“The clan kings? But they won’t listen to a mere child like you,” the farmer protested. “In fact, they won’t listen to me, either.”
“I am more than a mere child,” the lad said, frowning with such authority that all of them were impressed. “Tell the lauchumar that Tages is here, and will not wait overlong on their convenience.”
Tarchon, impressed anew, hastened to tell his clan king of this news. The lauchumar was not pleased to be disturbed from his gaming with dice. Back in those days, remember, the authorities did not know about the signals of the gods, so whiled away their lives with entertainments. Today, of course, they understand much better—and love gaming and amusements just as well. “If this is some ruse to waste my time, I will have you boiled in olive oil,” the lauchumar muttered warningly. “I have better things to do than rescue lost brats.”
Nevertheless, the lauchumar followed the farmer back to the field. Immediately the child spoke. “Now pay close attention, lauchumar, because I will not repeat myself. Make sure you write everything down, so that you can duly inform the others.”
The clan king opened his mouth to protest, but withheld his reproach, because the child was so self-assured and spoke so effectively, at an age when few children were speaking more than isolated words.
“I am Tages, son of Genius and of Earth, sent to inform you mortals of the ancient wisdom,” the child said. “Listen to my chant, and heed my message, that you may become civilized and prosper. First I will deliver the book of the Netvis.”
Tages then chanted the text of that sacred book, and the lauchumar hastily wrote it down, because it was quickly apparent that this was indeed great wisdom. From this book the people learned how to interpret the signs in a sacrificial liver. Ever after, their priests would know how to sacrifice sheep and read the messages of the gods in the steaming livers. This became one of the pillars of human understanding of the gods, respected throughout the world.
Meanwhile, the news of this remarkable event was spreading, and a second lauchumar, from another clan, arrived to assist. This was fortunate, because the first lauchumar was exhausted from his task of recording the book.
To the second clan king Tages chanted the book of the Frontac. From this book the people learned how to read the gods’ messages in the lightning and the thunder. They learned how to face south to determine whether the lightning came from the east or west, and how to note the precise point that the bolt issued from the heavens, for that indicated exactly which god had loosed it. For a number of gods could hurl lightning bolts, and there were eleven directions from which they could come. Each bolt could be benign or malignant, depending on the god and the situation, so it was essential to identify it correctly. Normally, however, only Tinia, the chief god, threw bolts to be dreaded. His first thundering was merely an alert, and his second a good omen. But the third could be disaster, and such a signal could never be ignored. The date of a lightning strike was important, too; any bolt could be clearly understood, if it occurred on a key date. Thus the precise calendar of portents was vital, and Tages presented this too.
A third lauchumar arrived, and he also was needed. Tages chanted the words of fate, and the words of salvation, and the words of expiation. The lauchumar collected these in the book of ritual, which every priest had to know thereafter.
At last the last chant had been chanted. The child-sage ceased speaking, and silence fell on the land. The lauchumar and the multitude of common people who had assembled by this time took a breath.
Then Tages’s eyes glazed. He fell forward into Tarchon’s deep furrow, dead. The earth filled in, covering him over, and it was as if the field had never been plowed. The messenger of the gods was gone.
The lauchumar and the people held a ceremony of mourning, for they knew that a great entity had visited them, and delivered his supremely important message, and died on their behalf. Because of Tages, they now understood the gods, and they understood destiny, and they had the vision of greatness.
They built a city on that spot, and it became the first and greatest of the League of Twelve Cities. They named it for the farmer who had plowed that fateful furrow that birthed Tages, thus determining the site of the miracle. Thus Tarchon’s name became enshrined in that of the city of Tarchna.
“And it is to this city we are now traveling,” Ember concluded. “We shall be seeing it tomorrow.”
After that they moved through the deep forest with greater confidence. How could they be frightened by the very forest whose glade had been the site of such a significant event? Surely the gods regarded this region with continuing favor.
In this manner they came without event to Lake Bracciano, a huge expanse of water. “Ooooo!” Flower exclaimed, awed and thrilled. “So wide! So pretty!”
