that day—and it’s the most important day in the year. And then, for the other things, any girl he goes with has a little bit of the Spring Queen’s magic put into her with him, and that lasts for a month or till her child is born if she has one. So there’s always some woman who’s got enough of it to do the things.’
‘You are a set of savages,’ said Philylla, and got up and began talking to her magpie.
Berris was still thinking of his sister when he heard his name being called over and over again. For a moment he did not recognise the voice. He looked down the bleaching-ground; it was beginning to get dark. He saw Tarrik at the bottom of the slope with his arms spread out oddly, and called to him. Tarrik came stumbling up.
‘Oh,’ said Philylla, ‘he’s treading on the linen!’ But she said no more because almost at once she too saw that there was something wrong.
Berris began to run down to meet him and then checked and stood shivering. ‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Oh, Tarrik, what has come on you?’
And Tarrik said: ‘She’s dead!’
Berris started trembling from head to feet. ‘I was just talking about her,’ he said. ‘Oh, Tarrik, she can’t be! Oh, Tarrik, it’s not true! Who says so?’
‘Eurydice has come from Marob, my Aunt Eurydice. She says Erif is dead. My wife is dead.’
‘Oh, Tarrik,’ said Berris, ‘I did so want to see her again!’ And he stamped and choked and stuck his fists into his eyes. Tarrik looked at him blankly and said nothing. Berris said: ‘What are you going to do?’
Then Tarrik said: ‘Erif is dead and my magic has gone out of me.’ And he turned away from them and ran up a little winding, stony path that started between the pomegranate trees and went on towards the hills. Berris looked after him, getting smaller and smaller among the shaking bushes.
Philylla had been standing by, horrified and inadequate. She went over to Berris and touched his hand. At the touch he collapsed on to his knees at her feet and began sobbing and whispering frantically his sister’s name. She began to stroke his shoulder with little dry touches. ‘Poor Berris,’ she said. ‘Oh poor, poor Berris!’ But he did not notice her at all.
Then the Queen and Panteus came up towards them. They watched her for a moment, then Agiatis beckoned. She left Berris and went over to them. She came up to the Queen’s shoulder now, and she was still growing fast. Berris did not move. ‘Poor boy!’ said the Queen, and squeezed Philylla’s hand. Then she asked where the other had gone. Philylla pointed up the twisting path, and saw Panteus look quickly at the Queen. ‘Yes,’ she said, and then to Philylla, ‘that was the path King Agis took when he went up into the mountains and came down to me in the morning with the idea of the New Times in his head. That was the path.’
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