Shardik (4 page)

Kelderek and Taphro, turning their backs on the Belt, made their way towards the town along a narrow path between the hemp fields. Here and there women were carrying up water from among the reeds, or manuring ground already harvested and gleaned. At this hour there were few workers, however, for it was nearly supper time. Not far away, beyond the trees, threads of smoke were curling into the evening sky and with them, from somewhere on the edge of the huts, rose
the
song of a woman:

‘He came, he came by night.

I wore red flowers in my hair.

I have left my lamp alight, my lamp is burning.

Senandril na k
ora, senandril na ro.’

There was an undisguised warmth and satisfaction in the voice. Kelderek glanced at Taphro, jerked his head in the direction of the song, and smiled.

‘Aren’t you afraid?’ asked Taphro in a surly tone.

The grave, preoccupied look returned to Kelderek’s eyes.

‘To go before the High Baron and say that you persisted in refusing to tell the shendron what you know? You must be mad I Why be such a fool ?’

‘Because
this
is no matter for concealment or lying. God -‘ he broke off.

Taphro made no reply, but merely held out his hand for
Kelderek
‘s weapons - knife and bow. The hunter handed them to him without a word.

They came to the first huts, with their cooking, smoke and refuse smells. Men were returning from the day’s work and women, standing at their doors, were calling to children or gossiping with neighbours. Though one or two looked curiously at Kelderek trudging acquiesc
ently
beside the shendron’s messenger, none spoke to him or called out to ask where they were going. Suddenly a child, a boy perhaps seven or eight years old, ran up and took his hand. The hunter stopped.

‘
Kelderek
,’ asked the child, ‘are you coming to play this evening?’

Kelderek hesitated. ‘Why - I can’t say. No, Sarin, I don’t think I shall be able to come this evening.’

‘Why not?’ said the child, plainly disappointed. ‘You’ve hurt your shoulder - is that it?’

‘There’s something I’ve got to go and tell the High Baron,’ replied Kelderek simply.

Another, older boy, who had joined them, burst out laughing.

‘And I have to see the Lord of Belda before dawn - a matter of life and death. Kelderek, don’t tease us. Don’t you want to play tonight?’

‘Come on, can’t you?’ said Taphro impatiently, shuffling his feet in the dust.

‘No, it’s the truth,’ said
Kelderek
, ignoring him. ‘I’m on my way to see the High Baron. But I’ll be back: either tonight or - well, another night, I suppose.’

He turned away, but the boys trotted beside him as he walked on.

‘We were playing this afternoon,’ said the little boy. ‘We were playing “Cat Catch a Fish”. I got the fish home twice.’

‘Well done’
said the hunter, smiling down at him.

‘Be off with you!’
cried Taphro, making as though to strike at them. ‘Come on — get out!’ You great dunder-headed fool,’ he added to
Kelderek
, as the boys ran off. ‘Playing games with children at your age!’

‘Good night!’ called Kelderek after them. ‘The good night you pray for - who knows?’

They waved to him and were gone among the smoky huts. A man passing by spoke to Kelderek but he made no reply, only walking on abstractedly, his eyes on the ground.

At length, after crossing a wide area of rope-walks, the two approached a group of larger huts standing in a rough semi-circle not far from the eastern point and its broken causeway. Between these, trees had been planted, and the sound of the river mingled with the evening breeze and the movement of the leaves to give a sense of refreshing coolness after the hot, dry day. Here, not only women were at work. A number of men, who seemed by their appearance and occupations to be both servants and craftsmen, were trimming arrows, sharpening stakes and repairing bows, spears and axes. A burly smith, who had just finished for the day, was climbing out of his forge in a shallow, open pit, while his two boys quenched the fire and tidied up after him.

Kelderek stopped and turned once more to Taphro.

‘Badly-aimed arrows can wound innocent men. There’s no need for you to be hinting and gossiping about me to these fellows.’

‘Why should you care?’

‘
I don’t want them to know I’m keeping a secret,’ said Kelderek.

Taphro nodded curdy and went up to a man who was cleaning a grindstone, the water flying off in a spiral as he spun the wheel.

‘Shendron’s messenger. Where is Bel-ka-Trazet?’

‘He? Eat
ing.’ The man jerked his thumb towards the largest of
the
huts.

‘I have to speak to him.’

‘If it’ll wait,’ replied the man, ‘you’d do better to wait Ask Numiss - the red-haired fellow - when he comes out. He’ll let you know when
Bel
-ka-
Trazet
‘s ready.’

Neolithic man,
the
bearded Assyrian, the wise Greeks, the howling Vikings, the Tartars,
the
Aztecs, the samurai, the cavaliers, the anthropophagi and men whose heads do grow beneath
their
shoulders:
there
is one
thing
at least
that
all have known in common — waiting until someone of importance has been ready to see
them
. Numiss, chewing a piece of fat as he listened to Taphro, cut him short, pointing him and
Kelderek
to a bench against the wall. There they sat. The sun sank until its rim touched the horizon upstream. The
flies
buzzed. Most of the craftsmen went away. Taphro dozed. The place became almost deserted, until the only sound above that of
the
water was
the
murmur of voices from inside the big hut. At last Numiss came out and shook Taphro by
the
shoulder. The two rose and followed
the
sen-ant through the door, on which was painted
Bel
-ka-
Trazet
‘s emblem, a golden snake.

