Shardik (39 page)

The landlord was standing beside them, smiling obsequiously and pointing out
through
the entrance.

‘Thank you,’ replied Elleroth. ‘That’s very good of you. Perhaps —’ he slid another gold piece into the landlord’s hand — ‘if you could contrive to find some more of this excellent stuff - charming girl, your daughter - oh, your niece? Delightful - we’ll return in a few minutes.’

They went out into the colonnade. The square had become hotter and more crowded and the market servants, carrying pitchers and long aspergils of bound twigs, were walking hither and thither, laying
the
glittering, sandy dust. At a distance, above, the north front of
the
Barons’ Palace stood in shadow, the sun, behind it, glinting here and there upon the marble balustrades of the towers and the trees on the terraces below. As Mollo stood gazing in renewed wonder, the gongs of the city clocks sounded the hour. A few moments afterwards he heard, approaching by the street down which he and Elleroth had come that morning, the ringing of another gong, softer and of a deeper,
more vibrant pitch. People
were drawing aside, some leaving the square altogether or slipping into the various doorways round the colonnade. O
thers, however, waited expcctantl
y as the gong drew nearer. Mollo edged his way between those nearest to him and craned his neck, peering over the beam of the Great Scales.

Two files of soldiers were coming down the hill, pacing slowly on cither side of the street. Although they were armed in the Beklan style, with helmet, shield and short-sword, their dark eyes, black hair and rough, unkempt appearance showed them to be Ortelgans. Their swords were draw
n and they were looking vigilantl
y about them among the crowd. The man bearing the gong, who walked at the head of and between the two files, was dressed in a grey cloak edged with gold and a blue robe embroidered in red with the mask of the Bear. The heavy gong hung at the full extent of his left arm, whil
e his right hand, holding the sti
ck, struck
the
soft, regular blows which both announced the king’s approach and gave their step to the soldiers. Yet
the
beat was not that of marching men, but rather of solemn procession, or of a sentinel pacing on some terrace or
battle
ment alone.

Behind the man with the gong came six priestesses of the Bear, scarlet-cloaked and adorned with heavy, barbaric jewellery - necklaces of ziltate and penapa, belts of inlaid bronze and clusters of carved, wooden rings so thick that
the
fingers of their folded hands were pressed apart Their grave faces were those of peasant girls, ignorant of
gentle
ways and accustomed to a narrow life of daily toil, yet they carried
them
selves with a dark dignity, withdrawn and indifferent to the staring crowd on either side. At their centre walked the solitary figure of the priest-king.

It had not occurred to Mollo
that
the
king would not be carried -either in a litter or on a chair - or drawn in a cart, perhaps, by caparisoned and gilt-horned oxen. He was taken unwares by this curious lack of state, by this king who walked through the dust of the market-place, who stepped aside to avoid a coil of rope lying in his path and a moment after tossed his head, dazzled by a flash of light reflected from a pail of water. In his curiosity he climbed precariously on the plinth of the nearest column and gazed over the heads of the passing soldiers.

The train of the king’s long cloak of blue and green was raised and held behind him by two of the priestesses. Each blue panel bore in gold the mask of the Bear and each green panel the emblem of the sun as a lidded and radiant eye - the Eye of God. His long staff, of polished zoan wood, was bound about with golden filigree; a
nd from the fingers of his gauntl
ets hung curving, silver claws. His
bearing, that neither of
a
ruler nor
a
warrior, possessed nevertheless
a
mysterious and cryptic authority, stark and ascetic, the power of the desert-dweller, and the anchorite. The dark face, haggard and withdrawn, was that of
a
man who works in solitude, the face of
a
hunter, a poet or a contemplative. He was young, yet older than his years, going grey before his time, with
a
stiffness in the movement of one arm which suggested an old injury ill-healed. His eyes seemed fixed on some inward scene which brought him little peace, so that even as he looked about him, raising his hand from time to time in sombre greeting to the crowd, he appeared preoccupied and almost disturbed, as though his thoughts were struggling in disquiet with some lonely anxiety beyond the common preoccupations of his subjects - beyond riches and poverty, sickness and health, appetite, desire and satisfaction. Walking like other men through the dusty market-place in the light of morning, he was separated from them by more
than
the flanking soldiers and the silent girls; by arcane vocation to an ineffable task. As Mollo watched, there came into his mind the words of an old song:

What cried the stone to the chisel?

‘Strike, for I am afraid I’

What said the earth to the ploughman?

‘Ah, the bright blade
1*

The last soldiers were receding at the far end of the square; and
as
the sound of the gong died away
the
business of
the
market resumed. Mollo rejoined
Elleroth
and together
they
returned to The Green Grove and their place on the settle. It was now less than
an
hour to noon and the tavern had become more crowded but, as
is
often the way,
this
added to their seclusion rather than otherwise
.

‘Well, what did you think of the kingly boy?’ enquired Elleroth.

