[2003]
LOSS & PORPHYRY the novels
[2003]
LOSS & PORPHYRY the novels
9078 - LOSS Chapter 2 - A STRANGE MADNESS
Not quite a month later, I sat amongst a circle of attentive children while Wilm patiently showed them how to build a charcoal clamp. As the forester paused in his explanation, and asked for assistance, there was a flurry of small children rushing hither and thither to carry handfuls of hazel branches and place them on the growing heap at the centre of the clamp. Amidst this hectic activity, Wilm and I quietly stood aside and watched the waves of enthusiastic participation eddy around us. We both well knew that there was no teaching that could match personal experience.
Yet that frenetic activity froze the moment the first horn blast was heard. It came from the direction of the village and, as the familiar pattern of three short blasts followed by two long ones was completed, we two teachers became the focus of a dozen pairs of eyes; all pleading for the signal that the day's lessons could be finished. It needed no more than a nod of my head before they were gone, like leaves blown through the trees by an autumn gale. Wilm and I trotted after them; more sedately, but only just so.
Isac had returned safe with his caravan.
It was in some ways a normal reaction. All the villagers would want to learn the news of his exploits as soon as possible; even though he would, by tradition, appear before the whole village that evening. But this time the rush to greet him also contained an element of relief. For the two months he had been overdue was long by even his erratic standards.
As we crested the brow above the river, I and Wilm could see the last of his train of pack-horses still throwing up spray on their way across the ford. Ahead of us we could now also see Isac running to greet Melani, who was flying down the hill as fast as her long legs would carry her; just a few paces ahead of the marauding herd of children.
In a matter of moments, the children, showing a degree of sensitivity even at their young age, surged past the embracing couple; to noisily help bring the startled horses up to the village. Wilm and I ourselves slowed to a walk too, so that the lovers could have a few moments of relative peace before the formal welcome began. And, as we slowed, an ache of longing flared briefly deep down inside me. But it was soon replaced with joy at the safe return of my friend Isac, and in the shared pleasure of the lover's reunion.
****
It had become almost a tradition that Isac's entry into the village was a triumph. The villagers, who had rushed back from the fields at the sound of the horn, lined the road outside to cheer him. He strode, with his arm firmly round Melani, at the head of his motley column. Following him were no less than forty horses; twice what the other two traders drove. The loads on the horses, in the charge of his two apprentices, were hidden under firmly roped covers; but it was obvious that once more his caravan had been a highly successful venture.
Unusually, though, bringing up the rear were two strangers. A tall thin youth, in his early twenties, strode alongside a teenage girl. Both were clearly apprehensive; overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of the reception that the caravan was receiving. I decided I would be interested, in due course, to hear their stories. But the community was, in any case, used to the comings and goings of strangers; where most caravans, though not normally Isac's, attracted a following of such vagrants. However, there was no time now to consider these thoughts. The triumphal entry into the village called them all.
*****
Some considerable time later, Isac found me in the pottery; kneading clay, preparing it for the potters to work. I had felt the need of some such activity to blank Melani from my mind, at the time when she would be so joyously welcoming her husband - and forgetting myself.
Isac always liked to rehearse his ideas with me before presenting them to the whole village. So I patiently listened to his story; as we followed the trader's favourite walk - through the herb garden and up the hill to the sacred circle.
Isac was by nature an enthusiast, but he was bubbling over more than ever before. He scarcely seemed to have time to race through the obligatory reports of his trading; "Of course, I have traded all the goods, and for the best prices yet". In any case, I knew the trader would have almost routinely obtained the very best prices for the rich cloth, decorated pottery, wood carvings and bronze jewellery he had taken with him. With only pack animals, Isac always limited his loads to such high value goods; and by return he brought back similarly valuable commodities - ingots of tin, which were becoming the main commodity of high value barter between settlements. At the same time, he brought luxuries such as dried stockfish, which carried the flavour of the distant sea to the inland community and salt, which would soon be needed for the winter preserving.
"On my way back I took time to drop down to the ports on the coast. There I bought some jars of olive oil for the lamps, and sufficient copper for our winter's work; though this was more expensive than I would have liked". The bars of copper were the essential basis of the community's bronze industry; but, as more and more community's invested in their own furnaces, the price of the raw material was rising rapidly.
"I have also arranged contracts for whole cartloads of goods to be bartered this autumn and next spring". The carts of the autumn would carry the wool that already was piled high in our storehouses. Those of the following spring would take the cartloads of seedcorn, painstakingly threshed through the dark days of winter Those carts would now rumble far into the west country, for the road had now been extended to the nearest of the mining communities there; and Isac had, typically, been the first trader to arrange bulk loads for these previously isolated communities.
He continued to race on, telling of the usual collection of new ideas he had come across. Ideas for making the harvest easier, for improving the yield during threshing and for making the clay seals on the grain pits resist water even better. But these were, for once, not what he wanted to talk about; and their descriptions were almost perfunctory. He had something of even greater import to deliver, and he could scarcely wait to describe it.
At last, just as we reached the top of the hill this verbal torrent came to an abrupt halt. Silent for a moment, we sat down on the bank, looking at the magnificent panorama of the valley below.
In the foreground was the patchwork quilt of fields around the village itself; all promising the pleasures of domesticity. Beyond lay the forest covered hills, hinting at the wild joys of the hunt.
It was a view that all the villagers loved, and one that Isac saw all too rarely. Despite his previous haste, he now remained silent for some time; soaking in that serene vista. Eventually, though, even this beautiful distraction could hold him back no more; and the object of his enthusiasm was bundled forth in a rush of words. But first from his pocket he produced a brooch, and put it into my hands. "What do you think of the quality of that work?" he added, almost unnecessarily; for the working of the metal was the most exquisite I had ever seen. It looked almost as if it had been woven on a loom rather than worked by a smith.
"This is the finest copper work I have ever seen," I cried, marvelling at the thin wires that it was made from.
"Have another look, and try to bend it," was Isac's immediate command in reply. Indeed, to my astonishment, it would not bend to the slightest degree; where it should have almost crumpled under the pressure of his hand. I had at first handled it very gently, but I was now pressing quite hard; though even then not with all my force, for I would not be responsible for damaging such a masterpiece.
"How do they get the copper wire so fine, and how do they weld it together so firmly, and how do they make it so strong...?"
Isac interrupted my flood of questions by the simple interjection: "It isn't copper, it's bronze!"
I had no answer to this, for I simply couldn't believe that such could be the case. Our own very best castings could boast details barely raised from the surface, the original carvings having been merely worked as shallow depressions in the clay mould itself. And the best bronze castings, even now we had removed most of the imperfections of the process, looked hugely clumsy alongside the minutely fine details of this example.
"Would you believe that is all the result of beeswax!" Isac continued, enjoying the moment and deliberately adding to the mystery.
"Alright!" I conceded: "Tell me how it is done; but very slowly because, though it obviously is, I still can't see how it might be possible."
"Think of beeswax," Isac started: "If you warm it in front of the fire you can easily make it malleable. If you are very careful you can gently roll it into a thin string. With a number of such strings, again carefully warmed, you can weave a beeswax 'cloth'. To give the shape you are holding in your hand."
"But what alchemy do you use to turn it into bronze?" I knew that there had always been those who believed in such transmutations; but I had not previously been one of them. Now my scepticism seemed to be confounded.
