'If you're not here to settle down,' Dietra said, 'then why did you come?'
'Is it not enough for a man to want to visit his home and his kin?'
Conan demanded.
'No,' she said. 'Another man, perhaps, but not you. Something's drawn you back here, and I fear it's a thing that bodes no good for the clan.'
Conan reflected that there was no gulling a Cimmerian woman of one's own blood. They could follow their men's thoughts with an accuracy a
necromancer would envy.
'I have a mission,' Conan said. 'It need not involve the clan, but I'll want to talk to the headmen before I set out on the last stage of it.'
'On the morrow,' Milach said, 'we take the roof poles and drive the kine down to the wintering place. Most of the clan should be there within a few days. What's the nature of this mission?'
'Time enough to tell when the chiefs meet,' Conan said. 'But it's on my own head, not that of any other.'
Chulainn gave his clean-licked bowl to Dietra. 'I'll go see to the kine,'
he said. He nodded to Conan and pushed through the hide curtain.
'What ails the lad?' Conan asked when Chulainn was outside and out of earshot. 'Some sorrow gnaws at his heart, that's plain.'
'There was a girl,' Dietra began, 'a girl of the Murrogh. They met at the midwinter fair down by the border when the clans were at truce. He wanted her to wife'—she shot a glare at Conan—'like any good clansman.'
Conan affected to ignore this.
'He got a band of cousins together and they set out for Murrogh land to bring her back,' she continued.
'A feud-wiving, eh?' Conan grinned. When two clans were at feud, it was an ancient and honorable tradition for young men to make forays into enemy land to get women. This way, a man gained both a wife and honour, and the clans were prevented from growing too inbred. 'And what happened? Did her father and brothers thrash them and send them back home empty-handed?'
'That they did not,' said Milach, taking up the tale. 'They arrived at the girl's steading unseen, for Chulainn's been schooled well in the lowland forest; but when they reached the main house, they found it devastated.
The walls were torn down, and the bodies of men lay all about, and some of the womenfolk as well, but the younger women and the children were gone.'
'So,' Conan grunted, 'a Vanir raid. It's unfortunate, but doubtless he'll
find another lass.'
'Not Vanir!' Milach protested. 'Nothing was taken but the girls and children. Good weapons were left where they fell. The Murrogh trade down on the border, so they have more silver than most. The lads saw silver coins and ornaments scattered about along with the other rubble, Vanir never would have left them.'
'Worst of all were the bodies, though,' muttered Dietra.
'What about them?' Conan asked.
'They were torn asunder,' Milach said in a low voice, 'as if by great beasts. The young men had seen bodies beast-rended before, by wolf and bear, but this was done by no clean creature. Its claws and teeth were not those of any animal we know…' His voice trailed off as if he were unwilling to say more.
'Tell him the worst,' Dietra said grimly.
'Some of the bodies were partly eaten,' Milach said.
'Eaten?' Conan said, still mystified. 'Well, even so, if it were wild beasts, it is not unlikely that—'
'Not eaten as a wolf will eat a man,' Milach insisted. 'The flesh had been cooked over fires, and there were still half-gnawed limbs on wooden spits! What creature but man cooks his food?'
Involuntarily, Conan's hand went to the amulet that hung from his neck. 'Cannibalism! Crom!' Such a thing was unheard of in these mountains. Not even the oldest legends spoke of such. 'Was this the only such incident?'
'The only one we know of,' Milach said. 'By the time Chulainn got back it was mid-spring, and time to take the cattle to high pasture. We've been here since, and have seen nobody from below. Heard you nothing as you travelled hither?'
Conan shook his head. 'Until I reached clan territory I avoided people, not knowing how the feuds were going. I saw men from time to time, but I did not seek them out. The man I left my horse with, down where our
lands start, was a tight-lipped old fool. I doubt he'd have told me if the seat of my trews were aflame.'
'That must be old Chomma,' Milach said. 'He's addle-pated, all right, but trustworthy. Well, we'll hear more of this soon enough, when we get to the wintering place.'
