9

The Day of the Offering

A festival in Gebal—The tomb of the King—Return of Zayin with the secret of horsemanship—Return of Nun with the secret of navigation—Return of the pigeon with the alphabetical message

It was the Day of the Offering, the day when Abishram, King of Gebal, was to count his people and learn how rich his kingdom was in worldly goods. And for Beth it was her last day at home, the day when she was to begin her duties as a Temple Maiden, in the Temple of Balaat-Gebal.

There was a stir in the streets of the town from earliest dawn. Peasants were arriving from the countryside with donkeys bearing well-filled panniers, flocks and herds were being driven through the town gates, porters were carrying up bales of merchandise from the harbor, and every craftsman wanted to be first in the queue to deposit his offering and avoid the long wait in the heat of the day.

Only in the house of Resh, it seemed, was there no last-minute bustle to prepare a gift. And yet Resh himself was nervous, irritable, pacing up and down in the house and refusing to touch his morning meal. Beth herself felt strangely calm, full of expectation though she was, but she was worried to see her father so unhappy.

“Father,” she said tentatively, “your gift—it is ready, isn’t it?”

“My offering?” Resh snapped. “Of course it’s ready. I trust His Majesty will be well aware of what my services are worth to him.”

“Are you thinking of Zayin and Nun and Aleph, Father?” Beth asked.

“Of course I am,” said her father. “What else would I be thinking of on a day like this? It is a day when a man needs his sons.”

“Perhaps we shall have news of them today,” said Beth comfortingly. “Who knows, perhaps today Nun’s ship will come in, and the army will return, and—and Aleph will come down the mountains, and they will all bring rich offerings for the King. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Father?”

“Wonderful indeed!” muttered Resh. “I am too old to believe in wonders.”

Beth felt it was a little unfair that her father should be brooding in this way over her absent brothers, while apparently forgetting what an important day it was for her too.

“Father,” she said again meekly, “when should I go to the Temple?”

“You?” said her father, apparently surprised. “Ah, child, I was forgetting. I am also losing a daughter today.” The thought did not seem to make him any happier.

“I shall not be far away, Father,” she said. For herself, she was looking forward to living in the Temple quarters, though she was still a little vague about what her duties would be. “But should I go this morning?” she asked.

“Oh, any time today, child,” her father answered. Beth became impatient.

“Please, Father,” she said. “Take me to the palace and the Temple now. We can see the first ceremonies, and find out what I should do.” And it would be better for him, she thought, than standing around at home. He must have felt the same, for he agreed, and they went together to where the offerings were already being made.

It was more like a market than a ceremony. As the priests and clerks checked and tallied, peasants were unloading sacks of corn or dried lentils—nothing perishable, Resh said, was accepted on the Offering Day—fishermen laid down piles of sun-dried fish, owners of olive orchards delivered great jars of oil. Potters were queuing up with samples of their best decorated pots, weavers of flax and wool were standing with lengths of useful cloth in their arms. There were even wild mountaineers, bringing pots of honey, and Resh explained that, although they might have avoided the offering if they wished, they would be considered as slaves if they were unable to produce as a gift something that could be weighed or measured. The merchants and traders, of course, made the best show. They paraded, family by family, offering bales of purple cloth from Tyre, copper vessels from Cyprus, spices from Southern Arabia, gems from Egypt and gold from the far corners of the earth. There was one rather ragged sailor who had recently returned from a coasting trip to the North. All he had was a long skewer-like poignard of a strange hard metal: most of its shaft was blackish, tinged with red rust, but its tip was sharpened and polished to a silvery point. The simple sailor did not know the name of the metal, and the clerks were doubtful of its utility, but they accepted it contemptuously and put it among the bronze tools and weapons.

