“Well?” demanded Ish of the guide.
“Yes! Yes!” said the guide hastily. “My cousin, he knows Urusalim. He show us the way!”
The guide took his farewells of his family, and the guide’s cousin, a wild, ragged, dark-eyed boy, led the patrol, on confidently, farther and farther into the mountains.
But the farther they went the less confident became the leadership of this, their second guide. He began to look uncertainly right and left when they came to forks in the mountain track, and then he would stop and argue passionately with the first guide, although it was obvious that the first had no useful information to offer.
The corporal of the patrol, whose impatience was beginning to show, cursed the bickering guides and threatened them with the haft of his spear. Then he turned to Ish.
“This Urusalim, sir. If no one’s even heard of it, it can’t be very important can it?” He obviously wanted to say he thought the whole thing a waste of time. But Ish merely looked at him coolly. “It has more importance than you may think, Corporal,” he said.
Just at that moment there came round the shoulder of the hill a flock of sheep led by an even younger and wilder boy, who stared wide-eyed at the soldiers as he stood there, his sling and his staff in his hands. The two guides fell upon him with questions, but the boy stood his ground, and when he understood what they were asking he merely pointed with his finger at a distant hilltop and said the one word, “Urusalim.” Then he turned his eyes on Ish and Aleph and asked indifferently, “Is he going to kill him?”
As this unexpected question sank in, all the traces of doubt left the face of Ish. “The boy knows what he’s talking about,” he said. Then, “Ask him what he will take for one of his lambs?”
The guides and the soldiers stood boggling at this curious exchange of words, but after some hesitation on the part of the boy, for it seemed that the sheep were not his to sell, and then some haggling about its value, they bartered a lamb for some of their provisions; the boy and his flock set off down the valley and the patrol continued on its way toward the rounded peak that bore the mysterious, name of Urusalim.
Aleph could not restrain his curiosity. “How do you know the boy spoke the truth, and why did he say, ‘Is he going to kill him?’?” he asked as they climbed the stony path.
“The second question answers the first,” replied Ish briefly. He seemed to be sparing his breath on the steep ascent.
“But I don’t understand. Is who going to kill whom?”
“Am I going to kill you is what he meant,” said Ish, with a wry smile.
Aleph walked several painful paces, and his mouth felt dry in the dusty ravine. “Are you?” he managed to say at last.
“No,” said Ish.
Aleph felt better. “Why did he ask then?” he said after a pause.
“It seems,” said Ish, “that it is still a place of sacrifice. Maybe of human sacrifice. That is what makes me sure that it is the place I am seeking. Many, many years ago my people passed through this land on the way to Egypt. The leader of our tribe was bidden by God to sacrifice his own son on the mountaintop you see before you.”
“What had the son done?” Aleph asked.
“Nothing,” said Ish. “The son was innocent.”
“Did the father kill the son?”
“No. When he got there, God told him not to.”
“This God changed his mind?”
“That is the story our people tell.”
“Perhaps it was a different god that gave the order in the first place,” suggested Aleph.
“We listen only to one God,” said Ish.
“But you have many gods in Egypt!”
“My people are not Egyptians,” said Ish quietly. “Under the former kings some of us were people of importance. But now we are of no account.”
They walked on in silence as Aleph puzzled over these sayings. The day, much of which had been wasted by following wrong tracks in the mountains, was drawing toward evening. As dusk fell they came to the little settlement of Urusalim, on the side of a steep hill that fell away into a deep gorge. The soldiers commandeered rooms for the night, and Aleph slept deeply.
He woke with a start to see Ish standing in the doorway of the little room they shared with a knife in his hand that glinted in the moonlight. Beyond the doorway black peaks showed against the starry sky.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Ish. “It is not yet dawn. But I must prepare to do my sacrifice.”
“Do you wish me to help?” Aleph asked.
“No. This concerns only me,” Ish replied. “Sleep while you can.” As Aleph fell back into sleep he could hear the lamb bleating on its way to the high place.
When he woke again the sun had risen, the soldiers were preparing breakfast, and Ish was back and giving orders for the return to Jericho. Soon they were retracing their steps down the mountains. They kept up a good pace all the morning, and it was not until the noonday halt that Aleph had the opportunity to talk to Ish alone.
“Have we done what we came to do?” he asked hesitantly.
“We have,” said Ish.
“But—” Aleph hesitated. “But why have we come all this way to a place you’ve never been to, and nobody’s ever heard of? I don’t understand.”
“Many things are hard to understand,” Ish smiled. “For example, you have not explained what a young scribe from Gebal was doing in the mountains with a birdcage.”
Aleph was embarrassed that the conversation should be changed to his own affairs. He looked at his feet and shuffled them in the sandy soil.
“It was the writing,” he said.
“I understand even less,” said Ish.
“Not the real writing,” Aleph said hurriedly. “I would never dream of teaching the priestly writing to my sister. I should deserve punishment for that. This was more of a game we invented between us. But my father was angry, so he sent me on this errand to the mountains.”
“I am still puzzled,” said Ish. “What is this writing, that is not writing?”
