The Corn King and the Spring Queen by Naomi Mitchison Read Free Book Online

about them. Nor, for that matter, about what he was going to do now. He was making a charming plan for killing two birds with one stone; actually, that is to say, killing one of them, and as to the other, well, Yellow Bull was an extremely worthy young man—in spite of his having such a ridiculously red, scrubby face! A knot of girls at the street corner giggled to one another with speculations as to why the Chief was laughing out loud all by himself; but this time they were wrong. He stopped at a window and called up: ‘Oh, Epigethes!’ The Greek leaned out, his face changing to suspicion and some fear when he saw it was the Chief. ‘Will you come and ride with me?’ Tarrik shouted up. ‘Down south, to see Berris Der’s brother. In three weeks? We will talk about art, Epigethes.’ There was something about this that terrified Epigethes. ‘But I shall be busy, Chief,’ he said. ‘I have been given work to do by your nobles. I am an artist, I have no time for riding.’ ‘Ah yes,’ said Tarrik, ‘but I command you. Remember you are in my country. You know,’ he went on, happily watching the Greek getting more and more frightened, ‘I am a barbarian, and if I were to lose my temper—I can take it, then, that you are coming when I am ready?’ And he walked on. Then after a few minutes he stopped and blew three times with his fingers in his mouth, making a curiously loud and unpleasant whistle. Almost at once a shock-headed man in a black coat ran up to him. ‘See that there is no ship in my harbour to take Epigethes away,’ said Tarrik, laying a finger on the man’s arm.
    By the time he came to the flax market it was almost sunset; people were going home to supper. A small boywas sitting on the well curb in the middle, singing at the top of his voice and kicking his bare heels against the stone. Tarrik came and sat beside him. The boy looked round and gave a mock salute, and went on till the end of his song; then, in the same breath: ‘Are you coming to supper with us, Tarrik? You must!’
    Tarrik pulled his hair, gently and affectionately: ‘Nobody asked me, Gold-fish,’ he said. ‘I want to see your father, though. And I’m going to marry your sister.’
    Gold-fish slid off the curb and stared. ‘Has she magicked you?’ he asked.
    â€˜I expect so,’ said Tarrik. ‘Does she ever magic you, Gold-fish?’
    â€˜Can’t magic me!’ said the small boy proudly; then, truth getting the better of him, ‘At least, she won’t try. She’s horrid sometimes—I did ask her. But she wouldn’t be able. She magics Wheat-ear: easily.’
    â€˜Will Wheat-ear do magic too, when she’s grown up?’
    â€˜No,’ said Gold-fish, ‘she’s just plain. She’s my special sister.’
    They went into Harn Der’s house together; supper was ready on the table. Erif Der and a woman-slave were lighting candles, but when she saw it was Tarrik, she bade the woman run and get the great lamp and tell her master. Meanwhile she went on lighting the candles herself, and, though her face was steady, her hands were shaking.
    Harn Der came in with the lamp carried behind him; the slave went out, and then Erif Der with her little brother. ‘Harn Der,’ said Tarrik, ‘best of my councillors, I am come to ask for your daughter Erif Der to be my wife.’
    For a time Harn Der said nothing. At last he spoke. ‘My son Berris told me what was in your mind. It is not a thing to be lightly thought of or spoken of. All Marob will be either better or worse for your marriage, Chief. I cannot answer alone. I have here some of the Council: with your leave, I will call them in.’
    â€˜Call them if you like,’ said Tarrik, rapidly and crossly, ‘if you must make it an affair for Marob! But remember, I’m going to have Erif.’ Harn Der did not answer this,