Korkungal awoke with the first light of the dawn, as was his habit, and paused but an instant before leaping up out of his sleeping-skin. The morning was clear and sharp and spoke well of the day to come. Naked, he ran up and down the hollow in which they had spent the night, swinging his arms vigorously and lifting his knees high in order to warm his stiff, chilled body, He was always a happy man in the early morning, greeting the new day with the enthusiasm of a young man, because his sight was bright and his memory dull.
When the blood was coursing briskly in his veins and his limbs were supple in their bending and stretching, he threw himself on to the grass and rolled about, delighting in the shock of the icy dew on his flesh. Gurgling deep in his throat, he threshed about in abandon. Then he jumped to his feet and ran up and down a few times to dry himself.
He dressed quickly, putting on his best shirt, of fine white linen, his belt of red-dyed bull-leather, and sandals of tough oxen leather soles and intricately worked calf-leather strapping. Next, he attended to his weapons, taking them from under his cloak, which he had used to protect them from the night. He polished the smooth lengths of his throwing sticks with the shirt he had worn the previous day and checked the thongs of his well-finished flint axe, a weapon he always kept by his side for the task of ritual-killing his enemies. Finally, he took the bright sword from under the cloak and held it up to the sun, marvelling as he had done many times before at the uniqueness of it. The fact that he did not use it in battle (he did not know how to wield it against a rush of axe-and club-hearing raiders and he would not cast it like a throwing-stick for fear of losing it) did not weaken the wonder if it. It was the gift of the priest, a sign that he was especially favoured by the Goddess, and he invariably held it in his battle-hand at councils. He wiped the dew off it, rubbing it energetically to make it shine.
His warrior-tasks finished, he turned his attention to food. He tore off a piece of salted beef and sat on his sleeping-skin and chewed contentedly, savouring the familiar juices of the meat.
Kandrigi was by now awake. He lay curled lip in his cloak, his old body numb with the cold, and uttered the ritual morning incantations to the Goddess in gratitude for a new day’s dawning. When he had done praying, he rolled over on to his back and opened his eyes. Korkungal saw this and spoke, his words distorted by a mouthful of chewed meat.
‘Are you well, Kandrigi?’
The priest blinked rapidly and opened his mouth a number of times, but did not speak.
Korkungal wiped his lips.
‘Are you cold, old man? It is like our home here, is it not? Do you feel the cold air of the sea in your bones?’
Kandrigi did not like the mock-bravado of the taunting warrior and so did not speak.
Again Korkungal spoke, ‘Will I assist you in your rising, old man?’
‘I will be on my feet very soon, Korkungal,’ Kandrigi said stiffly, his voice full of agéd dignity, ‘I am engaged in certain thoughts.’
‘Do not hurry, Kandrigi. The day before us is long.’ He paused, and then added slyly, ‘The sun will he soon warm.’
Immediately he heard this, Kandrigi pushed his cloak away and got stiffly to his feet. Shivering in the chill air, he faced Korkungal and said:
‘I do not need you to tell me that, great warrior, for I have witnessed the fact on every day of my life,’
Korkungal, feeling he had lost face, bowed his head in mock-shame and spoke into his lap:
‘That is true, Kandrigi. I acknowledge your wisdom.’
‘It is well you do, warrior, for the world has great need of it.’
‘I believe you, priest.’
Kandrigi turned his back to Korkungal and began to beat his arms against his sides to get his blood flowing. Korkungal watched him placidly, busily chewing on a new piece of meat. Soon, he knew, the morning happiness would leave him as his memory grew bright. Already he remembered the strange light over the Ka, he chewed more vigorously. The priest stopped beating his arms and took to wriggling his shoulders.
‘It will be a great day for us, Kandrigi, will it not?’ Korkungal said to his back. ‘It is always a great thing to be at a journey’s end and to look forward to a crowded council house and a warm bed afterwards.’
Kandrigi stopped wriggling his shoulders and turned about to face Korkungal. His eyes were brighter his face more coloured.
‘It is, Korkungal. I have waited a long time to visit the Ka again and to see the great Temple of the Mother. I see you have dressed as it is fitting. I am glad of that, for it will give honour to our hosts.’
Korkungal looked down at himself, grinning with pride. Then he stood.
‘Will you eat now, Kandrigi? Some meat? Some of the berries we picked yesterday?’
‘No. Korkungal, it is not proper for me to eat on a day like this. But I will take some water.’