“We’ll camp beside it,” Ember said. She understood the child’s delight in the water, for she shared it. Sometimes she dreamed she was on a boat or raft, crossing water so wide that land could not be seen at all. That was both frightening and tempting, and she had never understood where the dream came from, because she had never done such a thing. Getting seasick on a ship had been bad enough. “You and Kettle can gather wood for our fire.”
There was an outdoor hearth under the shade of a large maple tree, because this was a frequently traveled road. Ember started a fire in it while Pot watered the horses and turned them loose to graze in the brush and turf near the water’s edge.
There was a scream, then a splash. Flower had fallen into the water. But in a moment Kettle was in after her, picking her up and carrying her to the shore. Seeing them that way, Ember was surprised. She tended to think of them as two children, because intellectually they were, but physically Kettle was at least double the girl’s mass.
They came to dry out by the fire, Flower naked, Kettle in a simple short skirt, by his father’s directive. Then Ember brought out a dry tunic for the girl. All too soon Flower would become a woman, and have to leave the joyous freedoms of childhood behind.
They ate the evening meal, consisting of the more portable types of food Ember had bought in the city: bread, cheese, dried swine meat, apples, and thick sweet wine. It wasn’t exactly a feast, but it sufficed. Ember could see that the men felt awkward, and she realized why. “Eat, friends! You are no longer slaves and I am no longer your mistress; you are hired freedmen, and I am a traveler. There is no impropriety in my doing some work with my hands, or in your eating in our company.” Then they relaxed and ate well.
There was still some light left in the day, so Ember set up a popular game. She had Kettle hammer a wooden pole in the ground. On this she balanced a little wood chip. She drew a circle in the dirt, around the pole and an appropriate distance from it. She gave each person a cup of water dipped from the lake. “Now we shall pretend that this is a bronze disk,” she said. “And that it is wine in our cups. The one who wins three falls first gets the remainder of the real wine.” She set out the prize: the wineskin.
Flower, being the youngest, had the first turn. She took a sip of water and blew it out toward the chip. She missed, not getting high or far enough, and the water splatted on the ground.
Kettle was next. He was the tallest of them, and had considerable power of spit. Too much: his shot passed over the chip.
Pot’s shot was better. The spit passed close to the chip, but did not quite touch it.
Then it was Ember’s turn. She made a perfect strike, and the spit knocked the chip to the ground. “One for Grandma!” Flower cried, clapping her hands gleefully.
In the second round Flower got both elevation and distance, but still missed. Kettle lowered his sighting and missed just to the side. Pot scored, knocking the disk down. But Ember scored again, so was still ahead, two to one.
In the third round no one scored.
In the fourth round Kettle scored, and so did Pot.
In the fifth round Flower finally managed to hit the disk. She jumped around, fabulously excited. But Pot also scored, winning the wine.
“Congratulations, champion,” Ember said, handing him the wineskin.
Pot shook his head knowingly. He understood that she had missed deliberately after the first two rounds, giving the others a chance. She had had decades of experience in this popular game, and had long since become more proficient than any child or slave could be. The point had been to have a bit of fun, and it had been that for the other three.
They slept on the wagon under blankets, lulled by the sounds of the night. This, too, seemed oddly familiar to Ember, though she could not place any similar event.
Next day they continued through the hills and forest, and by evening reached the city of Tarchna, where Ember rented a house and stable for the horses. On the day following she took Flower and visited the residence of a former business supplier, to explain her need. Unfortunately she learned that there had been a change in management, and the new master did not know of her family or business. He was a gruff, stout man, not far her junior, and evidently impatient with the interruption of his day. “What do you want, woman?” he demanded.
“I need a regular supply of iron bloom, for my daughter’s husband to work. He is a skilled metalsmith, expert in bronze and gold but also competent in iron. We just have not done much in iron before. But now we have to.”
The iron master squinted at her. “Who are you, an old woman, to come make such a demand of me? How do I know you are not wasting my time?”
