woman, crouched in a corner. He stood over her and passed his hand three or four times in front of her face; she slept.
Tarrik took another mouthful of berries, and lighted the lamp over the stone. He did not much like what he was going to do; but it was only till midsummer, and besides he was a pupil of Sphaeros. He tried to think of it all in Greek, but there were no words for half of it. At any rate, this would be Yellow Bull’s pay at Plowing Eve. He took down the Plowshare, blew on it, and wrote in the mist his breath had made. He did the same thing with the Cup and the Sieve, and he undid certain very important knots in the Basket. Last of all he took off his head-dress, and ran a tiny nail into it, so that it would just scratch the ear of the next wearer. He took great care not to touch the point of the nail himself. When that was done, he took off the red robes and got into his own clothes again; it had all taken a long time, and they were cold like a deserted nest.
The next two hours he spent with his head-men at the real, the Chief’s house; they were making him up bales and chests of precious things to take with him. He would come to Hellas as a Power! There were twenty he had bidden make ready to come with him, young men, strong and faithful, all free and of the noble blood of Marob. He gave them everything they wanted, armour and money and fine clothes. They were all sad at leaving their horses. But it was not to be for long. When he came back, he would know how to be a real, Stoic king.
Yellow Bull came as he had been told, an hour before dawn. He and Tarrik went together the way the Chief had already been. They talked about the secret road and how much could be done on it, even in winter. ‘I will make a good road, Chief, I swear I will!’ said Yellow Bull. ‘Yes,’ said Tarrik gently, ‘I am sure of you.’ They were close to the other place now; in a few houses people were stirring; they could see a sudden line of light behind the shutters, the first thin fighting against the night. Yellow Bull suddenly found his eyes full of tears. ‘Nobody else believed in my road,’ he said, ‘and now—’ But Tarrik laid a hand on his arm, and there they were at the door.
Half the town was down at the harbour next morning, with much lamentation. Many of them had brought presents for the Chief to take with him. He had very wisely decided that it would be better to go in the trader rather than in his own state ship, which was much faster and very beautiful, but would not stand continuous bad weather. He walked quickly, with one arm across Sphaeros’ shoulders; they both wore long fur coats and thick boots. The Chief had left his crown for Eurydice, and he was bare-headed, but had a fur hood to put on later if he wanted it. He and his men were all in a bunch together, full of movement and life and warmth under their heavy coats. The Spring Queen and her women came separately from the great door, chill and downcast, to say good-bye. And the Council, with Berris Der and a few others, waited on the breakwater for the Chief to pass. There was not wind enough to sail by, but the rowers were ready; the sky was low and grey over the ship, and the sea grey and scarcely rocking against the harbour walls.
Berris had only heard that morning. The evening of the feast he had not taken it very seriously—he was thinking of his sister. And the day after he had ridden away into the country to draw trees. He had found elms and limes and ashes standing on the bare plain, and he had been so fascinated by the tangles of their black arms that he had stayed there till sunset; and after that he went straight back to the forge, not to his father’s house. He still could not quite realise that Tarrik was going. All these last months he had seen very little of the Chief, but somehow the assurance that he was there had been enough. It seemed to Berris that when he had made something supreme he would show it to Tarrik and everything would be right again. In the meantime he was not sure what he was after; he had done scarcely any solid work, only sketches and a little jewellery and ironwork just to keep his hand in. Since he had found out the truth about Epigethes and the wire keys, he had gone back entirely to his own mind for form and pattern, but now, while Sphaeros had been in Marob, the Hellenic ideas had come softly back and ranged themselves before him, vague and straight and beautiful. For certainly this Sphaeros hated the house of Leonidas in Sparta, and it seemed clear to Berris that it must have been full of just the kind of things that Epigethes liked: that he had liked himself ever so long—nearly a whole year—ago. But what did Sphaeros like? He never could make out, and found it quite impossible to believe what the Stoic assured him was the truth: that these things did not appear to him sufficiently real or important to give him any very great pleasure one way or the other. Now Tarrik and Sphaeros were both going! He stood on the edge of the breakwater, watching the slaves go past with all the things the Chief was taking with him; every time a man went by it seemed as if a bit of himself were going too.
The Chief was talking to his Council now. It occurred to Berris that probably he had the loudest voice of anyone in Marob. Or was it only that he did not care how much he let himself go? The men were all on board now; the ship was only waiting for Tarrik. He was saying good-bye; they gave him the salute, knife and hand. And last, Erif.
She did not know what to say; she wanted to show him some sign. Because love is so much an affair of giving yourself away, by word, or look, or touch. But here, in the middle of this crowd—she had not even told him about the child. If she had: well, if she had he might have stayed. And she wanted him to go: out of danger. ‘Till summer,’ he said, ‘till the fine days and the warm sun, Erif!’ And questioned her with his eyes. But she could not answer. Only she put her hand up on to his breast, hurriedly, clumsily, in under his coat and there was the hard flat lump her star made below his shirt. ‘Look for me here!’ she said. ‘It will tell you—if I live or die. Tarrik, I will be faithful to you!’ He looked down at her hand, then straight at her face; he held her at arm’s length, searching, searching. She dropped her eyes. ‘Give me something!’ she said low, then, as he hesitated, not knowing what would work, she pulled the onyx-handled hunting knife out of its sheath. ‘If this clouds,’ she said, ‘you are in danger.’ She dared not say more, for fear of saying too much. They kissed each other under the eyes of the crowd, a bad, short kiss. Tarrik turned to the sea and the ship.
He saw Berris Der standing on the edge. ‘Good-bye, Berris!’ he said, holding out both hands, smiling. But to Berris it seemed quite impossible to say good-bye all in a minute; he had far too much to talk about. ‘Good luck, Berris,’ said the Chief again, ‘good luck and good-bye!’ But, ‘Oh,’ said Berris, ‘I’m coming too!’ And he jumped on to the ship and Tarrik jumped after him, shouting: ‘Cast off, cast off!’ And so they went to sea.
Erif Der fainted into the arms of two of her women. A very proper display of feeling, every one thought. When she came to, she refused to go back to the Chief’s house and her quiet room. She went instead to the Spring-field, that place of her own that she had just as the Corn King had his. It was barred now, and lightless, till winter was past, but she went in and stayed there while it was day, and came out a little happier; she had done what she could to give Tarrik a good wind and fair weather for his journey.
Harn Der was partly horrified and partly relieved at what Berris had done. It was a foolish and dangerous thing, but, on the other hand, in some ways it made their plans easier if they had not got someone with them who might suddenly change sides—Berris had been as uncertain as all that lately. As it was, he had always wanted to go to Greece, and now he was going. Artists are difficult people to have in a family. And about Erif. ‘I wonder why she fainted like that?’ said Yellow Bull thoughtfully.
‘She may be going to have a child,’ said Harn Der.
‘Essro ought to have told me.’
‘Women like their own secrets, my son. But—if she is—well, I think it must be dealt with. If Tarrik is to go, no use not doing it thoroughly.’
‘Will she mind?’ asked Yellow Bull, doubtful.
‘She married him with her eyes open. She has no business to mind. Better for her to get clear of it all. And even if she does mind, it will have to be done; she must know that as well as we do.’
‘Better