“We thought of it only as a game. It seemed so simple and harmless. But I suppose being taken into captivity is my punishment for it. Do you think so?” Aleph asked.
“You will have to tell me more before I can answer that question,” said Ish.
Aleph looked around. In that remote mountain spot there were only the soldiers of the escort dozing in the shade, and the two guides. But he lowered his voice as if afraid of being overheard.
“You’re a scribe in Egypt, sir,” he began hesitantly. “You know the signs and symbols of the priests, which it is forbidden to teach to outsiders, or to women, of course?”
The other nodded.
“I was learning them,” Aleph went on. “But I’m slow. That’s why they call me Aleph, the slow ox. I hardly knew the first hundred letters. So I couldn’t have been teaching them to anyone, could I? But Beth wanted to know about the writing. Beth’s what we call my sister. It means ‘House’ really, and, well, poor Beth does have to stay around the house rather a lot since our mother died. I was sorry for her, so I invented this game. We chose letters that made sounds, and then made words with them. It’s strange—we found twenty-two letters were enough—so you see how childish it was, not a thing to concern the priests at all. But my father caught us playing it on the sand, and he was frightened and angry. And so here I am. Do you think I was wicked?”
“The priests of Egypt might well be angry at such disrespect for their mysteries,” said Ish gravely, “but I cannot think it was a sin. Show me though, these twenty-two letters which you have invented.”
Aleph blushed again. “They’re of no interest to you, sir, surely?” But Ish gently insisted, and Aleph squatted in the dust and took a thorn twig, and began to trace shapes on the ground. “Here’s my sign, the head of the ox—horns, ears, mouth:
or Beth used to draw it quickly, like this:
“And that signifies?” queried Ish.
“Well, that’s just it, sir, it doesn’t signify anything. I told you there’s no mystery to it. It’s just a sort of noise A-A-A— The first sound of my name, that’s all. Then there’s Beth’s sign too, the little house with the door:
or this way up if you like, it makes no difference. It doesn’t mean house, of course, just the sound, B-B-B—”
In the heat of the afternoon, in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, Aleph became absorbed in the game he had played at home with his sister. Then he suddenly became embarrassed again that he should be wasting the time of this educated stranger, and he stood up and said sadly: “It was like this that my father caught us, and sent me up the mountain to count the shipment of forty trees he was expecting from the loggers. And Beth gave me the pigeon in the cage, to let go when I got to the lumber camp. That was her idea. She keeps pigeons, you know, sir …”
But Ish was still poring over the signs Aleph had drawn in the dust, and the words he had made up with them, with grave concentration. At last he spoke.
“You must teach me these signs of yours, Aleph, my young friend. I find them very interesting indeed. But now we must return to Jericho, or they will wonder what has become of us.”
And Aleph blushed with pride, but wondered if Ish were not really mocking him.
2
The Valley of Centaurs
The journey of Zayin, the soldier—Talk of the centaur-myth on the Syrian plains—In the Taurus mountains—Man-horses or horse-men?
“Call yourselves soldiers!” Zayin jeered. “I’ve collected eggs in the farmyard from creatures with more guts than you! I’ve seen them clip wool from animals with as much sense! Why I bring a dismal pack like you along with me I don’t know—I’d be better off by myself or with a dog on a lead!”
Zayin was in his element. Eldest brother of Nun, Aleph, and Beth, he had always been a leader and he felt it his due that he should now be leading the army of Gebal. And to be many days’ march away from home, far away from everywhere on the Syrian plains, followed by his men who looked unquestioningly to him to lead them on—what more could a soldier want?
His little army, now standing round him with blank faces, were satisfied, too, in their own way. They were enjoying this speech from their commander. There was no pleasure and precious little sense in marching over the empty interior with nothing but dry bread in their packs, not knowing whether a day’s march would find water or not. But their comfort was that they had a leader who seemed to be sure of what he was doing, and could spur them on by strong and scornful words when they felt faint-hearted.
The expedition had started off happily enough up the coast from Gebal. So long as they had the high mountain on one side and the sea on the other the men of Gebal were content. The watercourses that cut the coastal strip into sections were dry, or shallow and easy to ford; the few fishing villages were honored to accommodate the Giblite soldiers and provide them with food for their next day’s march. But then they had come to a place where the mountain range fell away. A wind from the interior seemed to be eternally blowing through the drafty gap: there was no longer the snug feeling of being enclosed by the mountains. The inhabitants of the miserable villages of black stone were sullen and suspicious. When Zayin turned inland, and the friendly sound of the sea receded, the men wondered uneasily what strange destination they were headed for. But, as long as their leader knew, it was not theirs to worry.
But, in fact, Zayin had little idea where they were going. It was simply not in his nature to worry. He was a soldier and a leader because it suited him and he liked it; Gebal had an army because every little state had to have an army; the soldiers were soldiers because they could not stick to any other job, and the King had sent them on this expedition partly because they had been behaving so badly at home, and partly—well, there had to be expeditions. There had been times in the history of Gebal, so their annals told them, when they knew exactly who their neighbors were and just what their relations with them should be. But now new rulers were rising in Egypt, or some said the old ones were coming back, and in the North and East entirely new nations were coming into being. Zayin’s army had been sent to see what it could see.