“I am Ember, of Veia,” she said evenly. “We have long purchased copper and tin from Tarchna, for our bronze. Check your records. Now we wish to purchase iron.”
He scowled. “Ember, eh? Well, then, you can just call me Slag. Look, woman, we have orders elsewhere for iron. Come back in two months.”
“Two months!” she exclaimed. “I need it now! I have a wagon to carry it with me.”
“One wagon? This is evidently a small operation.”
“We are just instituting it, in Ruma. We will doubtless use more as we get established.”
“Well, return when you are established.”
“We need the first iron to get established, Slag, as you must know. We have to show the king what we can do.”
“He is right to be doubtful, woman. Iron is not a metal a person just decides one day to work. Stick with your bronze.”
“We can’t. We had a thunder signal from Aplu, who told us to bring iron to Ruma. We will continue with bronze, and gold, but also will honor the god’s directive.”
The man sighed, evidently not wishing to directly interfere with a mission dictated by a god. “I just can’t see Aplu sending a woman to do a man’s job.”
“I know metalworking,” Ember said. “I could do it, if I had the youth and muscle required.”
Slag laughed. “You think that’s all it takes? Get out of here, woman, and let me get to my work.”
Ember could not entirely condemn Slag for his attitude. But she had to have that iron. “Suppose I make you a wager,” she said.
“A wager? Woman, I bet on the wrestling matches, not on iron.”
“Let me direct your workers at the foundry. Let me show you what I know. If I prove I know iron, you will sell to me.”
“If you prove you know iron, I’ll give you what you make!” he said, laughing again.
“It is a wager,” she agreed evenly.
“Grandma, is this smart?” Flower asked nervously.
“It’s necessary,” Ember said.
Slag led the way out of his shop. “Come on, woman; I have a foundry nearby. We shall have the proof of this in short order.”
They followed him to his foundry outside the city. It was a barren area, with a pall of smoke. There were piles of dry wood nearby, and a kiln where the wood was processed into charcoal. There were also wagons loaded with iron ore. It was evident that there was a lot of business here.
Slag brought them to a small smith shop made of wood and thatch. He summoned two workers. “Do what this woman says,” he told them. Then he stood back and waited.
Ember surveyed the premises. There was a bowl-shaped pit rimmed by stone, large enough for a family to bathe in. It was like a forge, on a larger scale. It would do.
“Fetch charcoal,” she told the workers. “Fill the bottom of the smelting pit.”
They went out, and returned with bags of charcoal, which they dumped into the pit. “That’s enough,” Ember said in due course. “Now fetch hematite.”
They brought in bags of the iron ore, and dumped these on top of the charcoal. “That’s enough,” Ember said. “Now bring more charcoal.”
Slag nodded, becoming persuaded that she did know what she was doing.
“My granddaughter could do it,” Ember said, noting his nod. She couldn’t resist bragging.
“Could she? Perhaps she should try it.”
Ember smiled. “Flower, you take over.” She hoped the girl remembered and understood what she had observed in Veia.
The girl was surprised, and not at ease, but she realized that Ember was trying another ploy. “Fill it to the top,” she said.
When the pit was filled with charcoal, and mounded over, Flower called a halt. “Now light it,” she said. “From the bottom.” She had seen her father do this often with the bronze forge.
When it was burning, and the fumes were rising evenly through the charcoal and ore, Flower turned to the tools in the shed. “Set up the bellows.”
Slag interceded. “What bellows?”
Flower pointed to the goatskin bags lying by the wall. “That bellows.” Then, becoming bold: “Do I have to show you how to work it?”
Slag smiled. “Yes.”
Flower went and got the bellows. She dragged the solid mechanism to the burning pit and got it into position. She used rawhide strips to tie its opening to a set of clay pipes near it. Then she fitted the pipes into a heavy clay tube. She shoved this through a hole in the stone rim of the fire pit, keeping the bellows itself well clear of the fire.
“Why are you doing that?” Slag asked.
“To blow up the fire,” Flower answered. “Because it will never get hot enough to smelt that ore into iron bloom by itself. It wouldn’t even melt copper.”
