Shardik, Page 3

  4 The High Baron

  IT WAS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON when the hunter, Kelderek, came at last in sight of the landmark he was seeking, a tall zoan tree some distance above the downstream point of the island. The boughs, with their silver-backed, fernlike leaves, hung down over the river, forming an enclosed, watery arbor inshore. In front of this the reeds had been cut to afford to one seated within a clear view across the strait. Kelderek, with some difficulty, steered his raft to the mouth of the channel, looked toward the zoan and raised his paddle as though in greeting. There was no response, but he expected none. Guiding the raft up to a stout post in the water, he felt down its length, found the rope running shoreward below the surface and drew himself toward land.

  Reaching the tree, he pulled the raft through the curtain of pendent branches. Inside, a short, wooden pier projected from the bank and on this a man was seated, staring out between the leaves at the river beyond. Behind him a second man sat mending a net. Four or five other rafts were moored to the hidden quay. The lookout's glance, having taken in the single ketlana and the few fish lying beside Kelderek, came to rest upon the weary, blood-smeared hunter himself.

  "So, Kelderek Play-with-the-Children. You have little to show and less than usual. Where are you hurt?"

  "The shoulder, shendron--and the arm is stiff and painful."

  "You look like a man in a stupor. Are you feverish?"

  The hunter made no reply.

  "I asked, 'Are you feverish?'"

  He shook his head.

  "What caused the wound?"

  Kelderek hesitated, then shook his head once more and remained silent.

  "You simpleton, do you suppose I am asking you for the sake of gossip? I have to learn everything--you know that. Was it a man or an animal that gave you that wound?"

  "I fell and injured myself."

  The shendron waited.

  "A leopard pursued me," added Kelderek.

  The shendron burst out impatiently, "Do you think you are telling tales now to children on the shore? Am I to keep asking, 'And what came next?' Tell me what happened. Or would you prefer to be sent to the High Baron, to say that you refused to tell?"

  Kelderek sat on the edge of the wooden pier, looking down and stirring a stick in the dark green water below. At last the shendron said, "Kelderek, I know you are considered a simple fellow, with your 'Cat Catch a Fish' and all the rest of it. Whether you are indeed so simple, I cannot tell. But whether or not, you know well enough that every hunter who goes out has to tell all he knows upon return. Those are Bel-ka-Trazet's orders. Has the fire driven a leopard to Ortelga? Did you meet with strangers? What is the state of the western end of the island? These are the things I have to learn."

  Kelderek trembled where he sat but still said nothing.

  "Why," said the net mender, speaking for the first time, "you know he's a simpleton--Kelderek Zenzuata--Kelderek Play-with-the-Children. He went hunting--he hurt himself--he's returned with little to show. Can't we leave it at that? Who wants the bother of taking him up to the High Baron?"

  The shendron, an older man, frowned. "I am not here to be trifled with. The island may be full of all manner of savage beasts--of men, too, perhaps. Why not? And this man you believe to be a simpleton--he may be deceiving us. With whom has he spoken today? And did they pay him to keep silent?"

  "But if he were deceiving us," said the net mender, "would he not come with a tale prepared? Depend upon it, he--"

  The hunter stood up, looking tensely from one to the other.

  "I am deceiving no one: but I cannot tell you what I have seen today."

  The shendron and his companion exchanged glances. In the evening quiet, a light breeze set the water clop-clopping under the platform and from somewhere inland sounded a faint call, "Yasta! The firewood!"

  "What is this?" said the shendron. "You are making difficulties for me, Kelderek, but worse--far worse--for yourself."

  "I cannot tell you what I have seen," repeated the hunter, with a kind of desperation.

  The shendron shrugged his shoulders. "Well, Taphro, since it seems there's no curing this foolishness, you'd better take him up to the Sindrad. But you are a great fool, Kelderek. The High Baron's anger is a storm that many men have failed to survive before now."

  "This I know. God's will must be done."

  The shendron shook his head. Kelderek, as though in an attempt to be reconciled with him, laid a hand on his shoulder, but the other shook it off impatiently and returned in silence to his watch over the river. Taphro, scowling now, motioned the hunter to follow him up the bank.