He remembered the King’s words: “We live in a time of change. The birds of the air tell me that Babylon is not what it was, and that Egypt is ruled by a woman, and who knows what barbarians may next appear from the North? Go, Commander of Swords, take your men who do nothing but play dice and trouble slave girls, go and find out what in the name of Horus is happening in the world.” So he had gone.
He felt differently from his men about leaving the coast and turning into the interior. The mountains made him feel shut in and the fretting of the sea irritated him, but the wind from over the endless plains gave him a feeling of freedom. No obstacles now between here and Babylon! And if he journeyed on and on, all the nations of the flat world lay before him.
So Zayin was happy, but all the same his military experience made him cautious. It was a very little army of foot soldiers that he led, merely a reconnaissance patrol, compared with the great masses of men that Pharaoh could send on his expeditionary forces, or with the well-drilled battalions of Assyria. He had watched from observation points in the mountains as these had passed along the broad valley beyond the range, filling it like a tide with spearmen, chariots, and baggage trains, or strung out through a defile in an endless line. The Giblite troop was not sufficient to carry all before them like that. Old men remembered when chariotry had been quartered on Gebal, but now he had none. It was not for him to sweep up to the gates of Babylon. They would have to avoid all but the smallest towns, where they could frighten the inhabitants into giving them food and shelter.
So it was that they had turned north up the Syrian plain, and every day’s march was like the one before, rolling empty country littered with rocks that made every step uncomfortable. Beyond each rise you felt something must lie on the other side, but it never did. The men straggled over the rough plain, picked wild flowers and put them in their helmets, and did nothing but grumble when the time came to bivouac at night.
But an advance scout had just returned to say that he had sighted a town in the distance, and it was the difficulty of getting some sense out of his report that had provoked Zayin into his outburst at the troops.
“You say this town is right ahead? How far ahead?” Zayin questioned the scout.
“Who can tell, sir? The sun lights it, like a ship on the flat sea. It may be a day’s march, may be an hour. There’s no knowing on this cursed plain.”
“Well, then, how big is it? Is it a great city, or just another wretched village of the plains?” Zayin persisted.
“Same thing, isn’t it, sir?” the man replied. “Can’t tell till you get there. Remember that clump of rocks yesterday? Some swore it was the walls of Babylon, one fellow said it was a few packs of wool dropped by an ass. I bet them anything they liked it was a clump of rocks, and most of them owe me their next week’s ration, though I don’t suppose—”
“Never mind your bets,” Zayin interrupted. He turned to the troops. “Listen, you rabble of fishermen! There’s a habitation ahead. We don’t know how far or how big it is, thanks to the efficiency of our advance guard. We’re going to find out. But remember this. They don’t know how strong we are either. For all they know we’re the vanguard of Pharaoh’s thousands. If we march up in a smart and soldierly manner with an air of confidence, they’ll bow in the dust before us and it’ll be feasting and soft beds for all of you tonight. If you straggle up like a parcel of tinkers they’ll set the dogs on you and the children will pelt you with stones. So just try and look like soldiers for once. All right?”
A surly sergeant spoke: “Aren’t we going to put them to the sword?” Some of the men grunted approval, Zayin looked at them and smil
ed.
“Thirsty for blood, are you, you dogs? Not today though. For me, I’d rather get a comfortable night’s rest under a good roof by peaceful means than wade in blood for the fun of it. Make yourselves at home—but even at home you don’t burn down your father’s house and slaughter your grandmother just because you need exercise—or do you? It wouldn’t surprise me with some of you.”
This raised a laugh at the expense of the troublemakers. They re-formed ranks and marched off in good order. After they had breasted a couple of rises the township came into sight, first a cluster of cones on the horizon. They marched on through the afternoon, the soldiers muttering bets as to how many cooking pots awaited them with appetizing suppers. Every now and then it would disappear as they advanced into a hollow, and each time it came into sight again it seemed a little nearer.
It was two hours before they got to it, and when they did they were not greatly impressed. A huddle of mud-built beehives, perhaps a hundred in number. But still, it was civilization of a sort. And coming out toward them was a party of men dressed in saffron robes. As Zayin had predicted, it was the elders approaching to make peace. “Come on, then, men!” called Zayin. “Close ranks! Square your shields! Spears erect! Swing those arms!” The soldiers swaggered with martial vigor, Zayin strode out in front, and the white-bearded, saffron-robed elders prostrated themselves in the dust before him.
“Halt!” cried Zayin, and with a clash of arms the battalion came to a more or less simultaneous stop.
Later that evening Zayin was reclining at ease in the living-room of one of the beehive huts. It was clean, and good smells were coming from a cooking pot near by. The headman of the village, who had not ceased from murmuring, “Welcome, welcome,” ever since they had arrived, was squatting opposite him. Zayin had been relieved to find that they had a language in common that served well enough for conversation.
The 22 Letters Page 3