"It's not alchemy" Isac quickly retorted "You simply use that wax to form the first model. Then you carefully coat it with a very fine clay. You let this harden; then gently heat it, so that the wax inside melts and runs out. This leaves a void, which has become a perfect, detailed, mould; an exact, reverse, copy of the original. You stand that clay mould, which is very fragile, in a simple domestic pot, and very carefully sift fine sand around it until the pot is full and the mould is almost covered. The sand supports the very delicate clay shell which might break otherwise. Only the larger holes at the top of the mould itself are then left uncovered." He paused to allow time for my whirling thoughts to catch up "Then you pour molten bronze into it exactly as normal; though rather more gently. It's as simple as that!"
I was still dumbfounded, so the trader continued "Well actually it isn't really quite as simple as that. It takes some skill, and great care, to coat the wax with the fine clay; and that clay mixture has to be exactly right. You also have to pour the bronze very slowly and carefully; and that is difficult. Even with all this care, perhaps only one in ten succeeds". He paused for effect "But look at the end result. It is still a miracle!"
****
Isac's report was repeated at that evening's meeting of all the villagers. Of course it took much longer; with him clearly savouring the theatrical drama of the occasion, as did Melani by his side. After the brooch had been produced, with a flourish, its progress around the hut could be followed by the excited eddies of humanity that clustered together trying to divine its secret.
Despite his prior knowledge, I was as intoxicated by the situation as anyone else, and it was only as the performance, for that was what it had become, drew to a close that I found time to look around the audience. Once more, I was rather startled to see the two strangers, the tall youth and his elfin-like companion, hidden at the back. They were still, as I then observed, very apprehensive; and indeed almost literally estranged from the community around them. I felt somewhat uneasy again, for the trader had not mentioned them in his report; but I reasoned that they were Isac's guests, and I should not interfere. I would talk with Isac in the morning.
****
There were many amongst the community who would have dearly loved to have spent time the following day working on the new technology that Isac had so dramatically introduced. But in the weeks leading up to the harvests, even the half-day already lost had to be recovered. So, as I made my customary rounds, the village was almost deserted. Even the smithy was stilled.
As I entered their living space, in the hut they shared with five other small families, I could discern Isac sitting on the edge of the bed. Behind him lay Melani; displaying a look of radiance, combined with a certain smugness, that reminded me of a cat which had just swallowed a whole bowl of cream. Again, deep down, I felt some pangs of jealousy; but once more I quickly succeeded in suppressing them.
Even this late in the morning it was obvious that I was intruding. So I moved quickly to my business. "Isac, tell me of the two strangers you have brought with you."
I thought I detected just a fleeting look of doubt cross my friend's face; but the trader quickly launched into his explanation. "They are true vagrants. They have lost their homes, and have no village to return to. They seek a new home, a sanctuary; here. I believe we should extend our usual hospitality. Besides, they will be a valuable addition. The youth, called Jon, is very bright; and well learned. I think that he may also have the beginnings of some prescience; which I know would be good news for the village, and for you." I nodded in agreement as the trader continued: "The girl is less gifted, but she is a virgin. At long last you will have your magical thirteen."
It all seemed such good news. Yet I wondered still why I had detected that fleeting doubt: "How did you find them, or they find you? And what is their history?"
"I am not certain of their true history. You can ask them yourself. The youth tells garbled stories that sound pure fiction, and the girl barely says a word. All I know is that they stumbled into my camp one night; as I was close by the coast. I don't think I have ever seen two people as frightened as them. The girl in particular was like a ghost. But they seem to have recovered well. Go and see for yourself."
I sensed that this was partly an attempt to avoid any further explanations; which was unusual for Isac. But it was also in response to Melani's increasing demands for his return to their conjugal bed. Behind her husband I could see my erstwhile lover now very clearly willing me out of the hut. It was almost with relief, therefore, that I took my leave; and even before I was out of the door I heard Melani's squeals of delight start once more.
****
Inside the guest-hut, in the cool dim gloom, I could see the tall youth, Jon, sitting by the hearth. As I joined him, in the dim recesses of the hut I could also sense the presence of the girl; a mere shadow, huddled in the corner of a bed.
The youth rose as I approached, and I was surprised to discover that the seemingly slight physique was deceptive. He proved to be a full hand's breadth taller than me; and his lean frame carried a very respectable set of muscles. As we sat down, Jon understandably seemed apprehensive; but he was just as clearly determined to hold his position. He possessed a very determined, almost unyielding, raw intelligence.
In the background I also felt just a trace of the true spirit. It was difficult to detect, but Isac had been right. There might be powers beneath the strong character which currently swamped all else. Something had responded to my probing; though I had the impression that the startled response had been to hide any trace of the spirit itself. But, with luck, there might be some facility for precognition.
"I am the shaman," I started. A formal introduction was needed: "But no doubt Isac has told you all about our village." The youth nodded in agreement, so I continued with the obvious question: "Who are you, and where do you come from?"
He took so long to start that I began to doubt that there would ever be an answer. Once again, I could sense the overpowering character almost fighting the submerged spirit. But finally the youth began to tell his story; slowly, and in a peculiarly soft voice - almost a whisper: "I was born in Damsk. I was a prince destined to rule that tribe. As I grew up I became a great warrior, fit to lead my tribe's proudest armies."
I motioned him to stop. Of course I had heard the terms before, they were sometimes used by travellers from the distant countries as they passed through our village. They had told stories about villages, inevitably hidden at the extremes of the land, which indulged in such exotic activities. But I had always tended to dismiss the most peculiar of these stories as fiction; as were, I was convinced, some of our own more unlikely sagas. On the other hand, here was this youth, Jon, describing such things in a totally matter of fact way. I needed to understand just what he was talking about: "I have heard tell of such things, but what exactly is a prince?"
The answer, accompanied by an astounded stare which I felt seemed to imply that I must be simple, was: "A prince is the son of a king. When the king dies the prince becomes king, and rules his tribe."
"So the king stands in for the council, to make the decisions of the community. But what has happened to the council that they cannot make their own decisions?" I was growing ever more interested, and was determined to learn about this fascinating community.
"There is no council. Our history tells of a time, long ago, when the king had to wrest the power of decision from such a council; for the good of the people. But now there is no need for it. The king always takes the right decisions; and how could a diverse council agree on any decision, let alone the best one? It wouldn't be natural." Jon's answer was firm, and he no doubt thought it convincing, but it still seemed very strange to my ears.
Indeed, it was curious explanation. I could see why the essentially matter of fact Isac had found difficulty in coming to terms with the stories: "The king then must be very wise? How does he come to be so wise? Even with the help of the sacred mushroom I couldn't be so wise? What gives him his wisdom?"
"He is born to be king. He is born wise. There can be no other way." Jon's reply was again straightforward, in his terms, but it was no more enlightening for me; for he had successfully stifled any unconscious thoughts which his true spirit might have revealed and I sensed I would not learn much more in this direction. So I moved on "What is a warrior?"
"A warrior is someone who fights for his tribe," Jon was becoming increasingly puzzled by my interrogator's ignorance: "He defends his king."
This was a concept I found difficult to grasp. It was not unknown for youths to lose their tempers, and come to blows. But their friends would immediately rush to separate them, and cool them down. On the other hand, why would anybody want to do this sort of thing deliberately, and why would anybody no matter how enraged want to attack a man as wise as a king? In any case, why bother to specially train anybody for such an unlikely event? I put these simple questions to Jon.