‘I will get it for you, Kandrigi.’ He brought a bowl of water. ‘I have eaten and I am ready now to go up to this Ka with you.’
‘I will not he long.’
‘There is no hurry, Kandrigi, though I am impatient to go and meet these strangers. But while I await you, I will climb up and look at the Ka again.’
He automatically took his axe with him when he scrambled up the side of the hollow. The white wall of the Ka glittered in the early sun, rising many times the height of a man above the grassy headland. Many streams of dark smoke eddied up from the place, drifting in the light sea wind. Korkungal saw a group of men come through the tall gates and walk down the track that led to the beach. He heard a low murmur of activity from within the wall, and knew from it that many, many people lived there. It was a strange sight, sure enough, but yet it gave him pleasure to see such a clean thing as this encircling wall that gave protection to so many. It would need a large band of warriors and strict stratagems to conquer it.
‘It is a strong fortress, Kandrigi,’ he said when he had returned to the priest’s side. ‘ It is also a pleasant sight to gaze upon. It was so placed by good strategy, I tell you, with a wide, deep sea behind and a flat, grassy country in front. It would be foolhardy to attack it,’
‘Bah, Korkungal, why do you talk like this? We come as friends to the Ka. Must you think always of fighting.’
Korkungal was deep in his wisdom and therefore spoke in a caressing tone.
‘Tell me then, Kandrigi, why this people built such strong walls about their dwellings, if it is not to defend themselves in time of war?’
Kandrigi jerked up his head and stared closely at the stocky warrior.
‘They have goods of great value, Korkungal, which they must hide away. But what is this to us? We come on peaceful business.’
Korkungal was nodding away to himself and rubbing his axe with a pensive thumb, he let his silence speak for him.
Kandrigi became impatient with this posture.
‘Come, Korkungal, we must go now.’
Korkungal came to life and set about rolling his sleeping-skin and spare clothes into a bundle. Then he picked up his weapons, sticking the axe and the sword into his belt. Seeing this, Kandrigi waved his hands in the air and cried petulantly:
‘No, no, Korkungal. You are to go unarmed. We agreed to this yesterday, do you not remember?’
‘It is better that we show them the kind of men we are, Kandrigi: you a priest and I a warrior. We do not want to stand at their gate like two beggars.’
Kandrigi pressed his hands together in agitation.
‘You said you would not arm yourself. Why do you break your promise?’
Korkungal blushed hotly: ‘I will not meet strangers bare-handed like a hairless youth, old man. I am a proud warrior and will not he guided by you in matters that are not a priest’s business. So,’ he waved his throwing sticks above his head, ‘I am ready now, with the bearing proper to a renowned warrior of the Briga.’
Kandrigi shut his eyes tight and swayed, his body trembling with temper. ‘It will do us no good,’ he repeated over and over.
Korkungal stopped waving
his throwing sticks and stood still and watched Kandrigi in silence. He waited to see if the priest would stop his tantrum, and when he showed no sign of doing so, he said loudly: ‘I am going up to the Ka now, Kandrigi.’
At once, Kandrigi opened his eyes and said:
‘Leave you axe and throwing sticks, at least. Korkungal. Do not shame me by disobeying me.’
The words softened the warrior’s heart.
‘I will leave all my throwing sticks except one. There, old man, will that satisfy you?’
Kandrigi nodded and said:
‘And your axe? Will you put your axe with the sticks, Korkungal?’
Korkungal shook his head violently.
‘Have I not done enough? Without my axe I am helpless.’
‘But you have the bright sword. That will do you much honour in the eyes of the people of the Ka. More than a simple axe will.’
Korkungal relented and reluctantly pulled the axe out of his belt and laid it on the grass beside the sticks.
‘You are a tough old man, Kandrigi,’ he said, more in affection than in anger.
Kandrigi smiled, his jowls creasing deeply.
‘I will cover them with my old cloak, Korkungal, so they will be safe.’
Outflanked, Korkungal sighed and raised his brows.
‘Let us go then, old man. The morning is passing and we have spent too long in talk.’
He picked up his ample cloak, woven from undyed wool, and spread it across his shoulders and fastened it at his throat with a gold pin. He waited while Kandrigi did likewise, his cloak being dark blue in colour, which signified the priestly rank among the Briga. Then they climbed out of the hollow and stood for a moment at the top, conscious of being fully exposed to the inhabitants of the Ka.
‘We will walk with even measure, Korkungal, and approach without fear,’ Kandrigi said with unconcealed excitement.
