Shardik (104 page)

‘You may indeed - if we can find you anything to write on and with. And that I rather doubt. May I watch for a
little
while? The only people I ever saw write were
the
Tuginda and Elleroth, Ban of Sarkid. But where are we to find what you need?’

‘Don’t put yourself out, madam. My man is here. He can go to my lodgings.’

‘I’ll sec that he’s sent in to you. It will be most comfortable for you to stay in this room, I think. It’s turning cold outside and the only other fire’
s in the kitchen, though Zilthe
will be lighting another later, in the further room. When there’s company, you see, we can do quite as well as any old village elder. But you’re going to make us
all rich, aren’t you?’ - and again she smiled at him as though their lack of luxury were the best of jokes.

‘You have children, madam, you told me?’

‘Two - they’re only babies yet. The eldest isn’t three years old.’

‘Will you not take me to see them, while my man is on his errand?’

…have been pleasantl
y surprised to find the young governor of
the
town most knowledgeable about our trade prospects. He assures me that the principal cities will be able to offer us several commodities: metals, certainly iron, and perhaps some gold also, if I have understood him corre
ctly
, together with their wine - which is excellent, if only it will travel - and, I rather think, some kinds of jewels,
but whether precious or semi-pre
cious, I cannot be sure. In return we should, in my opinion, offer principally horses. For these, I am in no doubt, they will pay well, since they have none and as yet know nothing of them. Indeed it will, I rather think, be necessary to consider how best to regulate such a trade, for it is bound to effect a profound change in their way of life and there will be, for the foreseeable future, an almost unlimited demand.

‘The people themselves, what
little
I have yet seen of them, I like rather than otherwise. They are, of course, semi-barbaric, ignorant and illiterate. Yet their art, in some forms at all events, seems to me accomplished and striking. I have been told that
Bekla
has some fine buildings and this I can believe. Some of their artifacts - for example, the embroidered needlework which I have seen - would undoubtedly be in great demand if sold in Zakalon.

‘Your Majesty is aware of my interest in religious and metaphysical matters, and you will understand me when I go on to tell you that I am not a little intrigued to have come upon an odd cult which has undoubtedly had a great influence, not only on the life of this province but also, as far as I can ascertain, on that of the more metropolitan lands to the west. I can best describe it as a mixture of superstition and visionary humanitarianism, which I would certainly have discounted were it not for the results which it seems to have achieved. These people, if I understand the governor corre
ctly
, worship the memory of a gigantic bear, which they believe to have been divine. There is, of course, nothing unique about barbaric worship of any large and savage animal, whether bear, serpent, bull or other creature, nor yet in the concept of benefit from a divine death. In their belief, however, the death of this bear somehow availed -
I
have not yet learned how - to free certain enslaved children, and on
this account they consider the security and happiness of all children to be of importance to the bear, and their well-being a sacred duty. One might say that they regard children as a ripening crop, of which no part ought to be wasted or lost. For parents to harm a child, for example by separation from one another, by deserting it or in any other way damaging its security and power to respond to life, is regarded as a wrong equivalent to selling it into slavery. All adherents of Shardik, as they call the bear, have the duty to care for homeless or deserted children wherever they may find them. In this town there are many such children, orphans or derelicts brought from the provinces further west and more or less conscientiously looked after. The governor - a capable fellow on the whole, I think, though of no great standing in his country and perhaps a
little
strange in his ways - and his young wife
are
both very forward in the cult, and have in effect organized the town round the children, who actually outnumber the men and women by about two to one. They work under the supervision
partly
of grown men or women and
partly
of their own leaders, and although much of their work is, as one might expect, unskilfully, partially or clumsily performed, that matters
little
in a province such as this, where the great demand is for quick results and polish comes a long way behind utility and the meeting of immediate needs. No one could deny that this astonishingly benevolent
cult demands generosity and self-
sacrifice, in which the governor and his household certainly set an example, for they seem to live almost as plainly as the rest. Conditions for the children are rough and ready, but the governor shares the like and certainly seems to do a good deal to promote a sense of comradeship. I cannot help feeling that despite the superstitious worship of the bear, there may well be value in this idea. It is interesting to observe reason emerging from legend, just as this community is itself emerging from the forests tha
t surround it into a state faintl
y approaching that of your Majesty’s own country, the lack of whose civilized comforts your Majesty will, I am sure, understand that I feel most keenly.’

Siristrou paused, stretched his fingers and looked up. The light was almost gone. He got up, pushing back the bench on which he was sitting, walked across to the window and stood looking out towards the west. The governor’s dwelling stood almost on the edge of the town, and between it and the open country beyond lay
nothing
except a narrow lane and a stockade that appar
ently
did duty for a town wall. The yellow afterglow showed a land of forest and marsh stretching away into the darkening distance. Here and there in the foreground were small patches of ploughed land, a few irrigation
channels, wide tracts of reeds and random strips of water shining with a yellow paler than the sky. It was turning cold. Inland, the wind must be rising again, for he could just make out the shaggy woods moving in the far-off, dreary solitude. Night was falling, bleak and shelterless, and in all
the
prospect he could see neither light nor smoke. He shivered, and was about to turn back into
the
room when his ear caught the slap-slapping of feet approaching along the lane. In idle curiosity he waited, and after a few moments an old woman appeared, black-cl
ad, with a bundle of sticks ti
ed on her back. Her bare feet slapped the earth as she jogged homeward, the bundle tossing up and down on her shoulders. In her arms she was carrying a little, fair-haired girl, and Siristrou could hear her murmuring to the child in a quiet, unhurried rhythm, meaningless and reassuring as the sound of a mill-wheel or the song of a bird. As they passed under the window the
little
girl looked up, caught sight of him and waved her hand. He waved back, and as he did so realized that someone was standing behind him in the room. A
little
embarrassed, he
turned and saw the girl Zilthe
, who came up to him and spoke a few words he could not understand. Seeing him at a loss she smiled, held up the tray of unlighted lamps she was carrying and nodded towards the fire.

‘Oh, yes, by all means light them,’ he replied. ‘You won’t be disturbing me.’

She took a burning twig and kindled the wicks one by one, trimming and placing several lamps
until
the room was bright and well-lit. The rest she carried away and Siristrou, left once more alone, sat down before the fire, holding out his hands to the warmth and, just as when a boy, looking into its heart for pictures and shapes -an island, a glowing knife, a barred cage;
the
likeness of an old woman, a deep ravine, a shaggy bear. The fire flamed in its warmth with a
gentle
murmur and a wood-knot popped sharply. The logs moved, the ash crumbled and fell, the pictures were gone.

Melathys came hurrying in, carrying a joint of pork on a spit, her fine robe changed for a long, grey kitchen-smock. As she approached he stood up and smiled.

‘Can’t I work too?’ he asked.

‘Later, perhaps - another evening, when you’ve become an old friend, as you surely will. You see what a splendid occasion your visit gives us for a feast. U-Siristrou, are you warm enough? Shall I put on some more logs?’

‘No, please don’t trouble,’ answered Siristrou. ‘That’s a beautiful fire.’