A stunned silence ensued, while Jon clearly wrestled with the problem of communicating with this strange being, who was this tribe's wise-man and yet was apparently so ignorant of the facts of life. He eventually decided to explain to me some of the basic rules of his own society, rules which everyone took for granted. With great care, he used the simplest terms he could: "They are needed to fight the other tribes, so that we can conquer them and protect the king. It happens all the time."
He was wise to take care, for the subject matter was beginning to alarm me: "But some of them might get hurt!"
Jon's response was to laugh, which I found peculiarly disconcerting: "Lots of our opponents get hurt; to death!"
I couldn't cope with this enigmatic answer, so again I moved on: "Why did you leave your village then?"
This time it was Jon's turn to be disconcerted: "The captain of the army led a revolt and killed the king, my father."
By now I was having considerable difficulty dealing with the totally alien concepts that were being hurled at me, and Jon in turn did not even realise just how confusing were these ideas to the stranger who faced him. But I could not fail to note the element of tragedy; so I said the obvious thing: "I'm very sorry for that," but still added, after a respectable pause: "And what happened to you?"
"I was imprisoned, waiting to be executed. But I escaped. After travelling for many long days I was found by Isac."
Despite the seeming inadequacy of this explanation, I hurried on, not wanting to explore any of these new concepts until I had taken time to clarify my own ideas; and, in any case, Jon was now firmly in control of his emotions, totally submerging any of the emanations from his true spirit which might have helped me understand. I decided, therefore, that there would be plenty of time later to explore these fascinating, but disturbing, enigmas: "What do you plan to do now?"
"I will one day return and regain my throne. But in the meantime I would be grateful for shelter as part of your tribe."
It held strange overtones, but it was a reasonable request; and not one that any of the villagers would have wanted to deny. So, with some feeling of relief I moved on to more routine matters and explained to the youth how he should join the hut which the unmarried men shared.
It was only as I was leaving the hut that I remembered the girl: "What about her?" I pointed at the shadow in the corner.
"She is a house-slave. She goes with me." It had once more elicited a straight-forward answer from Jon, but one that I yet again found totally enigmatic. Even so, perhaps distracted by the strangeness of the request, I waved agreement and started to leave. I knew that as a virgin she would, anyway, join my own group in the fire hut. We could decide her future when she was less frightened.
As I regained the warmth of the fresh air, I was suddenly assaulted by a black bundle that clung, sobbing, to my arm. The "house-slave" had come alive; and was noisily demanding her own asylum.
For the first time I became aware of her as something more than a shadowy heap of clothes. As she clung desperately to me, I became aware that her painfully thin young body was surmounted by a face out of which burned a pair of the darkest brown eyes that I had ever seen. Sweeping over me were waves of supplication, scarcely articulate demands for safety and security. It was at this time that I remembered that she was also the thirteenth virgin, who would bring magical new powers to the coven. In the excitements of the past day I had forgotten this critical piece of information.
It was, therefore, as a welcome rediscovery of this magical potential that I introduced her to the coven gathered in the fire hut; as their new sister. I had no doubt that she was as confused by this development as I was by her companion's strange stories. But in the coven she would be safe and secure; and well cared for. Within moments she had both Lal and Janil fussing over her; finding new clothes, and arranging for a long overdue bath. I left her surrounded by a happily chattering gaggle of new-found friends.
****
Having so quickly disposed of this particular problem, I once more went in search of Isac. This time I found him in the pottery; warming balls of beeswax over a small fire he had lit. As yet the trader appeared to have had no success. The bench top was already littered with discarded lumps; in various stages of kneading. It was not an easy task recreating what he had seen, for as was often the case he had only obtained distant glimpses of the work - where most villages had no desire for outsider's to copy their valuable inventions.
But I had not come to discuss these scientific experiments; even though I was as fascinated by the practical, and intellectual, challenges they posed as Isac was. However, at least for the time being, I could make no practical contributions to the work. It was, as ever, up to Isac himself to recreate what he had seen.
My questions now, though, concerned the two strangers; or at least they concerned Jon's strange story, and I knew that Isac could quite easily talk at the same time as he continued his painstaking experiments. "You, too, must have heard Jon's story. Do you know of any village such as he describes? One where they have a king and fight each other?"
Isac's answer was careful: "I have never visited such a village, or even one like it. All the villages I trade with are very much like our own". He paused, and I sensed that he didn't really want to continue, but eventually, prompted by my own deliberate silence, he did reluctantly proceed "However, there are rumours of such villages existing; on the south side of the western peninsula, by the sea. It is said that they have been settled in recent generations by people from over the seas, who are rumoured to have strange ways. It is said that they indulge in black magic, and eat young children. Everybody avoids them, for they seem to be dangerous places. I know I have deliberately avoided those areas myself. I have found plenty of trade without them."
"But do you think the rumours may be true?"
Having made the difficult admission that he was afraid of the dangers these villages posed, Isac was able to relax somewhat; and chose now to be more forthcoming: "There are always many false rumours. But I have heard these stories in a number of villages in that area. What is more, there is a consistency in the stories which indicates that something of the kind does exist. Indeed I would predict it does; which is why I avoid the area."
He paused to think. He was delivering a story that he felt as uneasy about as I did. "I don't think the worst excesses can be true. But it does seem certain that these 'tribes' fight each other; and do great harm in the process. They must surely be inhabited by madmen. My worry is: are they infectious? That is why I have been nervous of the two strangers, though they seem normal enough."
His comments didn't add much to a solution of my enigma; but at least it was beginning to be put into perspective. But it was a perspective that I still found inherently disturbing.
****
Over the next few weeks, Isac's experiments progressed steadily. He had offers of help from almost all of the community, despite the fact that most of their efforts had necessarily to be devoted to the coming harvests. But, even so, the individual steps forward were small and slow; we had long since learnt that such new skills rarely came easily.
I had heard most of this from others, for I had seen relatively little of Isac, and nothing at all of Melani; and I was relieved that my hunger for her was slowly disappearing. The lovers were still immersed in each other; at least in the short time Isac allowed himself away from his experiments. Today, however, I had heard that the first wax models were complete, so I deliberately chose to visit Isac in his own hut; which had temporarily become the centre of the investigations.
As he entered the hut I was drenched by the scent of beeswax, which filled the hot air. There seemed to be incomplete pieces on every surface; mostly failures, waiting to be remelted. In pride of place, however, I could also at last see a range of the completed products. Isac was slowly shaping another of these, in the gentle heat above the oven. Of Melani there was no sign; she would be with the rest of the village in the fields.
Isac enthusiastically showed the models he had already produced. He had worked a near miracle; gradually evolving ever finer threads. And from these threads an increasingly complex series of designs had been woven. If we could cast these successfully they would surely be almost worth their weight in gold. At such times Isac was obsessed with his work, and after showing off his most recent developments he almost absent-mindedly drifted back to the one he was currently concentrating on. I was forgotten, for the work in hand. So I left him alone with his teasing problems.
****
In the recent weeks I had taken to working in the fields alongside the new arrival, Jon. Over that time we had gradually come to understand the peculiarities of our respective societies. Jon now appreciated how our community held together; though he still expected its anarchy to destroy it at any moment. In turn I began to recognise the motives of the people Jon described in his own community; though I remained just as convinced that they harboured insanely illogical ideas.
