Terra Incognita (41 page)

“On that soft grass south of the river, the servants laid out a banquet. There were fine wines and flowing honey, roasted meats and warm spices from the East, all laid out in golden bowls with silver spoons. The people saw the feast and wondered at it, but the men kept hold of their swords, and the women kept hold of their spears.

“When the meal was served the Wolf licked his lips with his slavering tongue, and he smiled and showed his sharp teeth, and he said, ‘Come across and dine!’ ”

“Don’t do it!” yelled a voice from the back of the crowd.

The storyteller bent to address someone at the front. “Would you dine with a wolf?”

The reply was inaudible.

He moved along. “Would you?”

“No!” came a child’s voice.

“Not even for fine wines and warm spices and flowing honey?”

“Yuck!” responded the child. There was laughter.

“Good boy.” The storyteller nodded and resumed.
“But the people of old were not as wise as this child. They smelled the wine and the spices, they saw the golden bowls and the silver spoons, and they lowered their swords and their spears and asked one another, “What does this mean?”

The man went on to describe the arguments between people who wanted to trust the wolf and people who did not. Tilla breathed into Rianorix’s ear, “Have you heard this story before?”

“No.”

“Neither have I. He said it was an old story of our people.”

“So? He’s a storyteller. They tell lies for a living.”

“Shh!” came a voice from behind.

“The wolf, seeing the people were divided, said, ‘Why not put me to the test? Why not come across and try a little of the wine, have a taste of the roasted meat, a sniff of the spices? See for yourselves that I come in friendship. Look, I and my servants will stand back while you eat.’

“Some of the people began to move forward. Others seized hold of them and tried to stop them, saying the Wolf was not to be trusted. But the trusting ones said, ‘The Wolf offers hospitality. It is rude to refuse.’ So they made their way across the stepping-stones and ate and drank. And the Wolf stood back and did nothing. And when the trusting ones had eaten and drank, they turned to the others and said. ‘See? There is nothing to fear. Come across and dine with the Wolf.’ ”

“Would you dine with a wolf?”

“No!” said a child’s voice.

The man nodded. “Good girl.
But the people of old were not as wise as this child. The ones who had held back looked across at their companions eating and drinking and said, ‘The feast is safe. The Wolf is a friend.’ And they began to sheathe their swords and put down their spears and walk over the stepping-stones toward the banquet. Only one boy looked across at the Wolf and saw the sharp teeth and the slavering tongue and said, ‘We have everything we need on this side of the river. We should stay away from the Wolf’s fine food and his soft words.’ But no one heeded the boy except an ugly old woman, who was too lame to cross the stepping-stones.

“So all the rest of the people crossed over the river and sat down to dine. And when they had sat down, the Wolf secretly called up all the wild dogs, and the wild dogs leaped on the men and tore them to pieces!”

There were cries of “Traitor!” and “Shame!”

“Then the Wolf’s servants rounded up all the women and children and made them into slaves!”
More hisses and protests rose into the night air.

Tilla had to concede that he did it well. If she had not recognized him, she would have been impressed. As it was, she was wondering what he was up to, and what she should do about it. This was not a traditional story. This was a very dangerous story. He had not even bothered to conceal the meaning in a riddle. Everyone had seen the soldiers who carried the image of the emperor wearing a wolf pelt instead of a crest on their helmets. It was a foolish story to be telling when nobody really knew—even among an invited gathering like this—who could keep a secret and who was a spy. And what if the children talked?

“Then the Wolf and his wild dogs came across the river and plundered all the fruits of the land, stealing all the treasure and burning the houses, while the boy and the old woman fled to a cave high in the hills. And in that cave the old woman grew older and uglier, while the boy grew into a man.”

