by David Bell
All the repairs to keel and hull had been finished and approved by Potyr. The new steering oar was onboard near the stern ready to fit once the ship was afloat. She was still held on her props but carpenters and crewmen were shoving greased boards as far as they could get them under her keel to help ease her off once the signal was given. Rowing boats waiting offshore, Sharesh and Namun now among them, had fixed their lines to her and were ready to pull away. Everything that could be taken off her had been unshipped, even the ballast, to reduce her weight as much as possible. All was now ready. Everyone looked up at Potyr who stood on the prow, waiting for his command. He held his hands to his chest for a moment then stretched his arms outwards towards the sea, his hands palms upwards with fingers spread wide in supplication. Then he looked at Typhis and nodded. Typhis bellowed a single word.
“Launch!”
The oarsmen dug in and strained against the water. Men standing ankle deep offshore heaved on lines attached to her hull. The ship shuddered and timbers creaked but she did not move. Typhis strode to the stem and knocked away a prop on each side.
“Launch!”
The lines tightened. She shuddered again. The stern-most board under her keel lifted, then dropped back as she slid smoothly over it, across the others, scraped over the wet sand and slipped sweetly into the little waves, to float offshore, cheered by the crew who were surprised to see Kanesh drop a large stone anchor over the side. He had somehow got aboard unnoticed. The ballast and all her gear were re-loaded and the steering oar set. The carpenters had driven a thick dowel in near the upper end, Typhis’s own design for keeping a better grip with his lower hand while using the other to vary the angle of the oar. She rode pretty well for so light a loading. When all the oarsmen were ready, Potyr gave the order to row and she glided through the calm sea in the direction of the setting sun and the main harbour with the rowing boat used by the boys dancing behind her on a towline. In the harbour carpenters and riggers worked on her throughout the day, first fitting the rings made the day before to the mast, followed by the running rigging. The mast was then stepped and the new spar mounted and raised with the new sail fitted. Merida had relented and allowed the sailmaker to use the heavy linen. Potyr told Dareka and Kanesh that he would take her out on trials the next day, round the island and into the Lagoon, to test her under sail and oar. Sharesh could go along, too, and start getting some sea legs. When Dareka agreed, the delighted boy went off to tell Namun the good news. Dareka was already working out loading plans as he walked across the harbour yard to the warehouse with Kanesh. Merida met them as they entered. Standing beside him was Dorejo in his Guardian’s uniform, accompanied by two spearmen of the Watch.
“The Governor, the Lord Koreta, commands your presence at the Residence.”
“Say to the Lord Koreta that I will attend his audience tomorrow when the sun is down and the air is cooler.”
“‘Commands your presence’ means immediately.”
“Lackeys may use such words. A Governor knows the correct timing for such a meeting; as I have said, when the sun is down and the air is cooler. Tomorrow. Now, do your duty and inform the Governor, and take these two with you. We have important work here.”
Dorejo’s face darkened and he looked as if he were about to protest, but something in the way that Kanesh looked down at him froze the words on his lips. Dareka later told Akusha that it was like the smile on the face of the lion the moment before it ate the goat. Merida soothed the tension, putting his arm round Dorejo’s shoulders and drawing him gently towards the door.
“Dorejo, old friend, I’ve been meaning to ask your advice, as Guardian, about my new house, you know, overlooking the Lagoon. By the way, I was talking to the Governor. Called me in, he did, interested in news from Gubal, he was; now, as I was saying…”
When he returned Merida had a slight frown on his face in place of his normal watchful grin. “You’re a bit hard on him,” he said to Kanesh. “He’s a pompous little prick, but it’s best not to get on the wrong side of him. He knows how to put grit in the wheels. He reports to the Governor. We don’t want him giving the wrong message.”
“Koreta may not now draw the bow as he did in the action against the pirates off Gaiduros, but age will not have weakened his shrewdness. He will see where truth ends and invention begins. He knows the distant sea. He has sailed where few have been, where none but he would dare to sail again. He will see why the search must be attempted but he will ask many questions.”
