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

but went to the door and called. Ten of the Council came in, oldish men, the best and most trusted by every one; a little behind came Yellow Bull, awkwardly, playing withhis sword hilt. They all had gold chains and brooches, and long cloaks of embroidery with fur borders. Tarrik thought with pleasure how hot they must be. He stood beside the table, pinching one of the candles; the warm, sweet wax gave, half reluctantly, under the pressure of his fingers, and he thought of Erif Der. ‘None of you will oppose my marriage?’ he asked, with a kind of growl at them.
    One of the older men spoke: ‘The marriage of the Chief should be a matter for the full Council.’
    â€˜The full Council can pretend to give me leave tomorrow,’ said Tarrik; ‘meanwhile, I want it settled. When shall I have Erif Der?’
    The elders coughed and fidgeted. Why should their Chief treat them like this? Yellow Bull flushed angrily. Harn Der spoke with a certain impressiveness: ‘If the Council see fit, my eldest daughter shall be the Chief’s wife. I cannot think that there is anything against her in blood or in person.’ The others assented. He went on: ‘But it would be less than right if this were not well considered or in any way gone into hurriedly. Let us not speak of marriage until autumn.’
    â€˜Autumn!’ said Tarrik. ‘Six months! I want a wife and you tell me to wait till she is an old woman!’ He banged his hand so hard down on to the table that one of the candles fell over, and looked round savagely at the Council. ‘None of you remember what it was like being a man; but I am a man and I am asking for my woman!’
    â€˜Gently, gently,’ said one of them. ‘Remember, Tarrik, we are not powerless. You cannot be Chief alone. Harn Der, she is your daughter—what do you say?’
    â€˜She is fully young yet,’ said Harn Der; ‘she must make her wedding-dress first. Let the betrothal be when the Council wills. In summer we must all go to our lands, she with me to mine; after harvest—may all go well with it!—we will have the marriage.’
    He looked hard at Tarrik, and Tarrik back at him. ‘What does she say?’ asked Tarrik.
    â€˜It is not for her to speak. Tomorrow the Council will find you a lucky day for your betrothal.’
    Tarrik walked straight to the inner door and called: ‘Erif Der!’ After a moment she came, her eyes on the ground. She had changed her dress; the new one was made of somefine, Greek stuff, a very delicate, silvery linen web, crossed again and again with dozens of colours, yellows and blues and greens, and sometimes a metal thread, copper or gold, that held the blink of the candles. It stood out lightly all round her; her plaits hung forward from her bent head into the hollow of her breasts; her coat was of white fur, very short. She went and stood between Harn Der and Yellow Bull; just once she looked at Tarrik, a glance so quick that no one but he saw it. ‘Are you going to marry me when I choose?’ he said. ‘Erif Der, answer me!’
    But her voice was little more than a murmur. ‘I will do what my father chooses, Chief,’ she said. And the Council nodded and whispered to one another: she was a good girl, as they would wish their own daughters to be; there was nothing odd about her.
    â€˜Very well,’ said Tarrik, ‘I’ll let you win—this time! I thank you for allowing me to be your Chief still!’ And he turned and went out into the sea-damp evening.
    Harn Der wondered why he had said just that last thing; it was queer. … But no one else had noticed particularly; the Chief was always bad to deal with when he was crossed. Some of them stayed on for supper with Harn Der; they spoke of the marriage, hoped that the Chief might grow less wild, saying he was worse than a wild-cat to deal with now and would some day bring harm to Marob. And then they praised