The Corn King and the Spring Queen (71 page)

‘Then what have I got to do, mother?'

‘Don't worry, Erif. You'll do it. You see, you'll have to, because you're the Spring Queen. Now, darling, you'll catch cold if you stay with me any longer. Your dress is wet through. I don't like these Greek dresses you wear now nearly so much as the old ones, but you're doing your hair very prettily. Kiss Berris from me. I'm proud of him. And of you, Erif. It's much more interesting to be a woman, really. Good-bye till next time, my darling.' The bird lifted its long legs and stalked off to the others, keeping a look-out for any oddments in the way of fish or newts. Erif turned back to the shore and paddled slowly out of the water. She sat down on the bank, pulled the leeches off her feet and put on her sandals. Then she walked back
towards Alexandria. She was not quite sure what had been happening.

She went in through the same gates and back up the street. Every one was up now, and busy and noisy; they jostled into her. She came back to the house. On the stairs Ankhet met her and said: ‘They have done that to the body of King Kleomenes. At dawn today.' But she did not answer. In the big room Berris was at work again. She heard the knocking of the mallet against the chisel and the chipping of the chisel against the stone before she got there. When she came in he looked round at her once and then went on. ‘I've been down to Lake Mareotis,' she said. ‘I met mother there.'

‘Lie down,' said Berris. ‘You've been out in the sun without a veil. You don't know what you're talking about.'

‘But I did,' she said, lying down all the same. ‘She's turned into a flamingo. She said she was going to, ever so long ago, in the tent. This time she told me a lot of things.'

‘Do stop,' said Berris. ‘All this has gone to your head. I don't blame you, Erif, but it makes it difficult to work, so keep quiet.'

‘She said I was to kiss you from her, Berris,' she said. ‘Do come over and let me. I feel somehow as if I couldn't stand up.'

Reluctantly Berris came over and stood beside her. She looked up at him, pursing her mouth. He bent and kissed her quickly. He wondered whether he ought to send for a doctor; perhaps she should be bled. He put down his chisel. She seemed to be trembling rather. The edge of her dress was muddy. He heard Ankhet on the stairs, probably bringing them up some food again. He called to her quickly and even anxiously. She came in and stood beside him, but Erif did not seem to notice her. ‘Berris,' she said once, in an odd sort of hissing whisper. Her hands clenched tight on the sides of the couch and her eyes began to blink heavily. He knelt down beside her, suddenly terrified. ‘Erif,' he said, ‘Erif darling, what's happening?'

The whisper sank lower, as though it were being dragged out of her painfully, the last remains of consciousness. ‘The Snake to the Dead,' she said thickly, so that he scarcely recognised her voice. Then her eyes snapped tight and a
hard shaking took her body as though she were in the grip of something invisible.

‘Erif!' cried Berris. ‘Erif, oh Erif, don't!'

But Ankhet seized him suddenly by the arm and pulled him back. ‘Let her be!' she said. ‘Let her be or you will hurt the khu. This will stop in a little.'

She kept hold of him for a few minutes longer, stopping him every time he made a movement towards his sister, and by and bye the shaking grew more spasmodic, slacking down for moments and then reviving, at last slacking down altogether. The body of Erif Der lay still, only breathing deeply at long intervals. The tension of the arms and face seemed to be relaxed. ‘There,' said Ankhet, ‘the khu has gone. It will come back. Only we must wait and not let her be disturbed.' She drew the curtain across the window immediately above Erif's head, so that no direct sunlight should come on her.

‘But do you know what's happened to her?' said Berris, and then suddenly he sobbed: ‘Oh, Ankhet, if she goes too—!'

‘But it is all right,' said Ankhet slowly. ‘Nothing will happen to her. I will try to tell you in Greek words, Berris Der, but it is very difficult, and I do not know rightly even in my own head how it is. The knowledge has been lost. But I believe it is like this.' She paused and counted on her fingers. ‘There are seven, eight, nine parts of a man or woman. It is quite easy to say what they are called, but not so easy at all to think of them separately. But I will try. There are the body and the shadow. There are the heart, the soul, and the spiritual body, which is a different thing again, but does not get much separated during life. There is the name and the power. I do not know if names matter very much among you barbarian people, and I do not know if you have power, though I think she must have.' Ankhet slanted her head towards the couch. ‘Then there is the kha, that is, the double, one's own image which is always separate, but yet it cannot be taken away, any more than a reflection in a looking-glass can be taken away. And there is the khu, that is, the spirit. And both the kha and the khu can go on journeys and do things, and the khu can enter into other bodies or make itself a body to do its will. Do you understand at all, Berris Der?'

