The courtyard was in an uproar of exclamations and laughter, and the High Priest had to call for silence repeatedly before he could make himself heard. He was furious at the unseemly interruption to his ceremonial, and jealous that the return of Zayin might steal the glory of his Offering Day.
“General Zayin, His Majesty bids you welcome on your return from the wars on this auspicious day,” boomed the High Priest. “What rich tribute, what plunder and captives does your victorious army bring to lay before His Most High Majesty?” The priest’s eyes were on the ragged, lonely figure of the General, and it was clear that he suspected the truth, that there was no victorious army, neither plunder nor captives.
Zayin walked up to the steps on which the throne and the High Priest were standing, made a formal obeisance to the King, drew himself up, and spoke.
“Most High Majesty!” he began. “The animal which I have brought you is but one, and I dedicate it to Your Majesty’s service.” If it hasn’t already galloped back to the Valley of Horses, he thought to himself. “But more than that it represents military power such as we have not dreamed of before, a principle—”
“General Zayin must be aware,” interrupted the High Priest smoothly, “that the Day of Offering is not a time when credit is given for principles—nor dreams. We cannot count or weigh them. As for the uncouth and unmanageable beast which you presented in such an unusual manner—I do not see it either,” and he craned his head round in an exaggerated pantomime of looking for the horse.
“If the palace attendants cannot hang on to a good horse when they see one, so much the worse for them,” Zayin rejoined, losing his temper. “It will come to hand in time, no doubt. In any case, I have more important things than gifts. I have news, much of it bad, I admit. I have military intelligence which vitally—”
“The General must also be aware,” once more interrupted the priest, “that today is no day for inauspicious news or business matters. Have you nothing, Zayin, son of Resh,”—and the priest’s voice grew ominous—“to offer to the King?”
“High Priest!” retorted Zayin angrily. “I return from many weary weeks of campaigning and dangers. I’m neither a potter, nor a peasant, nor a priest! As you suspect, I am empty-handed and there is nothing in my wallet.” He put his hand in the leather bag at his waist, and his fingers encountered something hard. Then he remembered. “Except this—perhaps you can weigh and measure it!” He took out the tablet covered in the nail-shaped marks which he had saved from the dust of the northern camp. Restraining himself from flinging it at the High Priest’s head, he tossed it contemptuously to a scribe in attendance. “Accept it as my offering—you may even be able to read it!”
As he strode angrily out of the palace gates, Zayin, the soldier, met Nun, the sailor. The two brothers halted and stared at each other, then they embraced, and stood back laughing.
“Well, General,” said Nun. “What strange customs have you been adopting in Gebal since I’ve been away? A beard? And skins round your legs like a roll of canvas! What have you been doing here?”
“Here?” echoed Zayin. “Ah, you sailors always think time stands still while you’re at sea. Others travel too, you know. I’ve seen stranger things by land—but this is no time for exchanging yarns. You’ve come at the very moment to save the family fortunes, Nun my boy. I’ve no doubt you’ve swindled the Cretans out of a rich cargo. Take it to the King—it’s Offering Day!”
“So they told me down at the port,” said Nun thoughtfully. “But all I’ve brought back is a leaky ship. I have news though, Zayin. Not good news but of vital importance—”
Zayin laughed shortly, but Nun continued—
“And, Zayin, I have learned a skill that will set our sailors before those of all other nations. The stars, brother! How to steer by them! All thanks to my friend from Chaldea. This is he,” and he gestured to the figure of the sage, standing near by in the shadows. “Your Reverence, this is my brother Zayin.”
Zayin bowed to the Chaldean. “I wish you luck if you are going to the King with your news and your star-lore,” he said to Nun. “A few painted pots from Crete would be more acceptable on Offering Day, I feel. And as for your reverend friend,”—he lowered his voice—“I think we have more than enough priests here already. Be careful!”
Nun looked at Zayin with raised eyebrows. “But have you brought no offerings, brother?” he asked.
