The 22 Letters (11 page)

“May I ask what it is that troubles you?” asked Nun at last. “Here you are, at the end of your long journey over desert and sea, with all the comforts of civilization. You should be thankful and enjoy yourself.”

The Chaldean smiled faintly. “I fear I must be a poor companion to you, my young friend,” he said. “But it is all very well for you. This is indeed as far as you need go, and you deserve to enjoy the fruits of the land after your responsibilities at sea. But for me the traveling is nothing. The mission is all, and that is not completed. I have learned what I came to learn. But now I must deliver my warning to the world, if the world will listen. For, my friend, it is a thing of such terrible import that it concerns the ears of kings and rulers. And tomorrow I must seek the ear of King Minos.”

At these words Nun felt a great emptiness in his stomach in spite of the good food and wine.

“What is this thing, then, which concerns the ear of Minos?” he asked.

The sage paused before he replied. “I cannot tell you, my friend, because I do not yet know myself.” Then, seeing Nun's mystified expression he stood up and gave him another faint smile. “I have one more appointment with the stars before dawn tomorrow. So if you will forgive me I shall now go to bed.”

And at that, Nun decided that he was too tired after all his nights at sea to puzzle any more about his strange passenger, so they went to their separate bedrooms, and Nun, free of all his captain's responsibilities, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Next morning they were traveling along the road that wound through the valleys between Amnisos and Knossos. Nun had been glad enough to accept the hospitality of the guest house for important travelers the night before, although he had not intended to go on to Knossos with the Chaldean. But in the morning the Cretan officials had politely ushered him toward the gaily decorated chariot that waited by the door. He had begun to argue, the officials had become firmer, and at last he had decided that he might as well go. In fact, he was not sure whether he had any choice—he wished he could feel certain that he was an honored guest and not a prisoner. He still felt that kings were not his business, but if a king wanted to look at him, it was at least a chance for him to look at a king. And it was a change, he told himself, to see a little of the interior of a country. He spent his time between one seaport and another, and each one was not much different from the next.

The road was full of traffic. There were slow ass-trains bringing panniers of produce from inland; even slower ox-wagons with loads of timber from the port; a column of marching soldiers with narrow-waisted shields; and one or two fast chariots driven in dashing style by athletic army officers who cursed angrily at any slower vehicle that got in their way. Their own chariot proceeded uphill at a moderate pace, and Nun, now a mere passenger, had nothing to do but stand and look around him. He tried sitting on the edge of the chariot but the jolting made it too uncomfortable at the pace they were going. He found it was necessary to brace himself against the swaying of the chariot with his legs, and this was not so different from being at sea; but he also had to keep his knees a little bent to take up the shocks caused by the bumps and potholes in the road. He understood now why chariots did not have seats.

They had just come round a corner on a rather narrow length of road when the driver let out an oath. There appeared to be some kind of procession ahead. Nun could make out a column of soldiers, a group of musicians with drums and flutes and cymbals, and a large vehicle that advanced at a snail's pace, if it moved at all. The driver caught up with it and shouted to the soldiers at the tail end to let them through. Nun could tell by the tone of his voice that he, too, thought that his vehicle was of sufficient importance to be given the right of way. But a sergeant of some sort stepped out of the ranks and shouted back at him, and their driver slowed up his horses and fell in behind the procession, still muttering impatiently under his breath.

“What do you think it is?” Nun asked the Chaldean. “The train of a prince?” But the Chaldean did not even shrug. This morning he seemed too wrapped up in himself to be interested in his surroundings.

After they had crawled on at this rate for a mile or so, the road widened, and the charioteer pulled out again to overtake. The sergeant cursed him again, the driver swore back, apparently insisting on his urgent business with the palace, and, in spite of the protests of the soldier and two other officials, he whipped up his horses and began to overtake them on the other side of the road. There was barely room for the chariot to get past the big cart which seemed to be the most important thing in the procession, and as they drew up to it Nun was surprised to see that it was no luxurious conveyance for a prince or for the image of a god, but a great wooden cage on wheels, drawn by six slow oxen. And from the cage there glared at them as they passed a great animal with wide curving horns—a bull.

