Kallista

by David Bell

  The rhythm slowed, and the music faded to a whisper. The circling dancers came to rest and each sank down until all were kneeling with arms held out towards the girl holding the fig tree branches. A long silence followed and then a single note sang from the pipe, then another, and another, until the melody flowed once more. As each note sounded, the dancers rose to their feet, unfolding their bodies and stretching their arms as if wakening from sleep, and began circling to a different measure, high stepping and exultant. One after another they turned and danced across to the girl in the centre, embraced her, and flitted back to the circle. At each embrace she lifted her head slightly and raised the branches a little until at the last, for dancers and spectators alike, she became the fig tree with its wide spreading branches and dark green leaves

  The boys were leaning against one another, fast asleep. Kanesh did not know how much of the mystery acted out in front of them they had seen; very little, perhaps, since Sharesh had not stirred when the girl from Kallista came last into the square, holding her fig tree fronds. She had danced well in the Great Courtyard, too. Someone in the Palace must have noticed her gifts and was bringing her on very quickly for such a newcomer. That had its dangers: court factions lived on their jealousies. The dancers rose and tripped away into the darkness. It was time to leave before these soporific vapours befuddled the boys’ heads yet more: he sharply pinched two ears and the owners shot upright, yawning and blinking.

  “You have work to do in the morning. If we go now, you may get to ride on the bullock cart taking oil from the Palace storeroom down to the shipyard. Typhis will go with you, if he has finished celebrating his win, that is.”

  A veiled woman sat on the highest bench speaking softly to the figure at her side.

  “There will be a little time after this next dance before my chair is ordered to return me to my house. The hall is not far from here. You and I will see how the work looks in moonlight. No one will disturb us. Ah, good, they are about to begin. Do not make a sound while the mystery unfolds. Silence enhances the ecstasy I feel.”

  “As my Lady Pasipha wishes,” sighed the painter.

  The lamps and torches were burning low but the perfumes they gave off were sweeter and headier than before. A drum could be heard beating an insistent rhythm like the feet of distant marching men, the sound rising and falling as if borne in on the wind and as soon carried away by it. Through half-closed eyes the watchers made out vague shadows like ghosts in a dream standing round the sides of the square. The drumbeat quickened and grew louder, sounded a final climactic rapping and stopped at the moment that a bright star rose above the horned peak of Jaduktas. The star climbed higher and away from the peak until the rim of the moon appeared, as if pulled by some invisible cord linking the two. As the moon grew, its light fell upon the square gradually revealing the standing shadows to be girl dancers dressed in white shifts and wearing veils. When the moon drew clear of the sacred mountain with the star at its side, it cast its full light on the silent watchers and waiting dancers below. The drum began to beat again, rapidly, like the sound of hooves on a dry plain. Into the square came a monstrous animal, bull above, man below. With moonlight gleaming on its crescent-like horns matching the peak of Jaduktas, it roamed the square, swinging its heavy head from side to side. None of the dancers moved until the monster stood in the centre of the square, lifting its head up and down and scraping the paving stones with its hooves.

  Led by one older than the rest, the girls danced towards the monster, twisting and turning about him and winding their arms about his massive neck, turning their backs on him and bending low as they drew away with backward inviting glances. He grew restless and began to move about again, following first one girl, then another, towering above this one, then the next, as they all opened imploring arms towards him. He closed on each one and pressed his muzzle between her breasts as she drew down her shift, and when he turned away from them they silently left the square with lowered heads. The older one remained, and as she trod slowly round the square he pursued her, getting closer and closer until she stopped and turned to face him. He seized her, lifted her onto his massive shoulders and leaped up the tiered benches, brushing bodies aside, until he reached the topmost bench and disappeared as if he had flown into the night sky.

  Intoxicating vapours lingered in the warm air conjuring up sensual visions of intertwining bodies and overpowering animal menace in the heated minds of the watchers. They had seen the Mother possess the tree, causing its branches to spread and its leaves unfold; they had felt her enter and rouse the bull to carry off his chosen mate. They had been, for a brief blinding moment, in her presence and they burned with desire to serve her.

  “Now, quickly, now; take my hand; quickly, painter, this way.”

  “All those girls, and that bull. Sets you thinking, doesn’t it?

  “Is it right, what they say, that it’s the High Priestess he carries off at the end?

  “I still say he shouldn’t have been waving that sword at the Ruler’s Sanctuary. And he uses the other hand; did you see that? Funny coloured blade it’s got. Where’s he from, anyway?”

  “My new sash, dear? I think I must have left it at the Palace. Still, it’s one less thing to take off now, isn’t it?”

  “Who cares if I won it on the Taphian? This wine tastes just as good. Have some more; and spare a drop for the Lord Diwonis.”

  DROUGHT

  “Fifty days since we brought that cedar tree ashore,” said Typhis. “And he’s crawled and sniffed and tapped along its length every day since then. He’s even had the men turn it every third day because he says it dries quicker at the top than underneath. It’s time the carpenters got to work on it, and they take long enough. Fifty days: I’ve seen ships built in fifty days and we haven’t even got this keel, or whatever he calls it, started yet.”