There was a stir among the watching crowds in the public places, and suddenly they saw people making for parts of the town overlooking the sea. Resh explained that the shipwrights were making a communal offering of a new vessel for His Majesty’s Navy. It was too big, of course, to be brought to the Temple, so it was to be rowed in review round the point. It came into sight, gaily decked, with a band of musicians on board. The music floated across the waters, but the occasion was spoiled by a quarrel that broke out among the representatives of the shipwrights on the shore. Resh said that there was a group of men, mere laborers who had felled the trees and carried the timber, who were trying to get a share of credit for the finished job of the master shipwrights. But they were told that they would no more get credit than the galley slaves who rowed the ship, or the musicians, and were sent packing. Beth wondered if this was fair, but her father merely said that a craftsman was a craftsman.

As the morning went on the piles of produce and stacks of manufactured goods grew in the royal courtyard; clerks were kept busy tallying the quantity of each sort; slaves labored to carry it all to the warehouses. The herds of sheep and goats and cattle began to be troublesome. Animals, Resh explained, were accepted from the herdsmen on Offering Day: they were needed for the sacrifices in the Temple, but it was a nuisance to keep so many of them near the palace. They had to be farmed out again to landowners to be looked after—and some envious people said that these were better off after Offering Day than before.

Beth had been excited by the crowds of people thronging in to the town and by the market-day feeling in the air, but after a time she began to tire. There was so much merchandise, so many animals. “When are you making your offering, Father?” she asked. “And when—?”

“The mason’s offering will be a special one, like the shipwrights’,” said Resh. “There will be a ceremony.”

“And when will you take me to the priestesses?”

“Don’t be impatient, child,” said her father testily. “You don’t want to make it look as if I’m offering a daughter because I’ve nothing better to give, do you?”

Beth felt shamed and angry. “Am I nothing better than a cow or a sack of corn, Father?” she exclaimed.

“I did not mean that, my daughter,” Resh said in a milder tone. “Come, perhaps I could take you now to the inner court, and ask the priestess what you should do.”

They passed through an entry guarded by sentries, who recognized Resh, and Beth saw that they were in the courtyard in which she had confronted the King. There stood the mysterious square object, and there stood the tall obelisk, both swathed in cloth. Beth felt her courage ebbing at the sight, but her father escorted her through to the Temple, where they found one of the priestesses. Beth was still awed by the surroundings, but the conversation was very matter-of-fact. She was told which of her belongings she should bring, and that she would have to present two white doves as a sacrifice.

“That is easy,” said Resh. “Beth, remember to bring two pigeons from your flock.”

But at that moment the courtyard began to fill with people, priests, scribes, and notables of the sort whom Beth had seen in the procession when she had been there, illegally, before. Her feelings of terrible guilt returned, but the priestess quite kindly said that she could wait in a colonnade at the back, with the other novices who would be watching the ceremony.

A hush came over the assembly, as the King entered at the far end of the court, and took his seat on a throne placed there for him. Then the High Priest mounted the steps, bowed before the King, and spoke.

“Most High and Sacred Majesty,” began the High Priest. “May you live for ever, and may the abundance of your kingdom never grow less! On this auspicious day your devoted people have brought the good things of this world to lay at your feet. They have offered them in the sight of the gods to bear witness to the prosperity of Your Majesty and of your kingdom. Nowhere in the world is there found a prince more favored with richness of belongings: your fields produce corn and beasts, your enterprising merchants bring to your shores rich materials purchased on very favorable terms. Your Majesty’s servants care only for your welfare, day by day, and it is their joyful duty to do so. But we, your priests, think of Your Majesty’s glory, not for today and the next day only but for all eternity. The goods that are brought to Your Majesty today will last while they are needed, but the corn will be eaten, pots will be broken, robes of fine tissue will wear out, beasts will die or must be killed. What Your Majesty’s devoted priests have to offer, however, are things that will not be consumed or outworn. They are such that generations yet unborn will look upon them and say ‘Great is Abishram, King of Gebal!’ They are such as will enshrine the name and person of the High and Mighty King Abishram for all eternity!”

The folds of cloth were pulled away from the obelisk, and the inscription, now neatly finished and painted in gorgeous colors, was revealed. At the same time the cloth was removed from the great square object, and a vast and magnificent burial sarcophagus, a huge stone coffin, was revealed with its massive lid propped open to show the rich lining of the inside.

