The Corn King and the Spring Queen (68 page)

 

Β
ERRIS WAS GETTING
on well with his big statue, at least he thought so, though Erif could not tell much difference from day to day except a lot of stone dust on the floor. He had been at it all the morning and afternoon, stripped to the waist like an Egyptian, and sweating. Erif had been sitting near him, sewing and singing. She was making a dress for Philylla and embroidering it with all kinds of luck charms. She found her own clothes rather uninteresting to make and usually left them plain, but it was fascinating and absorbing to make something for Philylla to wear. All the same she was thinking that she must go home this summer. The five years were up and perhaps those unsolved meetings had happened without her knowing about them. Perhaps they had happened in Marob. Anyhow, whether or not, she could not be separate any longer. She had determined after long thought that it would be better to go back to Tarrik and Marob and perhaps die, than to stay here without them any longer. She had come to this conclusion quite happily, but also quite definitely. She was thinking of it now.

During the afternoon they had heard a certain amount of noise and disturbance in the streets, but that was often happening in Alexandria. Probably there was a strike or a murder or a procession or something. Once Erif had looked out of the window to see if she could see anything, but it all seemed to be a street or two away. She hadn't bothered.

Then, in the latter part of the afternoon, there was a knock and Ankhet came in. She seemed very nervous, and inverted the order of her Greek sentences, which seldom happened as a rule. She stood beside the statue without looking at it and told them just what the Alexandrian event of the day had been, adding that the bodies had now been collected by the authorities and would be suitably disposed of. Erif and Berris both listened without interrupting much, but Erif
pricked herself with the needle and did not notice for some minutes. Even when Ankhet was gone again, soft-footed and apologetic, they did not say anything at all for a little time. Berris was thinking of those men whom he had known well and liked and lived with and worked for; the fighting up in Arkadia; all gone out of his life as though they had never been; all dead in some agony of spirit which he did not much care to think of. And then abruptly and dizzyingly he thought: do I get Philylla now? And almost at the same moment it came into his head that this death of the men was a thing past, part of the story of Kleomenes, and it shifted and stilled into another picture, a better one this time. But Erif was thinking almost entirely about Philylla and what was going to happen to her immediately. She put that into words. ‘I wonder if Philylla knows yet,' she said. ‘Yes, she's bound to. I suppose—Berris, I suppose she won't try to do the same thing?'

Berris was startled. He said: ‘I'm going to her at once.' And he picked up his cloak.

‘No she won't,' Erif went on, thinking hard, ‘because of the King's children. But what's going to happen? Ptolemy and Sosibios will be very angry. And—you know, Berris, they may do anything when they're angry. I expect all the Spartans are in danger.'

‘I'll make her come away,' said Berris. ‘The old Queen can manage without her.'

‘But the children?'

Berris shrugged his shoulders. ‘Kings' children always find plenty to look after them. And there's the grandmother—what else is she for? They don't need my Philylla too.'

Erif was suddenly angry. ‘She isn't your Philylla! She's—no, she's not mine either. Anyhow, don't be stupid. She'll stay if she thinks she ought to stay. We've no rights over her, worse luck. But you go to her, Berris, and do what you can. I'll go to the palace.'

Berris hesitated: ‘Don't you want to see her, Erif?'

‘Yes!' said Erif sharply. ‘But I don't suppose it matters to her which of us, so you can. Besides, Metrotimé's at Canopus, so you won't find out as much as I shall at the palace.' She ran a comb through her hair and looked at herself in the mirror.

‘Who are you going to see, Erif?'

‘You know.'

‘Oh, the faun. Probably you're right.' It was Erif's Vintage Night faun, with whom she kept up a certain spasmodic intimacy. He might be useful. Berris quite approved; he was a personable young man, good at games and hunting, and he took an intelligent interest in sculpture. Erif went to the palace.

She wasted at least half an hour with the faun before she could get him to find out anything. That was the maddening thing about men, one couldn't go straight to the point with them—or only to some points. And their stupidity! To go on kissing her and paying her useless compliments as though she wanted either at the moment. Tarrik would eat you up and not leave any bones at the end of it!—she thought savagely. But by and bye he did go to find out, and when he came back the news was that Sosibios was very angry and likely to do something quite unpleasant. ‘You see,' said the faun, sleeking back the hair off his round, brown forehead, ‘if nothing at all were done, they might go to Antiochos.'

‘And what if they did?' said Erif. ‘There's nothing to tell.'