Today we were again together, amongst the reapers in the largest of the fields; talking as we picked the ripe ears of wheat from their stems. It was in some ways a demanding job, for many of the ears were on short stems, hidden deep amidst the crop. But, apart from the constant bending, it was not physically exhausting; and indeed was, in many ways, a rewarding task. The ears broke off easily, and a handful was soon collected, to be transferred to the baskets at our waists.
Behind us we could hear the rhythmic swishing of the gatherers, reaping the straw with scythes; the long wooden blades of which were edged with the sharpest of shaved flints. It was to that definite rhythm that the harvesters moved steadily forward.
Once the routine had been established, it was quite feasible to indulge in elaborate discussions with one's neighbours. This ideally suited my needs; for I now wanted to explore what was the equivalent of the spirit in Jon's society. I also wanted to see how the youth might in turn cope with my own more complex, and possibly disturbing, concepts; to determine whether, as Isac had suggested, Jon might be suitable to become my own apprentice.
"Have you ever felt the call of the true spirit?" was my opening gambit on this day.
Jon's hesitation was natural, for although he now had a reasonable grasp of the local culture he still had no direct experience of many of its more esoteric features. He knew of the villagers' involvement with the spirit, but that intellectual knowledge had not yet been backed up by any practical experience on his part. I could sense the struggle of his inner search; though this time, unlike the first time, there was no evidence of a fight with his inner spirit.
Eventually Jon drew himself up to his full height, his sweat covered muscles glistening in the sun, and shook his black hair. His characteristic pride had once more asserted itself; before he remembered where he was, and stooped again to continue with the rhythm of the harvest: "When we worshipped I felt the sun take over my body. I felt elated, and had power over my tribe."
It was my turn to try and untangle the theory. From our previous conversations I knew that Jon's 'tribe' did not see the spirit in the way that our own community did. They saw it instead as concentrated in the sun, which was everything to them; where to us it was but one manifestation of the overall spirit. To them the sun was the source of all power, it was their 'god'. It was remote, not part of them as the spirit was to our people. It was also, in some magical manner, more powerful and more important than its worshippers; in the same way that, as I had come to understand, their 'king' was more powerful and more important than any of his 'subjects'. Perhaps now was the time to explore what that 'power' was: "What power did you feel?"
This time Jon's response was immediate "I felt as if I could do anything. I could bestride the whole village. I could pick up the villages of my enemies and cast them into oblivion. I felt that everyone worshipped me as much as the sun. I felt I could tell the crops to grow, and the cattle to thrive. I felt I was supreme. I felt I could do anything."
I was, at least in some ways, reassured. The terms the youth used were different. But underneath the differences I could now detect an experience not too removed from our own meetings with the spirit. After all, I too flew with it. It might thus be possible to explain the differences between the two cultures. Jon's very personal identification with the 'power' could, then, simply come from his very strong personality; and from his youth. He had yet to learn to temper his personal drives with experience. Even so, I still wanted to explore what this 'power' could be. It implied a very concentrated use of the spirit's energy. Even though we ourselves annually concentrated it beneath the sacred hearth, our use of it was always of a diffuse nature. It was always shared, almost as an unseen mist, by the whole community. I sensed that Jon's use was much more direct; with the destructive power of a bolt of lightning: "How might you use this power?"
This time the youth's reply was slower, more considered: "That is something of a conundrum, for though we use the power it also uses us. The sun god rules all. He rules our lives. We can take no actions without his blessing. He instructs us in our every move. His every wish is our command. Consequently the power that we do use is his gift; and we use it at his bidding."
"But how do you know what is his bidding? You have no shaman to join with the spirit and share its messages?" I sensed that at last I was beginning to approach the nub of the problem.
"The king is his high priest. The king is always told by the sun god what should be done. His voice is that of the sun god. Whatever he says is the command of the sun god. When I become king I will have this power, and my people will obey me. They will fear the wroth of the sun god if they disobey."
Once more a feeling of distinct unease settled over me. "Why on earth should they fear the sun god?"
"They are inherently evil, and are only brought to righteousness by the power of the sun god. If they disobey him they will lapse, into evil, and he will destroy them. He will burn their souls as thoroughly as he will their bodies; with the pain of eternal fire."
My worries were seemingly justified. It was a horrific thought; and, what was worse, I sensed Jon almost revelling in it. But he continued unabated: "Life is a constant fight between good and evil, between light and dark, between the sun our master and the powers of evil below. Only by fighting for good, for the sun god, can we hope to win the purity that will last for ever. That fight is the essence of life."
Again, this was a strange, and somehow rather worrying concept. It saw life as something to be endured, where my own community saw it as the source of all enjoyment. We had no concept of this 'evil'. Some people, of course, made mistakes. Sometimes, in a fit of madness, they might even have set out to deliberately hurt others. But they regretted such lapses just as soon as sanity prevailed. That, surely, was not this evil. It was merely a sign of an imperfect humanity; and the spirit helped them overcome that imperfection, helped them to share with an intent that was pure goodness. There was no equivalent of this god who seemed to have two faces; with a terribly dark side that cast an eternal shadow over any brightness coming from the loving face that our own community might recognise. It was, I decided, a rather frightening belief. Yet in that fear I could also see how it might be immensely powerful. Did our own herders not train the oxen by fear as well as by reward? Did we not use whips to guide them? Perhaps, in a similar way, this 'religion' reduced all men to the level of the base animals.
We walked across to the wagon at the edge of the field, to empty our now full baskets; and this gave me time to collect my thoughts - to try and make some sense of these darkly alien concepts. Around us worked almost the whole village. The gatherers wielded their scythes, collecting the straw into sheaves which the wagoners would collect later. But most, less skilled, were collecting the fruit of the crop; gently pulling the ears of wheat from their stems, as were we. As I looked, with expert eyes, at the mound of wheat ears already in the cart, it was clear that this year's yields would indeed be high. It would surely be a very good harvest indeed.
As we made their way back to their corner of the field we passed Melani, lovely as ever; the movements of her body so much poetry. But, thankfully, I no longer experienced such pangs of passion; and I was, in any case, far too deeply immersed in my single-minded pursuit of the strange philosophies that had been brought by the newcomer. Beyond her Janil was also hard at work reaping the fruit of the earth; and bearing inside her my own budding fruit. This fact did manage to penetrate my reveries and, once more, my tenderness went out to her. She looked up with a smile of pure radiance; becoming more beautiful, for that moment, than even Melani.
Back at work, I changed my line of questioning somewhat: "Apart from religion, what was your day to day life like?"
Once more, Jon drew himself up to his full height: "It was a rich life. We were the royal family. Our hut shone with gold. The throne was covered with gold. My father's crown was pure gold; set with precious stones. I myself had pure gold jewellery. I had three house-slaves to myself. We were rich and powerful."
I recognised, from the pride which was so obviously registered on the youth's face, that the memory was obviously a happy one; though I myself couldn't quite see the joy of possessing such trivial golden objects. It was true that we too had some golden objects. But the gold was used to bring out the qualities of the object it enhanced. Costly as it was, gold had no intrinsic meaning, and certainly no inherent virtue: "But what of your life? You had an abundance of food?"
"We had the richest of food. Even when our subjects starved, we lived well."