‘I understand the words,' said Berris, ‘but not what they mean. And I don't see what they have to do with my sister.'

‘She has split up,' said Ankhet patiently. ‘People do that, you see, when something has hit them very hard, and some people learn to do it when they choose. I am not quite certain how she is split, but I have seen something like this happen before, and I think she has sent out her khu, her spirit, to take or make some other body and make it do something she wants it to do. Do you know what that would be?'

Berris said slowly, trembling a good deal himself: ‘The last thing she said was: “The Snake to the Dead.”'

‘Well, that will be it,' said Ankhet, with a suddenly satisfied tone in her voice. ‘Do you know what dead?' He shook his head. ‘But that doesn't really matter. It is her concern. But if we hear of any snake during the next day or two, we may be certain that it is Erif. Now, all we have to do is to see that the rest of her is not disturbed or wakened before the right time, and that the khu is not hindered from coming back.'

‘What must I do?' said Berris, for the moment at least relying on her.

‘Do?' said Ankhet. ‘I think you had better have some breakfast. I was bringing it up with me. It is a pity she did not have any before she started on this journey. However, it will do her no harm, though she may be hungry when she wakes. And after breakfast you had better go on working. And if anyone comes in, do not let them try to wake her, however much they may want to and however much they may say I have been telling you the thing that is not so.'

‘I see,' said Berris. ‘I think I quite understand. You are sure it will not disturb her if I go on working?'

‘Oh, quite sure,' said Ankhet smiling, and she brought him in his breakfast.

Later that morning Sphaeros came in. He was very much worried when he saw Erif and wanted to send for a doctor or try to wake her up, but Berris would not let him. He said he had found out from the woman with whom Phoebis and Neareta had lodged where the boy Gyridas was, and he was going at once to fetch him. And then he said: ‘You know what they did to my pupil Kleomenes? Well, a very strange thing seems to have happened. There is a great snake which
has wound itself round his body and the stake. It keeps the birds from pecking at his head. I have not seen it yet, but I have heard on good authority that it is so. It is very curious. One knows that dead bodies breed worms and beetles, but I do not think that can be the explanation here. Berris, you are looking very ill! What is the matter?'

‘Nothing,' said Berris, ‘but I think I have heard that the bodies of heroes in old days were guarded by snakes or even changed into snakes. I have heard that a snake is the easiest thing a man can turn into. Or a woman.'

‘Superstitions,' said Sphaeros, frowning. ‘I did not think you would believe these old wives' tales, Berris!'

‘All the same,' said Berris, ‘I hope they will not drive off the snake or hurt it.'

‘They are more likely to worship it,' said Sphaeros, and sighed. ‘They will do that for Kleomenes when he is dead for the sake of a serpent, who would not lift a finger to help him when he was alive for the sake of his ideas.'

‘I am going to make some more pictures of him,' said Berris.

‘Are you?' said Sphaeros wearily, turning to go. He was not interested in pictures, even those ones.

So for three days the snake guarded the body of Kleomenes, and every day more and more men and women came with offerings and expiations. Sosibios was very angry and tried to drive them away, but they would not go, so he thought he had better acquiesce, and refused to concern himself with the affair at all. Word was sent to the divine Ptolemy at Canopus, and he sent back in return a very curious offering which was taken to the body by a solemn procession of Alexandrians. And in the meantime the flayed corpse dried and blackened and shrivelled, but it was so heaped with flowers and sweet leaves that no one saw it, but only the great bright-eyed snake above, coiled on the stake and weaving its head from side to side. For three days people came from town and country to see this and whisper and pray. And for three days Erif Der lay on the couch, unmoving except for the rare deep breaths that lifted and filled her body and then let it sink again. For the first day Berris worked and watched, taking long spells from his work to kneel beside the couch, staring. But the second and third day he worked steadily without
interruption, because other watchers had come, and it was they who stood or knelt beside her, watching and waiting for the khu to come back and Erif to open her eyes.