A murmur of appreciation rose from the crowd, the King spoke a few words of thanks, and the ceremony seemed to be over. Then Beth noticed her father making his way through the throng to the High Priest and plucking in an agitated manner at his sleeve. But the High Priest seemed to be ignoring him and brushing him aside, for the King was now condescending to examine at closer quarters the great stone box in which he was to spend eternity. Resh turned away and retired to the back of the assembly. There seemed to be something so strange in the way he was standing that Beth slipped away from her colonnade and went to his side. Her father was weeping.

“What is it, Father dear?” Beth asked, taking his hand.

Her father spoke, but he seemed to be talking to himself. “The ingratitude of priests! Yet what should I, a poor master mason, expect in the way of gratitude or recognition? I, a man with no sons at my side! What have I to do with the King’s gift? I only saw the stones cut from the quarried blocks, hewed, hollowed, fitted, and smoothed. Why should I be proud? There are many men who could do that—none in Gebal, but perhaps in Egypt, in Babylon. But, Beth, my daughter”—and here he took Beth by the arm and pointed to the great sarcophagus—“do you not see! See how the cover of the coffin, in white stone, fits on to the body of black basalt. What king in the world has a coffin in two colors? And this I thought of, this was my idea entirely!” He choked with indignation. “And see the High Priest, how he shows it to His Majesty as if it were his own creation! Not a word of credit to the masons for their work! Oh no, it is the priests’ gift. And I, I have nothing to offer of my own, and I have no sons to bring gifts for me, and what is to become of me I do not know. I am finished, and my sons are all dead!”

Beth did what she could to comfort him as they walked sadly home, but there was little she could say. He had expressed what she had been trying to ignore, that her three brothers who had been away for such a long time might never return, that, they might already be dead. And she must leave her father in the empty house and go to the Temple.

When they got home she remembered the two white birds which she must bring as an offering to the Temple. It made her no happier to think that two of her little flock must be sacrificed, but in this sad hour it was only one more thing to regret. Then it struck her: she used to have, two white pigeons, but now there was only one.

The birds had not yet returned from their day’s foraging. Beth climbed up on to the city wall above the house, from where she often used to call the flock down out of the sky. She could not see her flock against the mountains, where every tree showed clearly in the level rays of the setting sun. She shaded her eyes and looked along the sea horizon, into the low sun’s glare. A lonely sail stood up against the glow of the sky, but there were no birds. But there, yes!—from the North, where the headlands receded into the blue distance, a little flock was approaching.

The birds circled round between the town and the mountains, and with the sun behind her Beth could see plainly—yes, there were two white birds, so—but no, she was not looking for a flock with two white birds! It was strange how she still forgot. The flock swept round and made for where she stood, and she thought she could recognize some of the other birds of her flock. There were certainly two white ones among them now, and that morning there had been only one. Well, no … That morning she had been too busy thinking of the day’s events to look at her pigeons. Now she was surrounded by a flutter of wings, and they were alighting around her. She held out her hands to the white birds and called to them. “Lady Snow, come, come to me! And is it—can it be your husband, White Snow returned? Come, don’t be shy!” And now the two white birds were perching on her hands, and as she looked at them her heart leaped and she saw that to the leg of one was tied a golden ring, and to the other a tiny scroll. And at once she said to the one in her left hand, “You have come from Zayin, for that is his ring, and he cannot be far away.” And to the bird in her right hand she said, “And you have come from Aleph, and what that strange scroll you have brought can mean I cannot imagine, but perhaps it will tell me what has happened to my brother.” And as she stood on the city wall, something made her raise her eyes to the lone sail she had seen, and something told her that at this happy time it must be Nun’s ship homing on the wings of the wind over the sea.

Zayin, mounted on the horse Horizon, was riding through an olive grove in the northern approach to Gebal: Zayin now very much at home on horseback, riding easily and gracefully, keeping a light touch on the reins, murmuring words of encouragement to the horse as they jogged along. It was the end of a long day, the end of a long ride of many days. Horse and man had got used to each other and were confident together: there is nothing like the companionship of a long journey to get rid of suspicion and mistrust.