“Mine seems to have given me the slip,” replied Zayin. “You haven’t seen a horse, have you?”
“A horse? We were nearly attacked by something as we came from the port. I thought it was a wild Cretan bull. Where are you going, Zayin?”
But Zayin had made off without another word toward the port. Nun shrugged his shoulders and led the Chaldean toward the palace.
Resh, for the second time shuffling abjectly away from the place of offering in deep despair, was overcome at the appearance of his other son. He tottered to embrace him in transports of relief.
“Ah, Nun, Nun, savior of your family,” he wept. “I knew you would return in time, and here you are. My old heart beats with hope again. Tell me, tell me, what have you brought to offer to the King?”
“Father,” said Nun, “I rejoice to see you. All will be well, I am sure. I have things that the King must know, that may save us all from destruction; and I have strange secrets. But for offerings, I have nothing but a leaky ship—” and while his father began wringing his hands again in another rush of doubt and despair, Nun strode toward the High Priest and the throne.
The keen eye of the High Priest had not missed the exchange between father and son, though he could not have overheard their words. “Who are you,” came the voice of the High Priest, “that come to present offering to the Most High and Mighty King of Gebal, and what offering do you bring?”
Nun spoke up calmly and clearly: “Nun, son of Resh, sea captain, salutes and does homage to His Most High Majesty. Your Reverence knows well that on many voyages I have brought back goods from distant lands to enrich His Majesty’s kingdom. This time I am fortunate to have escaped with an empty ship from the enemies of Gebal. But I have knowledge and news to impart to His Majesty that are of more weight than any gift of precious things—”
“Son of Resh,” interrupted the High Priest in a cold voice, “you must know that on Offering Day knowledge is not a thing we can measure, neither can we weigh news. We must record that you, too, come empty-handed to the offering.”
“High Priest,” said Nun impatiently, “my hands may be empty, but my head is not! Can you or your scribes steer a ship by the stars?”
This time the High Priest’s reply was a burst of cold laughter, which was faithfully copied by the other priests and scribes. The High Priest’s voice came more coldly than ever.
“If you have been meddling with heavenly knowledge, the concern of holy priests, it is no wonder that you return with an empty ship from a disastrous voyage, Captain—they tell me ships are best steered by a steering oar !” Again the priests and scribes snickered. “Your brother, by impiously bestriding an animal, lost himself an army. Have you nothing more tangible than news and knowledge, of which anyone can boast, to lay at the feet of His Majesty on Offering Day?”
A thought occurred to Nun, and feeling inside his tunic, he took out the clay tablet with the long-legged script and the seal of lions that he had been given by the Queen of Crete. He handed it calmly to the nearest scribe.
“Only this. It may speak for itself, if your scholars can read it,” he said evenly.
The High Priest gave it a contemptuous glance, and then turned to the distracted Resh. “Resh, father of Zayin and Nun, are two handfuls of clay all that your family has to offer? Have you no other sons?”
Resh sank to his knees and twisted his hands. “Your Reverence,” he replied in a choked voice, “I have only one other son, and he is weak in the head, and no one knows where he
is!”
There was a hush while the High Priest gazed with triumphant scorn at the abject Resh, and drew breath to speak. But the silence was broken by a small, feminine voice.
“I know where he is. He is three weeks’ march away from here.”
And all eyes turned to Beth, standing on the steps of the Temple, holding a white bird.
“Beth! Beth!” came the strangled voice of Resh, who was beating his head with his hands as he knelt. “What are you doing here again, girl?”
“You forget, Father,” said Beth, “I am no longer a mere girl, I am a maiden of the Temple and have a right to be here. And since His Reverence wishes to know, I can tell him. My brother Aleph is many days’ journey away, in the land of Sinai, and sends his homage to the King.”
“How can you know this, Beth?” asked Nun.