Predictably, the young man wanted a wife. Equally predictably, the old woman pointed out that there was no one to be had except herself, and the young man was not impressed. While Tilla was wondering what the old women in the audience would make of that, the young man went in search of the Wolf and shouted across the river,

“ ‘How much will it take to buy back one of my people?’ ”

“The Wolf thought for a moment, and said, ‘Bring me all the silver in the land. Then I will give you a woman your own age for a wife.’

“Then the young man went away very sad, because he knew there was no silver in the land. The Wolf had already stolen it.

“When the old woman saw that the young man was sad, she asked him why. He told her, ‘Because there is no silver in the land to buy a wife.’

“The old woman shook her head, and said, ‘Never bargain with a wolf. Take me as a wife.’

“The young man wrinkled his nose. ‘You are old and ugly,’ he said. ‘I want a wife of my own age.’

“ ‘And do you trust the Wolf?’ asked the old woman.

“ ‘I do,’ the young man said. ‘But I have no silver.’

“The old woman replied, ‘You are a fool. But if you give me one kiss, I will tell you where to find the silver.’

“The young man looked at the woman’s old, gnarled face and thought he could not bear for his lips to touch such skin. But then he thought it was not such a bad price to pay for a wife, so he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and kissed the old woman on the cheek.

“And she said, ‘You must go out in a boat at midnight at the next full moon and harvest all the silver from the waters. Take that to the Wolf. See if he will give you a wife.’

“So the young man went out and harvested all the silver of the moon and the nighttime grew black all across the land. Then he went to the river where he saw a beautiful young girl tied to a tree across the water, and he sent the silver across on a raft to the Wolf.

“ ‘Now release me that girl for a wife,’ said the young man. The Wolf counted the silver. He shook his head. It was not enough.

“ ‘But that is all the silver in the land!’ cried the young man. The Wolf smiled, showing his sharp teeth and his slavering tongue. ‘Bring me the gold, then,’ he said.”

Tilla pressed closer to Rianorix and whispered, “The gold will be the sun. I need to go to the bushes. Too much beer.”

The guards were still standing outside the house. The mead jug was still propped up in the same position by the wall.

“How is the prisoner?”

“Sh. We want to hear the story.”

“The story is not true,” she retorted. “He is just making it up.”

“So? It’s good.”

“Let me see the soldier. I can find out if there are others coming.”

“It’s no good asking us.” The guard pointed his club in the direction of the storyteller. “You’ll have to talk to him.”

76

T
HEN WHAT MORE
can I give you? There is nothing else! You promised!’

“The Wolf’s laughter rang across the water. ‘If you want her, you must come across and get her yourself.’

“The young man knew the Wolf could not be trusted, but he must have a wife. A wife of his own age. He could hear the girl calling to him. Just as he was about to step forward onto the first stone he heard a movement behind him and smelled the smell of wild dog and he knew in a flash that this was a trick: The Wolf had him surrounded. So he leaped aside and drew his sword, and thrusting it this way and that into hot bodies that grunted and snarled at him in the blackness, he made his way back up the bank and fled to safety.”

“You were right,” murmured Rianorix in her ear. “It was the sun. And he had to kiss the old woman on the lips.”

“The old woman sat beside the fire, waiting. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘The land is dark by night and dark by day. The crops have died and birds are silent. You have no wife your own age, and the rest of our people are still held prisoner. A fine deal you have done with the Wolf.’

“Do not nag me, woman,’ replied the young man. ‘You are not my wife.’

“Then the old woman took him by the arm and led him to her bed, saying, ‘I am not your wife. But I am all you have.’

“Then the young man cursed the old woman. And when he had finished cursing the old woman he lay on the bed and wept, and when he had finished weeping he lay on the bed and thought, and when he had finished thinking he took the old woman in his arms and took her for his wife.

“When he awoke it was still black as night, for the land was dark by night and dark by day. But standing above the bed, shimmering in the firelight, was the tallest, the most beautiful, the most terrifying woman he had ever seen. On her head was a golden helmet. Her hair flowed down to her waist, and her cloak was fastened by silver brooches with precious stones set in them. In her hand was a flaming spear. And the woman hurled the spear into his pillow and cried, ‘Awake at last, son of Brigantia!’

