PENDEEN

  Og took me to see a tin mine
the morning after the traders had been to Ictis. I remember it was a delight to stretch my legs, stride out across the land, to get away from the smell of the sea for a while and fill my lungs with woodland scents and the airs of farming, which always remind me of home.

  As soon as he was away from Ussa his manner changed and he became enthusiastic. He reminded me of a puppy that is unnaturally cowed around its master, that wags its tail when it sees him and obeys every command but is ever watchful in case it should find him in a bad temper, conscious always of the need to be cautious with every move. Away from his mistress, Og’s shoulders went back, his head lifted and he strode across his native land like a wealthy man. I could see why, as beyond the trackways was a wild and majestic country.

  It was a marvellous walk. This land of Og’s has trackways that are wondrous to behold, hedged on both sides by stone and earth, with all manner of herbs and flowers and bushes on top, especially spiny ones, thickets of thorns that would be impervious to the most determined goat. It is a marvel the lengths these people have gone to, making these divisions across their land, to keep their fields separate from the travelling and herding routes. Og told me these hedged walkways have been there since the beginning of time and when I pressed him he said since the age of the giants, who built both them along with other strange stone formations that he promised to take me to if I was interested. Of course I was!

  He led me first to the top of a hill where a stone structure stood, as evidence of giants. He called it a quoit. It looked like a giant mushroom from a distance and closer up it became clear it was an odd construction: a small chamber made from enormous stones. The capstone in particular was almost the size of those raised to make the Parthenon in Athens. But where was the great civilisation that could achieve such a feat? All I met were peasants, and the strange mole-like men of the underworld, and although they were swarthy and strong, and some, like Og, were genuinely big men, they could not lift such stones as far as I could tell, and they had no signs of our technologies. They, too, treated these stone edifices as works of wonder. All around the islands of Albion archipelago there are stone mysteries and I would love one day to return and discover more about their origins. Perhaps these stories of giants are true? Or perhaps there were ancient people whose knowledge has been lost.