"Yes, but no Ortelgan did anything after Bekla had fallen either, although there must have been plenty of coming and going between Bekla and their Telthearna island. I find that terribly tedious as a subject for contemplation, don't you? It bores me to distraction."
"I hadn't considered it before in quite that way."
"Start now."
The boat, turning, had followed first the southern and then the eastern shore of the Barb and as it approached them the cranes flew up in a clattering, white-winged flock. Elleroth bent his head over the bow, idly running one finger through the water along the outline of his own shadow as it moved across the surface. After some time Mollo said, "I've never understood why the city fell. They took it by surprise and smashed in the Tamarrik Gate. Well, all right, so the Tamarrik Gate was military nonsense. But what was Santil-ke-Erketlis doing? Why didn't he try to hold the citadel? You could hold that place forever."
He pointed back at the sheer face of the quarry, three-quarters of a mile away, and the summit of Crandor above.
"He did hold it," answered Elleroth, "right through the rains and after--getting on for four months altogether. He was hoping for some relief from Ikat, or even from the troops at Kabin--the ones your trusty bull-breeding friend attended to. The Ortelgans let him alone for a long time--they'd come to have a healthy respect for him, I dare say--but when the rains were over and he was still there they began to worry. They needed to put an army in the field toward Ikat, you see, and there was no one to spare to keep Santil contained in the citadel. So they got rid of him."
"Got rid of him--just like that? What do you mean? How?"
Elleroth struck the surface lightly with the edge of his hand, so that a thin, pattering crescent of water drops flew backward along the side of the boat.
"Really, Mollo, you don't seem to have learned much about military methods during your travels. There were plenty of children in Bekla, even if all of them weren't children of the citadel garrison. They hanged two children every morning in sight of the citadel. And of course there were plenty of mothers too, at liberty to go up to the citadel and beg Erketlis to come to terms before the Ortelgans became even more inventive. After some days he offered to go, provided he was allowed to march out fully armed and proceed unmolested to Ikat. Those terms the Ortelgans accepted. Three days later they tried to attack him on the march, but he'd been expecting something of the sort and succeeded in discouraging them quite effectively. That happened near my home in Sarkid, as a matter of fact."
Mollo was about to reply when Elleroth, seated at the boatman's back, spoke again, without any alteration in his quiet tone.
"We are about to run into a large floating log, which will probably stave in the bow."
The boatman stopped rowing at once and turned his head.
"Where, sir?" he asked, in Beklan. "I don't see anything."
"Well, I see that you understand me when I am speaking Yeldashay," replied Elleroth, "but that is not a crime. It seems to have turned even more chilly, and the wind is fresher than it was. You had better take us back, I think, before we catch the Telthearna ague. You have done very well--here are another ten meld for you. I'm sure you never gossip."
"God bless you, sir," said the boatman, pulling on his right oar.
"Where now?" asked Mollo, as they stepped ashore in the garden. "Your room--or mine? We can go on talking there."
"Come, come, Mollo--the arrangements for eavesdropping will have been completed days ago. Dear me, those amateur instructors of yours in Deelguy! We will have a stroll through the town--hide a leaf in the forest, you know. Now that priestess woman who addressed us this morning--the one with a face like a nightjar--would you say that she--"
They made their way downhill, by way of the walled lane, to the Peacock Gate, and were shut into the little enclosed chamber called the Moon Room while the porter, unseen, operated the counterpoise that opened the postern. There was no way between the upper and lower cities except through this gate and the porters, vigilant and uncommunicative as hounds, opened for none whom they had not been instructed to recognize. As Elleroth followed Mollo out into the lower city, the gate closed behind them, heavy, smooth and flat, its iron flanges overlapping the walls on either side. For a few moments they stood alone above the din of the town, grinning at each other like two lads about to plunge together into a pool.
The Street of the Armorers led downhill into the colonnaded square called the Caravan Market, where all the goods coming into the city were weighed and checked by the customs officers. On one side stood the city warehouses, with their loading and unloading platforms, and Fleitil's brazen scales, which could weigh a cart and two oxen as easily as a sack of flour. Mollo was watching the weights being piled against forty ingots of Gelt iron when a grimy-faced, ragged boy, limping on a crutch, stumbled against him, stooped quickly sideways with a kind of clumsy, sweeping bow, and then began to beg from him.
