The 22 Letters (15 page)

Zayin had been prepared for a rough ride, but he was amazed at the comfort of going at a flat gallop. He whooped and sang to himself and to the horse, which pricked up its ears, laid them back again determinedly, and hurtled on over the plain. He looked back and saw figures far behind him in pursuit. He whooped and flourished his whip, but did not need to use it. He looked ahead, saw the dry gully of a stream and had no time to wonder what the horse would do before they were sailing through the air. He lurched as the horse landed, but stayed on and his mount continued at renewed speed. When he had recovered his seat he looked round again. There was no sign of the pursuit. Already they must have called it off. Apart from revenge for the trick played on them, what were they losing after all? A troublesome slave and an uncontrollable horse. He did not think they would go to great lengths to recapture him. He was on his own. Except for the horse.

The next part of his escape Zayin had not been able to plan. Presumably even this animal could not go on for ever, but when it would stop and what it would do then he had no idea. In the meantime he was happy to go on and on, adding up the leagues between himself and the camp. The surprising thing was that the horse was not even showing signs of fatigue. It seemed to have only one pace—flat out. Two paces, perhaps, thought Zayin—flat out and stop. So look out for the stop, he told himself, it might be sudden.

That thought probably saved Zayin. He was determined not to part company with his mount. He did not waste time trying to control it, but concentrated on staying on. And so when the stop did come suddenly, he was prepared for it. The animal all at once put out its forelegs and slid on its hocks to a halt. Zayin lurched forward on to its neck, but clung on. The horse stood there, breathing in great gasps, turned its head, and looked at him rather foolishly.

“Yes, my friend, I'm still here,” said Zayin.

The horse stood there, gradually getting its breath back, but not moving a limb for what seemed a long, long time.

“Take your time, boy,” said Zayin, “I've nothing else to do either.” He sat there, waiting for the horse's next move, still prepared for something sudden. He had seen all that horses could do when they were untrained—buck-jumping and rearing and twisting. But this horse seemed to have no such tricks.

And all of a sudden they were off again. From a dead stop the horse seemed to spring into full gallop, but Zayin kept his seat and the horse kept the pace at which he had started in the morning. Zayin had no idea of how long they had been traveling, but he felt as if they had already covered half the weary march between Gebal and the Valley of the Horses. All the same, he doubted if any animal could keep up this pace all the way to Gebal. For now Zayin was determined to bring the animal back home—or rather that it should bring him back. But he was beginning to be afraid that it might run itself to death before they ever got there.

They were still traveling along flat, level ground, but the plain seemed to be closing in again to form a river valley, and there seemed to be mountains ahead. Zayin began to worry what would happen if they met rough country, rocks and gorges perhaps. This animal was no sure-footed mountain goat. And he nearly paid the penalty for not concentrating, for the horse once again came to a sudden slithering stop. Zayin lurched forward again, slid over the animal's neck, and this time slipped to the ground. But he landed on his feet and stood there, firmly holding the reins.

“Well,” said Zayin to the horse. “We have traveled far, you and I, thanks mainly to you! And I am free, but you, I fear, are not. We shall keep together, and we shall go the way
I
wish. Come, let's drink on it!” And he led the horse toward the river, the animal following docilely.

Nearby a shallow stream rippled over a stony bed, surrounded by trees and rocks. They both drank thirstily; then Zayin carefully hobbled the horse, putting a short length of hide rope between its forelegs so that it could take short steps among the rich herbage of the riverbank, but could not run away. Lastly he sat down under an overhanging rock, took some food from his bag, and ate.

By the sun, the time was well on into the afternoon. Although he did not know where he was, he felt he had traveled far enough for that day. He lay on his back and watched the branches against the blue sky. A flock of birds flew overhead, very high. Pigeons! He thought of the birds his little sister fed, and wondered if they flew as far afield as this. Then in the hot afternoon he fell asleep.

When he awoke he took the bow which he had brought with him from the camp, and wandered around the riverbanks looking for something to shoot. But there were only some small birds, and he was not going to waste his few arrows on such difficult targets. Instead, he found some wild berries, refreshed himself with them, and took a little more food from his bag as an evening meal. How he envied the horse for being able to find fresh food growing in any place where herbage grew. It was a better soldier than he, living off the land as it did. Then, making himself comfortable under a rock for the night, he shut his eyes and went to sleep again. But in the cold of the night, and without any covering, he did not rest very well.