I found this an especially disconcerting thought, though Jon obviously did not see the paradox: "In this age of plenty how could you let anybody starve? And why did you not share alike?"
"If we engaged in a long campaign against our enemies our fields might be less well tended; and occasionally our enemies succeeded in burning our crops, and destroying our granaries. When this happened it was obviously necessary that the remaining food was saved for the warriors and the royal family. It was essential that the tribe could continue to protect itself. We could always make new babies, our women produced them every year when we needed them; and the old could never again contribute to the strength of the tribe. Those who didn't earn their keep went first."
I shuddered involuntarily, though luckily Jon did not see this. It was a chillingly cold view of his community. That anyone should neglect the fields, let alone destroy the crops that had taken a year's hard work to grow, was a thought I found incomprehensible. It was true madness. You might as well take a knife to yourself. But even more chilling was the matter of fact callousness with which Jon apparently viewed his fellow mortals; and particularly his contempt for the frail, who we all cherished. The village had many elders, not a few of whose lives had spanned four score years or more. They often needed care, but all of us gave that willingly and lovingly. Yet Jon, and his people, viewed such humans as expendable; much as we ourselves viewed our herds. It was true that, when we were hungry, we would butcher a sheep or a cow. It was a natural part of life. But, I wondered, could any sane person adopt the same approach to his own kind. The spirit must surely be missing from that far community, for had it been present all would have suffered as one. It was with difficulty that I asked: "How, then, do your 'subjects' live? Do they live as we do?"
It was a question that Jon clearly had not been asked before, for his answer was stilted: "I have sometimes been in their huts. The officers of the army have huts just as good as those here; but nothing like as handsome as those of my own family. And they have their own house-slaves. Most of the serfs have adequate huts, and have sufficient food; as do even our slaves. They do not usually go without. It is a poor, and unwise, master who ill-treats his own possessions."
I was beginning to appreciate that this was a society that, like Isac, I would definitely not wish to visit. It was surely a society of madmen, intent on self-destruction. But, thankfully, it was also clear that the madness could not be infectious. Who would choose to tolerate such a society? What sane man would volunteer to be a slave, or even a serf? Such a society would soon be destroyed by its own blind madness.
*****
Within a few days Isac had completed his initial experiments, and was ready to make the first trial castings. Thus that night most of the village, was crowded around the smithy to watch.
By now he had made perhaps twenty completed moulds. The original wax models, which he had so painstakingly woven, had been carefully covered with a variety of clays; since he did not yet know which of these would provide the most suitable coating. Then the wax had been just as carefully melted out of them. It had been a long, painstaking process; with many failures.
As we all watched with bated breath, he readied the first of these; gently placing it into a pot, and packing sand around it to provide some support for the still very fragile clay shell. Only then did the smiths remove the first pot of molten bronze from the furnace; and start to pour.
As the metal went into the mould there was a great cracking sound, and the pot shattered; leaving white hot fragments scattered on the earth. There was an immediate move to make more space in case there were further, worse, explosions. The villagers were still just as curious as they had been, but that did not mean that they did not place a value on their own skins. The crowd now lapsed into an anxious silence, for we all desperately wanted the experiments to succeed. The still liquid bronze in the pot was in the meantime returned to the furnace; where another smith sweated at the bellows to maintain the correct temperature - and there were hurried consultations between Isac and his assistants.
With the second attempt, the speed of pouring was much reduced. We could see the smiths straining to hold their load steady, to hold the flow back to a mere trickle. This time there was no obvious catastrophe so, as the crowd heaved a collective sigh of relief, Isac and the smiths moved on and filled the remaining nine moulds.
It might have been possible to break the moulds immediately, to expose the redly glowing bronze as we did with the traditional clay moulds; but it was decided that this would pose too much of a risk. So the castings were left to cool overnight. The experimenters would judge the success in the morning.
Walking with Isac back to his hut, I took the opportunity to sound out his opinion of Jon's stories "What do you think of his sun god?"
"It is a strange and terrifying idea. I cannot see how anybody would create such a monster!" was the latter's unequivocal reply.
"But his belief is that it created him; the exact reverse of what we believe". My rejoinder was accurate, but wasn't an answer to the trader's point. Even so I pressed on with my questions: "Well, what about the king? How could such a person rule?"
"That's much easier to answer. It seems very strange to us, for we have the accumulated wisdom of all the council to use for our own similar decisions. But suppose that council didn't exist; and suppose there was an emergency. Would we not turn to an individual, such as yourself, to lead us through that time? Tonight did I not direct the smiths, much as a king might his subjects? In the hunt does not the chief hunter direct his huntsmen? The idea of a leader is not strange. We are all leaders in our separate spheres. What is strange is that this 'king' should be the leader in all things. How can he be the most expert in all matters? You have the widest knowledge of anybody I know, for you teach our children, yet I have always seen you defer to the experts; to the gatherers, to the craftsmen. You would not expect to tell me, even in your role as shaman, how to conduct my trading. Nor would you tell the potters how to cast their clay. Yet apparently the king must do all these things. Either he is a very gifted person, as their religion would suggest, or his people are very stupid indeed!"
By now we had reached Isac's hut, and as I was about to bid leave of him Isac took my arm "Melani and I have shamefully neglected you. Please join us tonight."
So it was that I was reunited with Melani; and, in the sharing, with Isac too. I inevitably found the experience less intense than that in the herb garden; and even this pleasure was later dulled by the awareness that Isac, as he followed, obviously raised Melani to an even higher level of orgasm. But that was only natural, and we still revelled in the sensuality of our shared experiences. In that society true sharing, of everything, was the essence. I loved both Melani and Isac equally; as true friends.
*****
On my return to the fire hut the following morning I was, as usual, greeted by the coven; who were preparing for their day's work with the harvest. I was pleased to see how well Trina was progressing. Her body was still slender, but it no longer looked ravaged by starvation. Her face had filled out too, no longer gaunt; and her waist length brown hair had now acquired a sheen of health. Her presence, making the magical thirteen, had also noticeably added to the power of the coven. It was true that we had not undertaken any major ceremonies since her arrival, and I myself had not taken the sacred mushroom, but at each evening's ceremony around the hearth I sensed a feeling of latent power eddying around the group. I was looking forward, with some impatience, to the equinox when I could really try this new power to the full.
As the others left for the fields, I took Trina aside to start her daily lesson. She, too, needed to learn the ways of the community; and for the past few weeks she had almost become my shadow,
accompanying me everywhere; watching all I did, and learning, with amazing speed. But each morning I took time out from my daily routine to give her the theoretical knowledge that added to the practical experience she was gaining during the rest of the day.
As we sat down in the fire hut, to start the lesson, I realised that I must now regard her in a different light. Isac, for once, had been wrong in his judgement. She was not stupid. She was no mere 'house-slave' to be ignored; though I would never, in any case, ignore any of my brood. But I had soon found that Trina was one of the most intelligent children it had been my privilege to teach. She was the sort of child that made teaching almost a spiritual experience for me; watching her learn was a joy. Her wisdom belied her seventeen years; and astounded me when I considered her deprived childhood.
Indeed, I determined to establish, that morning, what her childhood had really comprised of: "Trina, tell me about your parents."