“Enough,” Slag said. “You have made your point, Ember. I will sell you iron.”
Ember nodded. A lot of work remained, but she knew that iron was coming to Ruma.
Iron did indeed come to Ruma, which was known by the natives as Roma, and later as Rome. It borrowed freely from Etruscan culture, especially with respect to the sophisticated methods of handling water, and spread that civilization as its power increased. The city grew rapidly under vigorous kings, some of whom were Etruscan, until it rivaled Etruscan cities. Because they never united against Rome’s territorial ambition, the Etruscan cities were overcome one by one. Rome in time became a republic, and then a significant empire, uniting most of the peoples of the Mediterranean region. Its impact on human history was considerable, and vestiges of its Latin language are widely spread today.
CHAPTER 15
* * *
SILK
In the year A.D. 87 the Roman Empire circled the Mediterranean Sea in the western side of the Eurasian continent. The Han Empire was of similar size on the eastern side. Between them wended the Silk Road, an extremely long and treacherous network of trade routes that persisted because of the wealth it generated. From the west came fine bronze statues, glass, and alabaster vessels; from the south came ivory plaques; and from the east came lacquerwork and garments of silk. Such items were of immense value, and were coveted by the steppe peoples of central Asia. Control of the Silk Road was a source of constant friction.
At this time the westernmost outpost of the Han Empire was at the town of Kashgar, where caravans from the east met those of the west and traded their goods. The king of Kashgar was Chung, who was a protégé of the formidable Han general Pan Ch ‘ao. But Chung had become greedy, and rebelled, seeking the riches of the Silk Road for himself.
Pan Ch’ao h
ad defeated him in battle and driven him out of his own city. Chung’s situation was desperate. But he had a plan.
OH, my husband, my love, I am afraid,” Seed said as Stone finished his meal of mutton. “Let me go with you.”
Stone knew there was no chance, but he tried to put her off gently. “Who would take care of Tree?”
“He can stay with Blaze and Bunny,” she said. “He’s ten; he can almost take care of himself. Anyway, he likes their wagon. All the smithy tools are there.”
She was right, but it was not enough. “Chung is going into Kashgar to make submission to the Chinese tyrant,” he reminded her. “His allies from the hinterlands must go too. I count, as a Hsiung-Nu horseman; Chung wants to show his good faith by bringing in a metalsmith too. So I’ll take some simple examples of my art and instruments, and make an offering to General Pan Ch’ao, and join the feast. I’m just a token figure, really. After the ceremony of submission you will be able to come into the city. But not until the agreement has been cleared. You are too precious to risk during the hostilities, which technically remain until the ceremony is done.”
“Then let me try to protect you in what way I can,” she pleaded. “It is you I fear for. I have a bad premonition about this day.”
“Foolish woman,” he said, smiling though he felt it too. He did not care to admit his fear that things were not as they seemed.
“Let me garb you in armor,” she said. “A hard leather jacket, leggings, a stiff collar—”
“What are you thinking of!” he exclaimed. “Are you trying to weight me down so that I fall off my horse? No one wears such things!”
“And a bronze plate inside the jacket,” she concluded, fetching the items. “In fact, it can be one of the offerings, conveniently carried. And bronze bands around your arms, and iron wristlets. Don’t take them off until you have to present them.”
“This is ludicrous!” he protested. But she kissed him, and pleaded with him, until he suffered himself to be garbed as she desired. She was twenty-nine years old, but still beautiful in his eyes; he would do anything she wanted. So under his loose, calf-length linen robe, held in place by the belt with its iron buckle, was the much larger bronze plate that covered his entire belly and chest. Under the cloth gathered at the wrists were the metal bands and wristlets, and within the wide-legged trousers, strapped at the ankle, were more bronze bands. She made him wear boots of the heavy combat kind, instead of the ones with comfortable soft leather soles. There was even a copper bowl under his conical fur cap. He felt like a clanking freak.
Isle of Woman (Geodyssey) Page 34