Shame of Man by Piers Anthony
It was done—and though the work had seemed to move right along, the day was fading. It was time to relax and celebrate. Hugh beat a new cadence on the drum, and the maidens of the several villages came out, provocatively dressed, and danced while the men finished their supper. Anne directed them, for the dance was her specialty, and she led them through coordinated motions of heads, arms, legs, and hips that would have been perhaps in bad taste on any less important occasion. But here the rules of behavior were to a degree suspended; this was after all the Festival of Stones. The men of course loved it, and there were no mature women to protest. Anne did not count; she pretended for the moment to be one of the maidens, and such was her figure that it was an excellent emulation. Her hair and torso moved in ways that excited admiration and lust, as they were supposed to, and Hugh was glad that she was his wife. The maidens emulated her movements, shake for shake and kick for kick, making a most intriguing array. Especially when the kicks were high.
Among the maidens was Serilda, who was qualified despite being older because she had never married. She too had a figure to be reckoned with, and her slippered feet seemed tiny. She oriented on Hugh with her stare and did a dance that disturbed him because it made him react. He tried not to look as she showed her thighs, but couldn't prevent it. Each summer she did this, fixing on him though there were many single men who would gladly have married her. He had once thought she would not have the nerve, because Anne was here, but she clearly had no shame. Anne was remarkably tolerant, evidently feeling no threat, but Hugh felt it. Serilda acted as if she had some claim on him, as if there were some secret between them. And the way his body reacted, it was almost as if it were true.
Worse, he had the feeling that her closest loyalty was to her brother Bub, who had tried to rape Anne. Bub was here, but had remained well away from Anne so far. How was Serilda's evident interest in Hugh connected to that? How could Serilda dance in Anne's class while at the same time trying to vamp Anne's husband? The pieces of this puzzle did not quite fit together.
When the dance was done, it was time for the maidens to choose partners for the evening. Everything was reasonably proper; they would merely keep company with their chosen young men for the evening, in the view of everyone. But such acquaintances could lead in due course to marriages. Maidens could not marry within their villages, so this was one of their few opportunities to meet the men of other villages and examine prospects for the future. They had been watching the men as they worked, so now had some notions about whom they would like to get to know. Anne herself stepped back, doing a relatively sedate individual dance to cover the interval.
The youths were seated separately. The maidens now addressed that section, each closing on a particular youth and offering him the flower from her hair. He could accept it and be with her, or decline. The maidens this time were unusually pretty, and the dance had been unusually provocative, so it seemed unlikely that any would decline.
Indeed, the matchings were quickly made, and soon all the maidens except one had men to be with. They brought the men to their family groups for introductions. The one remaining maiden was Serilda, who had not deigned to offer her flower to any of the youths. Instead she cast her eye around a wider range—and it fell again on Hugh.
Oh, no! Was she going to try to shame him publicly by pretending to a relationship that did not exist? It seemed she was, for she forged toward him, lifting the flower from her hair.
His response should be clear: he would reject the flower. He wanted no part of this suggestive ploy. Anne knew he had done nothing with Serilda, but others might not know, and tongues would wag.
But as she approached, she did not offer him the flower. She tossed it to him, making it impossible for him to decline. The flower landed neatly in his lap. Since the moment a man touched the flower the date was made, he was stuck for it.
She sat down beside him, her hip touching his. Her body was warm from the recent exertion of the dance, and her breathing remained heavier than normal. He did not look at her, but her presence was dynamic. He knew that all around them the other families were marveling. They were surely conjecturing whether he had had a secret affair with her, that was now becoming open. Did she want to be his second wife? Such arrangements were rare, but not discouraged, because sometimes there were more women than men and it was best that all women be married. Did that explain why she had passed up those men who had expressed interest in her? Was she tired of secrecy, so she was forcing the issue now, shaming him into recognizing her? All these conjectures must be going around, and it would be difficult or impossible to refute them.
Now the grog was poured and circulated, and the party proper proceeded. Anne came to join them, bearing three mugs of it. She handed one to Hugh and one to Serilda, just as if the woman had been expected to join them. Then she sat with her own mug on Hugh's other side. Bub was sitting well distant, not trying to provoke any trouble—and this, too, might be cause for alarm.
Dusk was falling, and they watched the stars come out. The plan of the stones related to the sun, though Hugh understood that the right priests with the right circles could track the moon and even the stars with marvelous precision. So when the sun set on this center, the work was over.
The carousing continued far into the night. Hugh drank and danced with Anne, ignoring Serilda as well as he could. Serilda remained close, but did not make any additional scene. Apparently she was satisfied just to be near him. That, perhaps, was mischief enough.
At last they retired to their section of the tent, where the children had gone to sleep long before. Serilda did not follow, to Hugh's relief. Now he was free to be free with Anne, and they made love and sank into slumber.