“Then you must find the answers to his questions. You speak as if you know him, but the Gaiduros battle was many years ago and he has the look of an old man now. What a fight that must have been! All day long. Twenty pirate ships sunk or burned, survivors sent to the quarries and the women and children shared out among the captains. Nothing left on Gaiduros except ashes and bones. They say Koreta lost his eye boarding the pirate chief’s ship but he kept going. He wears a patch over that eye now.”
“Twenty-two. Ten sunk and the others burned. Ask Potyr. He was there.”
“Potyr? He’s never talked about that, not to me at any rate. He can’t have been much more than a boy. What about you? You seem to know a lot about it.”
“Potyr will tell you, if he cares to do so. Now listen, if I am to sway the mind of the Lord Koreta, I must have what you know, or think you know, all of it, of these other lands where tin is found.” With Kanesh looking at him in that way he had, Merida could not resist telling him everything the man in Gubal had said.
The sun was setting behind the hills on the edge of the town as Kanesh walked slowly across the paved square towards the great front entrance to Government House. The tall commanding figure with the slight limp, wearing a richly embroidered tunic of dark red cloth and fine leather boots, drew curious glances from passers-by, and one or two women nervously drew their children to them out of his way. His beard and thick shoulder-length hair made him stand out from the men of Kallista as much as his height, his paler skin, and the long heavy sword that hung from his belt. He climbed the broad marble steps and presented himself to the doorkeeper who replied that the Governor expected him. A steward carrying his wand of office appeared, pressed knuckles briefly to his forehead, and begged to be allowed to conduct the lord into the presence of the Governor. He glanced down at the sword and was about to say something, but Kanesh abruptly gestured to him to lead the way.
In the dim light of beeswax lamps standing on delicate tripod tables they passed through openings where double doors of polished wood were folded back into recesses, from one perfumed hall to another in which rows of slender urns filled with lilies stood in front of high painted walls. Landscapes where fig trees, sprays of papyrus plants and yellow flowers crowded the banks of streams twisting through rocky hills were succeeded by spring scenes of courting swallows in flight, crested hoopoes digging their long black bills into the earth, antelopes trotting daintily over grassy fields and wild cats stalking ducks about to take flight. Ships under full sail and decked with flags moved gracefully through blue waters in which dolphins sported. Inner rooms had friezes of interlocking red and yellow spirals high on the walls above images of double-bladed axes, eagle-headed lions, and sacred bulls with tethers about their necks. Finally they reached the last and largest hall from the end of which a grand marble staircase curved to an upper floor. In the centre of the room behind a marble altar rose a fluted column as high as a man, pale pink in colour with iris flowers scattered at its base. On one wall a procession of saffron-robed priestesses approached a seated goddess with offerings of crocuses and cruses of scented oil, while on the wall opposite a sacrificial bull lay on a white altar as if awaiting the stroke of the axe.
As Kanesh and the steward ascended the great staircase it seemed as if they were being accompanied, step after step, on the flanking wall by a painted procession of dark-skinned young men, whose long hair reached down their backs as far as the belts holding up their kilts. Each man carried a ritual flask, ewer, or vase and
all had their eyes fixed on the red-lipped, bare-breasted goddess in flounced skirts holding a squirming snake in each upraised hand, a goddess who gazed regally down from the wall at the top of the staircase. For a moment, the steward stood in reverence before the Lady holding his wand to his lips, and then opened a door which led into a wide corridor with windows on one side and several closed doors on the other. Kanesh stood before the goddess and looked levelly at her. He remembered her in other temples in other lands. He had seen her with red hair, not black as here; and sometimes her face was dark-skinned, not as here. Sometimes she held snakes, as here, and in other places the crescent-topped rod, or the tamarisk branch. But the passive yet commanding pose was always the same. Her breastss were on a level with his eyes. He smiled at her, slowly closed one eye and put his finger to his lips.
