The 22 Letters (16 page)

So long as the bull's horns were pointing away from him Nun felt safe—though far from comfortable. But suddenly the bull came to a halt and started bucking round in a circle, trying to dislodge him with its horns. Nun held on desperately, but a last flying kick made him lose his grip, he was hurled to the ground and the bull was upon him.

But the other men were upon the bull. Four of them tackled the bull at once, grabbing a leg apiece. Ag and Eg each clung on to a horn. Ig got astride the neck. Heads down and arms locked round each other, the rest got their shoulders against the bull's flank and heaved, and the great beast went over like a house falling down. All that could be seen under the mass of brawny bodies was its muzzle and one despairing eye.

There was a great stillness around the arena. Then the royal trumpeter sounded the call for the end of an event. The Northmen got up and dusted themselves down. The bull scrambled to its feet and made sheepishly for the open gate. Never had a Cretan bull been so humiliated.

There was uproar in the stands. As far as Nun could make out, standing in the middle of the arena feeling foolish and exposed, both court and commons were split. Some were delighted by the exhibition of clowning and sympathized with the tall blond strangers: others were howling for blood. Some of the courtiers, the younger, sophisticated set, were pleased with the originality of the performance, and were applauding, but the more serious councilors were plainly horrified and angered by this act of sacrilege. People started throwing fruit, and the Northerners good-humoredly fielded it and chucked it back. Nun looked at the section of the stand reserved for the priests: there was no doubt their reaction was one of black fury. Much of the solemnity of the rites had been destroyed. Among the priests Nun could see the Chaldean, sitting silent and impassive. Nun could not tell what he was thinking.

They were hurried put of the arena under guard and the games went on. The prize bull was not reintroduced, and Nun supposed that its nerve had been too shattered by the experience. There were some rather botched performances by second-rate bulls and teams, enough blood was spilt to satisfy the spectators, and presumably the Earth-Goddess, but Nun was too apprehensive about what would happen at the end of the games to take much in.

Sure enough, as soon as the final flourish of trumpets had sounded Nun felt a tap on his shoulder. It was what he had been expecting, but he jumped violently. It was the officer of the guard.

“You're wanted,” said the officer.

“You want us?” asked Ag unconcernedly.

“Not you, cattle-herds,” said the guard contemptuously. “Just the Giblite.”

“What you want him for?” demanded Ag.

“Maybe they give him prize for pulling bull's tail,” said Ug. “We come with you,” said Ag protectively.

“No, no,” Nun protested. He didn't want to cause any more trouble. “I'll be all right. I'll see you later.”

“But maybe we not see you,” said Ag. “We go back North. Come with us, no?”

But Nun also had business to attend to. So they said affectionate farewells in the palace corridor, in case they never met again, with a special hug for Nun from Ag for saving him from the bull. Then Nun followed the Cretan guard.

“Where am I wanted?” Nun asked as he was again marched along the labyrinth of corridors.

“Royal chambers,” was the curt reply, and the escort would say no more.

As they passed through apartments which, by their magnificence, seemed to be antechambers to the royal quarters, they were stopped by another officer of the guard.

“Is that the Giblite you have there?” asked the second officer.

“Yes.”

“I've orders to take him to the Sea Lord.”

“And I've orders to take him to the Queen.”

The Queen! What could she want with him, Nun wondered.

“But I have the Sea Lord's special authority,” said the second guard, and produced a seal ring.

The first guard looked a little confused, and spoke to Nun. “Giblite, haven't you the Queen's seal?”

Nun looked blank for a moment, and then thought of the cylinder that had got him into the throne room the night before. He felt in his bag and took it out. “Do you mean this?” he asked.

“Yes,” said his escort. “The Queen's own seal, the lion and bull. That's worth more than the Sea Lord's,” he said, turning to the second guard. “Let me pass, please. You can have this man when we've finished with him.” And he led Nun on.

The chamber that Nun was at last shown into was even more beautifully painted than the King's throne room. There were patterns of great rosettes all over the beams and uprights, and a great panel of swimming dolphins, little fish, and sea plants. But the most beautiful thing in the room was the woman sitting among a few attendants, her great dark eyes on Nun as he came in. He realized that she must be the Queen—and yet something about her reminded him of the girls he knew in Gebal.

