The Corn King and the Spring Queen (32 page)

Meanwhile Plowing Eve went on. Corn King and Spring Queen danced, first to the sound of one drum, then to two, then as the pipers and drummers came hurrying back, to the full rhythm of the courting dance. They finished it and the plucking of the flowers, which Tarrik hurried on with cries and curses, just before sunset. There was not one moment for Tarrik to rest or be cleaned with warm water. He had barely time to get into the gold-sewn clothes and take the sunlight into himself, before it sank. Yet that gave people
less time to talk. They had to make the sun-wheel and start it spinning. Honey dripped out of the Corn King's mouth and down over his coat. Those who were next him in the centre of the wheel, the older men mostly, the Council and others, felt as they touched him that he was tense, and gripped with such a strength that they scarcely dared come near either of his hands lest it should close on them and crush.

More women than usual stayed for the night of Plowing Eve. It was of such intense importance to make up for anything that might have gone wrong. Both men and women remembered those two queer times when something comparable, though not so bad, had happened, when it was the Corn King himself who had done unlucky things, nearly three years ago now. It was said that so little actual evil for Marob had followed these things because the Spring Queen had in some way made up for them afterwards with the seasons. Had the Corn King and the new Spring Queen done that this time? What had happened had been so much worse. At that moment of all moments in the year! What had she seen? One witch-girl, dared by another, asked the Corn King what was going to be done to the old Spring Queen. He said nothing at all, but was so violent with her that she was bruised for days afterwards.

The Council met the next morning. Tarrik slept till the last moment; he had never been so tired after Plowing Eve before. It had cost him an immense effort to wrap up the plowshare and put it away properly; the dresses must wait. Erif had been asleep when he got back, and in the morning they only had a few moments together while he hurried into his clothes. She told him what kind of an appearance it was that she had seen. He nodded; he was not much surprised. He said: ‘I'll do what I can, for you and Marob. I don't know what it will be. I think everything is going to change.' Then he put on his crown and went to the Council.

Erif Der waited and talked a little to her cousin. Disdallis had gone home, and Kotka was standing armed outside the door of the Council Hall, to be ready for anything. She felt as though she had lately been very ill. It had all worked out curiously even. She had magicked Tarrik at midsummer and harvest two years ago, when she was still in her father's power, doing what he desired. Now she seemed still to be
in her father's power: when she went against him it was she who was magicked at Plowing Eve. Link said that there had been nothing wrong with the Corn King to her eyes. He had led her through the dance. She had seen it often, so she knew what she must do. Besides—she did not have really to understand; it was as if something had taken hold of her and made her do the dance: the music perhaps, or some violence coming out of the Corn King's hands and eyes. She herself was quite sure that the spring would come now.

Tarrik came back from the Council. He went straight to Erif Der and said: ‘It was Marob's will against ours, and I am part of Marob. They say you must get clean of Harn Der's blood or die. I said you could get clean. I do not know at all how you are to do it, Erif.'

She said: ‘Is there no way that seems likely? Has it never happened in the past? Surely other men and women have found that they could not always be gods!'

Tarrik said: ‘They have never thought about it before, so it has never happened. We two are different from any Corn King and Spring Queen that Marob has ever had.'

‘Whose fault is that?'

‘Perhaps it was a thing that had to come one day, or perhaps Sphaeros did it to us. I thought of that coming back from the Council. Erif, I thought—perhaps he might show you how to get clean.'

‘Oh, Tarrik!' she said, ‘am I to go from you?'

‘I do not see how you can ever get clean here, Erif; you will not get away from your father in his own land. I have not got away from him, though he is dead and I have risen. You will come back when you are clean, Erif.'

‘Ah, how shall I tell that?'

Tarrik looked at her desperately and then looked away ‘I don't know, I don't know! If I did it would be easy! You shall take my knife again and I will keep your star and at least we shall see that much about each other.'

‘But, Tarrik—' She caught hold of him, flung herself down on the ground and hugged his knees bruisingly against her breast. It was infinitely worse than their first parting. There was so much more between them now, so much solid truth and trust, things that both had done and both had forgiven, growth and understanding and a very
great tenderness. They were not pulling and straining at one another all the time as they had at first; they were reasonably certain. And there was the baby. She thought of not having him to kiss and hold and play with and watch growing; she had a sudden ridiculous, dreadful feeling that if she was not there to brood over him he might grow up into someone else, not himself. She tried to say so. It sounded silly. Tarrik patted her.

He said: ‘Everything will be all right here. I will see to it. Don't think about anything except saving yourself, sweetheart.'

Unreasonably, when he said that, she could not think about herself at all. She said: ‘What will happen to Marob?'

Tarrik shrugged his shoulders. ‘I shall find Spring Queens.'

She said: ‘I know you will.'

He said: ‘You will have to show Linit what to do in the Spring-field, or the guardian can tell her. Erif, don't put things wrong there, for her or for any of them. If you do that everything will smash. Listen: they may be Spring Queens, but you're my wife and my son's mother. That can't and won't be changed.'

She said: ‘I won't hurt anything or anyone in Marob any more. But even when I'm gone will it be all right? Is your luck straight? Are you satisfied?'