The steward rapped three times with his wand on the heavy wooden door, waited briefly and then opened it wide. He bowed to Kanesh, entered the room and announced, “The honoured visitor, my Lord, attends you.”
“Please step forward, that I may see you.”
The voice sounded faintly muffled but the words came clearly with the faintest timbre of command. A man dressed in a long purple robe held in at the waist with a golden sash rose painfully from a high-backed chair set in front of an open window, through which flowed the strange soft light that comes between sunset and dusk. He had long white hair cut to cover his brow and a scarf of sheer white silk hid the lower part of his face. One bright eye regarded Kanesh steadily. The other was covered with a patch of soft doeskin.
“I am Kanesh.”
“A name with a distant sound to it. I am Koreta, Governor of this island, Delegate of the Palace and Servant of the Lady. Impressive titles, do you not think? I welcome you, a stranger, they tell me, brought by the storm to Kallista.”
“I thank you. What a man has done may be more impressive than his titles, or less. For the things that you have done anything that may be said of them would be… inadequate.”
“Well, well, a diplomat. Apigoron, set another chair here for my guest. Bring us some light, and the wine that came yesterday, the Halaba. And the brazier; put it here: the sun is down and the air is cooler, is that not so, Kanesh? Please be seated.” Koreta lifted a thin hand and touched his scarf. “You have no fear of this, I see. The physician says it will die with me and kill no other. If I ask him when that will be, he looks upwards for an answer and says, ‘Another will decide’. He mixes salves of crushed garlic from Ebla and the shit of crocodiles from the Black Land for the tumours feeding on my skin. Great Amajia, he would have me eat it if I told him I now spit blood. Good, the wine. If the blood of Diwonis does not drown the creature within, at least it pacifies it for a while.”
“I have known physicians use ointments made from the yellow and white pointed stones that grow in the poisonous steam that rises from hot ground for your… condition. They claim the poison will kill the creature, though slowly.”
“Too slowly. It is a way they have of being right even when they are ineffective. Enough of this: old men speak too much of their ills. You have things to interest me and I have things to ask you.”
“I await the Governor’s questions which I shall answer to the best of my knowledge.”
“A true diplomat. We will dispense with protocol. How can I ask meaningful questions until I have heard your case? And it is a case that you are presenting, representing might put it better, on behalf of others, well, one other, at least. You like this wine, I think.”
“The Governor has lost none of his power to send a shaft straight to its mark. So much so that I wonder if I waste our time in representing the case. And yes, the wine is sweet.”
“Kanesh, no more protocol, I said. You present yourself with no title but I am beginning to feel we know each other. So, let us speak plainly, as, shall we say, old shipmates, long apart and come together again, full of tales to tell each other.”
Kanesh held the delicate alabaster goblet before the pale flame that rose from a lamp of perfumed oil. Seen through the translucent mineral, the wine darkened to the colour of blood.
“Koreta, the storm which cast me on this island was of a kind that you and I know well. But there are other storms gathering which, if we do not prepare for them, will wreck more than ships. What are the signs? In the Black Land the power of the great kings has gone, as it does when the Akhet fails and the great river runs low. The Hikshasus are everywhere and take all the best land.”
“A merchant who trades in gold and spices returned to Keftiu from Puwenet three moons past. He had news that in Waset, the Southern City, resistance is growing.”
“They will be no match for the Hikshasus cavalry which Salitis trained until they form their own chariot corps and take up the short bow.”
“Who might show them how?”
“There are those in the lands beyond Kinaani who would do so, at a price, Governor. They have their own reasons for wishing to weaken the Hikshasus grip. Or Waset could try bribery. There are Hikshasus who are bewitched by the ancient splendours of the Black Land and wish to change to its ways and forget their own past. They see their own gods in those of the Black Land and worship them. They build shrines to Sutekh the Deshret god. But, whatever happens, strife and disorder lie ahead and we both know trade will suffer.”