Next morning he washed and breakfasted and went to catch the horse, which he did without much difficulty. The horse, at least, looked refreshed and full of energy again. Zayin bridled it, took off the hobbles, and stood holding it in doubt. For a moment he wished that he had stolen an animal that was better trained for his journey. Would this mad creature set off at a blind gallop again as soon as he was on its back, and possibly break a limb among the rocks or hurl them both over a chasm? Would it even head back to the open plains from which they had come the day before? Ahead, the valley became narrower, and the way more and more broken. Zayin decided to lead the animal through the valley. A horse with no medium paces was all very well for a dramatic breakaway, but it was not to be trusted over rough country. Yet he wondered if he was not being faint-hearted.

They made some progress in this way during the forenoon, along the banks of the river. As usual, the horse behaved itself perfectly when led, but Zayin felt vexed and frustrated at having to walk. So when they came to a meadow entirely surrounded by steep rocky slopes, with no horizon to run for, he decided that this might be the place for a little schooling. Zayin led the horse to the middle of the grassy space and got on its back. Its head went up, and it looked around, snorting and quivering. Then, seeing no outlet, the bay simply stood still and tried to graze. When Zayin struck it smartly with his whip it started jerking backward. A simple forward walk or trot was what this horse found impossible. Zayin dismounted, cursing, and once more led the animal on foot.

So for two or three days they traveled along the valley through which the river descended from the high inland plain. Every day Zayin asked himself why he burdened his existence with this animal. All it did was carry his food bag, and that was nearly empty, though he rationed himself strictly. The horse, of course, gorging itself on lush grass every night, grew fatter. But still, it was some kind of company on the march.

Then on the third day they came to a place where the valley bottom suddenly broadened out again, and when they skirted round a low hill there was nothing but flat land between them and the horizon. A dead straight, deep blue horizon—the sea!

Zayin and the horse both lifted up their heads and sniffed the air—Zayin because he was back on the coast after all these weeks, the horse because it was free of the hemming-in mountains. Zayin suspected that it might never have seen the sea.

Zayin smiled. “Horse,” he said, “I shall call you Horizon, because that is what you always aim at. Horizon, here we come!”

He leapt on Horizon's back, the horse threw up his head, looked at the far distance, and bunching his muscles shot off like an arrow from a bow, with Zayin clinging with his legs and waving his arms and hallooing. Down the last grassy foothills of the mountains they galloped, across the coastal flatland, bursting through clumps of reeds and sending flights of duck flapping madly into the air, between dunes of white sand, and on to the firm level beach. And then Horizon, feeling nothing but space around him, put on a burst of even greater speed and headed for the flat calm sea. There was barely a ripple on the surface, and to Horizon it must have seemed merely a vast blue plain with no obstacles to his headlong progress.

The salt water splashed up in showers that drenched them both all over. The horse's movements, for the first time, became hesitant and doubtful, and then they were moving slowly forward, breast-high in the warm water.

“Well, Horizon, my friend,” laughed Zayin. “What are we stopping for? Are you letting a little water damp your spirits? There's nothing between us and the Isle of Cyprus, so they say. Except water!”

But the plains-bred horse was baffled and bewildered, and completely out of his element. For the first time ever, he felt that the rider was master of the situation, and obeyed the control of the reins. Zayin turned his head south, for somewhere there lay Gebal, but he kept the horse in the breast-deep water, and Horizon, cured at last of his longing for far distances, proceeded calmly along at a gentle walk. Zayin even found that, between land and water, he could urge his steed to a trot and canter, and ease him back to a walk again. So he kept him at it, and they continued southward at a fair rate of progress, and Horizon's education progressed at the same time.

That afternoon Zayin saw houses ahead on the coast, and he reined the horse to a halt. Where were they? It could not be Gebal yet, and if it was not it must be another of the coastal cities, Ugarit perhaps, where they had no love for the Giblites. Somehow he must get round it. Inland lay mountain country which he did not know, and he could not rely on the horse in the mountains. He would have to try to slip by along the shore. One thing he was sure of, that once Horizon took to his heels no man could catch him and it would have to be a swift arrow that would overtake him.

The town ahead seemed to be of a considerable size, but there was no port and the boats were drawn up on the beach. But as he drew near he saw that he was unlucky, for the shore was crowded with people. What should he do? Turn back? If he left the sea there was no knowing what the horse might do—bolt in the wrong direction perhaps. The animal was getting excited now and less controllable: seeing the crowds perhaps made it think they were a herd of its own kind. Zayin edged it farther into the water and tried to turn back, but it would not turn. It forged ahead, half swimming from time to time. They were getting dangerously near the crowd on the beach, but Zayin could do nothing. He was near enough to see heads turned in his direction. They had been seen, and the horse was still going on. And the deep water was the one place where Horizon's speed could not save them.