The hut was divided into two parts. At the back were Bel-ka-Trazet’s private quarters. The larger part, known as the Sindrad, served as both council-chamber and mess-hall for the barons. Except when a full council was summoned it was seldom that all the barons were assembled at once. There were continual journeys to the mainland for hunting expeditions and trade, for the island had no iron or other metal except what could be imported from the Gelt mountains in exchange for skins, feathers, semi-precious stones and such artifacts as arrows and rope; whatever, in fact, had any exchange value. Apart from the barons and those who attended upon them, all hunters and traders had to obtain leave to come and go. The barons, as often as
they
returned, were required to report their news like anyone else and while living on the island usually ate the evening meal with
Bel
-ka-
Trazet
in the Sindrad.

Some five or six faces turned towards Taphro and
Kelderek
as they entered. The meal was over and a debris of bones, rinds and skins littered the floor. A boy was collecting this refuse into a basket, while another sprinkled fresh sand. Four of the barons were still sitting on the benches, holding their drinking-horns and leaning their elbows on
the
table. Two, however, stood apart near the doorway — evid
ently
to get the last of the daylight, for they were talking in low tones over an abacus of beads and a piece of smooth bark covered with writing. This seemed to be some kind of list or inventory, for as
Kelderek
passed, one of the two barons, looking at it, said, ‘No, twenty-five ropes, no more,’ whereupon the other moved back a bead with his fore-finger and replied, ‘And you
have
twenty-five ropes fit to go, have you?’

Kelderek and Taphro came to a stop before a young, very tall man, with a silver torque on his left arm. When they entered he had had his back to the door, but now he turned to look at
them
, holding his horn in one hand and sitting somewhat unsteadily on the table with his feet on the bench below. He looked
Kelderek
up and down w
ith a bland smile, but said nothing. Confused, Kelde
rek lowered his eyes. The young baron’s silence continued and the hunter, by way of keeping himself in countenance, tried to fi
x his attenti
on on the great table, which he had heard described but never before seen. It was old, carved with a craftsmanship beyond the skill of any carpenter or woodworker now alive on Ortelga. Each of the eight legs was pyramidal in shape, its steeply-tapering sides forming a series of s
teps or ledges, one above anothe
r to the apex. The two corners of
the
board that he could sec had
the
likeness of bears’ heads, snarling, with open jaws and muzzles thrust forward. They were most life-like.
Kelderek
trembled and looked quickly up again.

‘And what ekshtra work you come give us?’ asked
the
young baron cheerfully. ‘Wa
nt fellows repair causeway, zatti
t?
^’

‘No, my lord,’ said Numiss in a low voice. ‘This is the man who refused to tell his news to the shendron.’

‘Eh ?’ asked the young baron, emptying his horn and beckoning to a boy to re-fill it. ‘Man with shensh,
then
. No us
he talking shendrons. Shtupid fellowsh. All shendrons shtupid fe
llowsh, eh?’ he said to Kelderek.

‘My lord,’ replied
Kelderek
, ‘believe me, I have nothing against the shendron, but - but the matter

‘Can you read?’ interrupted
the
young baron.

‘Read? No, my lord.’

‘
Neither c’n I. Look at old Fasse
l-Hasta
there
. What’s he reading? Who knows? You watch out; he’ll bewitch you.’

The baron with the piece of bark turned with a frown and stared at the young man, as much as to say that he at any rate was not one to act the fool in his cups.

‘I’ll tell you,’ said
the
young baron, sliding forward from the table and landing with a jolt on
the
bench,
‘all
‘bout writing - one word -‘

‘Ta-Kominion,’ call
ed a harsh voice from the furthe
r room, ‘I want to speak with those men.
Zelda
, bring them.’

Another baron rose from the bench opposite, beckoning to
Kelderek
and Taphro. They followed him out of the Sindrad and into the room beyond, where
the
High Baron was sitting alone. Both, in token of submission and respect, bent their heads, raised the palms of their hands to their brows, lowered their eyes and waited.

Kelderek
, who had never previously come before Bel-ka-
Trazet
, had been trying to prepare himself for the moment when he would have to do so. To confront him was in itself an ordeal, for the High Baron was sickeningly disfigured. His face - if face it could still be called - looked as though it had once been melted and left to set again. Below the white-seamed forehead the left eye, askew and fallen horribly down the cheek, was half buried under a great, humped ridge of flesh running from
the
bridge of the nose to
the
neck. The jaw was twisted to
the
right, so
that
the lips closed crookedly; while across the chin stretched a livid scar, in shape roughly resembling a hammer. Such expression as
there
was upon this terrible mask was sardonic, penetrating, proud and detached -that of a man indestructible, a man to survive treachery, siege, desert and flood.

The High Baron, seated on a round stool like a drum, stared up at
the
hunter. In spite of
the
heat he was wearing a heavy fur cloak, fastened at the neck with a brass
chain, so that his ghastl
y head resembled that of an enemy severed and fixed on top of a black tent. For some moments there was silence - a silence like a drawn bow-string. Then
Bel
-ka-Trazet said, ‘What is your name?’