“The young man did not dare ask who she was. He looked around for the old woman. There was no sign of her.

“‘Long have I waited,’ said the shining woman, ‘and with much patience.’

“The young man trembled, and did not know what to say.

“‘Long have I waited, and with much patience, listening to the cries of my people in slavery, watching the Wolf steal the goodness from the land, watching while you plunge the earth into darkness with your foolish bargains!’

“The young man knelt at her feet, but the woman said, ‘Do not grovel. Sons of Brigantia should not grovel.’

“So the young man stood, and followed the woman out of the cave as he was ordered. And outside were two magnificent horses, a white one for her and a black one for him. Before they mounted, the woman turned to him and said, ‘Son of Brigantia, will you save your people?’

“The young man said, ‘I will.’

“‘Will you fight for them and for their freedom against the Gray Wolf and all his armies?’

“The young man looked into the woman’s eyes and he knew that by her side, he would never be afraid. He said, ‘I will.’ ”

The storyteller suddenly bent and glared at a young child in the audience. “Son of Brigantia, will you save your people?”

The child said something.

“Louder,” urged the storyteller.

“Yes!” came the reply.

The storyteller turned to the child’s companion. “Will you?”

“Yes!”

There was a cheer.

The storyteller rose to his full height. “Sons and daughters of Brigantia, will you save your people?”

The crowd cheered louder, shouting, “Yes!” and “We will!” From somewhere a chant began to spread, “Death to the Wolf! Death to the Wolf! Death to the Wolf!” until Tilla felt herself swaying in time to the words and the air around them was alive with the roar, “Death to the Wolf! Death to the Wolf!”

Suddenly the chant died away as if the storyteller had given a signal. A lone voice cried, “Death to—” and faded amid the derision of his companions.

“Children of Brigantia!” The storyteller’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It is no easy thing to kill a wolf. For a wolf is cunning.”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“And a wolf is strong.”

More murmurs of agreement.

“And a wolf is brave.”

“But we’re braver!” shouted a voice from the back. There were yells of support.

“Yes.” For the first time that evening, the storyteller smiled. “
So it was with the young man. Once he had turned to the wise old woman, he found the courage of his ancestors, and he rode down to the river and fought with the strength of fifty men. The people who were held captive rose up with him and there was a terrible battle. The Wolf, seeing what was happening, disguised himself as a dog and fled. At last every one of the Wolf’s followers lay on the ground with his head hacked from his body. Then the young man and the people marched back over the river carrying the gold of the sun and the silver of the moon, and the crops grew again and the birds sang and the people prospered in the land.
But remember this, my children . . .”

The storyteller paused, surveyed his audience, and continued softly, “The Wolf is still out there, waiting. Waiting with his soft words and fine promises.” He paused again, then raised his voice. “Would you be deceived by a wolf?”

“No!” was the unanimous shout.

“Would you bargain with a wolf?”

“No!”

“What would you do with a wolf?”

“Take his head!” roared a voice from the back of the crowd.

“Take his head!” yelled the crowd, stamping and clapping and swaying in time to the words. “Take his head! Take his head!”

As the chant rose to a crescendo, Tilla gasped. Figures were leaping out from between the fires. Wild, naked men with painted bodies and spiked hair pranced in front of the crowd, brandishing shields and flaming torches. A man on horseback was moving among them: the storyteller, now with antlers sprouting from his head. Then another figure emerged into the light. Not dancing. Stumbling. Dragged forward, his hands roped together, his face pale and wide-eyed with terror.

“Take his head, take his head!”

It was the medicus.

“No!” shrieked Tilla, springing to her feet and scrambling toward the fires, tripping over legs and cloaks and children. “No, he is a good man!”

Behind her she could hear Rianorix shouting, “Leave him alone!”