“Is this the foreigner who pulled our sacred bull's tail?” came the cool voice of the Queen. “Let him approach so that I can see him.”

Nun and his escort went up to the Queen's chair, and Nun knelt before her. It seemed the natural thing to do, and he felt none of the awkwardness he had felt when he had met the King. And she was speaking his language as if it was native to her.

“Are you aware, Giblite, that you have offended my Lord the King and shocked our holy priests and priestesses?” said the Queen in a level voice, with a strange expression in her eyes.

“We must have disgusted you with our rude performance, Your Majesty,” said Nun. “I am sorry for that. But I'm only a simple sailor. I held on to the first thing that came to hand.”

The Queen turned her head, so that Nun could not see her expression, and spoke to her attendants. “Retire!” she ordered them. “As priestess, I must speak to this man alone.” The attendants and the guard hesitated a little, then, after an angry flash from the Queen's black eyes, moved to the other end of the chamber, looking more than a little shocked and disapproving.

The Queen turned her face back to Nun, and this time her eyes were twinkling with laughter.

“I want to thank you, Giblite. I have not enjoyed the bull games so much for years.” Once again Nun felt taken aback, and this seemed to amuse the Queen even more. “You are surprised,” she went on, “to hear me speak your language perhaps? I was not born a Cretan, but a princess of Tyre, your neighbor state. Oh! I know that Tyrians and Giblites are not always friends at home, but I like to speak to sailors from that coast. I was tempted to come here by stories of the Bull King—there is even a foolish belief that I swam here on the back of a bull. But I am frivolous, I suppose, and still cannot take our games as seriously as my dear husband would wish. It was good of you and your friends to make me laugh.”

“It might not have been so funny for me if it hadn't been for the Northerners,” said Nun. “Will they be allowed to go now?”

“Do not worry about your friends,” replied the Queen. “They are barbarians, clowns. What can you expect from people with yellow hair and red faces? They will be permitted to leave. But I am concerned about you, Giblite.”

“Your Majesty is most kind,” said Nun, the anxiety returning within him.

“What I am going to tell you is a secret of state,” the Queen continued. “I am only letting you know of it because you have no possibility of escaping and telling your people. The King my husband has plans to harry the coastal cities with his ships. Gebal and Sidon will be attacked: Tyre is, of course, in league with us. You know how strong our navy is. Nothing can withstand them. They want you as a navigator. If you refuse, they will certainly not let you go, but you will be put to death for sacrilege. They say you know strange secrets of navigation, but that means nothing to me. I merely wish to save you because you are of my race—and because you made me laugh. Here, take this! It is my royal commission, sealed with the seal of the lion and bull, that seal of which there are only two copies. One I sent as a token to Babylon for the Chaldean astrologer, and one I keep myself.”

The Queen handed to Nun a clay tablet, covered with the incomprehensible long-legged script, with the lion and bull across the bottom. He stood, holding it, and the only words that came to his lips were, “I cannot accept. If Gebal is to be attacked, my place is at home.”

The Queen looked at him with compassion. “I tell you, Giblite, if you work for us and have my backing there is an honorable future for you. Nothing can save you otherwise.”

And at that moment there was a disturbance at the entrance to the chamber, and in strode the distinguished white-haired councilor whom the King had addressed as Sea Lord.

The Queen rose to her feet. “Sea Lord,” she said icily, “this intrusion is very sudden!”

“A thousand pardons, Your Majesty,” said the Sea Lord smoothly. “It did not enter my head that you could be in—ah, private audience with this person.” He looked coldly at Nun. “As you know, he is urgently invited to a—er—a conference on nautical affairs at Mallia. That is, of course, if he deigns to accept hospitality at my humble country mansion.”

Nun bowed, not to be outdone in politeness now that he knew how little it was worth. “Your Sea Lordship is most kind,” he said. “I have already heard of your delightful residence at Mallia.”

“That's settled then. An honorable escort awaits you and your—ah—mathematician friend. Infinite apologies again, Your Majesty, for the intrusion. But it was His Majesty's express wish.”

The Queen nodded to the Sea Lord, but said nothing. She held out her hand to Nun. He knelt and kissed it.

