by David Bell
“Pay less. It needs firing again with some green wood. You must know that.”
Galdar grinned at him. “Some cooks are better than others, my Lord. Shall we get going?”
As they walked along the causeway, Galdar told Kanesh that almost everyone in the settlement and elsewhere along the shores of the bay, women and older children included, did some work with tinstone in one way or another. The exceptions were a few men and their sons who spent their whole working time fishing.
“There’s not much left in the sand on these beaches nowadays,” he said. “Except after a wet winter or a long stormy spell with big seas, and even then it’s only worth the womenfolk going out digging and scraping. One or two youngsters do some diving when the seas are calm but they can’t stay down long enough or get much up: it’s too heavy, see? They sometimes try going down, with a bucket on a line and filling it with as much as they can scrape together before their breath gives out and having it hauled up by somebody in the boat, but it’s not really worth the effort. Sorry, my Lord, you know all about these things.”
“Go on,” said Kanesh. “If not on the beaches, where do you find your tinstone: in the rivers and cliffs?”
“Both. Some men have their workings in tinstone ground in a river bottom and some have theirs in the valley sides. They both have a lot of digging to do to get at it under the soil or the sand, but at least they’ve plenty of water close by for the washings. As for cliffs, well, you find your tinstone in lines and pods inside the cliff stone, the hard kind like the stones the jetty’s made of. There’s some in the cliffs on Crakluz, but that’s mostly been dug out now. Along the bay over there you’ll find some workings left but they’ll soon be finished. They’ve gone in about as far as they can before the air gets bad. It’s hard going there. They have to shovel the tinstone and all the other rotten stone it’s set in down onto the beach and then set about sorting and picking it and loading it on boats to take it to the washings.”
“There must be more to it than that,” said Kanesh. “Those diggings would not give the stocks of tin you showed to me in the warehouse. Where does the rest come from?”
“Ah now, said Galdar, giving Kanesh a sideways crafty look. “If the master hadn’t told me I was to show you, I would have said that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”
“Seeing that he has told you means you should have no difficulty in telling me. I have spent much time with miners and their mystery, and for that matter with smiths and theirs. I know they are men who guard their secrets carefully and I understand why. Do you see these marks on my arms? Do you know this grip of the hand? I see that you do. You know then that the secrets and mysteries are safe with me. We have some walking to do if we are to reach the mines up there beyond the cliffs, so let us waste no more time and be on our way.”
“I’ve a man waiting with his boat at the end of the causeway, my Lord.”
They followed the shoreline, standing about five ship lengths out from low cliffs in which Galdar pointed out old abandoned workings, saying they had been mostly for copper, the tinstone being found inland. Kanesh spotted one place where the rock was stained red all the way down to the shore and asked his guide if it had been worked as well as the copper, for potters to use. He was told it was worthless and was washed out and thrown away after the copper stone had been crushed ready for the furnaces. There were shiny black stones in it and he had some that the lord could see when they returned to the settlement. Farther on, the cliffs were higher and carved into rocky coves and points and the boatman slowed his stroke, watching keenly for reefs and snags to avoid. Yet by mid morning they had crossed one sandy bay and come to another, longer and more open, where the boatman headed towards the shore and beached his boat.
“Most tin workings are inland, up from this bay, my Lord,” said Galdar as they stepped out into the shallow water. “You can see bits of tinstone in the sand, look, like little black seeds. You still get people sifting it out on this beach. Over there,” he said, pointing towards the rocky end of the bay they had earlier passed. “Women and youngsters; they’re digging the sand up and washing it in flat wooden bowls to let the tin settle out. They make a bit that way. We go up here, my Lord.”