"No mother, sir, no father--a hard life--two meld nothing to a gentleman like you--generous face--easy to see you're a lucky man--you like to meet a nice girl--be careful of rogues here--many rogues in Bekla--many thieves--perhaps one meld--need a fortuneteller--you like to gamble perhaps--I meet you here tonight--help a poor boy--no food today--"
His left leg had been severed above the ankle and the stump, bound in dirty cloth, hung a foot above the ground. As he shifted his weight the leg swung limply, as though there were no strength from the thigh down. He had lost a front tooth, and as he lisped out his monotonous, inexpressive offers and entreaties, red betel-stained spittle crept over his lower lip and down his chin. He had a shifty-eyed, wary look and kept his right arm slightly bent at his side, the hand open, the thumb and fingers crooked like claws.
Suddenly Elleroth stepped forward, gripped the boy's chin in his hand and jerked up his face to meet his own eyes. The boy gave a shrill cry and tried to back away, pouring out more words, distorted now by Elleroth's grip on his jaw.
"Poor boy, sir, no harm, gentleman won't hurt a poor boy, no work, very hard times, be of service--"
"How long have you followed this life?" asked Elleroth sternly.
The boy stammered with eyes averted.
"Don't know, sir, four years, sir, five years, done no wrong, sir, six years perhaps, whatever you say--"
Elleroth, with his free hand, pulled up the boy's sleeve. Bound round the forearm was a broad leather band and thrust beneath it by the blade was a handsome, silver-hilted knife. Elleroth pulled it out and handed it to Mollo.
"Didn't feel him take it, did you? That's the worst of wearing one's knife in a sheath on the hip. Now stop howling, my boy, or I'll see you flogged before the market warden--"
"I'll see him flogged, howling or no," interrupted Mollo. "I'll--"
"Wait a moment, my dear fellow." Elleroth, still grasping the boy's chin, turned his head to one side and with his other hand thrust back his dirty hair. The lobe of the ear was pierced by a round hole about as big as an orange pip. Elleroth touched it with his finger and the boy began to weep silently.
"Genshed u arkon lowt tha?" said Elleroth, speaking in Terekenalt, a tongue unknown to Mollo.
The boy, who was unable to speak for his tears, nodded wretchedly.
"Genshed varon, shu varon il pekeronta?" The boy nodded again.
"Listen," said Elleroth, reverting to Beklan. "I am going to give you some money. As I do so I shall curse you and pretend to hit you, for otherwise a hundred wretches will come like vultures from every hole in the market. Say nothing, hide it and go, you understand? Curse you!" he shouted, gripping the boy's shoulder and pushing him away. "Be off, get away from me! Filthy beggars--" He turned on his heel and walked away, with Mollo beside him.
"Now what the devil--?" began Mollo. He broke off. "Whatever's the matter, Elleroth? You're surely not--not weeping, are you?"
"My dear Mollo, if you can't observe a knife vanishing from its sheath on your own hip, how can you possibly expect to observe accurately the e
xpression on a face as foolish as mine? Let us turn in and have a drink--I feel I could do with one, and the sun's become rather warmer now. It will be pleasant to sit down."
25 The Green Grove
THE NEAREST TAVERN IN THE COLONNADE, whose sign proclaimed it to be "The Green Grove," was out of the wind but warmed nevertheless, at this early time of the year, by a charcoal brazier, low enough to keep floor drafts from chilling the feet. The tables were still damp from their morning scrubbing and the settle, facing toward the square, was spread with brightly colored rugs which, though somewhat worn, were clean and well brushed. The place appeared to be frequented chiefly by the better kind of men having work or business in the market--buyers, household stewards, caravan officers, merchants and one or two market officials, with their uniform green cloaks and round leather hats. There were pumpkins and dried tendrionas hanging in nets against the walls and pickled aubergines, cheeses, nuts and raisins set out in dishes. Through a door at the back could be caught a glimpse of the courtyard, with white doves and a fountain. Elleroth and Mollo sat down at one end of the settle and waited without impatience.
