Travel Light

by Naomi Mitchison

  “How shall we know which way it goes?” said Kiot anxiously.

  “We shall never know. That is part of the puzzle. Or not until afterwards. How much can we give him?”

  They took from within their locked box certain gold; each man had gold or jewels sewn into his belt or his boots. And each knew what the others had. They showed it without caution to one another and to Halla, and that was strange. For there was no dragon in the world of dragons but kept back something when showing his treasure to another dragon. Indeed, they seldom showed more than a small part. All except old Uggi who had shown her everything. Because she was part of his treasure in his thought. But these ones were saying good-bye to their treasure and they did not seem to care for it except in so far as it might get them this justice that they wanted. And it was so little a treasure. All would go on to one shelf of moss and be lost there! For a moment she felt her own love for Uggi and with it her dragonhood coming up into her eyes and on to her tongue. “You cannot give your treasure!” she said suddenly. “You must not! It is too little!”

  “Is it too little?” they asked. For it seemed to them that she must have knowledge.

  “Yes, yes!” she said. “A little, little treasure—keep it! Wait—if it was bigger—”

  “It is all we have,” said Roddin.

  “It must—must be bigger—”

  “I can work,” said Tarkan Der. “I can go to the docks.” For he had thought of that already.

  “No, it is not that—” said Halla. She could not put it into words.

  “We could bet on the races, then!” said Tarkan Der, a little bitterly, his voice shaken. The two older men were staring intently at Halla Godsgift. They had been once to the chariot races, in the cheapest seats, and had taken Halla. She had not at first understood about betting, but she was very much interested in the horses and trying all the time to hear what they were up to; she could hear the sound of them neighing above the muddled sound of people. One was a horse she had known on the voyage and sometimes helped. He complained that his driver was pulling at him, not letting him go full out. Other horses had laughed; they were all angry and half-hating one another. That day the men, who knew quite a lot about horses in their own country, and thought themselves judges, better at it than the city people anyway, had laid small bets on some of the races. Much to their surprise and annoyance they had lost every time. It came back into Halla’s mind.

  “Yes,” she said. “You could do that. But first I must talk to the horses.”

  Chapter Three

  The Horse’s Mouth

  Halla knew her way to the racing stables by the Hippodrome. She had talked to any intelligent-looking horses while she was in the city, and also on the days when the men had gone out and left her at home, to the kites which came down on to the roof and were more knowing than the birds of the deep forest, but smelt worse. The ones that knew their way best about Micklegard were the rats, all the same. They enjoyed the city, more perhaps than most of the men and women in it, and they knew all the little paths about it, on all levels from drains to roof-tops. Especially they knew their way to all the stables, and how to get at the corn. Halla never threw stones at the rats. They were no worse than the others. She said this to the men, who saw in it a sign from God to whom all life is blessed. But they threw stones all the same. The rats never came into the room when the men were there unless they were asleep. But they knew Halla. They knew Halla was friendly to rats. When she asked them a way they told her or showed her. Why not?

  The racing stables were big yards with stalls off them; the grooms slept with the horses. The charioteers, who were mostly little men with quick tempers, lived in the upper rooms. They quarreled and sulked and sometimes poisoned one another out of jealousy. If this was found out, the one who had done it had his head held down on the shoeing anvil and his brains knocked out with a hammer; they were mostly slaves. But they went on doing it all the same.

  Nobody paid any attention to Halla. She leant against the wall and talked to the Scythian horses who had come with her in the boat. One of them was terribly upset; he had eaten something which had made him ill: the charioteers were always giving queer concoctions to the racehorses which they thought would make them go faster, birds’ blood and feathers, for instance, and hot spices. Now this horse, who had been named in Greek, Day-Star, wanted to be quiet and eat nothing for a while and then, when he was better, to eat good grass torn by his own teeth in the field where it grew. But instead his charioteer had forced him to eat something loathsome to horses, the grooms had held his nostrils and shoved the thing down his gasping throat—he shivered all over remembering it. And then they had burnt him here and there with a red-hot iron. They had done this to drive out evil spirits which they thought had made the horse ill and had probably been put into him by a rival. One of the grooms shouted to Halla to stand back; this horse would kick her. But Day-Star was nuzzling against her, and she stroked under his chin and round his ears, saying she would try to tell the grooms. One of them came up with a bucket, and Day-Star, thinking this was some other filthy thing they wanted to force down him, kicked the groom and broke his arm.

  The rest came running up and the charioteer with them. The little charioteer was yelling that he was not going to race with a vicious brute like that, and the rest saying he still had the devils in him and running to heat the irons and crack his big hide whips. And Day-Star himself yelled his hate of them all, neighing and striking with his hooves, and the men shouted to Halla to get back quick. But Halla called to them that she would quiet Day-Star if they would let her do what she wanted. So when Day-Star stopped struggling she untied his halter and led him out and gave him a drink of fresh water and praised and petted him. The others stood round at a distance. She told them that if they would not hurt him any more nor make him eat filth, Day-Star would be good.

