Going through the gate of the Ka, Korkungal remarked that there was no guard.
‘Why should there be a guard, Captain? No one comes through here but porters, merchants and sailors,’ Ferlung replied.
Both walked at a faster pace this time, their arms swinging. The broad path curved away down to the as yet concealed beach.
‘I think I would have a guard on the gate.’
‘Oh, Captain, you must learn your duties. You are the adviser of the defenders. It is not your task to dispose them. Besides, there are no soldiers in the Ka.’
‘There are the two who live in the watch-tower.’
‘The youth and his servant?’ Ferlung laughed. ‘They are guests of the Ruler, no more. The youth is exiled here from the far end of the Empire. It seems he tried to usurp his brother, who rules a great city on the islands where the sun is hottest.’
Korkungal sighed. Again he had been mistaken; yet his memory could not be untrue. The agitation rose in him again. He looked about the rolling grassland and the pacific sea and felt it subside. He became happy.
They passed a file of sweating porters carrying great bundles and boxes. Each porter lowered his eyes and moved aside to let them pass. The path curved down and slowly the beach came into view. The beach was short, bounded on both sides by cliffs that extended into the sea to become the protecting heads of the perfectly formed bay. On the head to the right was situated the observatory tower, the Khumsung, bare and alone outside the white wall of the Ka. The city itself, of which only the uppermost part of the seaward ramparts could be seen, was a brilliant inert thing: it was hard to believe that many men, women and children lived out their lives there.
A scattering of ships rode in the bay, of all sizes: some with masts and rows of long oars, others no more than enlarged canoes powered by the labour of slaves. Skiffs and rafts plied between them and the beach, where groups of porters collected while awaiting work. For all the crowding of the beach and bay, it was quiet, except for the occasional shout or cry – which, however, was quickly sucked away into the wide hemisphere of clear blue sky.
But the attention of Korkungal and Ferlung was concentrated upon the three military ships. Two were already at anchor, while the third, the smallest, had edged past them and was gliding evenly through the swell towards the beach, its oars rising and dipping in unison. The two larger ships had only just anchored, lying out in the northern part of the bay, away from the merchant shipping. Their huge white sails hung unfurled, flapping aimlessly in the breeze, and their oars jutted out at rest, still wet and glinting in the sunlight.
Ferlung nodded with satisfaction.
‘They carry soldiers,’ he whispered confidentially to Korkungal. ‘However, I do not think they will stay here for long. See, the sails have not been furled nor the oars shipped. I think they will take on provisions. It is not often that such ships come here. I myself have seen them only once before... Be sure of this, Captain, there is war in the making in some nearby land.
‘These ships must interest you, Captain, for you are a military man. Long ago, the Empire perfected the science of moving large armies across the seas of the earth. A necessary thing: the Empire is spread throughout many lands and separated by vast stretches of ocean, and from time to time she is threatened by raiders and invaders. To maintain standing armies in each land and island would be beyond the resources of the Empire, so she instead has centred large armies in certain places, in homelands of their own where they live and breed, support themselves, manufacture arms and train endlessly. When there is danger, the nearest military city is instructed to embark a sufficient number of men to deal with it.’
The small military ship struck the seabed and swung about until it was parallel with the beach. A canoe went out to it and uniformed men descended into it. A column of priests, in ranks of two, came down the beach.
Ferlung rubbed his chin.
‘The soldiers may bring instructions for the Ka, Captain,’ he said, his voice lower this time. ‘Perhaps they also seek information from the priests. If this is the case, then they must be sailing north. I do not see the reason for this. North of us is the Unknown Land, or the Land of Fire, as some call it, which is inhabitated only by a few savages. What profit is there in making war against them?’
Three soldiers stepped on to the beach and walked across the tidal sands in the direction of the priests. Two figures detached themselves from the group, one robed in black and the other in yellow, and went down to meet the soldiers.
‘It is the High priest, Captain,’ Ferlung whispered. ‘It is indeed important. Rarely does the High priest leave his quarters. I do not recognise his companion, but he wears the robe of the observatory priests. Perhaps he is to give information on the stars above the northern seas for the purpose of navigation.’