“This little bird has just told me,” said Beth seriously. “And it, too, has news of great concern to His Majesty.”
Once again came the cold laughter of the High Priest. “So this bird, too, has news, like the other members of your strange family. I am surprised that it does not also have mysterious lore or knowledge in its possession, which will be to the benefit of the whole nation!”
And the priests and scribes laughed again—but Beth’s eyes suddenly widened as if a great thought had come to her, and she said simply, “Indeed, perhaps he has.” But the High Priest did not notice.
“Temple maiden,” said the High Priest coldly, “His Majesty is weary of evasions and excuses. You may offer that bird for sacrifice as a token offering on behalf of your family. It is little enough, but it is better than nothing. Is that your intention?”
“No, Your Reverence,” replied Beth. “The bird goes free. He deserves it.” And she tossed the white pigeon into the air and it fluttered off.
At this act of defiance, the High Priest was incapable of speech. Then there was heard a voice that seemed to be weary and strong, gentle and cruel at the same time, the voice of the King himself. He had sat all day on his throne, a silent witness of the ceremonials of the Day of Offering, but up to that moment he had stayed aloof from the proceedings and left the talking to his mouthpiece, the High Priest.
“High Priest,” spoke Abishram, King of Gebal, “let it be known that, deeply as we are touched by offerings such as dried fish and pots of honey, we feel that there may be a time on Offering Day for less ponderable tributes. Horses that carry soldiers on their backs, ships that follow stars, birds that bear messages which girls can understand—these things weary us less than numbering bolts of cloth and flocks of goats. Let the Chief Mason and his sons and his daughter be received in private audience after the ceremony of offering is over, and let that be a time for hearing news and weighing knowledge.”
The High Priest bowed low, but his face showed that he knew he was defeated in his desire to humiliate Resh and his family. Resh bowed low too. His face showed merely that he could not yet believe his good fortune.
There had scarcely been time to find Zayin, to help him dress and prepare himself for the audience, and to decide among themselves how and in what order they were to speak, before the family of Resh were assembled in the pillared council chamber of the palace. The sun had set, and in the hall, now lit with oil lamps, only the high priests and a few councilors were in attendance upon the King.
Zayin was the first to speak. He told of his northward march with the army, of his quest for the monsters, and of how his army had been scattered in the encounter with what they conceived to be six-limbed creatures, part man, part horse. “Most High and Gracious Majesty,” he continued, “your servant fell into the hands of these monsters, and behold, they are not monsters at all—not man-horses, but horse-men. Nevertheless, I have a mystery to relate of them, a mystery which, as their slave and captive, I was able to study and master for myself. It is this. These people, Your Majesty, have learned so to tame and train a certain breed of horse that it is, indeed, an extension of a man’s body and limbs, and no longer a mere draft beast to pull a chariot. Such a horse will carry a man on his back at the walk, trot, or gallop, will obey his slightest indication to start or stop, will charge the enemy, wheel and sidestep, leap over obstacles impossible to chariots, run up and down steep slopes—in fact, go almost anywhere a trained soldier can go on the battlefield, with much greater speed and agility. On long marches, the soldier can sit on the horse and not tire himself. In battle, the soldier is free to use his sword or lance, and has the advantage of the horse’s height over his foe. These northern tribesmen can even shoot arrows most accurately and effectively from horseback.
“Your Majesty, may we not one day have an army of mounted soldiers to defend your kingdom? I, Zayin, have acquired the secrets of breeding, training, and controlling horses. I place them, and myself, humbly at Your Majesty’s disposal.”
Zayin’s voice, which had been ringing with enthusiasm for his theme, now dropped and became more urgent. “But, Your Majesty, another thing I learned in the North which is of more immediate concern to Your Majesty and your kingdom, and this I could not possibly have learned unless I had been a captive. It is, I fear, not good news. The nations of the North-East are planning war, and mean to invade the coast as far south as Gebal. This I heard from their own mouths. There is little time to be lost in preparing our defenses, and I beseech Your Majesty’s authority to raise more forces in readiness.”