  The charioteer came over very cautiously. He looked at Halla and he looked at Day-Star. Halla said: “Look close. There are no devils in him.”

  “How did you do it?” whispered the charioteer. “Are you a witch? How much do you want for it?”

  “I want that you should be good to Day-Star when he is good. Show him that you mean him no harm.”

  After a moment the charioteer came up and held out his bare hands to Day-Star who blew at them and smelt them. The charioteer lifted his hand slowly and began to stroke Day-Star’s cheeks and neck. They looked at one another in the eyes. The charioteer took a ripe pear out of the fold of his tunic and held it out. Day-Star reached his head forward a little and nibbled at it. Then the charioteer ate a bit, then Day-Star finished it. “He is the best horse I have driven,” said the charioteer, “but I was never sure of him.”

  “Why did you pull him back at the races last week?” asked Halla.

  The charioteer looked round. “You know too much,” he said. “You are certainly a witch!” Halla said nothing; she was not even quite sure what he meant. “No,” he said suddenly. “You are not a witch! I am sorry I said it. But there are things it is best not to say, even if the saints tell one. I will not have to pull Day-Star tomorrow. But will he do the best that is in him?”

  “He will do his best if you promise not to give him wrong foods nor to hurt him with whips and irons.”

  “It was all for his good,” said the charioteer, and then, his voice shaken a bit, “I meant it, at least, all for his good.”

  “He did not think so,” said Halla. “Do you promise?”

  “Yes, lady,” said the charioteer, and put his hand on his heart and bowed, for now he thought that Halla had come at least from his patron saint, and he supposed his mother had been burning candles in his name to the saint, as she sometimes did before a race, and he made up his mind that he would never laugh at her again for doing this. Secretly he said over all the prayers he could remember, and while he did this Halla spoke to Day-Star about the race. Now Day-Star really loved racing and he liked the smell and voice of the little charioteer, but he said that t
here was a certain groom whose smell he hated, and if he was to do his best, that groom was not to come near him. All the horses hated this man. He told her which one it was and Halla told the charioteer. As this charioteer was a freedman and well paid, and the groom was a slave and not valuable at all, it was easy to have him beaten where Day-Star could see it and taken out to be sold. Day-Star trembled and whinnied with hate and pleasure, seeing his enemy punished, and so did all the other horses, but Halla did not like it somehow.

  She asked which horses would be racing against Day-Star and the charioteer told her. He wanted now to tell her everything. He was light-boned and no taller than Halla and he bowed his head over his clasped hands while he spoke to her. She went and talked to all the other horses and got them to agree that Day-Star should win and that they should tell this to the horses from any other of the stables who might be in the same race. Some of them were difficult about it, for they too loved racing; they loved to prance and show off, bouncing the light gilt chariots with the blue or green tunicked charioteers, and their own bodies brushed and combed and glowing so that every hair felt in place and every muscle ready to burst into action. Halla persuaded them that it would work out well for everyone if Day-Star were to win this race; the next race it could be another. The horses said that this might be, but the charioteers drove the chariots across one another and lashed at one another’s eyes, and accidents could happen. Yet they could see that it might be best if they had decided among themselves who was to win. And for this time it should be Day-Star.

  Halla was afraid they might have forgotten the next morning, but still it was worth trying. So she told Roddin to bet on Day-Star and to bet most of the money they had, and would he buy her a seat for herself close to the starting point. Now they were anxious about this and uncertain whether to take her advice, for how would she know? But at last they put heavy bets on Day-Star and bought her the seat. But for themselves, they said they would wait outside, for, if this were to work out, they would not need even to see it, and if it did not work out they would not want to have spent any of the little money they now had left on even the cheapest seats.

  Halla got to her place early. In the middle of the audience there was a block of seats raised above the rest, with gilt railings and a silk awning, and in the very best place a wide and soft seat scattered with cushions of gold-embroidered leather, filled with down, and after a time the Emperor came and sat there leaning back. By now Halla had come to understand that the Purple-born was no dragon, but only a little man with thin hands and deep-set dark eyes that never seemed to look at anything and clothes that seemed too heavy and stiff for anybody to bear. He had his guards standing round him, big, tall, fair-haired men with swords and axes, long-jawed and blue-eyed: too like heroes, thought Halla.

  Before the chariot races there were entertainments, but many of them were cruel, showing only that some men had power over other men and over beasts. And the other men and the beasts all cried out in various kinds of fear and agony and Halla did not like it, though others, including the Purple-born, seemed to. Then there were smaller races. And at last Day-Star and the other horses, prancing and rearing, and everyone in the Hippodrome shouting and yelling for the horses and the colours they liked. Day-Star’s charioteer was a green. With all that noise going on, it was easy enough for Halla to call to the horses, reminding them of what had been said, that Day-Star was to win. And the horses whinnied back, yes, yes, and she hoped they would not get too excited to remember.