The soldiers and the two priests bowed low to each other and drew close in conversation. Lines of porters filed to and fro, on and off the beach, without taking the slightest notice of this consulting group: the world carried on as normal around them.
‘Why do they go north?’ Ferlung mused. ‘What is there for them? For generations my people have awaited the war that must be fought between them and the Empire. Now, instead of going east into my homeland, they sail north into empty and useless lands...’
He stopped suddenly and gripped Korkungal’s elbow.
‘The High Priest,’ he hissed excitedly, ‘he points in our direction, Captain. This is significant. He speaks of us to the soldiers. Perhaps we are to be involved in this mission.’
Korkungal saw that the High Priest had in fact gestured in their general direction and that the soldiers had turned and looked at them.
Ferlung shook Korkungal more fiercely.
‘Let us go forward, Captain,’ he said, trying to sound dignified, but without much success. ‘It might be that they will wish to speak to us.’ Korkungal hesitated, so Ferlung added testily: ‘Come quickly, Captain, for it is our duty to go when we are called.’
Korkungal allowed himself to be drawn forward across the sand. Ferlung at first trotted eagerly, but as they came closer he slowed to a walk, then to a shuffle and finally halted twenty paces from the group. He stared at the priests and soldiers, then out to sea and then at Korkungal. He coughed and spoke very slowly:
‘We will wait here, Captain, until the moment the High Priest requires us. It would not do to rush up and interfere with their talk, which, you may be assured, is of the greatest importance to the well-being of the Empire and our Ka.’
The priest in the yellow robe raised his head and looked over the High Priest’s back at them. His impassive face offered them no encouragement. Ferlung took one step back and pulled Korkungal with him.
‘Not yet, Captain,’ he muttered hastily. ‘We are not yet required. I tell you, Captain, it is hard at times to know rightly what these priests want of a man. You must always watch them closely and be accurate in interpreting their nods and stares. If you approach them when you are not wanted or remain at a distance when you are, then they will glower at you and put all the blame on you. They will not contemplate the possibility that they might be at fault.’
One of the conferring soldiers noticed the priest’s distraction and he too looked over at Ferlung and Korkungal. A second soldier, the leader of the military, looked up. Ferlung was undecided as to what he should do, go forward or fall back. The High Priest, realising he had lost their attention, turned to see what diverted them. His face was severe. Ferlung squeezed Korkungal’s arm and nodded with disarming eagerness. The High Priest spoke to his companion. The yellow-robed priest compressed his lips and lifted his shoulders in the merest shrug. It was only when the High Priest clenched his thin hand that Ferlung came to understand that not only was he not required by the priests but that his presence was fast becoming an intolerable nuisance. He strengthened his hold on Korkungal’s arm and backed away.
When they were half the length of the beach away, Ferlung released Korkungal and rubbed his face vigorou
sly with his two palms.
‘That incident is a good example of what I was saying about the priests, Captain,’ he said loudly, his voice muffled behind his hands. ‘You see now how difficult it is to get good clear instructions from them. In the beginning I believed they required our presence at their conference, and with good reason, for am I not a man of the sea and you a soldier? Are we not better suited to advising a floating army than these priests, who spend all their lives behind the walls of their Temple? But when we come closer, so that we might instantly be consulted, we discover to our vexation that we do no more than disturb them in their talk. Tell me, Captain, what do you make of it all?’
Korkungal was staring up at the Ka, his brows shielding his eyes from the sun. The wall, brilliantly white in the sunlight, aroused in him a peculiar fascination. His voice was slurred as he replied to the Navigator:
‘I must confess, Captain, that I am too inexperienced in the ways of the Ka and its priests to judge one way or the other. And for my part, there is little I could tell these sea-soldiers. I know nothing of the sea.’
The High Priest bowed to the soldiers and walked slowly to join the huddle of priests. They formed themselves into a procession and left the beach. The yellow-robed priest remained with the soldiers for a while longer, then he bowed to them and walked up the path to the Ka alone, his hands buried in his robe.
Ferlung sighed hugely. He gave a final glance at the soldiers, he laid a hand on Korkungal’s shoulder and said:
‘Let us, too, return to the Ka, Captain. We have no more business here.’
Chapter Fifteen