On the second work day they loaded and moved the second stone. But two men who had overworked themselves the first day turned lame and had to desist. Now Joe did what he hadn't wanted to do, and put Hugh on a rope. Hugh had his own rope with him, as he had the day before, in case of need; the need had come. He was privately glad of it; he wanted to do his physical share. A promising stripling was put on the drum.
They loaded the stone on the sledge, and hauled it down to the circle. All was going well. But when they made the supreme heave, starting the stone on its way to the vertical position, it didn't budge. This stone was heavier than the other one, and the men were tired after their prior day's work and night of carousal. So Joe joined Hugh on his rope. “Heave!” he cried as the drum beat, and both gave their utmost heaves.
And the rope snapped. Both of them took hard falls, amazed and disgruntled. The lifting came to a halt.
“I knew you shouldn't have put that weird hand on the sacred work,” Bub said. “The spirits are turning against us.”
There was a murmur. This was indeed holy work, for all of its festive aspects. The spirits had to support it. If they were annoyed, all would be lost.
“Hugh isn't bad for the spirits,” Joe said. “It's just an accident. They happen.”
“You say that because you're his friend,” Bub said. The murmur supported him; the men were afraid that he was right. “He should be banished, so the stones will be sacred.”
Bil came forward. He looked at the severed ends of the rope. “This rope didn't break naturally,” he announced. “It was cut.”
“How could it be cut?” Bub demanded. “He was using it right along.”
“Inside, where it didn't show,” Bil said. “I have worked with ropes; I know the difference between fraying and cutting. The inner strands were cut; the outer ones broke. Someone did this.”
“You're his friend too,” Bub said. “Your word is no good on this either.” And the muttering was growing, supporting him.
At last it was coming clear: here was the mischief Bub had devised. Weakening Hugh's rope so that it would snap under stress, setting back the work, maybe injuring someone, and discrediting him. Because he was left-handed, and therefore under chronic suspicion. Bub had found a way to get back at him for what Anne had done
But how had Bub managed to weaken the rope? It had been with Hugh all day, and in his home section at night.
Then he remembered what Mina had said. “Call for my girl-child,” he told Joe. “Question her.”
“That's a spirit child,” Bil said.
Joe looked at him, surprised, nodding. Then he shrugged. “I must investigate this,” he said. “I must know exactly what happened. Bring me Hugh's children.”
The surrounding muttering became a murmur of surprise. What did children have to do with this? But the others did not object, because Joe was their leader and he had almost been hurt by the breaking rope, and he was investigating.
Anne came, bringing Chip and Mina. Joe addressed them both. “What do you two know of cut ropes?” he asked gruffly.
Chip gazed blankly back at him, but Mina jumped right on it. “Someone came! Night before last. By Daddy's rope. I marked his foot.”
“Who came?” Joe asked.
“It was all dark. I couldn't see. But he was there for a long time. I put my dye on his shoe.”
“There by Hugh's rope,” Bil said thoughtfully, loudly enough to be heard. “Two nights ago. And he did not use that rope yesterday, so it didn't break then.”
“What color dye?” Joe asked the girl.
Mina held up her little dye bag.
“That's a clue,” Bil said. “But in two days that die could have been washed out. Still, if the man didn't know it was there—”
“Line up!” Joe roared. “All men! Striplings too. Show your feet.”
Confused, the men obeyed. Almost all of them were sweaty and dirty, and their boots were soiled with dust and grease, but the bright dye should show on them.
Joe walked along the front of the row, and Bil along the back, peering intently at boots. And came up with nothing. None had the dye on them. “They can't have changed them,” Joe said. “These are the only ones they have here.”
Changed them. Hugh remembered how the maidens had brought changes of clothing, so as to do their dance. Today they were back in their working clothes. “The girls,” he said. “Check them too.”
Bil nodded. “It could have been a woman.”
“Maidens!” Joe shouted. “Line up next!”
The maidens formed a line. Their boots lacked dye too. But two of the dancers were missing. “Where—?” Joe started.
There was a commotion. Then two women fell to the ground, scuffling. Anne had tackled Serilda. And there as they fought was the guilty boot: on Serilda's foot. She evidently had not noticed the dye until now, or had not realized its significance. She had tried to sneak away, to get time to scrub it off, but Anne had stopped her.
In a moment the men broke up the fight and held Serilda captive. “You cut the rope!” Joe accused her. “To avenge your brother.”
Serilda hesitated, and decided on a course. “I did it for myself,” she said. “To get Hugh exiled. So I could have him.”
She was protecting her brother, so that he would not get banished too. There was nothing they could do about that.
“Then you are banished,” Joe said. “Leave this clan, and do not return, lest you be killed.”