  The town that covered the narrow, eastern end of the island was fortified on the landward side by an intricate defensive system, part natural and part artificial, that ran from shore to shore. West of the zoan tree, on the further side from the town, four lines of pointed stakes extended from the waterside into the woods. Inland, the patches of thicker jungle formed obstacles capable of little improvement, though even here the living creepers had been pruned and trained into almost impenetrable screens, one behind another. In the more open parts thorn-bushes had been planted--trazada, curlspike and the terrible ancottlia, whose poison burns and irritates until men tear their own flesh with their nails. Steep places had been made steeper and at one point the outfall of a marsh had been dammed to form a shallow lake--shrunk at this time of year--in which small alligators, caught on the mainland, had been set free to grow and become dangerous. Along the outer edge of the line lay the so-called "Dead Belt," about eighty yards broad, which was never entered except by those whose task it was to maintain it. Here were hidden trip-ropes fastened to props holding up great logs; concealed pits filled with pointed stakes--one contained snakes; spikes in the grass; and one or two open, smooth-looking paths leading to enclosed places, into which arrows and other missiles could be poured from platforms constructed among the trees above. The Belt was divided by rough palisades, so that advancing enemies would find lateral movement difficult and discover themselves committed to emerge at points where they could be awaited. The entire line and its features blended so naturally with the surrounding jungle that a stranger, though he might, here and there, perceive that men had been at work, could form little idea of its full extent. This remarkable closure of an open flank, devised and carried out during several years by the High Baron, Bel-ka-Trazet, had never yet been put to the proof. But, as Bel-ka-Trazet himself had perhaps foreseen, the labor of making it and the knowledge that it was there had created among the Ortelgans a sense of confidence and security that was probably worth as much as the works themselves. The line not only protected the town but made it a great deal harder for anyone to leave it without the High Baron's knowledge.

  Kelderek and Taphro, turning their backs on the Belt, made their way toward the town along a narrow path between the hemp fields. Here and there women were carrying up water from among the reeds, or manuring ground already harvested and gleaned. At this hour there were few workers, however, for it was nearly supper time. Not far away, beyond the trees, threads of smoke were curling into the evening sky and with them, from somewhere on the edge of the huts, rose the song of a woman:

  He came, he came by night.

  I wore red flowers in my hair.

  I have left my lamp alight, my lamp is burning.

  Senandril na kora, senandril na ro.

  There was an undisguised warmth and satisfaction in the voice. Kelderek glanced at Taphro, jerked his head in the direction of the song and smiled.

  "Aren't you afraid?" asked Taphro in a surly tone.

  The grave, preoccupied look returned to Kelderek's eyes.

  "To go before the High Baron and say that you persisted in refusing to tell the shendron what you know? You must be mad! Why be such a fool?"

  "Because this is no matter for concealment or lying. God--" he broke off.

  Taphro made no reply, but merely held out his hand for Kelderek's weapons--knife and bow. The hunter handed them to him without a
word.

  They came to the first huts, with their cooking, smoke and refuse smells. Men were returning from the day's work and women, standing at their doors, were calling to children or gossiping with neighbors. Though one or two looked curiously at Kelderek trudging acquiescently beside the shendron's messenger, none spoke to him or called out to ask where they were going. Suddenly a child, a boy perhaps seven or eight years old, ran up and took his hand. The hunter stopped.

  "Kelderek," asked the child, "are you coming to play this evening?"

  Kelderek hesitated. "Why--I can't say. No, Sarin, I don't think I shall be able to come this evening."

  "Why not?" said the child, plainly disappointed. "You've hurt your shoulder--is that it?"

  "There's something I've got to go and tell the High Baron," replied Kelderek simply.

  Another, older boy, who had joined them, burst out laughing. "And I have to see the Lord of Bekla before dawn--a matter of life and death. Kelderek, don't tease us. Don't you want to play tonight?"

  "Come on, can't you?" said Taphro impatiently, shuffling his feet in the dust.

  "No, it's the truth," said Kelderek, ignoring him. "I'm on my way to see the High Baron. But I'll be back: either tonight or--well, another night, I suppose."