Then Zayin saw the crowd stirring as if swept by the wind. All the faces were turned toward him—except for some that were already turned in flight. He heard cries of alarm, and the shrieks of women. Many of the people on the shore were now running headlong toward the town, others, too old or too overcome by the panic, were groveling in the sand. A white bull, probably a sacrificial animal, had broken loose and was cantering around among the fleeing people. What had caused this rout?

Then it occurred to him to think what he must look like, emerging from the waves like an unknown monster. He was a sea-god, visiting the scene of sacrifice! He waved cheerfully to the few who were left on the beach and had the courage to raise their heads. “Sorry I can't stop, my pious worshippers!” he called. “My thanks for the sacrifice!”

So Zayin rode past Ugarit in the sea, and added another legend to its annals.

That evening he frightened a family of fisher folk from their hut, and helped himself and the horse to bread and corn.

From there onward, the coast became more rocky, and on the following days he had to take to the land. But every day his confidence as a horseman grew, and every day Horizon became more accustomed to pacing carefully along stony tracks, trotting along level stretches with Zayin on his back, and stopping and turning obediently at dangerous points. The mountains were always on one side and the sea on the other, and Zayin kept the horse's head firmly turned toward the South.

And then one hot afternoon, as Zayin lay resting in a grove near the sea, a flock of pigeons settled around him, and one pure white bird alighted on his knee. Zayin gently took it in his hand. “I know you, little bird,” he said. “You come from my sister.” And he took a ring from his little finger and tied it to the bird's leg, and watched it as it took off again and flew away with its companions to the South.

7

The Bull-Dancers of Knossos

Nun, the sailor, on the island of Crete—The bull-ceremony—The Queen from Tyre, and the myth of Europa and the Bull—Information of impending attack on Gebal by the Cretan navy

It was the Day of the Bulls at Knossos. The court and the common people were gathered around the arena, the courtiers appearing indifferent and bored, the people expectantly awaiting the opening procession.

First came the bearers of jars, great colored vessels of mingled wine and water. This they sprinkled over the dancing floor, the wine to placate the Earth-Goddess, the water to stop the dust flying in the eyes and noses of the spectators.

Then came the soldiers, slim of waist, broad of shoulder, helmeted, and carrying their painted shields of bull's hide, shaped like figures of eight.

Then came pipers and drummers and trumpeters.

Then came the bearers of the golden double-bladed axes, glinting in the sun, not weapons but symbols of ancient power.

Then came the priestesses, gaily skirted, bare-breasted, dancing as they came, making with their arms the sign of the bull's horns, and in their midst the chief priestess, holding in each hand a snake, dweller in the earth, symbol of the Earth—Goddess of fertility.

Then came the young acrobats, the bull-dancers, in their groups, fair-haired, dark-haired, long-nosed, snub-nosed, all young and proud, each one confident of defying death at the horns of the bull.

Among them was Nun. He alone felt apart from the pageantry. What am I doing here, citizen of Gebal, sea captain, cedar salesman, he was thinking; what have these fripperies to do with me?

To the music of the pipes and drums the procession wound round the arena. As each section passed the royal box they turned and saluted King Minos and his Queen with upraised arms, sign of the Bull. Then they took their own seats.

Nun found himself beside the tall young man of the North. In the ring was the first team of performers. “What team is that?” Nun asked his neighbor. “Where do they come from?”

The other shrugged. “They say Ateni, Atenai, Athenis—something like that. I never heard of it. Some little town.”

The team marched to the center of the arena and then took their places in extended formation. They had danced the bull-dance before and their drill was perfect.

A trumpet sounded, a door opened, and a bull ran out into the arena and stood snorting and stamping and glaring around him.