They set out across the grassy plain in the direction of the high, white wall, which glittered brightly in the strong sunlight. They could see columns of men coming through the open gate and going down the track to the beach below, backs bent under bundles of merchandise. Others walked in the opposite direction, some laden, some not. No one seemed to notice the two strangers approaching.
‘Does it not impress you, Korkungal?’ Kandrigi asked from the corner of his mouth.
The stocky warrior, wrapped in his cloak, his battle-arm exposed across his belly, throwing stick held parallel to his arm, spoke gruffly.
‘I do not wish to he impressed, old man.’
‘Ach, my fine warrior, you are as ever suspicious.’
‘Fine things are nothing more than distractions. This wall you praise so much is a thing of purpose, these slaves are creatures of purpose. They must he studied to discover whether they assist our purpose or interfere with it.’
Kandrigi was silent. They could see detail in the wall and in the faces of the burdened men now. Still they had not been noticed.
‘Perhaps you are right in your own way, Korkungal. You are a warrior, a pillar of strength, staunch in defence, daring in the raid. It is proper that you watch these things. But I am a priest and I have my business to attend to, matters you do not readily understand.’
Korkungal was glaring at the wall and gate. A well thrown stick could strike them down: the inhabitants of the Ka had all the advantages, he gripped his stick more tightly.
‘Leave me to my business then, Kandrigi, and you attend to yours. I am here to protect you.’
They stopped at the gate. Korkungal had never seen so many races and skin hues before. That so many different types of men lived on the earth disconcerted him. More than this, the fact that the slaves ignored him gave him the greatest unease. He could not understand. A stranger in the home village is the most ambiguous of men, capable of arousing the strongest curiosity: yet these labouring men did not show the slightest interest in him.
Kandrigi touched his elbow to signal him to follow. Korkungal went into the Ka behind him. The first thing he saw was a seething mass of men and women, all naked except for loin clothes. They sweated at their tasks: lifting, carrying, packing and unpacking. Those who had the breath sang; those who did not, listened. They were everywhere, no matter where Korkungal put his face, and it was not long before he was gripped by terror. As his eyes swivelled from side to side, in an attempt to encompass all that was presented to his vision, he was vaguely conscious of the buildings beyond: storehouses and dwellings of good proportions and strongly made.
Kandrigi sensed his fright and turned to him. His eyes were blank and moist. ‘Ignore them, Korkungal. Believe that they mean no harm. In time you will grow used to them.’
Wide-eyed, Korkungal nodded.
With sure steps, Kandrigi led him deeper into the Ka. The press of people eased as they entered the quarter of the artisans, where men worked at their benches and wheels to the accompaniment of much scraping and hammering. Korkungal became calmer and began to single out individuals to study, he happened to stare down at a silversmith as he passed his workshop, and discovered a thin, dark face staring back at him. Korkungal’s expression changed to a glower. The smith’s face broke into a good-humoured smile that wrinkled up his eyes. Korkungal was startled and he looked away. About to turn a corner, he glanced back and saw that the smith was still watching him, his face cocked in childish amusement.
It was very strange indeed that the man had shown no fear.
‘We are almost there, Korkungal,’ Kandrigi said.’
Korkungal followed the pointed finger and saw a massive building, grey in colour. It took him a while to realise it was build entirely of stone. Stone! Korkungal’s heart sank. If the race that ruled this place could build such a building, then of what use were his puny weapons against them. The shame he felt was in no way playful. Sunk in his impotence, he saw that Kandrigi was looking at him with benevolence.
‘Do you understand, Korkungal, my great warrior?’
Korkungal glanced down at his wooden throwing stick. ‘I do, Kandrigi. You are a wise man.'
‘Remember I have been here before.'
‘Then you did not explain it well to me.'
‘I tried my best, Korkungal. I do not always know how your mind works. ‘
Korkungal gave a heavy sigh and pulled his cloak more tightly about him.
‘Let us go then, Kandrigi. It is a hard lesson for one of my years to learn.’
‘Will you leave your throwing stick here?’
‘No, priest, I am still a warrior, though perhaps not so great as before, and it is still my duty to protect you as best I can.’
‘You are still a great warrior, Korkungal.’ Kandrigi smiled with mock-conceit. ‘You are a good man in your simplicity.’
Korkungal grunted and walked on towards the stone building. Kandrigi had to hurry to keep up with him.
Chapter Three