"Well, Death, don't come along just yet," cried a long-haired young caravaneer, flinging back his cloak to free his arm as he drank and looking over the top of his leather can as though half-expecting that unwelcome personage to make a sudden appearance round the corner. "I've got a bit more profit to make down south and a few more jars to empty here--haven't I, Tarys?" he added to a pretty girl with a long black plait and a necklace of silver coins, who set down before him a plate of hard-boiled eggs in sour cream.
"Ay, likely," she answered, "without you get yourself killed int' south one trip. Profit, profit--happen you'd go to Zeray for profit."
"Ay--happen!" he mimicked, teasing her and spreading out a row of foreign coins, one under each finger, for her to take whatever was due in payment. "Help yourself. Why don't you take me now, instead of the money?"
"I'm not that hard up yet," retorted the girl, taking three of the coins and coming across to the settle. Her eyelids were stained with indigo and she had pinned a bunch of red-flowering tectron in her bodice. She smiled at Mollo and Elleroth, a little unsure how to address them, since on the one hand they were strangers and clearly gentlemen, while on the other they had been an audience for her little flirtation with the caravaneer.
"Good morning, my dear lass," said Elleroth, speaking as though he were her grandfather and at the same time looking her up and down with an air of open admiration which left her more confused than ever. "I wonder whether you have any real wine, from the south--Yeldashay, perhaps, or even just Lapan? What we need to drink on a morning like this is sunshine."
"There's none come in a long while, sir, more's t' pity," answered the girl "'Tis the war, y'see. We can't get it."
"Now I'm sure you're underrating the resources of this splendid establishment," replied Elleroth, putting two twenty-meld pieces quietly into her hand. "And you can always pour it into a jug, so that no one else knows what it is. Ask your father. Just bring the best you've got, as long as it's--er--well, pre-bear, you know, pre-bear. We shall recognize it all right, if it's from the south."
Two men came through the chain-curtained entrance and called to the girl in Chistol, smiling across at her.
"I suppose you have to learn a lot of languages, with so many admirers?" asked Mollo.
"Nay, they've to learn mine or I'm doon with them," she smiled, nodding, as she left, to Elleroth, to show that she would do as he had asked.
"Ah, well, I suppose the world still takes a lot of stopping," said Elleroth, leaning back on the settle, snapping a pickled aubergine and throwing half into his mouth. "What a pity so many furious boys persist in trying! Will it suit you if we go on talking Yeldashay, by the way? I'm tired of speaking Beklan, and Deelguy is beyond me, I fear. One advantage of this place is that no one would think it unduly odd, I believe, if we were to converse by coughing down each other's necks or tapping the table with very large toothpicks. A little Yeldashay will be all in the day's work to them."
"That boy," said Mollo, "you gave him money, after he'd stolen my knife. And what was that hole in his ear? You seemed to know what you were looking for, all right."
"You have no inkling, provincial governor?"
"None."
"Long may you continue to have none. You met this man Lalloc, you told me, in Deelguy. I wonder, did you ever hear tell of one Genshed?"
"No."
"Well, curse the war, then!" shouted a man who had just come in, evidently in reply to some remark of the landlord standing before him with compressed lips, shrugged shoulders and hands held out on either side. "Bring us any damn' thing, only be quick. I'm off south again in half an hour."
"What's the news of the war?" called Elleroth across the room.
"Ah, it's going to get rough again now the spring's here, sir," answered the man. "There'll be nothing coming up from the south now--no, not for some months, I dare say. General Erketlis is on the move--likely to drive up east of Lapan, so I've heard."
Elleroth nodded. The girl returned with a plain earthenware jug, leather beakers and a plate of fresh radishes and watercress. Elleroth filled both cans, drank deeply and then looked up at her openmouthed, with an exaggerated expression of astonishment and delight. The girl giggled and went away.
"Better than we might have expected," said Elleroth. "Well, never mind about the poor boy, Mollo. Put it down to eccentricity on my part. I'll tell you one day. Anyway, it's got nothing to do with what we were talking about on the lake."
