by David Bell
A few people remained in the harbour yard waiting for their friends to come ashore, but most were leaving for home or to seek other entertainment, at the Games outside the town, perhaps, or in one of the beer houses, or in some other place providing more intimate kinds of pleasure. Others had work to get on with; fishermen with nets on their shoulders headed towards their boats and two other men went out through the harbour gate leading a bull towards the field where the Games were held. There it would be garlanded and honoured for its strength by all the athletes who were taking part in the competitions. Namun noticed a group of men wearing animal-skin coats standing apart from the rest near the town wall. They had put their animal heads and other equipment away but he recognised them as the dancers who had stamped around the dead ram on the altar in the hidden courtyard. He was surprised to see that one of them was one of the oarsmen on the Dolphin.
“Sharesh, did you see them on the warship throw that pig into the sea?”
“No, why would they do that?”
“For Lord Potheidan, stupid. It’s best to make sure he doesn’t feel left out. Mind you, it was going well for the shore when I last saw it; I didn’t know pigs could swim like that. Not everybody thinks it’s only the Lady Mother who looks out for seamen, you know. At least that’s what one of the soldiers told me. Where’s Kanesh been while all this has been going on?”
“Now it’s you that’s stupid. Look up there.” Sharesh pointed up to the watchtower on the rise above the town. “You can see him standing in the doorway up there, if you look.”
“He watches; sees everything, but he won’t join in,” said Namun. “Like that painter. Did you see him in the crowd in the harbour yard? Then he was on the Kerameon ship. I saw him up near the prow looking round at all the fleet.”
“He’s working for Merida. Now he’s seen it, perhaps he’ll do a painting of the Blessing for Merida’s house. I bet he’ll be there at the Games as well.”
“Come on then. We don’t want to miss anything. Never mind about the swimming and boat racing here, let’s get to the field for the boxing. I’m going to lay you out, Sharesh.”
“And I’ll run you into the ground. Come on.”
On the stern deck Typhis opened his mouth to call them back, but Potyr laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Let them go. They can celebrate the Lady Mother’s festival in their own way. There’s time enough for work again tomorrow. Send someone to make sure Dareka’s boy gets home and ours gets back onboard at least before dawn.”
After the solemnities and reverence of the Procession and the Blessing, the townspeople were impatient for a change of mood and longed for all the display, extravagance and passion that the Games could offer them. When Namun and Sharesh arrived at the field outside the town beyond the vineyards, it was already packed with onlookers all shouting encouragement to their favourites and hurling scorn at their rivals. Wrestling bouts and stone-lifting competitions were already in progress, and Sharesh was delighted to see one of Kakelus the smith’s sons heave a huge round black stone onto the shoulder-high altar and then glare round and defy anyone to do better. Dorejo stood on a wooden trestle calling for the runners, boxers and lance throwers to come forward and give their names but few seemed to take much notice. The noise and confusion grew as more people poured onto the field and tempers quickened in the rising heat and dust. Wrestlers were forced to throw intruders out of their ring and the stone-lifters threatened to drop their loads on the heads of anyone who got too close. Dorejo and his few Men of the Watch were powerless to keep order. Children were in danger of being trampled. Mothers became anxious and some began to weep. Angry men were close to fighting.
“Is it always like this?” called out a voice, almost in Sharesh’s ear. He turned to see who had spoken. It was the painter. Sharesh shook his head. The man said something else. The din made it impossible for Sharesh to understand, so he raised his hands in a helpless gesture. The man mouthed words and pointed at him. Sharesh thought he meant “what are you going to do?” so he clenched his fists like a boxer, pointed to his feet and jerked his thumb at Namun. The man smiled, shouted something, pointed at himself, then at the boys, and faded away into the crowd.
“I think he said ‘I’ll be watching the two of you’,” said Namun. “But he won’t see anything unless somebody sorts out this mess.”
A loud long note from a horn sounded across the field, followed by a series of short, forceful blasts. Heads turned and the noise lessened for a moment. There was a hard, urgent rapping sound coming closer. Some men in the crowd knew what that was, and began to try to calm their companions. It was the sound of a company of soldiers beating their swords or javelins on their shields as they approached. Word had reached the Governor that things were getting out of hand at the Games and he had passed orders to the commander of the Keftiu warship to send men to the field to restore order. The arrival of the helmeted troops, each carrying shield, sword and lance, and looking as if they were prepared to use them, soon brought everyone to their senses and Dorejo was at last able to start making his lists. The final act in restoring the true spirit of the Games was heralded by another long note from the horn and the arrival of Akusha leading other matron servants of the Lady Mother into an enclosure prepared for them at the head of the field where she would place the chaplets of vine leaves on the heads of the winners. They were followed by men leading the sacred bull of the Games, symbol of power, strength and speed that would inspire all athletes to their utmost efforts in honour of the Festival.
