back the shutters from the windows. It was calm and snowing lightly; but the snow did not lie yet, or scarcely at all, only here and there in the road, but not on the beach or the breakwater. As she looked, she saw a covered cart jolt round the corner and stop. Essro stepped out of it, looked round hastily, pulled the shawl over her ears, and ran towards the door of the Chief’s house. Erif left her plaits half finished and ran too. They met in the half-dusk of the second hall. Essro’s women came behind her, carrying baskets; she seemed more fluttered than ever. ‘I’m come,’ she said, with a short, anxious gasp, ‘I’m come—with the things you asked me for, Erif—the herbs!’ Erif, acutely aware that she had never asked Essro for any herbs, called her own maids to come and take the baskets and entertain her sister-in-law’s people; then took Essro by the elbow and led her along to the little room at the head of the stairs. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘tell me.’
Essro went close to her; there were still a few snowflakes not quite melted on the ends of her hair. ‘If Tarrik is going,’ said Essro, slowly and distinctly, ‘let him go at once.’ Erif felt suddenly sick and quivered down on to the floor, half lying; she did not answer. The other woman knelt beside her. ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘Surely you knew?’ Erif nodded, one hand over her throat. Essro pursed her lips, took the knife from her girdle, and touched Erif with the hilt, here and there.
The Spring Queen sat up, with the flashing smile of one child to another. Thank you, ‘she said.’ Your magic: it never hurts you, Essro?’
‘No. But perhaps it will. I am not so clever as you, Erif. Are you better?’
‘Yes,’ said Erif, then all at once: ‘That was—you know—Tarrik’s child.’
‘Oh!’ said Essro, clasping her hands, ‘oh, they don’t know that!’
‘Who don’t?’ said Erif sharply. ‘Essro—where did you get that message?’
‘From Yellow Bull. Oh, I must go home!’
‘But why? Essro, stay! Was it—is it—is Yellow Bull warning Tarrik because of the road? Because Tarrik gave him a sacrifice? Is father going to do something?’
‘Yes,’ said Essro, with shifting, panicky eyes, ‘tell him! And—oh, Erif—shall I tell them about the baby?’
‘No!’ said Erif, and put her hand for a moment on the hilt of Essro’s dagger, ‘if I need help I will go to you and your magic.’
‘Help?’ said Essro, trembling, trying to go away, and yet always gentle.
‘Yes,’ said Erif, ‘help. A secret road.’
Tarrik sat about, sleepy and strong, while his men dressed him; every now and then he stretched himself largely and yawned, with the colour-stitched white linen of the shirt loose round his neck and wrists. Then they had to stop and stand aside till he was ready, one holding his boots, another with fur coats over his arm for the Chief to choose from if he liked, spotless soft fox and deer pelts, with clean linings of scarlet or black. Tarrik took one at random, knowing they all suited him. He was rather angry with Erif for not being there when he woke; he wanted to talk to her about his plans—if she was in a mood for talk. Even with Sphaeros to advise him—and, now he remembered it, how little positive advice Sphaeros ever gave!—he had been unable to make up his mind about which course was the wisest. He was somehow afraid that if he went it would be merely a flight from uncertainty: Harn Der, and Plowing Eve, and his wife. Suddenly, without noticing how un-Stoic he was being, he made up his mind that he would ask Erif, and if she really wanted him to stay he would stay—because then something would be certain!
He went to the window, as he did every morning, and held out his hands eastwards to the risen sun, which, even behind clouds, as now, must know his brotherhood. Then he sent one of the men to find his Queen and ask her if she would come to him. She came at once, in a long, plainish dress of grey wool checks, and the fur of her coat bordered with heavy silver tissue. He thought it made her look old till he saw how wonderfully glossy her plaits were, hanging over it, and how clear her pale skin showed above the tight, round neck of the dress. ‘Erif,’ he said, ‘I thought of going to Greece with Sphaeros.’ She nodded, facing the fact but not his eyes. ‘I want to see the King of Sparta,’ he went on, ‘and learn if there are not other ways of ruling besides mine.’ He took her hands and pulled her gently down till she was sitting on his knee; she put her arms round his neck and hid her face in the hollow of his shoulder.
‘You mean to go—soon?’ she asked, sorting out her words so as to get no trace of feeling into them.
He tried to look at her face, but she clung tight, with hard wrists and fingers and her forehead butting into him. ‘Quite soon,’ he said, ‘if I do go. Erif—shall I?’
She felt his live, powerful heart-beats under her cheek as she lay against him; for a moment she could not bear to separate herself from them. Tarrik was almost sure he would not have to go, and was glad. He put his arms right round her, for his, for certainty. His lips bent to her round, soft head, the baby hairs at the back of her neck that would not stay in any plait. She did not move; only she said: ‘Yes, you should go.’
The voice was very soft, and yet so clear that he was quite sure he had heard right. He tried once more. ‘Erif, do you want me to go?’
It was she who was startled now; she had not thought there was all this on his side of it; he almost got the no out of her. But at last she said: ‘Yes, Tarrik.’ Then she went quite still again, afraid of the time when his arms must loosen and let her go.
This being so, Tarrik said he would go the next day. He stirred himself and every one else to prodigious energy. They swirled round Erif in a sea of life and action. She was just left in the middle of it, half dead and small and useless. Tarrik summoned the Council. He seemed mad enough now to justify them all. ‘My aunt is to have the power of the Chief,’ he said, and Eurydice came in and stood beside him, stiff and tall and smiling thinly; she gave almost every man in the Council the feeling that she was his aunt too. Harn Der was not badly pleased; this would not be too difficult to deal with. He could not think that there was anyone nowadays who would not rather have him as Chief than Eurydice. But who was to be Corn King? Till he knew that, Harn Der was not prepared to say anything. Tarrik was speaking of what had to be done while he was away, urging the Council to look on his aunt as himself, advise her well and obey her orders, remembering that he himself would be back by midsummer. At last he ended: ‘As to the Corn King. I lend my godhead to Yellow Bull, son of Harn Der. Let him come to me and take what I give him an hour before dawn tomorrow. And I give him full leave to take a tenth of men and money from Marob for the secret road. And I warn him to do this soon.’
For a moment this was too much to believe. Harn Der and Yellow Bull and their friends could not help staring at one another before the shouting started; it seemed impossible to be so favoured. Tarrik put his hand on to his shirt over Erif’s star, and looked at them all with a very clear vision. Then he smiled and sat down. It suddenly occurred to Harn Der that perhaps this was all Erif’s doing, and for the first time for weeks he was pleased with his daughter.
Tarrik did not even go to bed that night. Erif Der lay alone, waiting for him; after about three hours she fell asleep. But he was not in the house at all: he was in his other house, at the far end of Marob, where he was no more Chief, but Corn King and god. It had been cold going there, and very dark, with a few snowflakes falling out of nothing. Inside it was still cold, but airless, choking under the low stone roof. He took his own clothes off, as he had to, chewing bitter berries all the time, and put on the long, red robes, straight from neck to ankles; the stuff was damp and harsh against his skin. He shivered and put on the head-dress and mask, dark polished squares of jet and carbuncle and onyx, the