For the first figure of the dance the bull was lured into the center of the ring of dancers and stood there, uncertain which one to attack. The dancers stood around, calling to the bull in solemn mockery, making the sign of the two uplifted arms or the two uplifted fingers, provoking him, eager for the honor of being the first to be attacked. The bull fixed his eyes on one of them and charged. This was the test—the dancer who provoked the charge had to stand his ground. Then at the last moment the dancer next to him ran across and deflected the charge to himself. Then, when the bull seemed to be gaining on the second dancer, a third would interpose and the bull would follow him. The music still played, and Nun found it difficult to believe that the bull was not deliberately joining in a formal dance, setting to a different partner in turn and threading an intricate measure in and out of the ring of men. But the sweat on the bodies of the men and of the beast was proof of the strain and exertion of what was going on in the ring. The bull had no rest as each of the team led him a dance: he was at full gallop all the time and Nun saw that he must be getting tired. But there were many occasions when his pointed horns missed brown bodies by less than inches, and the dancers' faces sometimes showed how narrow were the escapes. At last the bull came to a stop, the dancers re-formed the ring around him and held his attention until a second team came up behind them and took their places.

“Girls now!” grunted the fair young man, and Nun realized that the next team consisted of maidens, with flowing, bright-colored scarves over their shoulders. They stood solemnly round the bull and greeted him gracefully. The bull stood a little bewildered, breathing heavily. Tired by the galloping first figure of the dance, he was lured into a formal ballet, a gavotte. He trotted after the whirling scarves appearing docile, but Nun looking intently could see that the sweeps and hooks of his horns were as vicious as ever, and that the serious-faced girls were all the time very carefully watching their distance. As a climax, two girls held out a wreath of flowers between them. The bull charged, and at the end of the charge he was standing rather foolishly, wearing the wreath round his great neck. But Nun's heart missed a beat as he saw that one of his horns had carried away the scarf from one girl's shoulders.

The dancing girls retired, and in the ring with the bull there was now a team of three, two young men and a girl, all of them very slim and wiry and light on their feet. They stood before the bull and provoked him with handsprings, cartwheels, and somersaults. The bull, tired by his dances, stood still, baffled by the spinning bodies, but looking as furious and regal as ever. While the bull was watching the girl and one of the men, the other ran to the side, ran lightly toward the bull's flank, sprang, and with his hands on the bull's spine flipped over in a neat handspring on to the other side. The animal whipped round indignantly and hooked with his horns, but the acrobat was out of range. The crowd clapped and cheered.

Next, the two men held the bull's attention while the girl ran to the side and performed a handspring over the bull's back. Then she executed a whirling one-handed cartwheel in front of the bull while the two young men approached from opposite sides and flipped over simultaneously.

The crowd cheered, and then was silent, expectant, as if they knew what was coming next. Now all three acrobats stood some distance in front of the bull, one of the men in the middle. The man advanced at an easy run straight toward the horns of the bull. What was this? Everyone had been avoiding the bull's horns—was this one sacrificing himself by throwing himself on them? Nun looked open-mouthed at the fair young man. “What—?” he gasped.

The Northman grinned back. “Man charge bull!” he laughed.

The acrobat seemed to hurl himself on to the lowered horns of the bull. Nun shut his eyes so as not to see the sharp horns goring the man's body. There was a shout from the crowd and enthusiastic applause. Nun forced himself to open his eyes. There was the acrobat, very much alive, on his feet behind the bull and facing away from the bull's tail, while the animal looked even more baffled and enraged. How had he got there? What had happened?

The team of three was again standing in front of the bull. The girl this time was in the middle and seemed to be preparing to take her turn. She was thin and boyish with hard muscles, and very much resembled the two young men: indeed, they might have been sister and brothers. The men were watching the bull carefully, and by calling and clapping their hands, were trying to lure him toward them. The acrobat runs to the bull, or the bull runs to the acrobat, it's the same thing, Nun reasoned, watching closely. The team provoked the bull to attack at a gentle canter; Nun's heart stood still as the girl stood her ground and reached for the lowered horns; her body arched and her legs went up; the upward thrust of the bull's powerful neck lifted her into the air; heels overhead she flipped over, came down both feet together on the bull's back and hopped off behind its tail on almost exactly the same spot as she had taken off. The spectators applauded—fellow acrobats warmly, knowing how difficult the feat was, the court languidly, politely approving the elegant spectacle.

Nun was almost tempted to think the whole thing was easy, if a mere girl could do it so gracefully. But the second man's attempt at the same trick came near to disaster. The bull was moving at almost a gallop when acrobat and animal met, and at the last moment it hooked sideway instead of upward. The man twisted awkwardly and fell beside the neck of the bull, who whipped round and made to gore him. Immediately, the other two ran in; the girl slapped the bull's muzzle to distract it, the brother hung on to its horns until the one who had fallen was able to spring to his feet. Nun applauded the courageous rescue, but most of the other teams were silent, and looking at the court, Nun could see frowns of displeasure at the clumsy performance. The performer was badly shaken, but clearly determined, to try again to retrieve his reputation. He ran before the bull, provoked it to a furious charge, and then started running toward it at full speed. When they met their combined velocity was so great it was difficult to see what happened; the man gave a great leap right over the bull's lowered horns, landed with his hands on the bull's back, and leap-frogged to the ground behind it. Even the court applauded enthusiastically. The honor of the team was saved, and they and the bull were allowed to retire from the ring.