A
NKHET AND HER
husband had gone early in the morning with their offering to Kleomenes and the snake. She came back hurriedly and called Berris to come down to her. She seized hold of him and said: ‘The snake has gone! When I went, it was there, hanging on the cross-piece of the stake and moving its head, and then in a moment it had glided down and was among us. It was going somewhere, and it knew where it was going, for its eyes were bright and fixed like polished sards. We all gave way to it and blessed it, and no one has trodden over its track in the dust. But now, Berris Der, I think your sister will open her eyes very soon.'

Berris ran up the stairs again. He looked at Erif; there was no change yet. ‘I wonder if I'd better shave,' he said. For it was four days since he had.

‘You'd certainly better!' said Hyperides. He was looking at the big squared charcoal drawing for one of the new pictures. It was amazing how much better they often looked in that state. Like one's own books before they were published, he thought.

Berris found a razor among his paint-brushes. ‘Let me know when the change comes,' he said.

‘Surely,' said Hyperides; but neither he nor Sphaeros thought there was likely to be a change. He was resolved to get a doctor in that evening whatever the others said. He had made inquiries and heard of a first-class Greek doctor who would have nothing to do with Egyptian superstitions. The catalepsy had already lasted unbroken for three days; it could not be allowed to go on much longer. If this had been happening in Marob he might almost have accepted the fantastic explanation, but in Alexandria, that city of learning which he had always longed to go to—no! Even Tarrik thought it most unlikely. What had his Erif, his Spring Queen, to do with Kleomenes?

Gyridas was making a rush plait. It was rather terrible. That was the only thing he had cared to do since he had been brought back. He looked well enough and answered
when he was spoken to, but unless he was definitely told to do something else—and there were times when he had to be told two or three times before he seemed to hear—the only thing he wanted to do was to make elaborate rush plaits and knots. The woman at the farm had taught him. When they were finished he gave them to Klint, who left them about or undid them or used them to play horses with Ankhet's little girl. When the two children were playing, Gyridas used to stand watching them or following them about. Once or twice they tried to get him to join in, but he couldn't play properly, so after that they ignored him.

Klint-Tisamenos was already completely bilingual, and had now, in two days, picked up a good many Egyptian words. He liked being called by his Greek name here, and had escaped out of the house at least three times and been retrieved, talking to amused people in the street. He had begun bothering Hyperides and his father to take him to see the lighthouse, which the little girl had told him about. They made him keep quiet in the big room, and so he did, although by now he was quite used to that sleeping lady, whom they said was his mother, and not a bit afraid of her.

Tarrik was kneeling beside her, watching her face. Even still, it was horribly frightening that she breathed so rarely; he had tried to time his breathing with hers, but could not do it. He felt it stiflingly hot in the room, even with all curtains drawn and the floor sprinkled with water every half-hour. The smell of the paints bothered him too, but there was no stopping Berris. Berris would not cover the statue, either. And it was terrible, though in a way very beautiful. But it seemed larger than the room, so that there was no place for both it and several living people there; it seemed to be forcing every one out. Tarrik wore a Greek tunic, the finest linen Ankhet could get, but it was belted with the gold belt of linked fishes which Berris had made once. Round his neck he was wearing a curious jewel of gold and red enamel which one of his metal-workers had made for him. It was based on corn ears and a springing or dancing beast, some kind of tiger or wild cat. It made Berris suddenly want to try his hand again on metal-work; he could not allow some unknown man in Marob to do as well as that without doing better himself!

Tarrik called out sharply, and the others all looked up and dropped what they were doing, except Gyridas, who went on plaiting rushes in his corner, talking rapidly to himself under his breath, as he usually did now. ‘What is it?' said Sphaeros.

‘She took two breaths quickly,' Tarrik said. Disdallis came over and looked at her intently, passing a hand once or twice near to and in front of her shut eyes. Again Erif Der breathed, and there seemed to be a faint creeping of colour into her pale cheeks. When she saw that, Disdallis went to the head of the stairs and called Ankhet, asking her, in bad Greek, to bring Tisamenos up with her.

