only heard that morning. The evening of the feast he had not taken it very seriously—he was thinking of his sister. And the day after he had ridden away into the country to draw trees. He had found elms and limes and ashes standing on the bare plain, and he had been so fascinated by the tangles of their black arms that he had stayed there till sunset; and after that he went straight back to the forge, not to his father’s house. He still could not quite realise that Tarrik was going. All these last months he had seen very little of the Chief, but somehow the assurance that he was there had been enough. It seemed to Berris that when he had made something supreme he would show it to Tarrik and everything would be right again. In the meantime he was not sure what he was after; he had done scarcely any solid work, only sketches and a little jewellery and ironwork just to keep his hand in. Since he had found out the truth about Epigethes and the wire keys, he had gone back entirely to his own mind for form and pattern, but now, while Sphaeros had been in Marob, the Hellenic ideas had come softly back and ranged themselves before him, vague and straight and beautiful. For certainly this Sphaeros hated the house of Leonidas in Sparta, and it seemed clear to Berris that it must have been full of just the kind of things that Epigethes liked: that he had liked himself ever so long—nearly a whole year—ago. But what did Sphaeros like? He never could make out, and found it quite impossible to believe what the Stoic assured him was the truth: that these things did not appear to him sufficiently real or important to give him any very great pleasure one way or the other. Now Tarrik and Sphaeros were both going! He stood on the edge of the breakwater, watching the slaves go past with all the things the Chief was taking with him; every time a man went by it seemed as if a bit of himself were going too.
The Chief was talking to his Council now. It occurred to Berris that probably he had the loudest voice of anyone in Marob. Or was it only that he did not care how much he let himself go? The men were all on board now; the ship was only waiting for Tarrik. He was saying good-bye; they gave him the salute, knife and hand. And last, Erif.
She did not know what to say; she wanted to show him some sign. Because love is so much an affair of giving yourself away, by word, or look, or touch. But here, in the middle of this crowd—she had not even told him about the child. If she had: well, if she had he might have stayed. And she wanted him to go: out of danger. ‘Till summer,’ he said, ‘till the fine days and the warm sun, Erif!’ And questioned her with his eyes. But she could not answer. Only she put her hand up on to his breast, hurriedly, clumsily, in under his coat and there was the hard flat lump her star made below his shirt. ‘Look for me here!’ she said. ‘It will tell you—if I live or die. Tarrik, I will be faithful to you!’ He looked down at her hand, then straight at her face; he held her at arm’s length, searching, searching. She dropped her eyes. ‘Give me something!’ she said low, then, as he hesitated, not knowing what would work, she pulled the onyx-handled hunting knife out of its sheath. ‘If this clouds,’ she said, ‘you are in danger.’ She dared not say more, for fear of saying too much. They kissed each other under the eyes of the crowd, a bad, short kiss. Tarrik turned to the sea and the ship.
He saw Berris Der standing on the edge. ‘Good-bye, Berris!’ he said, holding out both hands, smiling. But to Berris it seemed quite impossible to say good-bye all in a minute; he had far too much to talk about. ‘Good luck, Berris,’ said the Chief again, ‘good luck and good-bye!’ But, ‘Oh,’ said Berris, ‘I’m coming too!’ And he jumped on to the ship and Tarrik jumped after him, shouting: ‘Cast off, cast off!’ And so they went to sea.
Erif Der fainted into the arms of two of her women. A very proper display of feeling, every one thought. When she came to, she refused to go back to the Chief’s house and her quiet room. She went instead to the Spring-field, that place of her own that she had just as the Corn King had his. It was barred now, and lightless, till winter was past, but she went in and stayed there while it was day, and came out a little happier; she had done what she could to give Tarrik a good wind and fair weather for his journey.
Harn Der was partly horrified and partly relieved at what Berris had done. It was a foolish and dangerous thing, but, on the other hand, in some ways it made their plans easier if they had not got someone with them who might suddenly change sides—Berris had been as uncertain as all that lately. As it was, he had always wanted to go to Greece, and now he was going. Artists are difficult people to have in a family. And about Erif. ‘I wonder why she fainted like that?’ said Yellow Bull thoughtfully.
‘She may be going to have a child,’ said Harn Der.
‘Essro ought to have told me.’
‘Women like their own secrets, my son. But—if she is—well, I think it must be dealt with. If Tarrik is to go, no use not doing it thoroughly.’
‘Will she mind?’ asked Yellow Bull, doubtful.
‘She married him with her eyes open. She has no business to mind. Better for her to get clear of it all. And even if she does mind, it will have to be done; she must know that as well as we do.’
‘Better not speak of it to her.’
‘If she had done what I meant and worked her magic better it would never have happened. But women are like that, even the cleverest.’
‘Yes. Father, it is a queer thing being Corn King suddenly like this. He took me to the House—. Is it strange for you too, your son being God?’
Harn Der rubbed his fingers through his beard; he had not got that sort of mind. ‘No,’ he said, ‘not very strange. I shall not feel it strange when I am Chief, either. I give Yersha about four months.’
‘Yes,’ said Yellow Bull, ‘and there will be a Council meeting tomorrow, father? I can start at once on the secret road!’
That evening Eurydice was looking at herself in the mirror; she wore the crown of Marob, and she thought she looked like a man. She felt like a man, at any rate, full of power. This was her time. And then she thought of Charmantides, and how pleasant it would be if he were to come back from Hellas this summer with a wife, some charming, modest, well-born girl, so that there should be more Greek blood in the line of the chiefs of Marob. A girl who would be a little frightened of the north, the cold and the snow and the savagery, and who would come to her aunt for protection and kindness and love. … If a messenger were sent out to assure him that Erif Der was dead. If she was really dead. It would be for every one’s good. Erif Der and her magic dead and done with.
On the ship, out of sight of land, Tarrik had supper early among his friends, with Sphaeros on one side and Berris on the other. He loved them both—and all this company of men, free and singing and his own to command! He was happy and very tired. Not long after it was full dark, he stood up and bade good night to them all, and to Berris. ‘I’m glad you came,’ he said, ‘it was you I wanted all the time. God, I am sleepy—I was doing things all last night. Take anything you want from my stores, Berris—anything. If I’m still asleep, come and wake me at sunrise. We shall be that nearer Hellas. Good night, Sphaeros, and good dreams, sleeping or waking!’
Erif Der was alone in the Chief’s house. She had all the lamps alight in her room, and the shutters open too; it was still enough for that. She sat on the edge of her bed, undressed, with a fur rug pulled round her, clutched under her chin. There was no one in the room, nothing to hurt her. But still she sat there, quite quiet, watching and listening, very white.
I had a little nut tree,
Nothing would it bear
But a silver nutmeg
And a golden pear.
The King of Spain’s daughter
Came to visit me,
And all for the sake of
My little nut tree.