Perhaps, after all, it was an unwise decision; for tears started to roll down her face, and I instinctively pulled her to me to comfort her. I realised that I was developing a deep affection for this poor little lost waif. Possibly I saw her as the child I had never been allowed to be a true father to. Whatever the cause, I shared her sorrow; clasping her to me, and soothing her as waves of her sadness engulfed me. It was an unusually moving experience. I felt almost as if I had not merely shared her sadness, but had become part of it; part of her.
Eventually her sobbing ceased. I did not want to distress her more, so I suggested that we might talk about it another time.
But Trina had now recovered her composure, and wanted to talk about her experiences: "It is a great sadness, but I dearly loved my parents; and was so proud of them. I was born, and lived my first ten years, in a village very much like this. I was happy, as we all were; my parents, my friends, the whole community. In retrospect we were absurdly happy; as you are in this community. My parents were gatherers, though it was said I was conceived of the shaman; and I was certainly a midsummer child. The crops were plentiful; and we traded our surpluses for a rich variety of goods - caravans, travelling from distant parts, passed through the village almost daily. We had olive oil enough for cooking as well as the lamps. We even had wine in plenty." She paused remembering the pleasures of it, her brown eyes glistening; and I shared her nostalgia for this idyllic childhood: "I ran through the fields and played in the woods. I helped bring in the harvests. I helped the potters mould their wares. Best of all I learned from the shaman. I loved him almost as much as my parents, and I went with him everywhere; much as I do with you. He taught me so many things. Practical things; like which were the poisonous mushrooms. Spiritual things; like how to achieve true peace of mind. It was such a happy childhood."
She sighed, and I too found himself wallowing in her sweet nostalgia. But a shadow crossed her face, and I suddenly felt a chill enter my spirit. "But then came that terrible day shortly after my tenth birthday. I was walking in the woods with the shaman; I remember that he was describing how the various herbs could be used. Then we heard the single long blast on the horn, and fear gripped our hearts. We rushed back to the village." She paused, wide eyed with the horror of it; and I found that I too was, quite irrationally, gripped by a terrible fear: "The scene that greeted us was indescribable. There were men, dressed in black leather tunics, running between the huts setting fire to them. Around the huts lay the still bodies of the villagers; my friends, my family. I instinctively knew that they were dead or dying; but nevertheless we rushed to help them."
The description was almost matter of fact, despite the horror of the event. She had told the story many times before, to try and drive it out of her mind. But if the words were neutral and carefully rehearsed, the visions that came spontaneously out of her mind were the most vivid, and the most harrowing, I had ever experienced. I saw the scenes with terrifying clarity; but, most disturbing of all, distorted by the terror of a small child. There were monsters rushing in every direction, clad in demonic black, hands streaming with bright red blood; pieces of flesh and entrails, the product of their obscene butchery, spattering their uniforms and being trodden underfoot. The flames roared high into the air, engulfing the distorted bodies of her friends as they lay in the doorways of the huts; and the smoke billowed all around, making the whole scene that much more unreal and terrifying. The smell of the smoke and of the burning flesh invaded my nostrils, and threatened to suffocate me; so that I couldn't breathe. Worst of all was the sound of screaming, drowning out the yelled obscenities of the men. The whole world was screaming. Part of it came from the bodies, which I now realised were not still as she had said, but, despite the terrible wounds that had been inflicted on them, were still threshing around in their awful death throes. Here an unrecognisable torso, with an arm outstretched as if in supplication and with blood and intestines still oozing from a slash across its chest, still kicked. There a husband's hand, seemingly unrelated to the heap of butchered remains that had been its owner, vainly struggled to find the comforting hand of his wife. It seemed as if all of these grossly distorted carcasses screamed with the unbelievable agonies of their death throes. But most of it came from within myself; from inside of the mind of a ten year old girl who was going insane with terror. A mind whose precious innocence had been destroyed by the horror of those few moments, and which could not accept the calumny of the savages who surrounded her; but which screamed and screamed, for the comforting love of parents she now knew must lie amongst those hideous piles of gore.
Yet, despite the horror that she must have relived each time she told the story, Trina forced herself to continue: "As we rushed to help, one of the men ran up to us and pushed a knife into the stomach of my beloved shaman. He collapsed, and I knew he was dying. I tried to help him, but I was pulled away by another of the men, who put me with the rest of the children; for it was only the adults that were killed."
The horror of this episode tore at my own sanity. I saw the figure alongside, a figure which I instinctively recognised as the shaman of that village and the only comforting presence remaining in this terrible scene. That familiar figure was, in front of my eyes, literally torn apart by the knives of the savages'; and I felt the horror as Trina was covered by the fountains of blood gushing from that body, almost drowning in the frothing red flood. I felt rough hands tearing her from that shaman; tearing her from everything she so loved. The world itself was being destroyed. Then, just as horribly, came a feeling of total emptiness. I, she, was unbelievably alone. There was nothing in the world but loneliness, and emptiness. It was full of black, insane, despair. There was nothing to live for. I, like she, craved death for myself.
Throughout this ordeal I had been clasping Trina in his arms; and as it progressed the tears had been streaming down my face even more than hers. Indeed, I felt that she really was hugging me, comforting me; rather than the other way around, and indeed she was. She had learned to live with that horror; I was seeing it for the first time. I sobbed uncontrollably; desperately wanting to bring some love to comfort her, to drive away that awful despair. I put out wave after wave of pure love, to try and drown that terrible loneliness; but, of course, I was seven years too late. It was a different, a far older, Trina who was now the object of all this love.
At long last I was calmed down; by her. I found it ludicrous. I had wanted to soothe this poor child; and here she was, with a maturity beyond her years, calming me instead. As she sat up, she looked quizzically at me: "You didn't just listen. You saw!"
It was true. I had never had such vivid images projected into my mind. I had often read images from other minds, that was how the spirit was shared. But, although the emotions were conveyed well, the images were almost always jumbled, and chaotic. They needed translating before they could be understood. But this time I had seen exactly what she had seen. There was no room for doubt. I had shared her horror in all its terrible detail. "Yes, for the first time I saw. The horror of your experience must have been so great that it can transmit itself to others."
I could tell, from her expression, that this hadn't been the case before. But I was so distraught with the whole experience that I wanted to recover before I investigated any further. I was certain that she could have continued; but I knew I couldn't have coped with any more of those terrible scenes.
I simply could not face any more pain. So I took her with me to visit the smithy, where those first castings were to see the light of day.
****
There was only a small group of villagers in the smithy. Most were at the harvest; and, indeed, Trina and I would join them immediately after we had watched the climax of the experiments.
One by one, the nine remaining pots, containing the moulds, were carefully broken. Whilst we all held their breath, Isac gently broke the sand encrusted clay off the bronze castings beneath; and passed them around for our inspection. Six of them had clearly failed. They had fused into lumps of metal that bore no relationship to the delicate tracery of wax that had been there before.
But three of them did, to some degree, resemble the original mould. One, in particular, was very promising. It had imperfections; and could not be compared with the one that Isac had brought back with him. But many of the threads of wax had been cast in all their fine detail. With Isac's skills, and those of the smiths, there was no doubt that he would soon recreate the quality of the original. I could see that the village's trade would become even richer in the future.
Uplifted, by that experience at least, I led Trina to the harvest; hand in hand, as much as a continued reassurance to myself as to her.