They headed inland, following a small river. Kanesh soon recognised the signs of mining: hollows in the ground where shallow pits had been dug and later silted up, and low mounds of spoil. He noticed that the pits and mounds tended to run in rough lines in the same direction as the coast. They climbed over a rise and came upon men at work. The little stream had been ponded behind a barrier of stone and turf with only a narrow channel way left for the water to flow through. Lines of trenches led down the valley sides to the river and men were at work in some of them, digging with sharpened poles and wooden shovels to loosen the ground. Other men stood in the ponded water stirring it with paddles. Kanesh took in at a glance what was happening and turned to his guide.
“The trenches follow the lines where they have found tinstone in the rock. Some are barren, is that not so? They hammer and loosen the ground and the rainwater washes it down the trenches to the pool and those men in the pool stir and sweep the rubbish away. They should block the trenches with stones to let the water level build up, then release it to give greater force. They do? They must have someone, the oldest miner, who decides when to open the barrier in the river and drain the pool so the tinstone can be dug out? Which is he?”
“He’s the one downstream from the barrier. He’s laying some new turf; that’s for catching any tinstone bits that get carried through the channel way. There’s not many working these days; not much rain, see. You’d find a lot more here later in the year when the wet weather comes. It’s cold but they have to work when there’s plenty of water. They grease their feet and legs with pig fat two or three times a day but they still get bad feet in the end.”
“How do they take the tinstone to Crakluz and the smiths’ furnaces, by boat from that beach? It is a very heavy load to shift down there.”
“It used to go on men’s backs, my Lord, but since they started to find much more, the master has begun to use horses to do the carrying. If you look over there, you can see the track way to the beach.”
“Bring me some of the settlings from the pond. I should like to see how cleanly they wash the tinstone.”
“Certainly my Lord, but time is passing and there is more to see.”
They climbed up the steep valley side and reached heathland where the slope was gentler. The sun was now high and the day had become very warm. Tiny purple and yellow flowers formed a rough carpet almost knee-deep. Galdar led the way along a path trampled flat by many feet towards some large mounds of soil and rotten stone. As they approached they heard the sounds of hammering and the occasional shout. On the other side of the mounds was a large square pit with sides as long as two arm spans. Two men were at work deep inside the pit, hammering deer antler picks into cracks and softer parts of the rock with wooden mauls. Kanesh watched as they levered stones out with stakes and loaded them into a basket. When it was full another man standing on the edge of the pit hauled the basket up with a rope and tipped its contents on the spoil heap. It was slow, hard work.
“This was opened last year, my Lord. If you look, you can see what they’re at. We know from other places the tinstone sometimes goes along with the loose white stone that has the shiny flat pieces in it and they found some of that in the moorland hereabouts. So they started digging.”
“And found the tinstone gets better the deeper they go but harder to break out.”
“That’s right, my Lord! How do you know that?”
Kanesh was looking down into the pit and seemed not to have heard him. The two men looked up at him curiously, squinting into the sunlight. A roughly made ladder rested against one wall. The pit was deep enough for one man to have stood on the other’s shoulders and still not be able to see over the edge. The line of stone they were working stood proud of the floor of the soft muddy floor of the pit.
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�If they go much deeper they must support the walls with oak timbers with strong mortised ties or risk being buried when the rains come and the walls collapse. The ship’s carpenters can do that for your master and see that it is well sealed. Even so there will be difficulties with water.” He lifted his hand when the warehouseman opened his mouth to speak. “I have seen this in drier lands than yours. Water in the earth will always find a way through and flood a pit. Make sure your men dig a deeper hole to one side for a sump to catch the water. When they have worked as deep as they can in this pit they should follow the direction of the tinstone and dig again another pit like this but not too far off so that they can open a way between the two for the water drain down into this pit.”
“That’s a lot of hard work for getting your tinstone, my lord.”
“You will raise much more, and richer stone because you will be able to go deeper. There the stone will be stronger and you will be able to tunnel between the pits. I will show you how the tunnel walls and roof can be supported. The carpenters will build a hoist for hauling up the baskets of stone and the buckets of water. That will save much time and effort and if you turn those flat stones over there into crushing tables you could use the water you lift out for a first washing and picking. With that done, your men and horses would be taking a richer spoil down to the boats.”