Disdallis was wearing a green and cream-coloured linen dress and no coat; her knife, too, had green shark-skin round the hilt. When she had heard that the Chief had become so certain of Marob and himself that he was going to bring Erif back and make her certain too, Disdallis had gone to him and said she must come with him. It was possible that they might have to bring Erif back against her will or out of enchantments; if so, he would need her. Tarrik had agreed and taken her with him, leaving Kotka and Linit to carry on his powers; but he had gone after Plowing Eve and meant to be back before midsummer. Linit's next child would be born by then, and while he was away she should choose herself a husband from the best of Marob, who would know that she was a well-ploughed and sun-blessed field, and honour her for it.

Disdallis had been very sick on the voyage, and found Alexandria a most alarming place, but she liked Ankhet. They had not been able to discover at once where Erif and Berris were. There had been formalities to go through, and the whole place was disturbed. Tarrik had asked for King Kleomenes and the Spartans, which, in the circumstances, had been the worst possible thing to do, so he and Hyperides had been put through a long cross-examination. The police had done their best to bully him into bribing them heavily, but by that time the King of Marob was rather angry and suddenly decided to be forceful himself. Even so, they were delayed a good deal and then they found the Spring Queen—as they did find her. Disdallis thought it was as well she had come with the men. She consulted Ankhet and went with her to see the snake. It certainly appeared to her
that the snake had turned its head towards her and flickered its tongue. At any rate, she was fairly satisfied. And the wooden star on Tarrik's chest burnt and quivered.

Ankhet came up, bringing Klint-Tisamenos, rather cross at having been disturbed in the middle of a game and looking ridiculously like Tarrik. Berris cut himself and swore; he had nearly finished shaving. Hyperides and Sphaeros both came nearer. Hyperides had been very nice to the old man, and listened to him expounding Stoic doctrine without making anything but respectful and friendly comments. Already Sphaeros was more like himself, more pulled together, more able to smile and tell little stories with an obscure philosophical joke at the end; Hyperides had laughed and told Tarrik he was going to set up as a doctor. Now the two of them stood at Erif's feet and watched. ‘Perhaps,' said Hyperides suddenly, ‘there may be a force of some kind in all of us believing that she will wake. It might be worth trying, Sphaeros.' ‘Yes,' said Sphaeros, ‘it might become real. A very dear woman, Hyperides.' And Hyperides thought how little her face had changed in the four years since he had seen her last. The thing which definitely had changed was his point of view towards her and Tarrik. He had not wanted then to be in any way instrumental in giving her back to her husband. Now he wanted more than anything to see them together.

A perceptible tremor came into Erif's hands; it spread upwards to her body. Her breathing became irregular and quick. Berris said: ‘Who should she see first?' and mopped the cut on his chin with a painting rag. Disdallis and Ankhet glanced at one another, and then Disdallis said firmly: ‘Klint.' Tarrik agreed. ‘Klint,' he said, ‘you are to stand by your mother's head—here, this side. Understand?' Klint frowned, not much liking the idea. However, he went there and stood with his feet apart and hands behind his back. The others stood round, all except Gyridas. ‘Quiet!' said Ankhet, ‘it is coming back.'

Now tides of crimson began to flood over Erif's face and neck; the trembling became more violent and then ceased. She breathed short and hard; her eyelids twitched and so did her mouth. There were moments when she was almost smiling, moments when it looked as though she were playing with them, frightening them and trying not to laugh herself.
She seemed to round out, to look younger, and at the same time as though she had been through some solid physical exertion, for there were small beads of sweat on her neck and temples. She gasped and opened her mouth as though she were trying to speak, and every one leaned forward, eager to catch what she should say, except Klint, and he tautened and braced himself like someone in front of a big wave. He managed not to say anything, but he turned his head towards his father, and Tarrik put a hand on his shoulder, thinking suddenly how young he was after all.