Tarrik did not answer for a moment; they were sitting side by side with their arms round one another; but either could face away and not show the trouble which each separately was in. At last he said: ‘I am satisfied for Marob, and that is what I am Corn King for. But I am not satisfied for myself. You know that, Erif. And perhaps the people of Marob will come soon to want each his own satisfaction too. The seasons will not be enough. Then the Corn King will not be enough either. Sometimes I think I have to get ready for that.'

‘Get ready?' she said. It had sounded queer and sad; she did not know what it might not mean.

‘I must save myself,' he said, ‘and then I shall be able to save my people. Sphaeros would think that was a very proper and right thing for any king to say!' He laughed a little. ‘But I was very happy most of the time before
Sphaeros came—and you magicked me. Would I have got into this tangle without him and his Stoics? It's like the marshes, Erif, all low and twisty, so that one can never see clear through it. I want a road.'

‘A secret road.'

‘To get myself and Marob across. I would be very glad to do that before I died. I want to find where we are in the universe. If it is like the philosophers tell us, earth and air and fire and water, all remote and unfriendly, and currents in it moving one whether one chooses or not! I want to find it kinder.'

‘And I want to find it in my power!' said Erif, suddenly and comfortingly aware of herself as a witch, ‘and I will! We'll save the people, Tarrik.' She looked at him gaily, feeling for the moment strong enough to face anything. But he was looking away.

He said, hesitating, unlike himself: ‘I think that even if they want something more than the seasons, the Corn King might be the Risen Corn for them, for their hearts as well as for their fields. But he might have to die first.'

Erif said sharply: ‘I don't understand!'

‘Nor do I,' he said, ‘yet.'

She had another four weeks before she could sail, as the weather was still very uncertain. All the time she was dragged about between counting the moments left, and wishing that this pain of saying good-bye were over. She spent tense hours with the baby, staring at him, getting his image into her eyes, touching him, getting it into her hands, listening to him so that when she was far away her ears would get an inward echo of his laughing and little bird noises, bubbling cries, funny whimperings that really meant something important. She stared at Tarrik till he could hardly stand it. She went about the harbour and streets; but they were not themselves, not true, because people always moved away from her, stopped their bargaining or singing or shoemaking, called their children in. She was never in the middle of the good, familiar crowd.

She showed Linit honestly everything in the Spring-field that she had to know, and made the guardian look at her hard, to know her later. She gave her the Spring-crown. She said she would be back soon, clean and full of power, in a year perhaps, or two years. She was going to be a witch
in strange countries! Tarrik asked her who she would take with her and offered her what she would of the treasure. She took jewels and as many bars of gold as she could carry, for herself and, she hoped, Berris. But she would not take any more, and she would not take any women to dress her or men to guard her. It was better to be alone, able to move quickly and suddenly. This business of saving herself might be dangerous, and she would not drag innocent people into it. Besides, when she got to Greece, there would be Berris. And there would be two in Sparta who would be friendly, Philylla and Queen Agiatis. Tarrik, remembering Kleomenes, was doubtful of how far she could count on them. But he trusted Sphaeros.

Disdallis came to Erif and asked to go with her. But Erif laughed and said Disdallis was better at home. ‘You will be there when I come back,' she said. ‘I shall think of that. You will tell me what has happened.' When Disdallis pressed it she was a little angry. She said: ‘You know you think me unlucky, Disdallis! It would be no help to me seeing my own bad luck every time I looked into your eyes! You took a big risk to help me at Plowing Eve and I will not ask it of you twice. Besides, I may be in danger—I may run straight into danger and pain. You must stay in Marob and keep a little peace for me to have when I get back, Disdallis.' Afterwards Kotka thanked her very truly and humbly for not taking his wife away from him. She did not tell him that she had hardly considered that side of it at all, because that would have made him feel uncomfortable, and she did like him very much.

When the time came, Tarrik said he could safely come with her in his own ship as far as Byzantium. Nothing could happen while he was away. The Council were sufficiently afraid of him now. Black Holly and Kotka and the others would look after things. The young crops were beginning to show, and every one felt glad and relieved. Erif had been, in a way, looking forward to cutting clear of everything and starting her loneliness, yet when she heard this she was wildly glad and wept for pleasure of seeing him, clinging to him for a little time yet, of finding some more certainty and strength before she went and it was all lost.

The baby lay in his cradle, half awake, blinking and smiling. She did not pick him up and hug him. She bent
and kissed him and whispered good-bye, lightly, lightly. She smiled at Linit and went down to the harbour. She waved a hand from the boat to Kotka and Disdallis on the quay. They went coasting softly south; she did not look back.

At Byzantium Tarrik found a merchant ship bound for Gytheum, whose captain he knew well of old and trusted; he was a man from Olbia, only half Greek. They had three days. They talked of all sorts of small things. Erif bought toys and painted horses for him to take back and give to Klint—later. She bought oddments for all her friends. They pointed and laughed and ate sweets. He came down to the boat with her. She went on board.

She leant over the rail and talked to him; they could just touch hands. Oh, all the words that had not been spoken, the most important parts of life left unsaid! The things they had not said and could not say—they could say them now! But not all jammed into a tiny moment. Oh moment, stay and let us grip you and talk. But the anchor rattled up, drowning their thought, the rowers leant forward for the first stroke. Every one was shouting, hurrying, blotting out the last moment. He stood on the quay. He could touch her ship still. The oars dipped. The stern glided past him. He could not touch it any longer. Now they were hoisting the sails. Now the ship was only one of a group of ships, beyond sound of any farewell.

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