Now, as they neared strange habitations and passed astonished peasants and donkeys on the track, the horse only pricked up its ears a little, pranced a little sideway sometimes, but quieted down at a word from the rider. But when at long last they came among the crowded streets of the port and the town, it was different. Heads appeared from doorways, children fled, or followed, staring. Zayin, feeling for the first time the lofty superiority of the man on the horse over men whose feet are merely on the ground, waved graciously. And the citizens muttered, “Can that be General Zayin riding that great beast in that strange manner?” The horse showed the whites of its eyes and snorted, but Zayin urged it firmly onward, through the streets and toward the palace.

The guards at the entrance to the palace were weary and ill-tempered after controlling the crowds that had been flocking to the offering all day; they cursed the latecomers who were still pressing round the gates. As Zayin clattered up the steep street they must have thought the hoof beats were those of yet another ass laden with parched corn. But when they looked round and saw Zayin mounted on the magnificent horse they were struck dumb with astonishment.

Zayin was about to swear at them for their unsoldierly reactions, when it suddenly came to him that he must present a strange picture in his trousers and cloak of skins, with ragged hair and beard. Indeed, after their first shock of surprise the soldiers leveled their spears at him and barred the way. But he called out: “Do you not know your general when you see him? It is I, Zayin. Let me pass!” And at the well-remembered sound of his voice the soldiers stood aside and stiffened to attention.

In the palace yard, everyone from the King to the lowest tally clerk had been feeling the exhaustion that comes at the end of a day of empty ceremony. Heads turned at the sound of the horse’s hooves, and a sudden tense silence fell. The next minute, the King, the priests, and the people were gaping at the man and the horse, and the crowd were falling back to give him passage. And Zayin was equally overcome with amazement at the unexpected sight of the King and his whole court: after all he was only a ragged fugitive, returning without his army and empty-handed. Except for the horse, of course—and the animal, sensing the tension in the air as horses do, began to prance and fidget nervously.

It was the High Priest who broke the silence, for it was his ceremony of the offering that was being interrupted, and he spoke the words with which all who came to the offering were addressed.

“Who are you that come to present offering to the Most High and Mighty King of Gebal, and what offering do you bring?”

Zayin’s mind moved slowly, but at last he understood. “Ye Gods!” he exclaimed to himself. “I have arrived on a Day of Offering!” and aloud he cursed his horse, that was backing and sidling and tossing its head.

Zayin collected himself, did his best to control his horse, and spoke: “Zayin, son of Resh, General of the Army of Gebal, salutes and does homage to His Most High Majesty (Stand still you brute—it’s the King!) I bring this horse as humble tribute.” But the last words were spoken in the wrong direction, for the horse had spun round and they were facing the palace gates.

The tension broke, with a gasp of astonishment from the crowd as they recognized the figure on the strange animal as their general; but Zayin could also hear laughter at his odd arrival. And then through the entrance gates appeared his father, Resh, who was returning to the palace in the last hope of retrieving his reputation from the priests. Resh stared, as everyone else had stared, but he recognized his son, and holding out both arms—and ignoring the increasing alarm of the horse—he ran to embrace him.

But the headlong approach of Resh was too much for the horse, and Zayin’s concentration was too much distracted for him to control it. He fell from the back of the rearing animal almost on top of his father, while the horse, panic-stricken, at last bolted through the palace gates, scattering the guards and peasants from its path.

The courtyard was in an uproar of exclamations and laughter, and the High Priest had to call for silence repeatedly before he could make himself heard. He was furious at the unseemly interruption to his ceremonial, and jealous that the return of Zayin might steal the glory of his Offering Day.

“General Zayin, His Majesty bids you welcome on your return from the wars on this auspicious day,” boomed the High Priest. “What rich tribute, what plunder and captives does your victorious army bring to lay before His Most High Majesty?” The priest’s eyes were on the ragged, lonely figure of the General, and it was clear that he suspected the truth, that there was no victorious army, neither plunder nor captives.