“Perhaps the Hikshasus and Waset can come to terms. Each has much to offer the other. The same merchant said that Yaqub-Hor, the Hikshasus king, and Rahotep in Waset had exchanged ambassadors.”
“It may work for a while. That is the way of kings as each seeks advantage over the other. But the leaders of Waset see themselves as heirs to the great kings of the Black Land and will not rest until the whole land and the glory return to them.”
“I follow you in this, Kanesh. Rahotep is said to be repairing the walls of the temple at Abdjus which means he plans a stronghold for defence against the Hikshasus, or a base for future campaigns should diplomacy not succeed. But you spoke of storms. What others are there?”
“The main blasts lie ahead. The forerunner winds come at us now and from other directions. The Labarna is old but ever restless, and fights on. His frontiers now lie across the trade road from Babylon and beyond that runs close to the mountains where the great lakes lie, and his patrols raid the mule trains and the boats that come up the river Buranu. The desert tribesmen see what happens and lie in wait for merchant parties that follow the road from the Buranu to Qatna and head for Gubal with their tin. All trade from that direction is under threat. The tribesmen are too stupid to want anything but loot, and the Labarna can levy what tax he wishes, or take his pick, on the trade that passes through his lands. Ugarit dare not defy his control and Gubal is surely his next target. A day’s sail from Keftiu: what will become of our freedom to trade then?”
“The Labarna, the Great King, Hattusil by his throne name, is a mighty warrior and has carved out a great empire by war, but he is no mere destroyer. Fine cities have been built and craftsmen and artists flourish there. His power may yet lead to safety and easy passage on the trade roads in ways that the kings of the Black Land can no longer enforce, even if tolls must be paid. He has exchanged letters with the Palace in Keftiu that have been, shall we say, promising. There is cause for concern, however.”
“Concern? No more than that?”
“Perhaps. Probably. Our informants are unsure of the whole story, but the rumour is that the Labarna was wounded by an arrow at a siege and will no longer lead his troops in battle.”
“He will still command through his officers, and continue as lawgiver.”
“There is more, Kanesh. Our informants have seen tablets that state his intention to proclaim his grandson as his heir. The next Labarna will be Murshilis. This plan is known only to a few.”
“The Labarna has burnt his fingers before with the succession. He first chose the son of his sister as heir but the traitor tried to dethrone him while he was on campaign and was lucky only to be banished for his
treason. But Murshilis is only a boy. If the Labarna dies before he reaches manhood the nobles will fight among themselves to seize the throne. Our concern, as you have it, should give way to alarm. Everywhere we look, either side of the rising sun there are signs of unrest and the breakdown of law.”
Koreta raised his hand and the steward materialised from the shadows at the end of the room, picked up the wine flask and re-filled both goblets. He blew new life into the charcoal in the brazier with a reed, then faded back into the shadows as silently as he had emerged from them.
“Not in that direction only. The Labarna marched against Arzawa and its allies not because they threatened him but because he sought control of the straits which merchants cross with the goods they bring from the mountains and distant barbarian lands, the amber, ivory, furs and…”
“Tin. The Labarna was seeking again to control the trade in tin.”
“That may be, but our informants report no signs of trade in tin from that direction. The Labarna’s advisors may have been misled by rumour, though rumour often sprouts from a seed of fact.”
“The river Istros that flows into the Dark Sea beyond the straits is born in distant mountains and explorers tell tales of another great river that rises nearby but flows towards the setting sun. They say also that the stones in some parts of those mountains are of a kind that breeds tin.”
“Where explorers venture, merchants are not far behind. But the Labarna will still extract his due should any tin be brought down the river to be shipped through the straits, as he has on other goods already carried there. Might he be avoided if the pack trains left the Istros and made their way through mountain passes to reach our sea on the opposing shore by Chrisi, where the gold is dug?”