Conan brooded upon what he had heard. Surely, this had nothing to do with his task here! Somehow he could gain little confidence in this thought. Much as he tried to avoid them, evil and sorcerous doings had a way of seeking him out. No wonder, he thought, the boy had a sad face.
VII
In the Kingdom of the Great River
The barge plying the broad river bore a single tall mast, but its triangular sail hung slack from the long, slanting yard. As the wind had died, the barge was propelled by long sweeps driven by the brawny arms of slaves. So wide was the river at this point that its current was scarcely apparent, and it lay like a glittering silver shield beneath the relentless southern sun.
The banks of the river were lined with palms, and the fertile land along both sides was intensively farmed by peasants who toiled in the benevolent climate to bring in two or even three crops per year. The peaceful aspect of the scene, and the gleam of temples visible in the distance, belied the essentially primitive nature of this land, Stygia. The women who washed out laundry along the banks in the noonday sun would be well away from the riverside by dark, for then it became the haunt of the great crocodiles of the Styx, and huge hippopotami would come lurching ashore to ravage the crops the peasants had toiled so hard to plant and cultivate. The people had to accept this, even with the consequent loss of life, for these beasts were protected by the priest-kings of the land, as were the omnipresent vulture and cobra. In the homeland of the serpent cult of Set, it was a capital offense for a peasant to kill any serpent, though it threatened his own child.
The woman who sat beneath the awning that protected the stern of the barge thought of none of these things, for they were so much a part of her life that anything else seemed barbarous and alien. In any case, her mind
was on more important matters. The plans of years were coming to fruition, and she had much work to do before she could be assured of utter success. She knew well the unwisdom of impatience, though, and the only sign of restlessness she showed was a slight tapping of her fingertips against the arms of her chair.
The master of the barge walked astern and bowed before Hathor-Ka.
He was a short, swarthy man dressed only in a brief white kilt and headcloth. 'My lady, we shall reach your landing around the next bend of Father Styx.'
She nodded and turned to the man who stood beside her. 'Is all ready, Moulay?'
The desert man nodded to her. 'All is packed below. Shall I raise your standard?'
'Yes. I want no delay when we reach the landing.'
Moulay took a rolled cloth amidships and attached one end of it to a rope that hung from the mast. As he hoisted it up the mast, the cloth unrolled into a long black banner. Embroidered on the cloth with golden thread was Hathor-Ka's personal device: a scorpion whose tail was a serpent forming a circle around the desert arachnid. This would signal her servants ashore that their mistress was arriving on this barge.
Around the bend they caught sight of the great stone pier that thrust out into the river. As they approached, a small crowd gathered on the dock, awaiting the arrival of the barge. This was part of Hathor-Ka's huge estate, and all who gathered were her slaves, servants, the serfs who worked her land, and the priestly staff of her temple and shrines.
A long-armed black man cast a mooring line onto the dock. The rope was made fast to a bollard carved in the likeness of a crouching scarab beetle while the rowers skillfully worked the purple-sailed vessel alongside the gleaming marble pier. Slaves came aboard to transport Hathor-Ka's goods ashore
just as a team of panting men arrived, bearing a pole-suspended litter. These men were not slaves but shaven-headed acolytes from the temple maintained by Hathor-Ka.
The priestess stepped ashore, mounted the litter, and seated herself on a throne of ivory and fragrant wood beneath its cloth-of-gold canopy. The
lean but brawny acolytes hoisted the litter to their shoulders and set out for the temple palace, walking in a skilful, broken step that made for a smooth ride. Moulay stood behind the throne with his hand on his sword hilt, even though they were on Hathor-Ka's own land.
A man ran up and made his obeisance, then fell into step beside the litter. He wore the dress of a farm servant, but his plain white kilt was of the finest silk, and his headcloth was striped with gold thread. In his hand was the whip of an overseer.
'My lady,' he reported, 'since you left us we have brought in a fine harvest of wheat, along with the usual lentils and onions, and we have planted another crop. There were three thousand two hundred eighty-four slave deaths, and five thousand seventy-five live births, most of which will probably survive. Of other livestock, the cattle—'
'Excellent, Ptah-Menkaure,' his mistress interrupted. 'Submit a full accounting in writing this evening. I especially want to see the figures on the stone quarried for the new temples at Khemi. The priests there are eager to begin construction.'