  In one lap of the race a tough, long-legged mare from one of the blue stables, was ahead of Day-Star for a short time. Then suddenly she dropped back—had she remembered? Day-Star was first round the winning post and Halla saw the charioteer jump down and put an arm up to pull the forelock out of Day-Star’s eyes and pet him. She had also noticed that, although he had swung his whip impressively, screaming and shouting as he did so, the lash of it had never fallen on Day-Star. As they came back in triumph to the starting post he neighed at her: I did it, I did it! And the rest of the horses, almost as pleased with themselves as Day-Star, neighed too: We did it, we did it!

  Halla slipped back to the others and told them to collect the winnings. She did not want to stay for anything more. So they did just that and then went to the great church to kneel and give thanks, and this they did in one of the chapels that had a small, odd-looking saint, with less rich dresses than some of them and who was perhaps not a Greek. And after that they took all the new money which they had now got and gave it to Father John for his charitable uses. Halla did not mind this much, for it was only common coined money of Byzantium, silver and a little gold and so, scarcely treasure. And they kept enough to bet on the next race. Father John thanked them gravely and said that the money would be put to the best of uses. He was anxious to know, also, whether there was more of the same kind, “for the poor,” he said, and cast his eyes down, “are always with us.”

  Roddin said that it might be possible, but the time was going on and they were above all anxious to put their case to the Emperor. That was in hand, said Father John. So again they waited for many days and all learnt to speak the Greek of Byzantium, though they were clumsy enough at it and would still rather that Halla should speak for them. It was odd, but Halla now found it increasingly hard, even by herself, to do the smallest bit of magic; with the others there she could not even begin.

  Sometimes they went about the city, looking round them, always a little uncertain. Once Tarkan Der took Halla with him to the goldsmith’s street and looked for hours at necklaces and brooches, and told her which ones he would like to get for Sweetfeather, and Halla said yes, yes, how would she wear this one or that one? And Tarkan Der talked and talked about Sweetfeather, and in his mind and fancy he was some way making up to Sweetfeather for all the danger she was in, and bedecking his own image of her in case he might seem to himself not to be valuing her enough. And yet, all the time, he knew that it was all no good, that he was no nearer to her now than at any other time, and had no more possibility of defending her real self against anything at all. So, after an hour or so, when he had chosen all the most beautiful and valuable things the goldsmiths had to show and in his fancy had given them on his knees to Sweetfeather, he turned suddenly and savagely and walked away without a word to Halla. But she was thinking there was one who would have valued the gold more than this far-off girl, and that was Uggi. He would have taken it in his claws and laid it carefully in darkness, made it part of his treasure.

  Chapter Four

  Rats and Kites

  Three times more, when the days of important races came round, Halla fixed with the horses who was to win, the men from Marob laid their bets, and more money went to Father John. But it was difficult because now that Day-Star had become so friendly with his charioteer, he always wanted to win. And if he was always to be the winner they would get little money by betting on him. But it was hard to explain this to Day-Star and he would not have cared; very few of the animals understood much about money. And then, what with talk by the grooms and charioteers and people putting two and two together, it began to be suspected that the men from Marob who were winning money so conspicuously at the races had something to do with the girl who hung about the racing stables and who some said was a saint or the next thing to it, and other who had lost money said was a witch.

  She was talking to one of the green horses, when a rat came dashing towards her over the straw, squealing at her at the top of its voice. She paid no attention, for it did not seem right to her for rats to interrupt while she was talking to horses. The rat ran right up to them. The horse tossed his head, for he thought little of rats; and the rat stood on her foot, so that she had to notice it, but crossly. But what the rat had to tell her was that men were coming after her with sticks and stones, as though she were a rat and an enemy, and she must run for it. This fear that had never quite let her go, got her again for a moment and she could not move; she felt tied. Then the rat said come quick, come quick
! And he looked round at her. She followed him, running, snatching All-Father’s cloak round her, not to the gate of the yard but into the corn store. He dived behind a corn chest; she had to move it a few inches, but threw a sack over the gap. And now she could hear voices—snarling, hurting, ugly voices of the hunt, the heroes out to rid the world of something they feared and hated!

  At the back of the great chest she felt her way, found stones loose from the wall and crawled in, pushing herself through into dark hollows below the floor. She was wondering if the rats knew how much bigger she was than they, and horribly afraid of being caught and dragged out by the heels, backwards and helpless, her flesh crawling at the thought of that first touch. She heard footsteps above her, something banging. The place smelt ratty; she wormed her way in and along, as quietly as she could. Once she knocked accidentally into a rat’s nest and someone bit her arm, but only a little. Her hair filled with rubble, her knees and elbows were scratched and bleeding. She could hear her dress tearing, but the cloak was solider stuff; she kept a bear’s tooth-grip on it. Then her hand, reaching out ahead, found nothing, a blank space, dark. The rat squeaked in the blackness below and a small stone dropped with a wet plop.

  But she had to wriggle on; her hand reached across, found another wall and a hand-hold. She pulled herself through and dropped to where the rat had called to her, felt muck over her ankles and splashing warm up to her knees and knew she was in the stable drain. But the rats didn’t care, and if they didn’t why should she? Better the dung of kind horses on her feet than the grip of cruel men.