But the faun said he was not certain. Kleomenes had known more than anyone ought to have known, things about the new camp east of the delta, various arrangements and surprises which the women might easily have heard of. ‘Sosibios is so stupidly realist,' he said.

‘Will they be imprisoned?' asked Erif, and then, after a little pause, in which she got no answer, ‘or what?'

The faun said slowly: ‘I am afraid—the latter. And if I may advise, my Scythian apple-blossom, you and your brother would do best to keep out of the way. Sosibios is in the mood to overreach himself. I am going to the Divine Court at Canopus tomorrow, by boat. Rather a charming new boat; I think you'd approve. Would you let your faun carry you off in it, out of all these unpleasantnesses which, after all, none of us can do anything about?—quite, quite gently, Erif, in between the blue ripples, so that you'd hardly know? This is the weather for Canopus; there'll be tiny breezes there. Alexandria is impossible. Don't you agree?'

‘What?' said Erif, when he'd finished, and then, one hand on his shoulder, the other up to her own forehead: ‘Oh—I'm sorry, my head's aching. The sun. No, not tomorrow, I think, but perhaps your boat comes and goes? Yes, Alexandria is unbearable. I think I must go home and—lie down by myself. No, faun, not again! Let me go!'

She went across the city almost running, as fast as a woman could without being noticed and delayed. She thought of the faun, whom she usually quite liked, with an extraordinarily violent mixture of anger and contempt. By the museum there were little agitated knots and crowds, discussing today's doings in the shady ending of the afternoon. It was said that one of the professors was going to make it all into a text for a Stoic lecture, which would be amusing. This Spartan King had been a pupil of Sphaeros, hadn't he? Sphaeros was rather out of date, of course; had lost touch during the years he'd been up north in Borysthenes, or wherever the place was. He was out of sympathy with the modern philosophic movements, the new
rapprochements
with the Mysteries, and all that. Most of these mainland Greeks were behind the times unless they'd had the sense to move. Their places were dead. Athens—Sparta—dead branches! The world was growing outward like a tree towards the sun. The green leaves and flowers were on the edges, Alexandria, Jerusalem, Carthage, even Rhodes, Macedonia perhaps, why, yes, Syria certainly, one must admit that one's enemies were civilised!—but Alexandria above all was the central blossom—wise bees knew that. It was to be hoped anyhow that these disturbances wouldn't lead to new police regulations. Such a bore not to be able to stay out after midnight!

But Erif Der was at Queen Kratesikleia's house. She heard that both Berris and Sphaeros were there. The servants knew her well and brought her through, but she could see that they were all terrified and on edge, even the old helot doorkeeper, whom one had never thought of as having any more sensibilities than a watchdog. Berris met her in the courtyard; she told him her news quickly. He nodded. ‘They think so too, but they don't know what to do. And—Erif, I've seen her. She'd heard. The old Queen's crying and howling like a girl—listen!' They
listened and shivered. ‘But she—Erif, she was as calm and hard as ivory. Erif, do you think that perhaps she really doesn't care?'

‘No,' said Erif. ‘No such luck, my dear. She's being a Spartan. So will the old woman be, the moment she's got over the first shock of it. Is Sphaeros with her? Mmm, I expect they set one another off. We've got to get Philylla and the King's children away, Berris.'

‘It will be harder with the children. If this Sosibios really does mean business.'

‘She won't leave them. I know. Beside—Berris, it may be stupid of me, but I'm not going to let these three stay and be murdered. Agiatis was very kind to me.'

‘Yes,' said Berris, ‘you're right, we must get Kleomenes' kids out of it. That eldest boy particularly. I think we may have to run for it. If I do, I hope to God nobody will go mucking about with my statue! How much money have we got, Erif?'

‘Enough for the passage money, and bribes. Where do we go? Oh, Berris, north!'

‘We might. Erif, there she is. Erif, I don't think I have ever seen her looking more beautiful!'

He stood and watched her, amazed at the new strength and beauty of her face and bearing, but Erif went to her quickly and they kissed rather hard. Erif knew she could say nothing to help, either in love or magic. But the touch of hands and lips would talk. ‘We are going to get you away,' she said, after a minute. ‘Yes, I know what you want to say!—you and the children.'

‘You think,' said Philylla slowly, ‘that the danger is as certain as all that?'

‘I've been to the palace. I know.'