“It seems that in this country the men walk while the bulls ride,” Nun quipped to the Chaldean. But the sage did not even smile.

They got clear of the procession and bowled along at a fair speed, but it was not long before they had to stop again at a military post where a bored-looking officer interrogated the driver and looked suspiciously at the passengers. A heated argument followed, both of them waving and glaring toward the strange figure of the Chaldean, until he put an end to it by calmly reaching into his wallet for the baked brick with the lion and bull image. This he showed to the officer without speaking a word and immediately the officer's expression changed; he saluted respectfully and waved the chariot on. There were two more checkpoints, and each time the same thing happened and the magical brick had the same effect.

And then, round a bend in the road, they came in sight of Knossos. Set in a hollow in the hills, surrounded by terraces of vines and olive trees, it looked like one vast building of golden stone, rising in square-cut steps of parade grounds and shaded colonnades. Along the edges of the flat roofs on every building were horns, the curved stone symbols of the city of the Bull. No fortification surrounded Knossos, but when Nun remembered the number of times he had been stopped and questioned since making his landfall in Crete, he realized that no enemy was likely to take the place by surprise.

They drove up to the great entrance gate. Sentries stopped them. They drove on to a guard room. The brick seal was produced once again and a respectful chamberlain was summoned to escort them up the ceremonial way to the palace on foot. And it seemed that the whole palace had turned out to greet them!

Down the slope of the ceremonial way streamed a motley crowd; swaggering young noblemen with broad bare shoulders and slim waists, a file of black soldiers advancing at the double, led by a Cretan lieutenant, children of all ages running in circles; but it was the women Nun found himself staring at. He had never seen such elaborate coiffures of curled black hair, such boldly outlined eyes and reddened lips, such frilled and flounced skirts and a lot of unveiled body. He felt his eyes popping, and a feeling of panic as these creatures came toward him—but then he realized that nobody was paying him any attention at all. The whole crowd swept past, with one or two questioning glances perhaps at the bearded Chaldean, the men and women chattering excitedly like birds in high-pitched voices, as they began to congregate in an undisciplined but high-spirited throng round the main gate at the bottom of the slope. Nun and his party turned to see what it was that attracted them. There was a lot of pointing and craning of necks toward the road along which they had arrived. Then a cheer went up and more excited waving, and Nun could see that round the corner of the road had appeared the procession which they had overtaken. It was the bull that the inhabitants of the palace had turned out to greet, not the Chaldean philosopher—and certainly not the obscure Giblite captain. Nun suddenly felt resentful that those girls had not even looked at him.

“Why the excitement over the bull?” Nun asked the chamberlain, without pausing to think that he might not even understand his language. But it seemed that the official had a knowledge of the Giblite tongue.

“Ah, yes, the bull,” said the chamberlain. “They make him welcome. He comes to live in the palace.”

“I see,” said Nun. “I hope I don't have to share a bed with him!”

“No, no, my friend!” said the chamberlain hastily, but without a smile. He seemed a worried little man, not like the light-hearted crowd of courtiers they had just seen. “We have rooms for everybody. His Reverence from Chaldea will lodge in the quarters of the priests. The bull will be accommodated with the other bulls. And you, my friend,” he dropped his voice to a rather embarrassed murmur, “you are I understand His Reverence's—er, valet?” He quickly caught Nun's expression of annoyance at being called the Chaldean's servant and hurriedly went on, “That is to say—er—secretary? Private secretary?” Nun was amused to see the little man looking at his sunburned features and hardened hands, and trying to make up his mind just what he was doing here.

The Chaldean had overheard and came to his rescue. “This young Giblite gentleman is here as my friend,” he said with some dignity. “He is neither a servant nor a scribe.”

