There was dead silence. Then the Tuginda answered carefully, 'You understand that to be wrong – to deceive yourself and others – would be a sacrilegious and terrible thing? Any man can see a bear. If what you saw was a bear, O hunter who plays with children, for God's sake say so now and return home unharmed and in peace.'
'Saiyett, I am nothing but a common man. It is you that must weigh my talc, not I. Yet as I live, I myself feel certain that the bear that saved me was none other than Lord Shardik.'
'Then,' replied the Tuginda, 'whether you are proved wrong or right, it is plain what we have to do.'
The priestess was standing with palms outstretched and closed eyes, praying silently. The Baron, frowning, paced slowly across to the further wall, turned and paced back, gazing down at the floor. As he reached the Tuginda she laid her hand upon his wrist and he stopped, looking at her from one half-closed and one staring eye. She smiled up at him, for all the world as though no prospect lay before them but what was safe and easy.
'I'll tell you a story,' she said. 'There was once a wise, crafty Baron who pledged himself to guard Ortelga and its people and to keep out all that could harm them: a setter of traps, a digger of pits. He perceived enemies almost before they knew their own intents and taught himself to distrust the very lizards on the walls. To make sure that he was not deceived, he disbelieved everything; and he was right. A ruler, like a merchant, must be full of craft; must disbelieve more than half he hears, or he will be a ruined man.
'But here the task is more difficult. The hunter says, "It is Lord Shardik," and the ruler, who has learned to be a sceptical man and no fool, replies, "Absurd." Yet we all know that one day Lord Shardik is to return. Suppose it were today and the ruler were in error, then what an error that would be! All the patient work of his life could not atone for it.' Bel-ka-Trazet said nothing.
'We cannot take the risk of being wrong. To do nothing might well be the greatest sacrilege. There is only one thing we can do. We must discover beyond doubt whether this news is true or false; and if we lose our lives, then God's will be done. After all, there are other barons and the Tuginda does not die.'
'You speak calmly, saiyett,' replied the Baron, 'as though of the tendriona crop or the coming of the rains. But how can it be true
'You have lived long years, Baron, with the Dead Belt to strengthen today and the tax to collect tomorrow. That has been your work. And I – I too have lived long years with my work – with the prophecies of Shardik and the rites of the Ledges. Many times I have imagined the news coming and pondered on what I should do if ever it were to come indeed. That is why I can say to you now, "This hunter's talc may be true," and yet speak calmly.'
The Baron shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, as though unwilling to argue. 'Well, and what are we to do?' he asked.
'Sleep,' she replied unexpectedly, going to the door. 'I will call the girls to show you where.' 'And tomorrow?' 'Tomorrow we will go upstream.'
She opened the door and struck once upon a bronze gong. Then she returned and, going across to Kelderek, laid her hand on his sound shoulder.
'Good night,' she said, 'and let us trust that it may indeed be that good night that the children are taught to pray for.'
9 The Tuginda's Story
The narrow passage from the land-locked inlet to the Telthearna bent so sharply that it was only just possible for a canoe to negotiate it. The rocky spurs on either side overlapped, closing the inlet like a wall, so that from within nothing could be seen of the river beyond.
The little bay, running inland between its paved shores, ended, among coloured water-lilies, at the outfall of the channel by the Tereth stone. Waiting with Melathys while the servants loaded the canoes, Kelderek gazed upwards, past the bridge which he had crossed the night before, to where the Ledges opened above, their shape like that of a great arrow-head lying point downward on the hillside between the woods. The stream, he saw, was no longer flowing over them: it must have returned, during the night, to its normal course. High up, he could make out the figures of girls stooping over hoes and baskets, weeding and scouring among the stones.
When the loading of the canoes had begun, the sun had not yet reached this north-facing shore, but now it rose over the Ledges and shone down upon the inlet, changing the opaque, grey water to a depth of slow-moving, luminous green. Sharp shadows fell across the pavements from the small stone buildings standing here and there along the edges, some secluded among the trees, others in the open among grass and flowers.
He wondered how old these buildings might be. There was none such on Ortelga. The whole place could be the work only of people long ago. What sort of people could they have been, who had constructed the Ledges?
Blinking, he turned away from the sun to watch the grave, silent girls loading the canoes. On Ortelga there would have been gossip, banter, songs to lighten the work. These women moved deliberately and spoke only such few words as were needed. They were silent, he supposed, by custom and the rule of the island. What a release it would be to leave this shady, mind-bemusing place of secrets and sorcery! Then he recalled whither they were bound and felt again the clutch of fear in his stomach.
An elderly, grey-haired woman, who had been directing the girls at their work, left the waterside and approached Melathys.
'The loading is done, saiyett,' she said. 'Do you wish to check that all is there?' 'No, I will trust you, Thula,' replied the priestess absently. The old woman laid a hand on her arm.
'We do not know where you are going, my dear, or for how long,' she said. 'Will you not tell me? Do you remember how I comforted you as a child, when you used to dream of the slave-traders and the war?'
'I know all too well where we are going,' replied Melathys, 'but not when I shall return.' 'A long journey?' persisted the old woman.
'Long or short,' answered Melathys, with a quick, nervous laugh, 'I promise you that whoever may die, I will take good care that I do not.' She stooped, plucked a red flower, held it for a moment to the other's nostrils and then tossed it into the water.
The old woman made a restrained gesture of impatience, like a trusted servant who is privileged to express her feelings.
'There is danger, then, my child?' she whispered, 'Why do you speak of death?'
Melathys stared a moment, biting her lip. Then she unclasped the broad, golden collar from her neck and put it into the old woman's hands.
'At all events I shall not need this,' she said, 'and if there is danger I shall run faster without the weight of it. Ask me no more, Thula. It is time for us to set out Where are the Baron's servants?'
'He said that they were to return to Ortelga,' replied the old woman. 'They have already taken their canoe and gone.'
'Then go yourself now and tell the Baron that we are ready. Good-bye, Thula. Remember me in your prayers.'
She made her way across the pavement, stepped down into the nearest of the four canoes and motioned to the hunter to take his place behind her. The two girls in the stern dipped their paddles and the canoe drew away from the shore. They crossed the inlet and began to edge their way out through the narrow cleft between the rock spurs.
The bow skirted a curtain of trailing, purple-leaved trazada and Kelderek, knowing how the little thorns tear and smart, dropped his head, shielding his face with his good arm. He heard the stiff leaves clashing against the side of the canoe, then felt a freshness of wind and opened his eyes. They were outside and rocking in a bay of slack water under the northern shore. The green shadow of the woods above them stretched upstream and across the river. Beyond, the water was blue and choppy, glittering in the sun and broken, here and there, into small, white-topped waves. Far off lay the blackened, desolate line of the left bank. He looked back over his shoulder but could no longer discern, among the tangle of green, the cleft from which they had emerged. Then the bow of the second canoe appeared, thrusting through the foliage. Melathys, following his gaze, smiled coldly.