“Hm. That’s a lot to think about, my Lord.”
“Think about it as we walk back to the beach and tell your master as soon as you see him. I will speak to him this night. The carpenters will start work tomorrow. Are there more places like this to see?”
“Two that are going to be tried; one shows the colours of copper with the tinstone.”
“Then you have what you need for the smiths to make bronze. Why do they not cast more bronze? I suppose you will tell me that they find they are being paid well enough to fire their furnaces for tin alone?”
“You come from Anavar,” said Potyr.
“All is agreed,” said Kanesh. “Sharesh has the numbers of the goods we have traded on his tablets. We shall have three hundred ingots of tin and four hundred bars, easier to stack securely as you know. Both are of the same weight and less than the weight of an Alasiya copper ingot. All have a smith’s mark and I have tested every one by its ring to the hammer’s touch. I think you will find we have netted a fair catch.”
“She could carry more but until we know these seas much better it is wise to be cautious.”
“I have not told you all. There are ten crates of picked and crushed tinstone for the smiths we know to work on and a crate of the black stone from which our friend the smith in Gubal will draw out the iron. They know nothing of this here and treat it as worthless, so I was given it free. Not so with the amber that they tell me comes from lands of ice and snow where the sun is never seen for half the year. That is costly but it is the best I have seen and not worked. It will be for our own craftsmen to fashion, though there will be few who can match the workmanship of that choker round the neck of Ariadana. We shall have barrels of the silver fish, some salted, some gutted and smoked, a long woollen shirt and leather cape for every man to keep out the cold and wet. And a cage of young pigs.”
“For the Lord Potheidan?”
Kanesh grinned. “Not all; but he will get his due if it proves politic.”
“Is there any grain to be had? Typhis tells me we have very little left and what there is shows mould. You know the danger of eating that.”
“I do, Captain: the burning madness. They harvest late in these lands and their stores from last year are low but we will be allowed a little of what they have and some of the roots and fruits they gather. It will cost us silver: they know the value of barley at this time of year.”
“Then we must pay. When can loading begin? The ship is ready. I have had the casks filled with fresh water. You know I am anxious to sail.”
“Their heads are filled with thoughts of high summer. The Crakluz men will not work now and will be incapable of work tomorrow. The ship can load the day after that while I am at the diggings with Kerma and the carpenters. Galdar tells me that the sea will be at its highest near midday on the following morning. You may set sail then.” He paused and looked out to sea, past the flank of the island and out to the horizon. “The sun is going down,” he said. “As he sets, the moon will rise and they will light the summer fires. It has been made clear to me that we would be welcome at the ceremonies, and at what follows. I said that the captain would observe events from his ship. The moon will be at full this night and the sun at his highest tomorrow. There was that other time when they rose like this.”
“Gaiduros,” said Potyr. “At Gaiduros. That was how we took them. Surprised them on the day of festival.”
Kanesh lowered himself awkwardly into the boat that Namun was holding alongside the Davina. He sat silent in the bow as Namun poled swiftly towards the shore. Twilight was fading but Kanesh could still see the dark shape of Potyr on the stern deck, his face turned towards the point on the horizon where the moon would rise, as he had done that night before Gaiduros where he took such terrible revenge for what he had lost.
Three men stood on the summit of the island ready to put flame to a great pile of dry brushwood and oak branches. In the centre of the ring of grey stones on the crown of the hill above the village another tall pyre awaited the torch. A restless, expectant crowd of villagers and men from the Davina fidgeted, stamped their feet, walked to and fro, chatted, eyed each other, kicked away inquisitive dogs, fed babies, slapped noisy urchins, held hands, laughed, belched, scratched and yawned, but all stayed outside the circle of stones and all kept an eye on the horizon, waiting for that first yellow tip of the rising moon to show and be the first to see it, because that meant good luck for the rest of the year.