Then Erif Der laughed low to herself like a bride laughing in her sleep at some delicious dream, induced by some yet more delicious touch. She laughed louder, as though it were irresistible: as the actor in the Corn Play must laugh when he wakes again after Death and Winter. Then she was still, but her eyelids flickered and came half open and then fully open. She yawned and began to stretch as a cat stretches, rippling every separate muscle and joint of toes and fingers, feet and hands, legs and arms; her body arched and relaxed; she breathed deep. She looked at solemn Klint and said: ‘I suppose it's very silly of me, but I can't help thinking you're my baby.' Klint said, wonderfully steadily: ‘You're my mother. I'm Klint-Tisamenos. I'm not a baby. Good morning, mother.' And he stooped and pecked at her nose with a small, funny kiss. She shut her eyes and then opened them again, as though to verify these curious phenomena. She said, mostly to herself: ‘That seems to be a kataleptike phantasia.' Then she turned her head a little, and she was looking at Tarrik. It seemed to be a completely satisfying look between the two of them. As he moved, she swung herself up from the hips, her breasts and mouth towards him. Hyperides said to Berris: ‘The Spring Queen appears to be saved too, but I'd give my ears to know just how it has happened!'

‘She's changing,' said Berris. ‘Hyperides, she's changing every moment. It's all dropping off her.'

‘What is?' whispered Hyperides.

And Berris jerked his thumb back over his shoulder at the statue of Death and Philylla.

Then Gyridas came out of his corner and the rush plait dropped from his hand. He plucked shyly at Sphaeros and whispered: ‘Did you see?'

‘What?' said Sphaeros, looking at him a little vaguely.

‘The snake!' said Gyridas, ‘the great coloured snake. It came into the room and touched me. I think it was wearing a crown. But it was a real snake, Sphaeros; it felt real. Then it went to her. I would like it if she touched me as the snake did.' He was speaking louder now and had come forward, looking up at Erif.

She walked a step out of Tarrik's arms. She took the boy's right hand in hers and laid her left hand on his head. ‘You're a Spartan, Gyridas,' she said, ‘one of the rest of them. Take heart, Gyridas, stand up, look up, you are becoming one of the men who can stare the world in the eyes!'

As she said it, Gyridas did stand straighter, and stretched and smiled and seemed to be trying to adapt himself. He had a look of his father that none of them had seen before. ‘Yes,' he said, ‘yes! That was what I thought the snake said to me! I'm to be one of them for always. I'm going back to Sparta. Sphaeros!' He turned suddenly on the old man. ‘My father killed one of the ephors at the beginning of the New Times. When the next New Times come, I shall take heart, I shall break the laws too!'

Disdallis whispered to Hyperides: ‘Do you remember seeing this happen before?' ‘You mean to your husband, by Tarrik, after his coming back?' ‘Yes,' said the witch, laughing quietly in her throat. ‘Poor Hyperides, you've got to believe it again!'

Klint-Tisamenos said to Gyridas: ‘I saw a snake too. What snake was it? I don't like snakes—there aren't any at home.'

Gyridas said: ‘I think it was the snake that guarded my King Kleomenes. I don't see what other snake it could have been.'

‘Hyperides said that was silly and I wasn't to bother about it,' observed the smaller child, ‘but this was a real snake. It went past me. I wonder where it's gone.'

No one said anything at once, then Hyperides asked: ‘Did anyone else see the snake?'

Disdallis said: ‘I thought I heard something coming along the floor.' But she was the only one.

Erif said: ‘I can't quite remember about this snake. I think I've been asleep for a long time, and now everything
is rather different. I half remember a snake. It hung in the sun, didn't it—somewhere?'

‘On the pine stake. Over King Kleomenes.' It was Gyridas who answered her.

‘Yes, and there were people all round making a noise, but the snake didn't understand what they said. It was afraid of them; it was glad when the night came, and they went, and the sun went. Poor snake, it was tired of coiling so tight. It was afraid of the smell of all those people and afraid of the great birds that swooped, and still more it was afraid of the thing underneath it. But it had to go on. For the sake of—of what? Who told me about the snake?' She looked all round her, frowning and puzzled. Then she said: ‘Tarrik, you know King Kleomenes is dead? I can't remember how much you know.'

‘Yes,' said Tarrik, ‘I knew. He killed himself for his honour and for Sparta.'

Gyridas said: ‘He died for Sparta. He died for the people.'