‘Not what I expected,’ answered Mollo. ‘He didn’t strike me
as
the ruler of a country at war, that’s the size of it’

‘My dear fellow,
that
‘s merely because you don’t understand the dynamic ideas prevalent down on
the
river where the reeds
all
shiver. Matters there are determined by resort to hocus-pocus, mumbo-jumbo and even, for all I know, jiggery-pokery - the shades of distinction being fine, you understand. Some barbarians slit animals open and observe portents revealed in the steaming entrails, yum yum. Others scan the sky for birds or storms. Ebon clouds, oh
dear!
These are what one
might term the blood-and-thunde
r m
ethods. The Te
lthearna boys, on the other hand, employ
a
bear. It
‘s all
the same in the end - it saves these people from having to think, you know, which they’re not terribly
good at, really. Bears, dear
creatures - and many bears are among my best friends - have to be interpreted no less than entrails and birds, and some magical person has to be found to do it. This man Crendrik-you are right, he could neither command an army
in the field nor administer justi
ce. He is a peasant - or at all events he is not of noble birth. He is
the
wonderful What-Is-It who stepped out of the rainbow -
a familiar figure, dear me yes!
His monarchy is a magical one: he has taken it upon himself to mediate to the people the power of the bear - the power of God, as they believe.’ ‘What does he do, then?’

‘Ah, a good question. I am glad you asked it
.
What, indeed? Everything but think, we may b
e sure. I have no idea what meth
ods he employs - possibly the bear piddles on the floor and he observes portents in the steaming what-not. How would I know? But a crystal ball of some kind there must surely be. One thing I know about the man - and this is genuine enough, for what it’s worth. He possesses a certain curious ability to go near the bear without being attacked; appar
ently
he has been known even to touch it and lie down beside it As long as he can go on doing that, his people will believe in his power and therefore in their own. And that no doubt accounts, my dear Mollo, for his having the general air of one finding himself in a leaking canoe with a vivid realization that he cannot swim.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, one day, sooner or later, the bear is fairly sure to wake up in a bad temper, yes? Growl growl. Biff biff. Oh dear. Applications are invited for the interesting post That, in one form or another, is the inevitable end of the road for a priest-king. And why not? He doesn’t have to work, he doesn’t have to fight: well, obviously he has to pay for it somehow.’

‘If he’s the king, why does he walk through the streets on his own two feet?’

‘I confess I’m not sure, but I conceive that it may be something to do with his being different in one respect from others of his kind. As a rule, among these roughs, the priest is himself the manifestation of God. They kill him now and then, you know, just to keep him in mind of it Now here, the bear is
the
divine creature and
the
gentle
-man we have just been admiring represents, as long as he can keep on going near it, a proof
that the bear means him, and th
erefore his people, good and not harm. The bear’s savagery is working on their side and against their enemies. They have cornered it until it, as it were, corners him. It may well be the whole point that he is plainly vulnerable and yet remains unharmed - a magic trick. So he takes
pains to show that he is indeed a real and ordinary human being, by walking through the city every day.’

Mollo drank and pondered in silence. At last he said, ‘You’re like a lot of men from Ikat -‘

‘I come from Lapan, from Lapan, jolly man: from Sarkid, actually; but not from Ikat.’

‘Well, like a lot of the southerners. You think everything out trust in your minds and in nothing else. But people up here aren’t like that. The Ortelgans have established their power in Bekla - ‘

‘They have not’

‘They have, and principally for one reason. It’s not just that they’ve fought well, and it’s not that there’s already been a great deal of inter-marriage with Beklan girls - those are just things that follow from the real reason, which is Shardik. How is it that they’ve succeeded against all probability, unless Shardik is really the power of God? Look what he did for them. Look what they’ve achieved in his name. Everyone who knows what happened -‘

‘It’s lost nothing in the telling -‘

‘Everyone feels now what S’marr felt from the outset - they’re meant to win. We don’t reason it all out like you; we see what’s before our eyes, and what’s before our eyes is Shardik, that’s it’

Elleroth leant forward with his elbows on the table and
bent his head, speaking earnestl
y and low.

‘Then let me tell
you
something, Mollo, that you evid
ently
don’t
know. Are you aware that the whole worship of Shardik, as carried on here in
Bekla
, is knowingly contrary to the Ortelgans’ traditional and orthodox cult, of which this man they call Crendrik is not and never has been the legitimate head?’

Mollo stared.
‘What?’

‘You don’t believe me, do you?’

‘I’m not going to quarrel with you, Elleroth, after all we’ve been t
hrough together, but I hold auth
ority under these people - they’ve made my fortune, if you like, that’s it - and you want me to believe that they’re -‘

‘Listen.’ Elleroth glanced round quickly and then continued.

‘This is not the first time that these people have ruled in Bekla. Long ago they did so; and in those days, too, they worshipped a bear. But it was not kept here. It
was kept on an island in the Telthe
arna - Quiso. The cult was controlled by women - there was no priest-king, no Eye of God. But when at last they lost Bekla and fell from power, their enemies were careful to see that no bear remained to them. The chief priestess and the other women were allowed to stay on their
island, but without a bear.’

‘Well, the bear’s returned at last. Isn’t that a sure sign?’

‘Ah, but wait, good honest Mollo. All is not told. When the bear returned, as you put it - when they acquired this new model - there was a chief priestess on the island - a woman with the reputation of being no fool. She knows more about disease and healing than any doctor south of the Telthearna - or north of it either, I should think. There’s no doubt that she’s effected a great many remarkable cures.’

‘I think I’ve heard something about her, now you mention it, but not in connection
with
Shardik.’

‘At the time when this bear first appeared, five or six years ago, she was the recognized and undisputed head of the cult, her office having descended regularly for God only knows how long. And this woman would have nothing to do with the attack on Bekla. She has consist
ently
maintained that that attack was not the will of God but an abuse of
the cult of the bear; and conse
qu
ently
she has been kept in virtual imprisonment, with a few of her priestesses, on that Telthearna island, even though the bear - her bear - is being kept in Bekla.’