'It shall be done, mistress,' the steward said, prostrating himself in the dust. Unlike many of her colleagues in the sorcerous hierarchy of Stygia, who were mainly virtual ascetics, Hathor-Ka was among the most powerful landowners of the nation. Her wealth was as vast as her wizardry was potent, and through one or the other she controlled much of the land of the great river.
The litter was carried along a slightly raised road paved with white limestone, which slanted from a far escarpment down to the river, cutting through fertile and well-cultivated fields where peasants were even now hard at work. At intervals the road was flanked by figures of greenish-black stone crouching on pedestals, figures that had characteristics both human and animal, and which bore a disturbing aspect. The workers here did not like to look at these sculptures directly, for if studied too closely, they often seemed to have moved when one gazed at them again.
In a land of soaring, if oppressive, temples, that of Hathor-Ka was of surprisingly modest dimensions. The god she served was not a deity who required grandeur. The temple palace itself was surrounded by smaller buildings, in which lived Hathor-Ka's servants, slaves, priests, and
acolytes. She alone lived in the palace.
The acolytes bore the litter into the hypostyle hall of the temple portion, flanked by rows of columns with lotus-shaped capitals, dim in the overhead gloom. The thick walls had only narrow slots for windows, set high to prevent profane eyes from observing the rites performed therein.
The purpose of these slot windows was mainly to disperse the smoke of the incense as well as the less agreeable smells that sometimes rose from the altar. Most illumination came from torches and lamps and from the great fire basket before the high altar.
The litter was lowered to the polished pave, and Hathor-Ka alit. She was greeted by a shaven-headed priest, distinguishable from the acolytes only by the cloak of leopard skin which cascaded from one shoulder, leaving the other bare. The priest knelt and touched his forehead to the floor, almost touching Hathor-Ka's sandals.
'O Lady-Who-Sits-by-the-Right-Hand-of-Father-Set,' he intoned, 'welcome to your home. We who are your servants wish you ten thousand years of life.'
'Rise, SenMut,' she said. 'Even I do not hope for ten thousand years; but if our plans bear fruit, I may have nine hundred, and so shall my servants. Is all well?'
The priest arose. 'Quite well, my lady.' No longer speaking in ritual tones, the man had a soft and pleasant voice. 'We have carried out the rituals you prescribed to the very letter, and we have kept close watch on your colleagues.'
'There is only one who troubles me,' she said. 'What of Thoth-Amon?'
'Our spy in his household says that in recent weeks he has spent much time in the trance of the black lotus. It is clear that he is engaged in the preliminary stages of some mighty wizardry, but he shows no sign of knowledge of the missing Skelos fragment.'
'Has he been in contact with Turan, or Vendhya, or Khitai?'
'He received a communication from the great Vendhyan mage, Jaganath, just days after you left,' SenMut told her.
Hathor-Ka bristled at the name. 'What was the nature of this communication?'
'Just an exchange of pleasantries,' the priest assured her, 'apparently in answer to some enquiry of Thoth-Amon's concerning the properties of a certain Vendhyan strain of the blue lotus. Jaganath promised to send samples at the plant's next blooming, along with seeds and a soil sample.
The message appeared to have been months upon the road.'
'I am much reassured,' said the priestess. It was the kind of thing great sorcerers traded only when they were not discussing their greatest lore.
'Reward our spy. And, SenMut—'
'Yes, mistress?'
She gave him a look that might have killed a cobra. 'Better you had never been born than that I should find such a spy in my own household.'
The priest folded his hands across his breast and bowed deeply. 'You need have no fear, mistress. The security of your secrets is ever my dearest concern, as the safety of your blessed person is looked after by Moulay.'
Hathor-Ka, trailed closely by Moulay, walked around the altar and through the square doorway into the living quarters beyond. A small group of slave girls greeted her and conducted their mistress to her bath.