Zayin walked up to the steps on which the throne and the High Priest were standing, made a formal obeisance to the King, drew himself up, and spoke.

“Most High Majesty!” he began. “The animal which I have brought you is but one, and I dedicate it to Your Majesty’s service.” If it hasn’t already galloped back to the Valley of Horses, he thought to himself. “But more than that it represents military power such as we have not dreamed of before, a principle—”

“General Zayin must be aware,” interrupted the High Priest smoothly, “that the Day of Offering is not a time when credit is given for principles—nor dreams. We cannot count or weigh them. As for the uncouth and unmanageable beast which you presented in such an unusual manner—I do not see it either,” and he craned his head round in an exaggerated pantomime of looking for the horse.

“If the palace attendants cannot hang on to a good horse when they see one, so much the worse for them,” Zayin rejoined, losing his temper. “It will come to hand in time, no doubt. In any case, I have more important things than gifts. I have news, much of it bad, I admit. I have military intelligence which vitally—”

“The General must also be aware,” once more interrupted the priest, “that today is no day for inauspicious news or business matters. Have you nothing, Zayin, son of Resh,”—and the priest’s voice grew ominous—“to offer to the King?”

“High Priest!” retorted Zayin angrily. “I return from many weary weeks of campaigning and dangers. I’m neither a potter, nor a peasant, nor a priest! As you suspect, I am empty-handed and there is nothing in my wallet.” He put his hand in the leather bag at his waist, and his fingers encountered something hard. Then he remembered. “Except this—perhaps you can weigh and measure it!” He took out the tablet covered in the nail-shaped marks which he had saved from the dust of the northern camp. Restraining himself from flinging it at the High Priest’s head, he tossed it contemptuously to a scribe in attendance. “Accept it as my offering—you may even be able to read it!”

As he strode angrily out of the palace gates, Zayin, the soldier, met Nun, the sailor. The two brothers halted and stared at each other, then they embraced, and stood back laughing.

“Well, General,” said Nun. “What strange customs have you been adopting in Gebal since I’ve been away? A beard? And skins round your legs like a roll of canvas! What have you been doing here?”

“Here?” echoed Zayin. “Ah, you sailors always think time stands still while you’re at sea. Others travel too, you know. I’ve seen stranger things by land—but this is no time for exchanging yarns. You’ve come at the very moment to save the family fortunes, Nun my boy. I’ve no doubt you’ve swindled the Cretans out of a rich cargo. Take it to the King—it’s Offering Day!”

“So they told me down at the port,” said Nun thoughtfully. “But all I’ve brought back is a leaky ship. I have news though, Zayin. Not good news but of vital importance—”

Zayin laughed shortly, but Nun continued—

“And, Zayin, I have learned a skill that will set our sailors before those of all other nations. The stars, brother! How to steer by them! All thanks to my friend from Chaldea. This is he,” and he gestured to the figure of the sage, standing near by in the shadows. “Your Reverence, this is my brother Zayin.”

Zayin bowed to the Chaldean. “I wish you luck if you are going to the King with your news and your star-lore,” he said to Nun. “A few painted pots from Crete would be more acceptable on Offering Day, I feel. And as for your reverend friend,”—he lowered his voice—“I think we have more than enough priests here already. Be careful!”

Nun looked at Zayin with raised eyebrows. “But have you brought no offerings, brother?” he asked.

“Mine seems to have given me the slip,” replied Zayin. “You haven’t seen a horse, have you?”

“A horse? We were nearly attacked by something as we came from the port. I thought it was a wild Cretan bull. Where are you going, Zayin?”

But Zayin had made off without another word toward the port. Nun shrugged his shoulders and led the Chaldean toward the palace.

Resh, for the second time shuffling abjectly away from the place of offering in deep despair, was overcome at the appearance of his other son. He tottered to embrace him in transports of relief.