  “A fifty-day ship would never go where we intend to go, helmsman,” said Kanesh. “How is your head, by the way? Be patient. One day, when this ship outruns and out turns any warship in the navy, you will be proud to be at her helm.”

  “I keep asking about that. I know a thing or two about steering oars: remember the new one on the Dolphin? But he won’t talk about it. Secret design, he says. What’s so secret about a steering oar? There’s different ways of making it, splicing and banding, I grant you, but you lash it on one quarter or the other, or you can mount it on a stanchion like on some Kinaani ships, and that’s it. Anyway, I haven’t time to bother about this now. We’ve got another run to the quarry today. Never you mind about my head, by the way.” Typhis stamped off in the direction of the jetty.

  “If Naudok says fifty days, then fifty days it is,” said Potyr. “I have a feeling the carpenters will start today. Naudok has had the launch way made and it is wide and firm enough for the tree to be rolled there for working on. Even he seemed satisfied with it. The quarryman came to lend a hand with the levelling and we will need him again when the pathway is built up and planked for the launching. Now there’s a man I should like to be with us, when the time comes. It is not too soon to start thinking about crew: not everyone on the Dolphin will want to join us, nor would I want them to do. I must be going. Leilia will be out soon: she has news for you.”

  “A messenger from the deputy commander was here last night,” said Leilia. “The Lady Tuwea will visit us today.”

  “The wife of Merida. This is to be an inspection. Send word that she would find the air more pleasant in the cool of the evening. By then the cedar should be on the launching pathway with plenty of adze chips around it to show that the work is well under way. I take it that Naudok will sanction a start to be made today? Is the scribe here?”

  “Sharesh is with him now. The boy learns quickly and has a good fist.”

  “Kindly arrange for there to be plenty of tablets for the Lady Tuwea to be given to understand the work proceeds apace and that good accounts are being kept. You too have the script?”

  Leilia ignored the last remar
k and said, “If Naudok deems it time for the work to begin you will have word before midday. There will be cedar shavings enough to set a good fire before the lady’s arrival. Naudok is unlikely to come out before she has departed. He is not comfortable in the presence of women.”

  The sun was nearing the horizon and a warm breeze off the sea was stirring the slender branches of the tamarisks when one of the watchmen called out that he could see horses coming along the track behind the dunes. Soon afterwards, Kanesh was handing the Lady Tuwea down from her carriage. She was wearing a striped travelling cloak and a veil against the dust.

  “You honour us, lady. Forgive me, but had I known earlier of your interest in shipbuilding I should have made it my duty to conduct you here myself.”

  She raised her veil and looked up at him with a faint smile. “Had I known earlier of your interest in bull leaping, sir, I should have invited you to join me at the Palace. I have a certain duty there, with the Chosen Children, for their dancing.”

  “The Lady Tuwea is esteemed for her own dancing and her father, the Lord Gerax, for his hunting, with hawks.

  “And you are…?”

  “No one of importance, my Lady: Leilia, a servant of the Lady Mother, as are we all.”

  “I see. Now, sir, my husband, poor man, is impatient for news of progress with what he calls the enterprise. The ship which brought me word of his concern sails for Kallista in two days’ time with a cargo of tiles for the roof of our new mansion there.”

  “I have seen the house myself, lady. Its extent and style are entirely in keeping with your husband’s taste and reputation.”

  “And I should like your assurance that the captain of that ship will carry with him sufficient information about the work here – what stage it has reached and when it is likely to be completed – to allay my husband’s anxieties.”

  “You have it, lady. I am sorry if the smoke from those fires offends you, but the carpenters have been shaping the cedar at such a pace with the adze that it is necessary to clear away and burn the shavings each evening so that the space is clear for the work to start again next day without delay. Even so, this must not be rushed. They are forming the keel of the vessel, her backbone, one might say her most vital part. You will also want to see the frames, strakes, posts, stanchions and other finished timbers – all under covers, of course, but we can lift the reeds for you – I suggest you look particularly at the quality of the scarfing and the dovetail joints to assure yourself that the work is of the required standard. Then there are the records of stores delivered, used and ordered, and payments made. The tablets are ready for your inspection in the workshop behind us. You will have noticed that I have made no mention of mast, spars, sails, bronze and cordage, but more expense lies there. Seamen put it this way – you must remember that for them the ship is always ‘she’ – like a woman, her rigging costs more than her hull. I hope I have not offended you. The words are coarse but conceal a deep affection for both parties. About the sailcloth—”

  “No more, sir, you have made your point. My husband’s agent will come to verify what has been said – and what has been done. However, I can spare a moment for the Lady Akusha’s son. The scribe will tell me how far he has come with his script and figures. You know that the boy is to accompany me to Kallista when a ship is ready later in the year. The house should be fit to live in by that time.”

  “He is inside with the scribe at this very moment, lady, drawing up lists of deliveries of oil and barley. Some of his tablets will soon be in the hands of your husband who may then see for himself how well the boy has learned the art. He is learning much more besides on Keftiu.”