"How did they get their bear back?" asked Mollo, crunching a radish and spreading out his legs toward the brazier. "What I heard--if it's true it frightens me, and no one's ever told me it's not--was that the bear smashed through the Beklan line and killed Gel-Ethlin as if it knew who he was. That's one thing they can all tell you in Deelguy, because there was a Deelguy contingent in the Beklan army and the bear killed their commander at the same time--tore his throat out. You must admit it's all very strange."
"Well?"
"Well, then the bear disappeared as night was falling. But you know where it is now--there, up the hill." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
"This man Crendrik--the king--he spent the whole of the following summer tracking it down," replied Elleroth. "As soon as the rains ended he went out with his priestesses or whatever they call them and worked over the whole country from Kabin to Terekenalt and from Gelt to the Telthearna. He used to be a hunter, I believe. Well, whether he was or not, he found the bear at last in some very inaccessible part of the hills and he fired the whole hillside, including two wretched villages, to force it down to the plain. Then he made it insensible with some kind of drug, hobbled it with chains--"
"Hobbled it?" interrupted Mollo. "How on earth do you hobble a bear?"
"They'd learned that no cage could hold it, so I was told, so while it was drugged they fastened its legs to a choke-chain around its neck, so that the more it kicked the more it throttled itself. Then it was dragged to Bekla on an open wheeled platform in less than two days--something like sixty miles. They had relays of men to take over from one another and never stopped at all. Even so it nearly died--didn't terribly care for the chains, you see. But it only goes to show, my dear Mollo, how much importance the Ortelgans attach to the bear and to what lengths they're prepared to go in anything that concerns it. Telthearna diving boys they may be, but they're evidently inspired to great heights by that animal."
"They call it the Power of God," said Mollo. "Are you sure it isn't?"
"My dear Mollo, what can you mean? (Let me fill up that leather thing you have there. I wonder whether they have any more of this?)"
"Well, I can't account for all that's happened in any other way. Old S'marr feels the same--he said they were meant to win. First the Beklans fail to get any sort of news of what's happened, then they go and split their army in two, then the rains break, then the bear kills Gel-Ethlin just when
he's got them beaten and no one in Bekla has the least warning until the Ortelgans are down on them--are you really saying that all that's mere coincidence?"
"Yes, I am," replied Elleroth, dropping his whimsical manner and leaning over to look straight into Mollo's face. "An over-civilized people grow complacent and careless and leave the door open for a tribe of fanatical savages, through a mixture of luck, treachery and the foulest inhumanity, to usurp their place for a few years."
"A few years? It's five years already."
"Five years are a few years. Are they secure? You know they're not. They're opposed by a brilliant general, with a base as near as Ikat. The Beklan empire is reduced to half of what it was. The southern provinces have seceded--Yelda, Belishba, arguably Lapan. Paltesh would like to secede and daren't. Deelguy and Terekenalt are both enemies, so far as they can spare time from their own troubles. The Ortelgans could be overthrown this summer. That Crendrik--he'll end in Zeray, you mark my words."
"They're reasonably prosperous--there's plenty of trade still in Bekla."
"Trade? Yes, what sort of trade, I wonder? And you've only to look around you to see how badly even a place like this is affected. What used to bring more prosperity to Bekla than anything else? Building, masonry, carving--all that sort of craftsmanship. That trade is ruined. There's no labor, the big craftsmen have quietly gone elsewhere and these barbarians know nothing of such work. As for the outer provinces and the neighboring kingdoms, it's only a very occasional patron who sends to Bekla now. Plenty of trade? What sort of trade, Mollo?"
"Well, the iron comes in from Gelt, and the cattle--"
"What sort of trade, Mollo?"
"The slave trade, is that what you're getting at? Well, but there's slave trading everywhere. People who lose wars get taken prisoner--"
"You and I fought together once to keep it at that. These men are desperate for trade to pay for their war and feed the subject peoples they're holding down--desperate for any sort of trade. So it's no longer kept at that. What sort of trade, Mollo?"
"The children, is that what you're getting at? Well, if you want my opinion--"