“Ah, Nun, Nun, savior of your family,” he wept. “I knew you would return in time, and here you are. My old heart beats with hope again. Tell me, tell me, what have you brought to offer to the King?”

“Father,” said Nun, “I rejoice to see you. All will be well, I am sure. I have things that the King must know, that may save us all from destruction; and I have strange secrets. But for offerings, I have nothing but a leaky ship—” and while his father began wringing his hands again in another rush of doubt and despair, Nun strode toward the High Priest and the throne.

The keen eye of the High Priest had not missed the exchange between father and son, though he could not have overheard their words. “Who are you,” came the voice of the High Priest, “that come to present offering to the Most High and Mighty King of Gebal, and what offering do you bring?”

Nun spoke up calmly and clearly: “Nun, son of Resh, sea captain, salutes and does homage to His Most High Majesty. Your Reverence knows well that on many voyages I have brought back goods from distant lands to enrich His Majesty’s kingdom. This time I am fortunate to have escaped with an empty ship from the enemies of Gebal. But I have knowledge and news to impart to His Majesty that are of more weight than any gift of precious things—”

“Son of Resh,” interrupted the High Priest in a cold voice, “you must know that on Offering Day knowledge is not a thing we can measure, neither can we weigh news. We must record that you, too, come empty-handed to the offering.”

“High Priest,” said Nun impatiently, “my hands may be empty, but my head is not! Can you or your scribes steer a ship by the stars?”

This time the High Priest’s reply was a burst of cold laughter, which was faithfully copied by the other priests and scribes. The High Priest’s voice came more coldly than ever.

“If you have been meddling with heavenly knowledge, the concern of holy priests, it is no wonder that you return with an empty ship from a disastrous voyage, Captain—they tell me ships are best steered by a steering oar !” Again the priests and scribes snickered. “Your brother, by impiously bestriding an animal, lost himself an army. Have you nothing more tangible than news and knowledge, of which anyone can boast, to lay at the feet of His Majesty on Offering Day?”

A thought occurred to Nun, and feeling inside his tunic, he took out the clay tablet with the long-legged script and the seal of lions that he had been given by the Queen of Crete. He handed it calmly to the nearest scribe.

“Only this. It may speak for itself, if your scholars can read it,” he said evenly.

The High Priest gave it a contemptuous glance, and then turned to the distracted Resh. “Resh, father of Zayin and Nun, are two handfuls of clay all that your family has to offer? Have you no other sons?”

Resh sank to his knees and twisted his hands. “Your Reverence,” he replied in a choked voice, “I have only one other son, and he is weak in the head, and no one knows where he is!”

There was a hush while the High Priest gazed with triumphant scorn at the abject Resh, and drew breath to speak. But the silence was broken by a small, feminine voice.

“I know where he is. He is three weeks’ march away from here.”

And all eyes turned to Beth, standing on the steps of the Temple, holding a white bird.

“Beth! Beth!” came the strangled voice of Resh, who was beating his head with his hands as he knelt. “What are you doing here again, girl?”

“You forget, Father,” said Beth, “I am no longer a mere girl, I am a maiden of the Temple and have a right to be here. And since His Reverence wishes to know, I can tell him. My brother Aleph is many days’ journey away, in the land of Sinai, and sends his homage to the King.”

“How can you know this, Beth?” asked Nun.

“This little bird has just told me,” said Beth seriously. “And it, too, has news of great concern to His Majesty.”

Once again came the cold laughter of the High Priest. “So this bird, too, has news, like the other members of your strange family. I am surprised that it does not also have mysterious lore or knowledge in its possession, which will be to the benefit of the whole nation!”

And the priests and scribes laughed again—but Beth’s eyes suddenly widened as if a great thought had come to her, and she said simply, “Indeed, perhaps he has.” But the High Priest did not notice.

“Temple maiden,” said the High Priest coldly, “His Majesty is weary of evasions and excuses. You may offer that bird for sacrifice as a token offering on behalf of your family. It is little enough, but it is better than nothing. Is that your intention?”

“No, Your Reverence,” replied Beth. “The bird goes free. He deserves it.” And she tossed the white pigeon into the air and it fluttered off.