Serilda nodded. “I will fetch my things.”
The men let her go, and she went to her section of the tent. Bub stood mute, giving no sign. But it was clear that his plot had turned against him, costing him what he most valued: his sister. And his vengeance against Hugh, who had been vindicated.
After that they returned to work erecting the stone, and by dusk the job had been completed. Tomorrow they would return to their home villages. It had been a good Festival of Stones.
We don't know the details of the culture of the Megalithic builders, but it could have been like this. We do know something about the manner they handled their huge stones. No modern machinery, no aliens from space are required; they did it with their technology of the time. The Orkney isles were at the fringe of this culture, not as advanced as those settlements nearer its center, but their designs were similar. The site described was constructed at Stennes, with twelve stones in a circle, probably relating to solar observations. Later another was made nearby, the Ring of Brodgar, with sixty stones, probably a lunar observatory. There has been much debate on exactly what observations might have been done at such sites, and at their more sophisticated and famous cousin at Stonehenge in England, but there seems to be persuasive indication that rather precise observations were made over the course of many centuries. The natural cycles were very important to the ancient cultures.
For perhaps three thousand years the Megalithic cultures endured, before being displaced by cultures with bronze and more productive agricultural techniques. Thus, in a literal sense, the stone age gave way to the ages of metals. But they left behind monuments like none seen since.
CHAPTER 11
* * *
PHILISTINE
The second millennium B.C.—that is, roughly 2000-1000 B.C.—was as busy and violent in the Levant—that is, the east Mediterranean coastline between Anatolia (modern Turkey) and Egypt where there are now the countries of Syria, Lebanon, and Israel—as the second millennium A.D., A.D. 1000-2000. More succinctly: things are always popping in the Holy Land.
Homer's Iliad describes a bold foray by the collected Greek city-states against the key city of Troy in Anatolia around 1200 B.C. Forget the surrounding mythology, which is formidable, involving the Golden Apple, the abduction of Helen, and the ten-year effort to rescue her. The real motive for the war was political and economic: the city of Troy controlled an important trade route that the Greeks coveted.
But this too may not be the real story. The Odyssey describes the adventures of the Greek hero Odysseus on his way home after that war, when he encountered things like the forgetful lotus eaters, a one-eyed man-eating giant, and the luscious but dangerous sorceress Circe. This, too, may be a euphemism for a more practical reality. The Illyrians, who lived in the Balkans (present-day Yugoslavia—another chronic hot spot), advanced south into the Peloponnesian peninsula, displacing the Dorians of northern Greece, and the Dorians moved south to displace other Greeks, many of whom had to take to their ships to escape. These became the Sea Peoples, who ravaged Anatolia, Crete, Egypt, and the Levant. In fact it may be that the adventures of the Iliad and the Odyssey were merely the Greeks’ version of what to all the other inhabitants of the eastern Mediterranean were destructive raids by barbarians on ships. The Hittite Empire of Anatolia was destroyed. The Egyptians managed to repulse a band of Sea Peoples, who then settled in the Levant, and thereafter that region was named after them: Palestine, from the Peleset, now called the Philistia. The Philistines do appear to have been Mycenaean Greeks; their shields and armor matched, as did their pottery, and a number of their names echo those of the heroes of the Iliad. So now perhaps we know where Odysseus went: to the Levant, where his people made a new nation, much to the frustration of neighbors like Egypt and Israel.
Two hundred years later, about 1000 B.C., the Philistines were in firm control of the region, having thrown off any obligations to the Egyptians and subjugated the Canaanites who were the local natives. More was to happen in this region—much more—but for the moment let's consider the situation from the perspective of the Philistines.
HUUO kissed Annai farewell at the dock, and hugged his eight-year-old son and six-year-old daughter. He hated to separate from them, but this was a special tour where children were not welcome. Of course their loyal Cannanite servant and friend Crystalech could have cared for them this month; her daughter Desert Flower was Minah's age, and the children got along well. But it seemed best simply to let Huuo travel alone, while Annai and the children maintained the household. This occasion came only once a year, and that could be handled.
“Be careful, Daddy,” Minah said as she let him go. Her eyes were great and dark, as if formed from the same midnight substance as her
“I will,” he promised her. “You protect your mother from evil spirits while I'm gone.” He smiled as he said it, but it really was not a joke.
“I will,” she agreed seriously.
Then he turned and walked the gangplank to board the ship with its bird-headed prow and stern. He turned again as he stepped onto the deck, and waved to them. Some men clearly enjoyed this annual respite from their families, but Huuo did not; had it been feasible, he would have had them all come with him, including the servant and her child. But the expense would have been prohibitive. Huuo himself paid nothing, instead being well paid for his expertise, but the others would have counted as baggage.