  “Not too much, I trust. I saw him with you at the dancing mysteries. I was there to watch one of my dancers perform, a girl from Kallista.”

  “Of course; the one bearing the fig tree fronds. Such promise. She is of an age with Sharesh, is she not, perhaps younger? Permit me to show you the way.”

  Smoke from the burning cedar shavings mingled with the dust raised by the Lady Numea’s carriage as it left the bay.

  “Will Merida be calmed by the message which his wife will send?”

  “Leilia, calm is a word the man would not recognize, but the roof tiles and the tablets may put the stopper back in the bottle for a while. His agent will also see, and later say, the necessary things: I will ensure that when he comes tomorrow. You made mention of the lady’s father, Lord Gerax?”

  “He is a landowner, of a old family and like not a few others here, blessed by heredity with a minor ceremonial position at the Palace, affording title but little substance.”

  “Do I detect a note of scorn in your voice?”

  “It is three generations since the family produced a soldier, admiral or administrator of any note. Lord Gerax has bred no son and some say no daughter either. But he does breed fine hunting birds and his chief falconer is a handsome man, as was his predecessor. No expense was spared in searching for the keenest birds and the estate came close to ruin. Merida was its saviour. In marrying him the Lady Tuwea secured her inheritance and her father’s obsession, and Merida bought a measure of the respectability he craved. Neither wife nor husband demand much of each other, and concentrate on their separate interests. The Lady Tuwea’s mother returned to her family’s estate near Paitoia, followed soon afterwards by the previous handsome falconer. The child was left with her father and brought up by nurses.”

  “I am impressed by how much you have learned in so short a time on Keftiu.”

  “Palaces and sea ports are places of gossip, scandal and jealousy: rich pots of information to dip into, if one knows how to sort the meat from the gristle. I must go in to Naudok now. The sandals that he wears at night have to be placed near the door or he will not put them on and I fear our visitors may have disturbed them.”

  “How can he judge the work when the light is so dim?”

  “With his hands, my Lord. Have you seen his hands?”

  Sharesh stood on the jetty watching the ship getting smaller and smaller until she was only a twig floating on the dark blue sea. The twig grew a tiny white blossom. They’ve hoisted the sail, he thought. He had given a posy of some blue flowers that grew near the tamarisks to a boy on the ship and asked him to make sure his mother got them. They would droop before they reached Kallista, but if she put them in some water they might lift their heads again. And his name was on all the tablets being sent to Merida: perhaps she might see one, and whisper his name to herself. He watched until he could see the ship no more, and kept on watching until Namun at last took his hand and led him away.

  Day after day the carpenters pared down the tree with single and two-handed adze, axe and chisel. Naudok would allow no saw to be used, saying it could jam and need a wedge hammered in to free it, and that could start a split across the grain. He had ordered that the work must stop the moment the sun’s disc touched the horizon so as to give the wood time enough to rest before morning brought the adzes back into play. The timber had seasoned well and the slivers and shavings burned freely with a spicy smell. The boys set some aside each night for their own cooking fire.

  “What does he mean, letting the wood rest?” said Sharesh.

  “I asked the master carpenter that. He said Naudok thinks the wood lifts a bit, so little you can’t see it, when the weight of the day’s chippings has come off; so you let it rest and then you don’t take too much off by mistake. He says the time will come when they stop work one night and the next morning the wood will have rested enough for it to be just right for finishing. When that’s done they can mark where the joints have to be cut. Naudok will tell them when it’s ready.”

  “How does he know all this?”

  “I think he has a way of turning himself into a block of wood and then he thinks like one.”

  “You could do that: you’re a blockhead.”

  When the wrestling and punching was over, they lay panting, on their backs on the sand, looking up at the stars.

&
nbsp; “What’s that star up there, the big yellow one?”

  “You know the archer who won at the Games? He told me there’s a chariot up there and that star is the driver’s eye.”

  “He’s pulling your leg. Nobody has yellow eyes. Cats do, though: maybe it’s a cat. I would like to drive a chariot, one day. Wouldn’t you?”

  Naudok sat straddling the long beam, running his hands carefully along its sides. He had squinted along its whole length, backwards and forwards, countless times, while the sun reached the distant hills and slowly slid down behind them. It looked right. Now from the feel he knew it was right. No knots, no twist in the grain, no cracks inside – knocking with the mallet gave the right sound – a shade dry, perhaps, but an oily rag would see to that. No more adze work: rasps and files and then smoothing with sand. Two more days of that, and it would be ready. A long time later Leilia came out and put a cloak over his shoulders. His hands were now cold on the wood.

  Thirty paces long, four hands high and three wide, curving up almost imperceptibly at each end, the keel lay on the launching pathway as clean and smooth as a peeled willow stem. Potyr walked along its length, rubbing the surface with his hand: not the tiniest splinter pierced his skin. He nodded to the master carpenter who returned the compliment with a brief droop of one eyelid. He knew this was where the real joinery began.