The sun was nearing the horizon when the Games came to a close. As they left the field, everyone agreed that they were the best there had ever been. Who would have thought that a young girl would win the hill race: from the field to the Temple on the Hill, down the rocky slope to the Red Cliffs and home again? What was her name? Kallia? And the boxing was thrilling: Leptos (but which Leptos was it because no one but their mother could tell them apart?) had felled that cocky fisherman from Balloso. But two of the boys were the funniest, wearing only a belt and one boxing glove each, though Dareka’s boy kept his bracelet and pendant on for some reason, and clearly set on thumping each other as hard as they could, although they were friends. Dareka’s boy had got in one or two good clouts but the other, the ship’s boy, had finally downed him and won the chaplet for boys.
It was different in the boys’ running, however: Dareka’s lad Sharesh got his own back when he came in second just after the shepherd boy. His friend from the ship was way behind. In the lance throwing someone sent a wild one into the crowd and nearly skewered Dorejo on his trestle; that had to be good for a laugh for years afterwards. The wrestling was good this year. As usual, one of the shepherds won the chaplet which wasn’t surprising since they spent all year grabbing and carrying sheep and goats that always wriggled and twisted to get away. Those women egging on the wrestlers and boxers should be ashamed. Everybody knew they fancied being handled in the same way, and they were always hoping one of the wrestlers would have his loincloth pulled off so they could have a look at what he had underneath. Yes, they had been good Games. There was some talk of having a different kind of bull another time; like the ones they had on Keftiu that had young lads and even girls jump over their horns and onto their backs while they were running at them. That would be really exciting.
With twilight came the time for the music and dancing; in the streets, in the squares, in the fields and on the beach. Men and women danced their separate measures, women to the sound of the pipe and lute, and men to the beat of the drum and deep note of the horn. Lamps began to shine in the windows of houses, casting a soft glow on the faces and bodies of the women as they turned in graceful circles in the squares in Telchina Street, raising the flowers and ferns in their hands towards the darkening sky. They sang softly of wandering in the fields together and gathering the crocus; they sang of love, and they sang lullabies, and watching them, the onlookers became peaceful and drowsy and the older ones drifted into sleep. The
moon rose full and silver-bright. The dancers stopped and, as one, raised their arms and opened their hands in signs of dedication to their Mistress, and chanted a hymn of praise over and over again. Then they began a different step in time to deeper notes from the pipe and lute, striding out smoothly, heads thrown back, curled hair cascading down their backs, hands held to their breasts, entranced in their female pride: the dance of the Mother with the piercing look, the giver of all life, the watcher over everyone.
The music died away; the women became themselves again and turned towards home and children, household and husband. Not all husbands. The men preferred to keep their dancing to themselves and many were still following the beat of the drum on the beach by the light of driftwood fires, dancing in lines opposing each other, advancing and retreating, while they called out like animals in a hunt. Others had sought the secrecy of the sand dunes where some of the rites that Namun had seen could be acted out again, almost as gestures of defiance aimed at the moon riding high in the night sky. They felt themselves close to the animals and the stones and the waves, and their dancing acted out these feelings, and the lusts and violence and deep inner togetherness that surged up from the dark places where they were usually held in check. Dark forces drove them to dance on as if forever, but at last beer, wine, and, for some, the syrup of the poppy, began to turn their dance steps and rhythms into lurches and stumbles, their chants into drunken laughter and coarse jibes. Some began to stagger away in what they thought was the direction of home but most ended up sprawling on the sand and shingle, snoring and jerking like a school of stranded dolphins. Two men still had sense enough before they collapsed to drag an unconscious friend back from the edge of the fire, before his hair caught alight. They did not notice another man who was slowly wading out to sea waving a wine flask and calling on the Lord Potheidan to share the contents with him.
“They’re all dead to the world now,” said a Man of the Watch to his companion.
“Or too drunk to care,” said the other. “Let’s see if there’s anything left in the wineskins worth drinking. Better grab that silly bugger out in the sea first, before he goes under.”
Lying before the altar, the High Priestess dreamed that she was caught fast, tethered. The white bull towered over her, snorting and pawing the earth. She was trapped; no, not trapped: she did not want to run. A hoarse, grating sound came from deep in his chest. She rose, turned away from him, and lay face down across the altar. Her head hung low and the long braids of her hair reached the cool slabs of the floor. The rank smell of him filled the sanctum, almost stopping her breath. She began to pant. The hairs of his coarse pelt scraped across her back.
In a room deep inside the Residence, lit by lamps burning sweet oil, a young man and a young woman lay in each other’s arms in a deep, dreamless sleep.
Koreta stood by the window and looked down towards the harbour. Lamps glowed dimly on bowsprit and stern of the ships riding at anchor. Memories flitted through his mind like ghosts. Two or three crewmen would be huddled over a board, playing dice. One of the watch would have a nightline overboard, hoping to catch his breakfast. Most of them would be asleep, deaf to the creak of ropes and the soft kiss of ripples touching the sides. He could smell the ship; brine and oil, fish and sweat and the burnt scent of the caulking between her planks. So different from the smell of a ship at sea and under sail, when the wind swept everything away except the sharp tang of the salt spray. He looked up and saw the star that all sailors learned to steer by. It was always there in the same place and the others all moved round it in their different paths. How many other sailors’ eyes were looking at it now, he wondered; some in the seas off the Tin Islands, perhaps?