****
That evening I went to see Jon once more , to see what he knew of Trina's past. But as I approached the youths' hut I became aware of a crowd gathered on the open space in front of it. When I pushed my way through, I found that they were gathered around two youths who were fighting. In my role of village elder, I instinctively moved to separate them, but the youth at my elbow held me back: "It's only practice. It's in fun. They are not hurting each other."
I then realised that one of the youths was Jon, who was wielding a wooden dagger. As I watched, the two of them circled each other, occasionally lunging with their mock knives; in something akin to a dance. It might have been a thing of balletic beauty; had it not been for the implied threat of the knives, even though they were harmless. But why this charade? It was not the time for masques.
The contest went on for some time, with both youths sweating profusely as they strove to outmanoeuvre their opponent. Eventually, to the sound of cheers, Jon managed to break through; and pretended to bury his wooden dagger in the other youth.
To my further surprise, Jon then separated the rest of the group into pairs, and had them practice similar manoeuvres. As the open space came alive with pairs of youths dancing round each other, I took Jon aside and asked him what was happening.
"I am teaching them to defend themselves. I am passing on my skills as a warrior. I have already taught them some bare-handed fighting. Now we have moved to the dagger. Soon we will also use spears."
"But why? They do not need to defend themselves. There is nobody to harm them." As I said this the vision I had shared with Trina flashed through my brain; and I shuddered. But I resolutely put that thought from me. I was certain that could not happen here: "Only the bears and wolves can hurt us, and they have learnt to avoid us. In any case, as hunters we already know how to deal with these."
"Why not?" was Jon's instant reply: "If they do not need to defend themselves it is just harmless fun. It is good exercise. It helps their skills as hunters. It even builds their friendships and kinships. Hearty competition is good for such things." He paused to watch my reactions "And if it is ever needed, they surely had better be ready to defend themselves."
Again that dreadful vision flashed, uninvited, into my brain. I found himself nodding speechlessly. What the young man said had an inevitable logic; as the youth well knew. It surely had no cost. It could be fun to practice this way; much as they already practiced being hunters, when they were children. But I sensed it was a terrible logic all the same. It almost assumed the destruction of all we loved; just as I had witnessed the destruction of Trina's village.
But I could think of no answer; 'Why not?' How could I logically suggest that they should remain defenceless? What harm was there in learning the skills of fighting, as long as they were never needed? And if they were needed? It was a conundrum I could not answer. But I desperately wished I could.
That night I experienced a very uneasy sleep. I was constantly visited by the scene of that burning village; and the devils in black leather bore the faces of the youths I had spent so many years teaching.
****
The next day I contrived to give Trina her lesson in the herb garden; ostensibly to teach her the uses of the various medicinal herbs. But the reality was that I needed for her to continue her story. To be able to take her true place in our community she, herself, needed to let it flow from her; to release that poison from her system. And to help this process I, too, needed to know what lay there. I realised, though, that it would be another traumatic experience, and I could think of nowhere better than the tranquil beauty of the herb garden to make the task as painless as possible.
Thus, having finished a lesson in medicinal herbs, in which she had proved as always an apt and attentive pupil, I mustered all my inner strength; and prepared to lead her once more into that horrendous story: "You told me of the destruction of your village. What happened then?"
She was calm; somewhat to my surprise. Indeed she was icy calm. She had been carefully preparing for this ordeal, which she had realised must come. She was very carefully in total control of herself; albeit the immense effort that this demanded was visible in the tension of her limbs. Consequently there was no flood of visions: "Out of a village of almost a hundred beings there remained just ten children; between the ages of eight and twelve. I learned much later that this was the 'preferred' age group. Younger children needed too much support, and those older were seen as 'dangerous'."
She had obviously spent a considerable time, years, analysing the terrible things that had befallen her: "We were herded, much as you might herd your animals, following our captor's caravan for many long days. We were cold and frightened, hungry and tired. Worst of all we had our senses numbed by what we had seen. None of us had a parent left alive. We were terribly alone, in a despairingly terrible world. We did not want to live. But we were forced, whipped, ever onwards. So we stumbled on across mountain passes, through icy rivers, under endless forest. Until one day we came upon the largest village I had ever seen. I later learnt that the inhabitants proudly called it a town; disdaining the term village which they considered implied a degree of rustic naivete that they had long outgrown."
She paused for breath, and to look around her at the beauty on every side. I was glad that I had chosen the place well. Thus reassured, she continued: "Had it been otherwise, I might have been impressed with its size. It was at least ten times as big as the largest village I had seen before. It must have held more than a thousand inhabitants. It was enormous, and its high walls dwarfed us as we walked around them to the fortified gates. Inside we were herded though narrow alleys; teeming with humanity. Eventually we came to a large central square, facing onto which were houses built of solid stone. It should have been a magnificent sight; but instead all was squalor. There was rubbish and ordure everywhere. Even in the square we had to wade through it; and in the narrow alleys it was universally ankle deep. The square itself was largely occupied by ranks of stalls; where uncouth traders constantly yelled at each other and their potential customers. There were goods in plenty, but of poor quality; and there was the unending noise. It was bedlam. Most depressing of all, though, were the people. There were a few reasonably dressed individuals; apparently of some consequence, for the others carefully, and deferentially, moved out of their way as these favoured individuals strode through the crowd. I even saw the lower orders, as I later learnt to call them, step into knee-deep ordure to make way. But these lower orders, the great majority of the people, were very badly dressed; in thin tunics, badly repaired. They looked in poor health; with thin, pinched, faces. It could not have been more different from my home village; or from here."
She looked at me, to check that I was following what she was saying, and I nodded to signal that he was. I had determined that, to cause her the least distress, I would deliberately not press any questions on her at this stage. As she continued, to my relief she slowly began to become rather more relaxed and even her gripped fists eventually unclenched; after all it was a story she had told many times before: "We were herded into a wooden cage at the edge of the square, and there we remained for three days. We were given the minimum of food scraps and some water occasionally; but no other attention. From time to time another group of children would be brought in; until eventually there must have been a hundred of us in that cage, with scarcely space to sit, let alone lie. It would have been terrible; except that by then all our senses had been totally numbed. We didn't live, we merely existed. We didn't talk to each other. I have no idea where the other children came from. I did not talk to even one of them. I just sat there staring ahead, immersed in my lonely misery; and waiting for the relief of death.
But on the third day we woke to discover a large part of the square cleared of its stalls; and towards midday a crowd, mainly of the better dressed individuals, began to gather. Some of the people collected around our cage, where on the previous days we had been ignored. Eventually this human curtain, of those wishing to examine us more closely, melted away; and we saw that facing us were the rest of the crowd, in front of whom were seated groups of much more richly dressed individuals. I thought that death must not be far away; and I was grateful. I welcomed it."
"But we became aware that this was not to be the case. One by one we were taken out of the cage to be paraded along this line of what I soon came to realise were traders in human beings. Our clothes were removed, and we were pinched and prodded, so that these buyers could determine the quality of what was being offered. As each child reached the end of the line, there was a pause while these buyers yelled what they would offer. There was, indeed, a general air of merriment amongst all the spectators. It was very much like the haggling that enlivened our village when a trader arrived. Here only the merchandise was different; and for the audience that difference did not seem to be in any way important. The fact that there were human lives being traded did not seem to have any impact at all on them. For a while I thought we might be being sold for meat; for some depraved culinary taste. But I soon realised, from the crowd's yelled descriptions of the children ahead of me, that we were being sold for the work we might be capable of. When my turn came I was passed from hand to hand along the line, every part of my anatomy being grabbed in turn. But, paradoxically, I found nothing offensive in this; I was merchandise like any other that the buyer would want to examine. After a brief pause at the end of the line I was grabbed by one of the lower orders, who told me to follow him. Thus was my future decided."