The little man looked even more worried. “Of course, Your Reverence. A thousand apologies! You will understand that the palace is rather crowded at this season. The bulls, you know. And we have strict instructions that everybody must be accommodated according to his category. You will forgive me, but we have no schedule for—er—
friends.
”

The Chaldean gave him a straight look. “So much the worse for King Minos,” he said, “if he has no place for friends.” The little chamberlain turned pale, looked hurriedly over each shoulder, and his hair seemed to stand on end at this disrespectful reference to the King. The Chaldean continued, “Surely you have somewhere you can lodge a young foreign visitor?”

And suddenly the chamberlain's face cleared, and he broke into a smile. “But of course!” he beamed. “Pray excuse my obtuseness! How remiss of me not to understand! Your friend is a Young Foreign Visitor. I shall be delighted to give him accommodation with the other Young Foreign Visitors,” and he bowed and led the way fussily along the echoing stone corridors.

“That's all right, then,” said Nun, and he and the Chaldean exchanged a brief glance of amused incomprehension at the working of the palace official's mind. They went up steps and along more corridors, lit only by tall shafts to a roof far above, and they passed on either hand more gloomy passages leading to cellars and storerooms. Nun began to long already for the open air of his own poopdeck and the wide sea horizon. How he would hate to spend his days in the depths of this vast mass of masonry!

They came out again into the daylight of a little sunken courtyard, and the chamberlain peeped into a little office where some pages were lying around playing dice and said something sharply to one of them. “The page will conduct you to your quarters, Honorable Young Foreign Visitor from Gebal, while I escort His Reverence to the house of priests. Farewell, and good luck!” But Nun was at a loss to understand the mixture of respect and gloating mockery which seemed to make up his smile.

The Chaldean took him aside by the arm. “Good-bye, my young friend and benefactor. I trust I may once again call on your help to carry me back to your country. But stay, before we part! I am not happy to leave you alone in this great palace. I have my talisman, as you have seen, the message from my King and the imprint of the lion and the bull. You have no pass, but take this! It may help you if things become difficult.” He pressed into Nun's hand a small, hard object, then they went their separate ways. As he followed the strutting page down yet more gloomy corridors, Nun stole a look at the Chaldean's gift. It was a stone cylinder about the size of his middle finger joint, but it was too dark to make out the design.

After more flights of steps up and down, and many right-angled turns, they reached another open courtyard which Nun saw at once must be the quarters of the Young Foreign Visitors. Nun was very young for a sea captain, but the others seemed younger still. Some of them had fair hair and pale skins, some were dark and swarthy, and all of them seemed to hang together in groups according to their various colorings and the languages in which they chatted. Those who were not lying in the sun were engaged in some sort of physical exercise. Some were wrestling, some swinging heavy weights, and some groups were forming human pyramids. But the most common exercise seemed to be some form of handstand or handspring, and the biggest group of all were taking it in turns to do forward springs over a sort of vaulting-horse. But no, it was not a horse—whoever saw a horse with horns? The block over which these young men were springing was fitted with broad curving horns, just like those of the bull he had seen in the cage.

It was a scene of great activity, yet it seemed to be much less light-hearted than the tumbling Nun used to do as a boy. Nun could swing himself around the rigging of his ship with the best of his seamen, but he did not feel much inclined to join this club of grim-faced gymnasts, merely because the court of King Minos seemed to think it was the right thing for Young Foreign Visitors.

The page showed him to a small room, like a cell, with two hard beds. It was nothing like as comfortable as the guest house at Amnisos had been, but he supposed he could not be too demanding in a palace. He smiled his thanks to the page and the page grinned back and left him. Nun sat down on the bed and wondered what he was doing there, why he had come, and what to do next. Just then a young man came in, breathing heavily, and sat down on the other bed.

Nun looked curiously at his roommate. His hair was pale yellow and very straight, his eyes pale blue, and his skin seemed to vary from white to brick-red, according to how much the sun had got at it. Nun had never been so close to a man of this coloring before; he realized he was sitting and gaping at the stranger stupidly, yet no words came to him. What sort of language would such a strange creature speak, anyway? The stranger looked at Nun with rather blank blue eyes, then spoke in the Cretan tongue with an appalling accent.