Nun sat back in his seat and relaxed, with the feeling that the Minoan Bull-dance was a more pleasant spectacle than he had feared. But just then a haughty young Guard ensign came up. “You next. Northmen and the Giblite!” he said, and Nun's heart plummeted again to his sandals.

Ag sprawled in his seat and looked at the officer. “You wish we should dance with the bull? We not pretty girls, nor circus men. What we do?”

The officer sneered down at him. “You don't think the Earth-Mother will be satisfied without some blood, do you? And the court wants to know what color yours is. Is it white? Are you afraid?”

Ag showed no emotion. “No, we not afraid of your he-cows. Nor your Godmother neither.” The officer eyed him, wondering whether this was deliberate blasphemy; but deciding the man was a northern barbarian oaf who knew no better he merely snapped: “In the ring all of you! You too, Giblite! The court didn't think much of your performance last night. Now's your chance to please them—so long as you don't actually run away.”

Nun stood up shakily. If he had to go in the ring with a bull, there was some comfort in being with these huge, red, unconcerned men. But he could not see them skipping lightly aside from a charge, or turning nimble somersaults. They were too ponderous and slow-moving.

“What are we going to do?” he asked Ag as they walked toward the entrance to the ring, trying to make his voice sound unconcerned.

“Not to worry! We have plan. You not run, though. They kill, if you run,” said Ag, indicating the guards. Nun wished he knew what the other rules were, and what the plan was they had prepared. Perhaps they had hidden arms—but at the ringside the guards searched them to make sure they had not. If there was to be blood, the Cretans wanted to make sure it was not the bull's.

The Northmen lumbered casually into the ring, saluted the crowd perfunctorily, and gathered in an untidy group to exchange last-minute instructions. But as it was all in the outlandish murmuring northern tongue it was still no comfort to Nun. As they stood talking, the trumpet sounded, the door opened, and another bull entered the arena. It seemed to be twice as big as the last one, and Nun recognized the great beast they had overtaken in the cage the day before. The Northmen went on talking, until Nun nudged them and pointed out the animal standing switching its tail at the other end of the ring.

“Oh, yes,” grunted Ag. “Come. Cattle market begins.” They all moved off at a shambling pace toward the bull, who stood pawing and snorting and shaking his horns at them. The bull lowered his horns and took a few steps forward as if thinking of charging. Still the men took no notice but advanced toward it at a walk. “Heigha! Gerrup!” called the big red-bearded Ug, flapping a large hand. The bull stopped uncertainly. Ug walked up to it, slapped it playfully on the nose, and it turned tail and ran away from them round the edge of the ring. When the bull stopped on the other side of the ring, the men stopped where they were and shrugged their shoulders. There was a stunned silence at first from the crowd, then catcalls and cries of disapproval. The men ignored them and stood talking as if they were discussing the price of beef, as indeed they may have been.

But Nun saw that a soldier at the ringside was jabbing at the hindquarters of the bull with a long lance, trying to stir up its cowed fighting spirit. The bull whirled round, but seeing nobody because the soldier hid behind the parapet, faced the team again, and the soldier gave it another nasty jab that sent it charging angrily toward them.

“Look out!” cried Nun. Must not run, but no harm in getting out of the way. He skipped aside from the path of the charge, but facing the bull all the time, hoping that he looked poised and defiant. The others looked round. They had not bothered to notice the way the soldier had goaded the bull, and this unprovoked charge did not seem to fit in with their plan. They scattered clumsily, and to his horror Nun saw that Ag had stumbled and fallen over his big feet right in the bull's path. The bull was passing Nun and he was the only one who could save Ag. Nun the sailor knew little about animals, but he knew a lifeline when he saw one. He made a desperate grab at the bull's tail as it whisked past, hung on, and dug his heels into the sand of the arena. The braking effect was sufficient to allow Ag to get to his feet and out of the way, but Nun now did not dare let go. There he was, being towed round the arena in a cloud of dust at the tail of the cavorting bull—and he realized that his teammates were merely standing around cheering encouragement to the bull and holding their sides with laughter.