go to you and your magic.’
‘Help?’ said Essro, trembling, trying to go away, and yet always gentle.
‘Yes,’ said Erif, ‘help. A secret road.’
Tarrik sat about, sleepy and strong, while his men dressed him; every now and then he stretched himself largely and yawned, with the colour-stitched white linen of the shirt loose round his neck and wrists. Then they had to stop and stand aside till he was ready, one holding his boots, another with fur coats over his arm for the Chief to choose from if he liked, spotless soft fox and deer pelts, with clean linings of scarlet or black. Tarrik took one at random, knowing they all suited him. He was rather angry with Erif for not being there when he woke; he wanted to talk to her about his plans—if she was in a mood for talk. Even with Sphaeros to advise him—and, now he remembered it, how little positive advice Sphaeros ever gave!—he had been unable to make up his mind about which course was the wisest. He was somehow afraid that if he went it would be merely a flight from uncertainty: Harn Der, and Plowing Eve, and his wife. Suddenly, without noticing how un-Stoic he was being, he made up his mind that he would ask Erif, and if she really wanted him to stay he would stay—because then something would be certain!
He went to the window, as he did every morning, and held out his hands eastwards to the risen sun, which, even behind clouds, as now, must know his brotherhood. Then he sent one of the men to find his Queen and ask her if she would come to him. She came at once, in a long, plainish dress of grey wool checks, and the fur of her coat bordered with heavy silver tissue. He thought it made her look old till he saw how wonderfully glossy her plaits were, hanging over it, and how clear her pale skin showed above the tight, round neck of the dress. ‘Erif,’ he said, ‘I thought of going to Greece with Sphaeros.’ She nodded, facing the fact but not his eyes. ‘I want to see the King of Sparta,’ he went on, ‘and learn if there are not other ways of ruling besides mine.’ He took her hands and pulled her gently down till she was sitting on his knee; she put her arms round his neck and hid her face in the hollow of his shoulder.
‘You mean to go—soon?’ she asked, sorting out her words so as to get no trace of feeling into them.
He tried to look at her face, but she clung tight, with hard wrists and fingers and her forehead butting into him. ‘Quite soon,’ he said, ‘if I do go. Erif—shall I?’
She felt his live, powerful heart-beats under her cheek as she lay against him; for a moment she could not bear to separate herself from them. Tarrik was almost sure he would not have to go, and was glad. He put his arms right round her, for his, for certainty. His lips bent to her round, soft head, the baby hairs at the back of her neck that would not stay in any plait. She did not move; only she said: ‘Yes, you should go.’
The voice was very soft, and yet so clear that he was quite sure he had heard right. He tried once more. ‘Erif, do you want me to go?’
It was she who was startled now; she had not thought there was all this on his side of it; he almost got the no out of her. But at last she said: ‘Yes, Tarrik.’ Then she went quite still again, afraid of the time when his arms must loosen and let her go.
This being so, Tarrik said he would go the next day. He stirred himself and every one else to prodigious energy. They swirled round Erif in a sea of life and action. She was just left in the middle of it, half dead and small and useless. Tarrik summoned the Council. He seemed mad enough now to justify them all. ‘My aunt is to have the power of the Chief,’ he said, and Eurydice came in and stood beside him, stiff and tall and smiling thinly; she gave almost every man in the Council the feeling that she was his aunt too. Harn Der was not badly pleased; this would not be too difficult to deal with. He could not think that there was anyone nowadays who would not rather have him as Chief than Eurydice. But who was to be Corn King? Till he knew that, Harn Der was not prepared to say anything. Tarrik was speaking of what had to be done while he was away, urging the Council to look on his aunt as himself, advise her well and obey her orders, remembering that he himself would be back by midsummer. At last he ended: ‘As to the Corn King. I lend my godhead to Yellow Bull, son of Harn Der. Let him come to me and take what I give him an hour before dawn tomorrow. And I give him full leave to take a tenth of men and money from Marob for the secret road. And I warn him to do this soon.’
For a moment this was too much to believe. Harn Der and Yellow Bull and their friends could not help staring at one another before the shouting started; it seemed impossible to be so favoured. Tarrik put his hand on to his shirt over Erif’s star, and looked at them all with a very clear vision. Then he smiled and sat down. It suddenly occurred to Harn Der that perhaps this was all Erif’s doing, and for the first time for weeks he was pleased with his daughter.
Tarrik did not even go to bed that night. Erif Der lay alone, waiting for him; after about three hours she fell asleep. But he was not in the house at all: he was in his other house, at the far end of Marob, where he was no more Chief, but Corn King and god. It had been cold going there, and very dark, with a few snowflakes falling out of nothing. Inside it was still cold, but airless, choking under the low stone roof. He took his own clothes off, as he had to, chewing bitter berries all the time, and put on the long, red robes, straight from neck to ankles; the stuff was damp and harsh against his skin. He shivered and put on the head-dress and mask, dark polished squares of jet and carbuncle and onyx, the blood-red coral, the upright corn ears, the Single Eye on his forehead. He went into the inner place; the guardian, an old, old woman, crouched in a corner. He stood over her and passed his hand three or four times in front of her face; she slept.
Tarrik took another mouthful of berries, and lighted the lamp over the stone. He did not much like what he was going to do; but it was only till midsummer, and besides he was a pupil of Sphaeros. He tried to think of it all in Greek, but there were no words for half of it. At any rate, this would be Yellow Bull’s pay at Plowing Eve. He took down the Plowshare, blew on it, and wrote in the mist his breath had made. He did the same thing with the Cup and the Sieve, and he undid certain very important knots in the Basket. Last of all he took off his head-dress, and ran a tiny nail into it, so that it would just scratch the ear of the next wearer. He took great care not to touch the point of the nail himself. When that was done, he took off the red robes and got into his own clothes again; it had all taken a long time, and they were cold like a deserted nest.
The next two hours he spent with his head-men at the real, the Chief’s house; they were making him up bales and chests of precious things to take with him. He would come to Hellas as a Power! There were twenty he had bidden make ready to come with him, young men, strong and faithful, all free and of the noble blood of Marob. He gave them everything they wanted, armour and money and fine clothes. They were all sad at leaving their horses. But it was not to be for long. When he came back, he would know how to be a real, Stoic king.
Yellow Bull came as he had been told, an hour before dawn. He and Tarrik went together the way the Chief had already been. They talked about the secret road and how much could be done on it, even in winter. ‘I will make a good road, Chief, I swear I will!’ said Yellow Bull. ‘Yes,’ said Tarrik gently, ‘I am sure of you.’ They were close to the other place now; in a few houses people were stirring; they could see a sudden line of light behind the shutters, the first thin fighting against the night. Yellow Bull suddenly found his eyes full of tears. ‘Nobody else believed in my road,’ he said, ‘and now—’ But Tarrik laid a hand on his arm, and there they were at the door.
Half the town was down at the harbour next morning, with much lamentation. Many of them had brought presents for the Chief to take with him. He had very wisely decided that it would be better to go in the trader rather than in his own state ship, which was much faster and very beautiful, but would not stand continuous bad weather. He walked quickly, with one arm across Sphaeros’ shoulders; they both wore long fur coats and thick boots. The Chief had left his crown for Eurydice, and he was bare-headed, but had a fur hood to put on later if he wanted it. He and his men were all in a bunch together, full of movement and life and warmth under their heavy coats. The Spring Queen and her women came separately from the great door, chill and downcast, to say good-bye. And the Council, with Berris Der and a few others, waited on the breakwater for the Chief to pass. There was not wind enough to sail by, but the rowers were ready; the sky