The hot water had been conveyed hither the instant Hathor-Ka's standard was seen from the landing, the event relayed to the palace by burnished bronze shields flashing in the Stygian sun, the same signal that had brought her litter to the shore.
Moulay followed even into the bathing room. The slave girls aided their mistress in undressing, and she stepped into the steaming water, fragrant with exotic oils.
Unlike many of Hathor-Ka's house servants, Moulay was not a eunuch.
He watched the slave girls in their steam-dampened shifts with interest, but no lewd thoughts crossed his mind at the sight of his naked mistress, beautiful as she was. To Moulay she was an object of fear and adoration, in whose service and protection he would gladly lay down his life, but he could never look upon her as a man looking upon a woman. To any who might suggest to him that Hathor-Ka was a beautiful and desirable female, Moulay would have accorded an instant's incredulous wonder at
such unprecedented insanity before slaughtering the man without mercy.
To consider his mistress as an ordinary mortal was to Moulay little more than sacrilege.
'This business of Jaganath disturbs me, Moulay,' Hathor-Ka said. 'The communication with Thoth-Amon seems innocent enough, and I am satisfied that Thoth-Amon knows nothing of my plans. If such a one so nearby were planning anything, I should feel it. Jaganath, though, is subtle. It would be just like him to send prattling letters to his sorcerous colleagues to distract suspicion from his true activities. You are sure that there was a party of Vendhyans in Khorshemish while we were there?'
'Just two of them,' Moulay said. 'The fabric merchant I spoke to said he knew Vendhyans by sight, especially by the cloth they wore upon their bodies. There was a fat, middle-aged man, and a small, slender youth.
There may be no connection. They might have been merchants.'
'Trading what?' demanded Hathor-Ka. With a sponge and scented oil she was cleansing her body with the dispassionate deliberation of a man washing a chariot. 'Did these men have goods to offer? Were they scenting out trade routes? Had they approached city officials with bribes to receive favorable treatment in the markets?'
'As you know, my lady,' Moulay protested, 'there was neither time nor opportunity to carry out an investigation of these itinerant Vendhyans.'
'I know, Moulay,' Hathor-Ka said. 'And I may be exercising myself ov
er nothing. However, with the stakes of this game so high, I cannot but be suspicious. Vendhyans are most rare so far west, and to find two of them in the same city where we are carrying out a crucial task smacks of more coincidence than I am prepared to swallow. I would not know Jaganath by appearance, as I have never seen him, although there are ways that those of us who practice the Art have of recognizing one another. It seems, though, that this Vendhyan 'merchant' was careful to keep out of sight, something unique among merchants, to my experience.'
'But if it was your rival,' Moulay said, 'what was his purpose? He did nothing to interfere with our actions that I could detect.'
'He might have been spying,' Hathor-Ka posited. 'He might have been spying on me, tracking me to find out what I was doing. He might have been trying to hire the Cimmerian himself. If so, he was unsuccessful, for I
would have known any such subversion from that unsubtle savage. I suppose it might have been coincidence. That is the most untrustworthy of propositions, but Khorshemish is one of the crossroads of the world, and two persons on similar missions may meet at such places. Whatever the reason, however, I do not like it. Of all my sorcerous rivals, after Thoth-Amon this man Jaganath is the most dangerous, and the one I would least like to see in possession of the Skelos fragment.'
'How could he have come across it?' Moulay asked. These subtleties of the sorcerous arts repelled him, for he was a desert man of direct action, yet he would not criticise his lady's doings.
'These things do not go by the common rules of chance,' Hathor-Ka said. She stepped from the bath, the steaming water cascading from her shapely body and her thick hair. As her maids began toweling her, she explained: 'Many times, a document or artefact will seem to thrust itself under a mage's nose, as if by a will of its own. This means that there are higher powers involved, and that they seek to play us like pawns. If Jaganath has stumbled across the fragment, and Thoth-Amon has not, it is because those powers have wished it so.'
'But, my lady,' Moulay said unhappily, 'if these powers have taken a hand, how may you and your rivals and colleagues hope to prevail? Surely you will not wish to compete against the gods?'
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