Philylla shivered a little. She said: ‘We did not tell them at once. It was—difficult. But Sphaeros said it must be done. He and their grandmother are telling them now.' She frowned. ‘I wanted to tell them myself, but the Queen would not let me. It would have been better for me to do it—being nearer Nikomedes and perhaps hurt in the same way.'

It was the first chance Erif had found to say anything. ‘Is it too bad?' she said. ‘Dearest, dearest, can you tell me at all?'

Philylla said: ‘I don't think I know yet. Only I don't think I mind whether I live or not, for myself. That was my real life. Now it's over.'

‘But it's not over!' said Erif, and Berris was beside her, saying the same thing. ‘You're younger than me. You're only twenty-one. You'll get free again—as I have. I'll make you a life, sweetheart.'

‘You and Berris,' said Philylla, ‘you two dear—barbarians. You don't begin to know what's happened. It's not my own single life, it's not—not Panteus.' She had hesitated, but managed to say the name without a tremble of the lip. ‘It's the life I was part of that is gone. I feel—hollow. My God has left me. There'll be no more Sparta. I've tried to face it as possible before, all these three years, but I suppose I never could. This is the hour I had not guessed.'

Berris and Erif had each taken one of her hands. They tried to make her feel that she was part of their life, of their God. They told her their plans. Berris had been thinking them out. The best thing would be to get her and the children down to the harbour that evening—it would be dark in an hour—and embark on almost any ship that was due to sail at dawn. Berris could certainly bribe the captain and crew to say nothing till then.

‘I've no money,' said Philylla abruptly, ‘nor have they. You understand I shall have to get them secretly without letting Kratesikleia know. She'd never let them go. She'd rather they were killed under her eye like Spartans! As though one hadn't got to learn retreat too! But I can do that. They'll come with me.'

‘You and they shall be the guests of Marob,' said Erif, a little proudly. ‘Get your things, Philylla.'

‘A small bundle,' said Philylla, considering, ‘for them. I'll need nothing.' And she turned.

But as she did so one of the Queen's women ran out into the courtyard and caught hold of her with a kind of flustered, half-suppressed, throaty shrieking. Philylla shook her. ‘What is it? What more? The Queen?'

‘No,' said the woman. ‘Oh—oh, Philylla—it's Nikomedes!'

‘What is it?' said Philylla in a very queer voice.

‘When he heard the news about his poor father, he didn't
say anything at first, but—but he went up to the roof and jumped off!'

Philylla asked stonily: ‘Is he dead?'

‘No, but he's hurt—all over—and his head, his face—oh, God save us, the blood!' And the woman began to throw herself about again and shriek.

‘That seems to end our plans,' said Philylla. ‘I'm going to him.'

She went very quickly into the inner part of the house, from between Erif and Berris, leaving them to grasp at nothing. Then they both turned on the woman and pulled her to her feet and hit her till she stopped. They wanted to know more. But all the woman could tell them was about every one running out to pick the boy up, hardly daring to move him, he seemed so hurt; and all he did was to cry and curse them and say they must let him do it, they were his subjects now and they'd got to let him kill himself!

Erif caught her breath in horror; she hated things happening to children. It seemed a quite unnecessary piece of cruelty. The woman went back to the house sobbing. After a time Berris said: ‘If he dies I suppose she'll come with the little ones.'

Erif didn't answer. She was also, in a way, jealous of the King's children—of the remaining Spartan idea—which kept Philylla from coming with them to safety. But she also loved them because Philylla loved them. In a way Berris did that, but not gently and deliberately as Erif did, not as a mother separated from her child could love other children. He sometimes turned his imagination on to them and saw them beautiful—more beautiful because of their danger—but other times he turned his feelings of jealousy and ownership and need of Philylla on to them and saw them only as obstacles in his way. He recognised those last feelings and hated them, for they were unproductive, they stopped him working, even. But he could not always have the other thing, the imaginative well-wishing; that was more than human; that was—yes, god-like. He walked up and down in the quickly lengthening shadows, thinking that, sometimes deeply sorry for Nikomedes, aching with imagined pain, anxious and hurt with Philylla, and sometimes just angry. But Erif stayed still, asking herself if she had any possible magic which would take effect here
in this Greek household, but knowing there was none. And she became rather frightened at the realisation of how deeply she loved Philylla. If anything happened to Philylla—as it would, unless—unless—And then Sphaeros came out of the house, all grey and untidy and more distracted than they had ever seen him.