A group of men stood on the highest point of the Red Cliffs, looking up into the sky. They found what they were looking for and put on their animal heads. Then all together they raised their arms in salute to the yellow star that was the eye of the beast.
Namun watched the crewmen playing dice for as long as his eyes would stay open. A little later one of the picked him up and placed him quite gently on his pile of sacking in a corner of the hold. Namun went on dreaming of Akusha placing the chaplet on his head and smiling at him.
Amaia gently wiped the newborn baby’s face with a soft cloth. The child, a girl, was fat and strong, but the mother might not live to suckle her. She was too young and had lost so much blood. Amaia murmured prayers to Heket and the Lady Eleitheia that they might spare her life.
Sharesh and Tika lay curled together, asleep. The dog made faint yapping sounds and twitched its feet. Sharesh never moved a muscle, but in his dreams he too was running.
The widow sat in the moonlight looking at the still glowing pile of ashes on the beach at Lemaka. The headman and the other elders had decided that Meriton’s body should be burned on a pyre of driftwood because he had been poisoned by devils. When they had given her a payment they told her that a lord on the ship had said it must be done. She was young and had no children. She wondered when the fisherman from Balloso would come to this beach at Lemaka again, as he used to do sometimes when Meriton was away on Kuros.
Akusha had taken off the robes she had worn for the ceremonies and instructed the maid to carry them in the morning to the Temple on the Hill. Now she wore only a sheer white shift and her hair hung loosely about her shoulders. Dareka stood behind her, drawing the ivory comb slowly through her tresses. When she was a wife, did she remember she was a priestess? When she was a priestess, did she remember being a wife? She turned to him and smiled as her shift slid to the floor.
Back on the jetty they raised their hands in salute to the commander of the Keftiu warship and turned to make their way back to the Dolphin. Neither was surprised at what he had told them. The ship was too well armed and stocked for this to have been a mere training exercise, and the discipline and bearing of the company that had dealt with the disorder at the Games could only have belonged to experienced men, equipped and ready for action. Koreta must have known, too: he would never have requested help from a half-trained crew. Now they had heard it in so many words from the commander himself: he was on his way back from a making a show of force. Not against pirates: he had not used that word. Invaders, then, Potyr had asked; colonists, perhaps, with an armed escort? The commander had said it seemed to be something like that, and it was not the first time that this had happened; still that particular lot would not be back again in a hurry. Kanesh asked, since the Dolphin would be carrying such a valuable cargo, could they take it that the warship would be sailing with them next day, and the commander had nodded. For at least part of the way, he added; he had one more report to follow up before he headed back to Keftiu.
In the stern cabin of the Dolphin, Dareka and Potyr were going through the cargo list one last time. They both knew it by heart now, but the tablets had to be read and the tally beads counted out, otherwise Merida would make a fuss. The light from two oil lamps and the full moon made the work easier. One by one the items were identified and agreed. Copper ingots from Alasiya, the flat ones with carrying handles, stacked upright in the bottom of hold, three hundred, and next to them the cake-shaped ingots of tin from Anadolus, a hundred; wide-mouthed Kinaani-made packaging jars half as high as a man, thirty: fifteen filled with the pungent resin used for burning in temple censers and sometimes for putting in wine to stop it from going sour, ten with fine white bowls and dishes from Alasya, three with handled cups and two with cheap clay lamps both made on Kallista; tall pot-bellied storage jars, half of them filled with barley and the others with beans, and fitted with lifting lugs for derricks to hoist them from the hold, ten; long tapering wine jars filled with Kallista’s honeyed wine, forty, and the same number with its fruity olive oil; wooden crates containing flasks of the special wine from Gubal, two; storage jars filled with ingots of blue glass from the Black Land, material for the jewellers on Keftiu, five; rush-lined crates of fine Kallista pottery, ewers, vases and nippled jugs, fifty in total, all painted with delicate im
ages of barley corns, spirals and swallows, ten; bales of cloth woven in Merida’s workshops and half of them dyed purple with the dyestuff bought in Kinaani, twenty.
Dareka had supervised the loading and stacking of all of these in the main hold, ensuring that plenty of rushes, wood flakes and clumps of the prickly shrub with the strong scent and white flowers which grew everywhere on Kallista where the soil was poor, were stuffed between the ingots, jars and crates to guard against shifting on the voyage. In a separate small compartment at the stern end of the hold he had placed a few more valuable items and the list of these was now checked: from the Black Land, ebony logs and ivory teeth of river horses, two boxes of each, and one crate packed with tortoiseshell for making musical instruments, and ten small bronze gongs; finally, a jar filled with a hundred pieces of amber of different sizes, which came from the shores of a frozen sea and had been carried over mountains, across windswept plains and down fast-flowing rivers eventually to reach a dusty warehouse in Gubal, where Merida had paid for it with ingots of Anadolus tin and ostrich eggs he had bought in the Black Land. Kept safe in Potyr’s cabin were the most precious goods: two sealed boxes containing gold and silver necklaces, rings and bracelets made by jewellers in Kinaani; the jars of Lemaka salt, and the leather bags of the secret medicines collected on Korus.