  He turned away, but the boys trotted beside him as he walked on.

  "We were playing this afternoon," said the little boy. We were playing 'Cat Catch a Fish.' I got the fish home twice."

  "Well done!" said the hunter, smiling down at him.

  "Be off with you!" cried Taphro, making as though to strike at them. "Come on--get out! You great dunderheaded fool," he added to Kelderek, as the boys ran off. "Playing games with children at your age!"

  "Good night!" called Kelderek after them. "The good night you pray for--who knows?"

  They waved to him and were gone among the smoky huts. A man passing by spoke to Kelderek but he made no reply, only walking on abstractedly, his eyes on the ground.

  At length, after crossing a wide area of ropewalks, the two approached a group of larger huts standing in a rough semicircle not far from the eastern point and its broken causeway. Between these, trees had been planted, and the sound of the river mingled with the evening breeze and the movement of the leaves to give a sense of refreshing coolness after the hot, dry day. Here, not only women were at work. A number of men, who seemed by their appearance and occupations to be both servants and craftsmen, were trimming arrows, sharpening stakes and repairing bows, spears and axes. A burly smith, who had just finished for the day, was climbing out of his forge in a shallow, open pit, while his two boys quenched the fire and tidied up after him.

  Kelderek stopped and turned once more to Taphro.

  "Badly aimed arrows can wound innocent men. There's no need for you to be hinting and gossiping about me to these fellows."

  "Why should you care?"

  "I don't want them to know I'm keeping a secret," said Kelderek.

  Taphro nodded curtly and went up to a man who was cleaning a grindstone, the water flying off in a spiral as he spun the wheel.

  "Sheldron's messenger. Where is Bel-ka Trazet?"

  "He? Eating." The man jerked his thumb toward the largest of the huts.

  "I have to speak to him."

  "If it'll wait," replied the man, "you'd do better to wait. Ask Numiss--the red-haired fellow--when he comes out. He'll let you know when Bel-ka-Trazet's ready."

  Neolithic man, the bearded Assyrian, the wise Greeks, the howling Vikings, the Tartars, the Aztecs, the samurai, the cavaliers, the anthropophagi and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders: there is one thing at least that all have in common--waiting until someone of importance has been ready to see them. Numiss, chewing a piece of fat as he listened to Taphro, cut him short, pointing him and Kelderek to a bench against the wall. There they sat. The sun sank until its rim touched the horizon upstream. The flies buzzed. Most of the craftsmen went away. Taphro dozed. The place became almost deserted, until the only sound above that of the water was the murmur of voices from inside the big hut. At last Numiss came out and shook Taphro by the shoulder. The two rose and followed the servant through the door, on which was painted Bel-ka-Trazet's emblem, a golden snake.

  The hut was divided into two parts. At the back were Bel-ka-Trazet's private quarters. The larger part, known as the Sindrad, served as both council chamber and mess hall for the barons. Except when a full council was summoned, it was seldom that all the barons were assembled at once. There were continual journeys to the mainland for hunting expeditions and trade, for the island had no iron or other metal except what could be imported from the Gelt Mountains in exchange for skins, feathers, semiprecious stones and such artifacts as arrows and rope--whatever, in fact, had any exchange value. Apart from the barons and those who attended upon them, all hunters and traders had to obtain leave to come and go. The barons, as often as they returned, were required to report their news like anyone else and while living on the island usually ate the evening meal with Bel-ka-Trazet in the Sindrad.

  Some five or six faces turned toward Taphro and Kelderek as they entered. The meal was over and a debris of bones, rinds and skins littered the floor. A boy was collecting this refuse into a basket, while another sprinkled fresh sand. Four of the barons were still sitting on the benches, holding their drinking horns and leaning their elbows on the table. Two, however, stood apart near the doorway--evidently to get the last of the daylight, for they were talking in low tones over an abacus of beads and a piece of smooth bark covered with writing. This seemed to be some kind of list or inventory, for as Kelderek passed, one of the two barons, looking at it, said, "No, twenty-five ropes, no more," whereupon the other moved back a bead with his forefinger and replied, "And you have twenty-five ropes fit to go, have you?"