Zayin ceased, and there was silence. Then the High Priest spoke: “Gracious Majesty, our General returns alone from the North with a strange tale indeed. Might we not ask some evidence in support of what he says?”
“Did I not bring a written tablet from the enemy’s camp which I gave to one of the scribes?” demanded Zayin. “Where is it?”
A scribe standing at the back of the priestly party came forward holding the tablet and handed it to the High Priest.
“Well?” Zayin demanded. “Is it or is it not evidence of what I say?” And the King turned to the High Priest and raised his eyebrows as if waiting for him to read.
The High Priest hesitated, then turned to the other priests and scribes and there was a murmured discussion over the tablet. When he spoke, there was embarrassment in his voice. “Most Gracious Majesty, this is a most corrupt and unscholarly piece of writing. It will take—ah—a little time to interpret.”
“Let it be done, High Priest,” said the King coldly, “and meanwhile let us hear the second of the sons of Resh.”
Nun then stepped forward. He had been turning over in his mind for a long time how he should relate his story, for it was no simple narrative of exploration, battle, captivity, and escape as Zayin had told. He sometimes doubted whether he had ever spent that strange night on the island of Thira, or whether he had dreamed it. And what should he say about the prophecies of doom spoken by the Chaldean? He resolved to give his account as soberly as he could, leaving nothing out, however strange it might sound.
“Most High and Gracious Majesty, I set sail from the port of Gebal with a cargo of cedar wood, bound for Crete. But at the request of the court I took as passenger a sage of Chaldea. This man from beyond the eastern desert guided me by the stars over the western sea, so that we sailed by day and night without a sight of land. But before landing in Crete we sailed north to the islands, and there we found the burning mountain that stands in the sea, and on it we were entertained by men who told us of the race of Giants that are imprisoned in the burning mountain, and indeed the whole island shook beneath our feet and we were very glad to leave the next day. We then proceeded to Amnisos, discharged the cargo, and at the insistence of my passenger I went with him to the court of King Minos at Knossos. Here we were received in audience by the King, but the Chaldean, when called upon to speak, prophesied doom and destruction upon Knossos, much to the King’s displeasure. I was therefore delivered as a sacrifice to the fighting bulls, from which I was only saved by strange northern men with red faces
and yellow hair. Fortunately, I was taken to the Queen, who as you know came as a bride from this coast, and she, believing me to be a prisoner, revealed the intention of King Minos to send his fleets to attack your kingdom. I managed to escape from the prison with the Chaldean and we put to sea in the darkness. And though we were delayed by contrary winds we returned to Gebal, guided again every night by the Chaldean’s strange star-lore. And all I have brought back, Great King, is this new knowledge whereby a ship may be steered with more confidence on a starry night than it can by the light of the sun itself. But, Your Majesty, what infinite opportunity for exploration and trade may this knowledge offer us! What endless voyages may your adventurers make without hugging hostile shores! To what ends of the earth may the name of Gebal now be carried! I dedicate this learning to Your Majesty and your merchant seamen.” He paused, wondering whether he had made his tale too brief for comprehension, then he remembered something. “And as for the intelligence about the plans of King Minos, your scribes will by now have interpreted the tablet I received from the Queen of Crete herself, giving details of their preparation for war.”
There was more murmuring among the priests and scribes, the tablet with the long-legged script was produced, and the King waited for the High Priest to speak.
Again there was embarrassment in the High Priest’s voice as he said, “Your Majesty, this writing is of course known to us. But it is merely an unsanctified code of signs, used for bookkeeping purposes by lay clerks. However, if Your Majesty considers that it may contain matter of importance, we shall, of course, be able to have it interpreted in a few days.”
“Let it be done, High Priest, let it be done,” came the voice of the King, even colder than before. “And now where is this daughter of Resh, maiden of our Temple?”
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