“Farewell, Your Majesty,” he said. “And thank you.” But he could not see the expression in the Queen's eyes.

Nun and the Sea Lord left the chamber, and outside they met an escort of soldiers with the Chaldean among them. They were taken from the palace to where a painted chariot waited to drive them to Mallia. Nun and the Chaldean traveled together in the same chariot, but his companion was very silent. Hardly a word passed between them, even when they came to a high part of the coast road and they both suddenly saw directly to the North over the blue sea, just above the horizon, a harmless-looking cone with a faint wisp of smoke coming from the top. It was Thira, the island of menace.

But nothing could be more peaceful than Mallia. After driving across a fertile coastal strip, they emerged from olive orchards to see a palace of golden stone standing in a semicircle of soft, rounded hills. At the seaside was a small harbor where a few ships lay. Everything was on a much smaller scale than at Knossos, and instead of the bustle and magnificence of the King's palace, here all was luxury and calm. They were shown into airy apartments hung with fine linen, but they did not know whether they were prisoners or guests, and when the Sea Lord sent for them after dinner he himself seemed uncertain how to treat them.

“I understand that Her Majesty the Queen sent for you in the first place, Chaldean, and that you, Giblite, came over with a cargo of logs. That is correct?” And without waiting for a reply he continued, “Good. Then let's begin with the facts. Now we in Crete, of course, always welcome traders from abroad, and Her Majesty's particularly interested to see jugglers and magicians from the East. But we have in Crete certain standards, you know. We like to think of ourselves as civilized, and it's not asking much for visitors to our shores to pay a little regard to the decencies and so forth. So it's my embarrassing duty to make you realize that your respective public performances at Knossos made a very bad impression, a very bad impression indeed. Let's take the incident with the bull first. You foreign visitors are not expected to be able to play the game as we Cretans do, of course. But we do expect you to remember that it's an honor for you to take part in our bull festival. I admit it was a mistake
Å£o
invite those northern barbarians—they're just not civilized like us, and people with skins that color never will be. But you Giblites aren't savages. I should have thought the honor of representing your city in front of Ring Minos would have been enough to make you take the bull by the horns, and so on, instead of pull—instead of acting as you did.”

The recollection of the bull's tail being pulled seemed to give the elegant gentleman pain. “You don't look like a coward. Well, there it is, a very good bull with its nerve gone—it will never fight again—and the priests foretelling all sorts of trouble with the harvest.”

The lord turned in his chair and faced the Chaldean. “And that brings me to your performance, Chaldean. I won't say your prophecy wasn't very well delivered, perfectly correct in its form. And it would have been quite in order to foretell a little famine or so, some disaster threatening the common people. But to accept the hospitality of His Majesty King Minos, to stand in his palace and tell him to his face that it's going to fall down—well, I mean it's beyond the bounds of decent behavior. I think His Majesty took it very well. He's graciously given orders that you should be well treated at present. And he is paying you the compliment, both of you, which I for one—with all respect to His Majesty—believe to be thoroughly undeserved, of taking the rest of your story seriously, and asking me to find out about it. So now you know what you're here for.”

Nun had rather lost the thread of that last sentence, and permitted himself a glance at the Chaldean. But his friend's face was expressionless.

The Sea Lord continued his monologue. “You know very well what I mean. You claimed that in an ordinary laden cargo vessel you made the passage from the port of Gebal to Crete in two days. It was quite obvious to anyone who knows anything about the sea that this was the normal sort of exaggeration you Orientals go in for. My flag officers”—he glanced at the languid young men sitting around—“have advised me that the minimum time for that passage is four days, even with the most favorable winds. You talked some nonsense about sailing at night and being directed by the stars. His Majesty seemed to think it might be a practice the Cretan Navy could adopt—though wisely he's left it to me, and while I'm responsible there's no danger of our ships being allowed to blunder around in the dark.” He laughed, and the flag officers copied him. “And unfortunately for your claim it's been refuted by your own crew. I had some trouble rounding them up and bringing them and your vessel to Mallia for examination. But they saved me a lot of trouble. They all agreed that it had in fact taken you four days to get from Gebal to Amnisos. So there it is. I don't suppose, in the face of that, you will want to press your fantastic claims about a new-fangled method of navigation.”