  Kelderek and Taphro came to a stop before a young, very tall man with a silver torque on his left arm. When they entered he had had his back to the door, but now he turned to look at them, holding his horn in one hand and sitting somewhat unsteadily on the table with his feet on the bench below. He looked Kelderek up and down with a bland smile but said nothing. Confused, Kelderek lowered his eyes. The young baron's silence continued, and the hunter, by way of keeping himself in countenance, tried to fix his attention on the great table, which he had heard described but never before seen. It was old, carved with a craftsmanship beyond the skill of any carpenter or woodworker now alive on Ortelga. Each of the eight legs was pyramidal in shape, its steeply tapering sides forming a series of steps or ledges, one above another to the apex. The two corners of the board that he could see had the likeness of bears' heads, snarling, with open jaws and muzzles thrust forward. They were most lifelike. Kelderek trembled and looked quickly up again.

  "And what ekshtra work you come give us?" asked the young baron cheerfully. "Want fellows repair causeway, zattit?"

  "No, my lord," said Numiss in a low voice. "This is the man who refused to tell his news to the shendron."

  "Eh?" asked the young baron, emptying his horn and beckoning to a boy to refill it. "Man with shensh, then. No ushe talking shendrons. Shtupid fellowsh. All shendrons shtupid fellowsh, eh?" he said to Kelderek.

  "My lord," replied Kelderek, "believe me, I have nothing against the shendron, but--but the matter--"

  "Can you read?" interrupted the young baron.

  "Read? No, my lord."

  "Neither c'n I. Look at old Fassel-Hasta there. What's he reading? Who knows? You watch out, he'll bewitch you."

  The baron with the piece of bark turned with a frown and stared at the young man, as much as to say that he at any rate was not one to act the fool in his cups.

  "I'll tell you," said the young baron, sliding forward from the table and landing with a jolt on the bench, "all 'bout writing--one word--"

  "Ta-Kominion," called a harsh voice from the further room, "I want to speak with those men. Zelda, bring them."

  Another baron rose from the bench opposite, beckoning to Kelderek an
d Taphro. They followed him out of the Sindrad and into the room beyond, where the High Baron was sitting alone. Both, in token of submission and respect, bent their heads, raised the palms of their hands to their brows, lowered their eyes and waited.

  Kelderek, who had never previously come before Bel-ka-Trazet, had been trying to prepare himself for the moment when he would have to do so. To confront him was in itself an ordeal, for the High Baron was sickeningly disfigured. His face--if face it could still be called--looked as though it had once been melted and left to set again. Below the white-seamed forehead the left eye, askew and fallen horribly down the cheek, was half-buried under a great, humped ridge of flesh running from the bridge of the nose to the neck. The jaw was twisted to the right, so that the lips closed crookedly, while across the chin stretched a livid scar, in shape roughly resembling a hammer. Such expression as there was upon this terrible mask was sardonic, penetrating, proud and detached--that of a man indestructible, a man to survive treachery, siege, desert and flood.

  The High Baron, seated on a round stool like a drum, stared up at the hunter. In spite of the heat he was wearing a heavy fur cloak, fastened at the neck with a brass chain, so that his ghastly head resembled that of an enemy severed and fixed on top of a black tent. For some moments there was silence--a silence like a drawn bowstring. Then Bel-ka-Trazet said, "What is your name?"

  His voice, too, was distorted--harsh and low, with an odd ring, like the sound of a stone bounding over a sheet of ice.

  "Kelderek, my lord."

  "Why are you here?"

  "The shendron at the zoan sent me."

  "That I know. Why did he send you?"

  "Because I did not think it right to tell him what befell me today."

  "Why does your shendron waste my time?" said Bel-ka-Trazet to Taphro. "Could he not make this man speak? Are you telling me he defied you both?"

  "He--the hunter--this man, my lord," stammered Taphro. "He told us--that is, he would not tell us. The shendron--he asked him about--about his injury. He replied that a leopard pursued him, but he would tell us no more. When we demanded to know, he said he could tell us nothing."