At this act of defiance, the High Priest was incapable of speech. Then there was heard a voice that seemed to be weary and strong, gentle and cruel at the same time, the voice of the King himself. He had sat all day on his throne, a silent witness of the ceremonials of the Day of Offering, but up to that moment he had stayed aloof from the proceedings and left the talking to his mouthpiece, the High Priest.

“High Priest,” spoke Abishram, King of Gebal, “let it be known that, deeply as we are touched by offerings such as dried fish and pots of honey, we feel that there may be a time on Offering Day for less ponderable tributes. Horses that carry soldiers on their backs, ships that follow stars, birds that bear messages which girls can understand—these things weary us less than numbering bolts of cloth and flocks of goats. Let the Chief Mason and his sons and his daughter be received in private audience after the ceremony of offering is over, and let that be a time for hearing news and weighing knowledge.”

The High Priest bowed low, but his face showed that he knew he was defeated in his desire to humiliate Resh and his family. Resh bowed low too. His face showed merely that he could not yet believe his good fortune.

There had scarcely been time to find Zayin, to help him dress and prepare himself for the audience, and to decide among themselves how and in what order they were to speak, before the family of Resh were assembled in the pillared council chamber of the palace. The sun had set, and in the hall, now lit with oil lamps, only the high priests and a few councilors were in attendance upon the King.

Zayin was the first to speak. He told of his northward march with the army, of his quest for the monsters, and of how his army had been scattered in the encounter with what they conceived to be six-limbed creatures, part man, part horse. “Most High and Gracious Majesty,” he continued, “your servant fell into the hands of these monsters, and behold, they are not monsters at all—not man-horses, but horse-men. Nevertheless, I have a mystery to relate of them, a mystery which, as their slave and captive, I was able to study and master for myself. It is this. These people, Your Majesty, have learned so to tame and train a certain breed of horse that it is, indeed, an extension of a man’s body and limbs, and no longer a mere draft beast to pull a chariot. Such a horse will carry a man on his back at the walk, trot, or gallop, will obey his slightest indication to start or stop, will charge the enemy, wheel and sidestep, leap over obstacles impossible to chariots, run up and down steep slopes—in fact, go almost anywhere a trained soldier can go on the battlefield, with much greater speed and agility. On long marches, the soldier can sit on the horse and not tire himself. In battle, the soldier is free to use his sword or lance, and has the advantage of the horse’s height over his foe. These northern tribesmen can even shoot arrows most accurately and effectively from horseback.

“Your Majesty, may we not one day have an army of mounted soldiers to defend your kingdom? I, Zayin, have acquired the secrets of breeding, training, and controlling horses. I place them, and myself, humbly at Your Majesty’s disposal.”

Zayin’s voice, which had been ringing with enthusiasm for his theme, now dropped and became more urgent. “But, Your Majesty, another thing I learned in the North which is of more immediate concern to Your Majesty and your kingdom, and this I could not possibly have learned unless I had been a captive. It is, I fear, not good news. The nations of the North-East are planning war, and mean to invade the coast as far south as Gebal. This I heard from their own mouths. There is little time to be lost in preparing our defenses, and I beseech Your Majesty’s authority to raise more forces in readiness.”

Zayin ceased, and there was silence. Then the High Priest spoke: “Gracious Majesty, our General returns alone from the North with a strange tale indeed. Might we not ask some evidence in support of what he says?”

“Did I not bring a written tablet from the enemy’s camp which I gave to one of the scribes?” demanded Zayin. “Where is it?”

A scribe standing at the back of the priestly party came forward holding the tablet and handed it to the High Priest.

“Well?” Zayin demanded. “Is it or is it not evidence of what I say?” And the King turned to the High Priest and raised his eyebrows as if waiting for him to read.

The High Priest hesitated, then turned to the other priests and scribes and there was a murmured discussion over the tablet. When he spoke, there was embarrassment in his voice. “Most Gracious Majesty, this is a most corrupt and unscholarly piece of writing. It will take—ah—a little time to interpret.”

