The chieftain, still keeping his genial smile, invited his guests to sit down on the carpet. They lowered themselves onto the carpet obediently and gladly as the fatigue caused by all the events of the extraordinary day had begun to tell.
“Good. At least we’ll have some rest,” Ivan Semenovich said contentedly, making himself comfortable. “But how are we going to communicate? To use only signs would be very inconvenient. Dmitro Borisovich, what if you try your nncient Greek on them?”
“My ancient Greek has grown so rusty…”
“But give it a try nevertheless. It may turn out to be very helpful.”
Dmitro Borisovich, painfully searching for words, slowly made up his first phrase. Despite its very awkward — in the archeologist’s opinion — construction, the chieftain and the younger Scythian opened their eyes wide in surprise. They bent forward, listening with the greatest attention. Dmitro Borisovich repeated his phrase. The eyes of the younger Scythian shone with the joy of understanding.
“Oh, they do understand!” Artem cried out triumphantly.
The younger Scythian replied, then Dmitro Borisovich said something else and the conversation was under way. It was not an easy conversation, for it was interrupted whenever Dmitro Borisovich lacked the words to express himself and had to use gestures and signs, but it was a real exchange nevertheless. After a while, the archeologist, wiping the profuse perspiration from his brow, told his friends:
“The old chieftain’s name is Skolot. This attractive man is Varkan. They both like us and are very interested to know more about us.”
Hearing their names, the Scythians nodded their heads one alter the other. Then the chieftain clapped his hands. Shortly a big bronze bowl and several smaller ones were brought in. The chieftain solemnly pointed to the bowl, inviting the guests to try its contents.
“He’s inviting us to drink some of what’s inside,” Dmitro Borisovich said. “I wonder what kind of beverage it is. Could it be…”
He stopped short as though reluctant to say something that would be out of place but without taking his eyes off the bowl.
“It must be some kind of alcoholic drink,” Artem volunteered his opinion. “What else would one offer his guests?”
Once again the young man proved to be right. The bowl did contain some intoxicating drink, sweetish, thick, fragrant and milky in color; it was neither wine nor any other familiar liquor.
Dmitro Borisovich sipped at it, swallowing it in tiny gulps, trying to determine what it was made of. Ivan Semenovich, guessing what was on the archeologist’s mind, said with conviction:
“There’s one thing I can say for sure — it’s not made of grapes.”
’ Of course not, but that was clear right from the start,” Artem responded immediately. “Who ever saw wine made of such whitish grapes? Besides, would vines grow here?”
“Young man, keep quiet,” the archeologist said stiffly. “I think… I think it’s… nothing else but… Yes, it must be oksugala…”
“Oks what?”
“Oksugala… How depressing it is to talk with young people who are so ignorant of even the most basic facts of history and archeology! What a shame!”
“I’m sorry, Dmitro Borisovich,” Artem said, resignedly bending his head, but at the same time glancing archly at Lida.
“As I said it must be the oksugala mentioned by the ancient historians who stated that in addition to meat, the usual nourishment of the ancient Scythians was milk and all kinds of dairy products. That’s why the Scythians were often referred to as ‘milk-drinkers’ or ‘mare’s milk users’.”
“Sounds very poetic, doesn’t it?” Artem whispered to Lida who nearly burst out laughing. But Dmitro Borisovich, carried away by his historical observations, oblivious of anything around him, went on:
“So, as I was saying, I believe it’s the oksugala of the ancients, that is, fermented mare’s milk. The tribes of nomadic Scythians had great herds of horses. Incidentally, we’ve already seen such a herd… The nomadic Scythians ate horse flesh and drank mare’s milk. They made cheese of mare’s milk, too, and prepared various beverages and drinks from it — oksugala, for example.” Then he added: “Of course, horses were not the only domesticated animals the Scythians had. They also had oxen, hornless, by the way…”
“Pollards,” Artem broke in, eager to show that he knew the technical term.
“Yes, that’s the correct term. According to the ancients, the local breed of oxen did not grow horns as it was too cold for them. As I was saying, the Scythians had domesticated sheep, swine, and goats. We know — note this — that the Scythians did have dogs, so it’s not quite clear why our hosts should be so afraid of Diana. Maybe here, under these… er… specific conditions, all the dogs died out long ago. I would not risk expounding on this subject…” Dmitro Borisovich had another mouthful of oksugala.
Artem cleared his throat and said:
“Dmitro Borisovich, when speaking about the soothsayer garbed in that ridiculous woman’s dress, you used the strange word ‘androgyne’ or something like that. What does it mean?”
“Oh, it means ‘a human being that combines the features of both sexes.’ You see, according to the ancients, the Scythian priesthood was mostly made up of women, not men…”
“Like the ones we saw?” Lida asked. Artem even put down his cup.
“Yes. Herodotus says that if some men did happen to become priests, they were only ‘androgynes,’ effeminate persons wearing women clothes.”
“But you couldn’t call our soothsayer ‘effeminate’ — he’s so bony and has a long gray beard. Only his dress looked like a woman’s,” Ivan Semenovich protested.
“It’s difficult to say now what he looked many years ago. Who knows, maybe when he was young, he was very effeminate. Besides, I want to remind you of the priestesses who, on his orders, seized the three captives. They were women, were they not?”
“Well, yes, they were,” Artem drawled in reluctant agreement. “But those women could give hell to any man…
Incidentally, did these Scythians have a matriarchy or what?”
“That could very well have been the case, my friend,” Dmitro Borisovich said pensively. “You see, in this general area, the neighboring tribe of the Scythians was that of the Sauromathae who were known to have a matriarchy in its classical form — the head of the tribe was a woman. No doubt, it had some impact on the attitude to women among the Scythians as well. Further east, and in Central Asia, some other tribes related to the Scythians — the Sacae and Massagetae — even had warrior queens…”
“Oh, really?” Lida said in amazement.
“Yes, of course,” Dmitro Borisovich said emphatically. “For example, Queen Zarina inflicted a shuttering defeat on the Persian King Cyrus, captured him and had him decapitated; his head was then put into a bag and filled with the blood of many Persians… The Scythian women were excellent riders, took part in military campaigns and showed themselves worthy warriors, not at all inferior to men, and in many cases superior. We found evidence supporting this in the Scythian and Sauromathian barrows where women were buried with their weapons. I think that the Scythian custom of having female priesthood dates back to those very early matriarchal times. And our soothsayer must have looked androgynous when young. His effeminacy has worn off with the passage of time, but he has kept his lady’s dress. But we’ll probably learn about all these things in more detail later on… Incidentally, the oksugala is excellent, upon my word it is! How do you find it, Ivan Semenovich?” the archeologist said at the end of his improvised lecture.
“Yes, I find your oksugala quite palatable,” Ivan Semenovich said, wiping his lips with the inside of his hand. “Only be careful, my friends! Don’t get carried away! It’s very intoxicating!”