on. Then after a few minutes he stopped and blew three times with his fingers in his mouth, making a curiously loud and unpleasant whistle. Almost at once a shock-headed man in a black coat ran up to him. ‘See that there is no ship in my harbour to take Epigethes away,’ said Tarrik, laying a finger on the man’s arm.
By the time he came to the flax market it was almost sunset; people were going home to supper. A small boy was sitting on the well curb in the middle, singing at the top of his voice and kicking his bare heels against the stone. Tarrik came and sat beside him. The boy looked round and gave a mock salute, and went on till the end of his song; then, in the same breath: ‘Are you coming to supper with us, Tarrik? You must!’
Tarrik pulled his hair, gently and affectionately: ‘Nobody asked me, Gold-fish,’ he said. ‘I want to see your father, though. And I’m going to marry your sister.’
Gold-fish slid off the curb and stared. ‘Has she magicked you?’ he asked.
‘I expect so,’ said Tarrik. ‘Does she ever magic you, Gold-fish?’
‘Can’t magic me!’ said the small boy proudly; then, truth getting the better of him, ‘At least, she won’t try. She’s horrid sometimes—I did ask her. But she wouldn’t be able. She magics Wheat-ear: easily.’
‘Will Wheat-ear do magic too, when she’s grown up?’
‘No,’ said Gold-fish, ‘she’s just plain. She’s my special sister.’
They went into Harn Der’s house together; supper was ready on the table. Erif Der and a woman-slave were lighting candles, but when she saw it was Tarrik, she bade the woman run and get the great lamp and tell her master. Meanwhile she went on lighting the candles herself, and, though her face was steady, her hands were shaking.
Harn Der came in with the lamp carried behind him; the slave went out, and then Erif Der with her little brother. ‘Harn Der,’ said Tarrik, ‘best of my councillors, I am come to ask for your daughter Erif Der to be my wife.’
For a time Harn Der said nothing. At last he spoke. ‘My son Berris told me what was in your mind. It is not a thing to be lightly thought of or spoken of. All Marob will be either better or worse for your marriage, Chief. I cannot answer alone. I have here some of the Council: with your leave, I will call them in.’
‘Call them if you like,’ said Tarrik, rapidly and crossly, ‘if you must make it an affair for Marob! But remember, I’m going to have Erif.’ Harn Der did not answer this, but went to the door and called. Ten of the Council came in, oldish men, the best and most trusted by every one; a little behind came Yellow Bull, awkwardly, playing with his sword hilt. They all had gold chains and brooches, and long cloaks of embroidery with fur borders. Tarrik thought with pleasure how hot they must be. He stood beside the table, pinching one of the candles; the warm, sweet wax gave, half reluctantly, under the pressure of his fingers, and he thought of Erif Der. ‘None of you will oppose my marriage?’ he asked, with a kind of growl at them.
One of the older men spoke: ‘The marriage of the Chief should be a matter for the full Council.’
‘The full Council can pretend to give me leave tomorrow,’ said Tarrik; ‘meanwhile, I want it settled. When shall I have Erif Der?’
The elders coughed and fidgeted. Why should their Chief treat them like this? Yellow Bull flushed angrily. Harn Der spoke with a certain impressiveness: ‘If the Council see fit, my eldest daughter shall be the Chief’s wife. I cannot think that there is anything against her in blood or in person.’ The others assented. He went on: ‘But it would be less than right if this were not well considered or in any way gone into hurriedly. Let us not speak of marriage until autumn.’
‘Autumn!’ said Tarrik. ‘Six months! I want a wife and you tell me to wait till she is an old woman!’ He banged his hand so hard down on to the table that one of the candles fell over, and looked round savagely at the Council. ‘None of you remember what it was like being a man; but I am a man and I am asking for my woman!’
‘Gently, gently,’ said one of them. ‘Remember, Tarrik, we are not powerless. You cannot be Chief alone. Harn Der, she is your daughter—what do you say?’
‘She is fully young yet,’ said Harn Der; ‘she must make her wedding-dress first. Let the betrothal be when the Council wills. In summer we must all go to our lands, she with me to mine; after harvest—may all go well with it!—we will have the marriage.’
He looked hard at Tarrik, and Tarrik back at him. ‘What does she say?’ asked Tarrik.
‘It is not for her to speak. Tomorrow the Council will find you a lucky day for your betrothal.’
Tarrik walked straight to the inner door and called: ‘Erif Der!’ After a moment she came, her eyes on the ground. She had changed her dress; the new one was made of some fine, Greek stuff, a very delicate, silvery linen web, crossed again and again with dozens of colours, yellows and blues and greens, and sometimes a metal thread, copper or gold, that held the blink of the candles. It stood out lightly all round her; her plaits hung forward from her bent head into the hollow of her breasts; her coat was of white fur, very short. She went and stood between Harn Der and Yellow Bull; just once she looked at Tarrik, a glance so quick that no one but he saw it. ‘Are you going to marry me when I choose?’ he said. ‘Erif Der, answer me!’
But her voice was little more than a murmur. ‘I will do what my father chooses, Chief,’ she said. And the Council nodded and whispered to one another: she was a good girl, as they would wish their own daughters to be; there was nothing odd about her.
‘Very well,’ said Tarrik, ‘I’ll let you win—this time! I thank you for allowing me to be your Chief still!’ And he turned and went out into the sea-damp evening.
Harn Der wondered why he had said just that last thing; it was queer. … But no one else had noticed particularly; the Chief was always bad to deal with when he was crossed. Some of them stayed on for supper with Harn Der; they spoke of the marriage, hoped that the Chief might grow less wild, saying he was worse than a wild-cat to deal with now and would some day bring harm to Marob. And then they praised Erif Der for looks and modesty, and she waited on them and made little magics over their food and drink, and was amused to see one trying to shake out of his glass a spider that was not there, and another startled at his butter turning pink. When they were all gone, she and Berris went out too, and left her father and eldest brother together. ‘I did that very well,’ said Harn Der. ‘I was not so ready that anyone might think there could be a plan, and not so cautious that they might remember it against me when he is not Chief any longer.’
‘But what will happen to him?’ said Yellow Bull. ‘Will he be magicked enough not to care whether he is Chief or not? Otherwise he will be dangerous.’
‘Ah,’ said Harn Der, ‘I have been thinking that too. Well, we shall see—alive or dead.’
‘Yes,’ said Yellow Bull again. ‘I know you don’t quite believe in what you tell Berris; but still—he did promise to come and see my road.’
Chapter Three
YELLOW BULL HAD ridden on ahead to warn his wife they were coming and bid her get her best food ready for them, and now Tarrik and Epigethes were quite alone in the afternoon, with the track stretching across the plain as far as they could see, in front and behind. In the distance, on the right, there was a flock of sheep grazing, but no shepherd in sight. Every now and then a large hawk would come circling near them, and sometimes