Again she looked at me for confirmation that I had followed the story. Again I merely nodded. It was a harrowing story, but this time it was told in such an impersonal way that it was possible for me not to think of the reality of those happenings. Following her lead, I deliberately did not dwell on any of the events. Had I have done so I was certain that I would have once more broken down. I had to work hard to maintain my detachment so that she did not suffer more than was necessary. Her story ran on: "I soon found myself on the edge of that 'town'. There, on the meadow outside I was taken to a camp; and eventually found out just how fortunate I had been. I was a slave; by now you know what that means. But there are great differences between what various slaves are expected to do. As a slave you are totally at the mercy of your master. He decides whether you should live or die. I had the great good luck to be bought by one of the few good mistresses; a princess from a very rich community. I was to be her hand-servant. It was, as I found later, a privileged position in this society which created very few such privileges. At that time, of course, I was not aware of this. I was impervious to what was happening around me. I was still immersed in my lonely misery."
"We soon began another march. This time, though, I was better treated. I was fed; albeit not very well, or with very appetising food. But I came to learn that even a privileged slave, or serf, had to be grateful for being given food at all. After a number of days march we arrived at the village of my new mistress It looked very much like my own. The only outward sign of any difference was the high, fortified wall."
"Indeed, once inside, the huts looked much the same as my own had been. But I soon came to realise that there were significant differences. Most of the huts were furnished very sparsely; for the serfs and slaves such as ourselves. Just a few were furnished richly; even more richly that those in my own village, with displays of gold and jewels much in evidence. Indeed, they might have seemed to be almost deliberately, insultingly, ostentatious in their display of wealth; when compared with the poverty around. But I came to realise that the royal family, whose huts these were, simply did not see the discrepancy. They were only used to judging the wealth of the community by what they themselves had."
The briefest of pauses, this time thankfully only to catch her breath, rather than to compose her thoughts, "Thus began what was, in a perverted way, nearly seven years of happy life. It was possible that it only seemed so in comparison with the horrors that had preceded it. As I slowly surfaced from the depths of isolation into which my lonely despair had thrown me, I was grateful simply for being alive; the bonus of having a merciful mistress was, I came to appreciate, something that I should daily bless the fates for. Thus, in my new circumstances knowing no better, I became genuinely happy again."
Indeed, by this point, although still in full charge of her emotions, she was visibly more relaxed, all tension gone from her limbs. I sensed a genuine calm starting to reclaim her mind; and I too relaxed - and realised I had been as strenuously guarding myself, against the onslaught of any more of the images which had so painfully inundated me on that first occasion: "Now that I am truly safe again, in your community living once more the life I lived as a child, I can recognise the great injustices of my situation as a slave. But for seven full years I did not see them. As a beggar you only have time to be grateful to your patron for any small mercies he may show you; small mercies that may mean that you can continue to survive. You are too busy fighting for your next meal, for that survival, to consider the justice of your situation. I believe that all of us, locked into that society, were too busy with that fight for survival to see beyond our immediate needs. Even the royal family could not see the inherent unfairness of their rule, of the pain that their impositions caused to the rest of us. They were simply accustomed to that lifestyle; and could not conceive of any other."
I marvelled at the equanimity with which she could look back on an experience which, to me, would have been unendurable. But once more I held my peace; and she continued her saga "I was fortunate that my lady, and her lord, were cultured lords; with some sensitivity and, by the standards of that cruel society, great kindness. Their court was even a place of some learning. I was doubly fortunate that I was placed in the hut of their wise man; who was tutor to my mistress and her children. It meant endless hours of work; for during the day I was handmaiden to my mistress, to run hither and thither at her pleasure, and in the evening I was house-servant for the wise man, cleaning and tending the relative squalor of his hut. Even though he was the wise man favoured of the royal family, his position only entitled him to live as serf. But I was able to learn from him, first by surreptitiously observing what he did and said; but later, as he came to recognise my talents, by the time he devoted to specifically teaching me. Indeed, over those years, he became a father to me, and I a daughter to him. So despite its material poverty, which I no longer noticed, it became a rich life in many of the things that most mattered to me."
I was not surprised that the wise man had recognised her innate gifts, and had so enjoyed teaching her. I myself was beginning to appreciate what a joy that could be.
"In that time I learnt much; as you, shaman, have learnt much. And I rejoiced in my knowledge. It was a hidden store of jewels, far more precious than the gaudy display that bedecked my mistress; and it was a treasure that nobody could take away from me. In this way the first three years of my captivity passed by. At that time my master moved to take up residence at the heart of the new kingdom which his warriors had created on the shores of your rich land. So the whole court, my mistress and my wise man included, decamped across the seas to take residence in the village on your western peninsula. But I scarcely noticed any difference. The huts may have changed to your round style, which seemed slightly strange for a day or two, but otherwise life went on much as before; and I spent a relatively happy four more years there. My master became even richer. But this only meant that there was more gold on display in his throne room, so that he needed to increase the numbers of those who guarded it. But for the rest of us there was no change in our apparently timeless situation. A slave is a slave, a serf is a serf, wherever he lives; and it is slavery, or serfdom, that is the dominant feature of his life."
Once more, even though she had relaxed her guard somewhat, it was a coldly matter-of-fact description of a totally alien society.
"Then, just before last midsummer, I naturally accompanied my mistress when she joined a caravan to visit another village in the kingdom. But, on route, it was attacked by warriors sent by an enemy king. My mistress was held for ransom. I was separated from her, to experience what fate I knew not. But I escaped, at the same time as Jon, and accompanied him until we met Isac. The rest you know."
She was glad to have finished at last, and a very visible look of relief swept across her face. The ordeal was over at last. She had only given an account of the most important events that had shaped her life. But in due course, I determined, I would learn the details behind these. For her though the worst part of the ordeal was over. Never again would she have to retell all the horrors in one harrowing telling. Yet, I still sensed that there was much more to learn of the later stages. The description of her most recent capture and escape was perfunctory; strangely devoid of reality, as had been the comparable account of her companion Jon.
At that time, though, I deliberately did not delve deeper. As it had progressed I had not even chosen to analyse it in any depth; lest one of my unguarded reactions might have caused her more pain. I was desperately trying to avoid causing any more damage; for I knew that I was removing the bandages from an old, but very deep and painful, wound. And that needed great care on my part.
At leisure, however, I would consider her extraordinary story. It described a personal tragedy for her; a tale of horror that would have unhinged the mind even of an adult coarsened by the harsh realities of a cruel world. Imposed on a delicate flower of a young girl, it surely cried out as infamy of the most base kind. But it also represented a warning, of a potential threat, for the whole community. It indicated, by the savage reality of the horrendous visions, that the madness which Jon had described was more widespread than I could ever have imagined. For the time being, though, I kept this knowledge to myself; thus taking up a burden that I would find increasingly difficult to bear. There was no immediate threat, and there might never be one; so, I reasoned at the time, it would be unwise to worry others unnecessarily.
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