But those who saw it first, as always, were the men waiting on the island’s peak. Three torches were thrust as one into the resin-rich kindling which caught and sighed, then roared into crackling flame. Standing beside one of the tallest stones in the circle, Sharesh heard a great sucking in of breath from the crowd at the sight of sparks streaming upwards from the island and the flames leaping after them. He saw a woman in a long pale robe standing near the pyre at the centre of the stone circle. A flaring torch was handed to her. She raised it high, flourished it in circles over her head and brought it down to touch the base of the pyre. Flames climbed and spread through the branches, lighting up her face, the face of of Eluwena. As the fire grew and its heat spread, she moved back step by step until she stood before the stone where Sharesh waited. She raised her arms above her head again, held them in the shape of the sacred horns and then, bringing her fingertips together, matched the roundness of the moon which was now lifting above the horizon and glowing the warm colour of honey.
All the women had their arms raised like Eluwena, some holding up amulets or simple necklaces for them to catch the moonlight and be empowered for the year to come. One or two men did the same but most were content to bow their heads briefly and then fix their eyes on the flames. There was little sound; no chanting, no prayers, no invocations, no open adoration; only, thought Sharesh, a feeling of quiet belief and hope that lasted as the fire burnt on, slackened, and in time subsided into a low spread of glowing coals with the occasional flame leaping up when a charred log fell or a breath of wind passed over. Now, as the men began to stir and talk quietly to one another, the women stepped boldly into the stone circle and linked hands to form a ring. They danced a slow and simple dance, moving past the stones, first in one direction, facing the stones, and then in the other – but this time looking towards the fire and upwards from it to the moon. Eluwena was among them and as she passed him on the first turn Sharesh felt a clear message coming from her. He put the pipes to his lips and played in time to their dance. No matter how closely he looked at the women as they passed he could not see Ariadana among them but he felt her presence so strongly he could almost smell her skin.
Young men pushed through
the circle, bringing the dance to an end. They threw new branches on the smouldering fire, bringing it back to crackling, sparking life. When flames leaped up they drew back, shouting and pushing and daring one another to jump. As they stood arguing and boasting, two slim figures ran into the circle from opposite sides, dashed up to the blaze and leaped high and over the snapping flames. Without thinking, Sharesh raced across and leaped over the fire, glimpsing a black form fly past him on the way: Namun. He looked in every direction for those first leapers, Luzar and Ariadana, he knew, but they were gone. Great excitement swept through the crowd and more rushed in for the leap. The more daring, or reckless, jumped over the highest part of the fire; the more prudent satisfied themselves with stepping over the smouldering edge. All, or almost all, old and young, made the leap as best they could, more than one young father with his child in his arms, and all who did so felt the elation brought on by a dangerous brush with fire that would rouse the life in them for the year to come and keep away the devils when darkness fell.
“There’ll be a few singed arses that won’t sit so easy for a day or two after that,” said Kerma as the Davina’s men joined the villagers straggling along the path back to the settlement.
“Never mind about arses singeing,” said Myrtias. “I can smell that meat roasting down in the village from here and I’m starving.”
“Watch what you drink. Stick to the beer. I’ve heard tell they put all kinds of things in that honey drink they make, flower petals, weeds, juniper, acorns, even mistletoe berries: now they’ll send you blind and mad for sure.”
“They look all right on it,” said the Kydona oarsman, jerking his head at two powerful-looking miners.
“Miners only drink beer,” said Kerma. “Everybody knows that.”
Kanesh, Sharesh and the Captain of Archers were led to Anavar’s house, away from the crowd jostling around the cooking fires outside the palisade. Every house doorway had been decorated with greenery and summer flowers, Sharesh knew, but moonlight had faded all the bright colours to grey and only the pale berries of mistletoe kept there since wintertime glistened, unchanged.