“Let it be done, High Priest,” said the King coldly, “and meanwhile let us hear the second of the sons of Resh.”

Nun then stepped forward. He had been turning over in his mind for a long time how he should relate his story, for it was no simple narrative of exploration, battle, captivity, and escape as Zayin had told. He sometimes doubted whether he had ever spent that strange night on the island of Thira, or whether he had dreamed it. And what should he say about the prophecies of doom spoken by the Chaldean? He resolved to give his account as soberly as he could, leaving nothing out, however strange it might sound.

“Most High and Gracious Majesty, I set sail from the port of Gebal with a cargo of cedar wood, bound for Crete. But at the request of the court I took as passenger a sage of Chaldea. This man from beyond the eastern desert guided me by the stars over the western sea, so that we sailed by day and night without a sight of land. But before landing in Crete we sailed north to the islands, and there we found the burning mountain that stands in the sea, and on it we were entertained by men who told us of the race of Giants that are imprisoned in the burning mountain, and indeed the whole island shook beneath our feet and we were very glad to leave the next day. We then proceeded to Amnisos, discharged the cargo, and at the insistence of my passenger I went with him to the court of King Minos at Knossos. Here we were received in audience by the King, but the Chaldean, when called upon to speak, prophesied doom and destruction upon Knossos, much to the King’s displeasure. I was therefore delivered as a sacrifice to the fighting bulls, from which I was only saved by strange northern men with red faces and yellow hair. Fortunately, I was taken to the Queen, who as you know came as a bride from this coast, and she, believing me to be a prisoner, revealed the intention of King Minos to send his fleets to attack your kingdom. I managed to escape from the prison with the Chaldean and we put to sea in the darkness. And though we were delayed by contrary winds we returned to Gebal, guided again every night by the Chaldean’s strange star-lore. And all I have brought back, Great King, is this new knowledge whereby a ship may be steered with more confidence on a starry night than it can by the light of the sun itself. But, Your Majesty, what infinite opportunity for exploration and trade may this knowledge offer us! What endless voyages may your adventurers make without hugging hostile shores! To what ends of the earth may the name of Gebal now be carried! I dedicate this learning to Your Majesty and your merchant seamen.” He paused, wondering whether he had made his tale too brief for comprehension, then he remembered something. “And as for the intelligence about the plans of King Minos, your scribes will by now have interpreted the tablet I received from the Queen of Crete herself, giving details of their preparation for war.”

There was more murmuring among the priests and scribes, the tablet with the long-legged script was produced, and the King waited for the High Priest to speak.

Again there was embarrassment in the High Priest’s voice as he said, “Your Majesty, this writing is of course known to us. But it is merely an unsanctified code of signs, used for bookkeeping purposes by lay clerks. However, if Your Majesty considers that it may contain matter of importance, we shall, of course, be able to have it interpreted in a few days.”

“Let it be done, High Priest, let it be done,” came the voice of the King, even colder than before. “And now where is this daughter of Resh, maiden of our Temple?”

Beth came forward nervously, clutching a corner of her robe, but when she spoke her voice was steady. “Most High and Gracious Majesty, I have never in my life been away from Gebal and its mountain. But my brother Aleph went away many weeks ago, and took one of my pigeons. Today I found that it had returned, with a message on papyrus round its leg. I can’t ask the High Priest to read it because he would not understand—I mean it’s written in the signs my brother and I invented, as a game. But look, Your Majesty, even you could read it in a few minutes if I showed you. Only twenty-two letters!”

Not noticing the outraged expressions on the faces of the priests and scribes, Beth had impulsively approached the throne with the little scrap of paper that had come so many miles on the pigeon’s leg.

“Look!” she said. “Here’s a letter Aleph, that’s my brother’s name. And here’s a Beth, that’s for me.” But then she hesitated. “Oh, Your Majesty,” she faltered, “I’m afraid you are not going to like this. I had forgotten what it spelled. It says the Egyptians are advancing up the coast to attack Gebal.”