Shame of Man by Piers Anthony
So it was no mistake. But what did this powerful man want of this routine musician? The strangeness had not abated.
They sat at the table, and the scullery servants brought in platters of lambsmeat and sweetbreads, and vials of wines so rare that Huuo could not identify them. There was nothing to do but eat well, hoping he was not in some way being fattened for slaughter.
But as he picked up his first morsel, he realized that Seren Jaoch was doing the same—with the same hand. He paused, assessing the implication.
Jaoch smiled. “Now you see it, musician. The hand.”
“You are like me,” Huuo agreed. “Left-handed.”
“And like you, I do not proclaim it, but those around me know. We need not discuss the reason.”
Indeed they did not. Huuo knew what Jaoch faced. For a man of power it was perhaps worse, because others were always scheming to diminish or pre-empt that power, and there was a stigma to the left side that could too readily provide them an opening.
“Captain Ittai remarked that these waters were kind to the left,” Huuo said. “I didn't understand his reference.”
“A man needs associates he can trust,” Jaoch said. “My key personnel are all of this persuasion.” He lifted his left hand momentarily. “They know that their positions would wither away without me. They support me with extraordinary loyalty.”
Huuo nodded. No threats would be required; left-handers were normally discriminated against. Only when the leader was similarly inclined could they rise to prominence. “I am sure they do,” Huuo said.
“But I lack one thing,” Jaoch said. “It is my misfortune to suffer occasionally from insomnia. Sometimes my lovely mistress, also left-sided, gives me solace. Sometimes music. However—”
Suddenly it came into focus. “You have no left-handed musician! No one you can trust in your sleeping presence.”
“Exactly. And you are acclaimed as the finest musician in Philistia.”
“Oh, I would hardly make such a claim,” Huuo demurred. “There are many who—”
“Of your persuasion of hands.”
Huuo nodded. “That, perhaps. But—”
“Tomorrow is the day of the festival,” Jaoch said. “I'm sure the music will be as fine as the rest of it. But tonight I will ask you to play only for me. I would like to hear for myself whether you are as good as your reputation.”
“Of course I will play for you,” Huuo agreed warmly. But behind the warmth was a chill. If he played as well as he could, he would confirm his reputation, and then Seren Jaoch might want him to stay here. But how could he ever play less than his best? That simply was not his way.
They finished the excellent meal, and Jaoch was a companionable host. But imperfectly concealed beneath that geniality was more than a hint of iron. At one point a subordinate entered with news of the capture of a wanted criminal. “Execute him this night, and leave his body for the birds,” Jaoch said, and continued eating without pause. The lord of the city was perhaps deliberately showing the visitor two sides of himself: the best of friends, the worst of enemies.
Then Huuo fetched his double flute, and played several melodies of increasing intricacy. He tried to restrain himself, to avoid the prettiest, but his nature would not allow it. Seren Jaoch was a very good audience, showing real appreciation for nuance as well as directness, and his responses led Huuo into his best.
When Huuo paused, Jaoch made a small demonstration. “Play one more tune,” he murmured, “and walk to the door as you do. See what you see in the adjacent chamber.”
Perplexed, Huuo obeyed. When he came to the doorway, he saw seven or eight servants and guards standing there. When they saw him, they quickly dispersed, except for the one guard who was evidently supposed to be there.
Huuo returned to his place as he finished the melody. “I saw your household staff,” he said.
“So I thought. They overheard the music, and were compelled by it, and remained to hear it all. That was not by my command, so I know that their judgment echoes mine: if you are not the finest, you are surely close to it. Your reputation is well earned.”
“Thank you,” Huuo said uneasily.
“But I am keeping you up, when you need your rest for the morrow. If there is anything you wish for the night—fine wine, a soft maiden—”
Huuo smiled. “My wife is said by some to be beautiful, and certainly she is to me. I live only to return to her.”
Jaoch nodded approvingly. “In contrast to many musicians I see, who take this tour to revel in freedom from domestic constraints. Your attitude is like your music: excellent.”
Huuo spread his hands. “If you saw her, you would understand, my lord. I thank you for your gracious hospitality.” He bowed, and stepped to the doorway. There a servant was now ready to guide him back to his chambers.
When the musician was gone, Jaoch pondered for a time, then spoke, seemingly to the air. “Zebub, appear.”
Another man entered the room from a door concealed by a hanging rug. He was of rugged build, with a certain cruel set to his mouth. “I see you are satisfied, my lord.”
“I am indeed. He is even better than you claimed. A man of both talent and honor, unlike so many I encounter.” There was an incipient curl to his lip that hinted that his present company was not excluded from the generalization.
Zebub took no seeming note of that contempt. “A man you can trust, unlike some,” he agreed. “You wish to add him to your court?”
“Indeed. But he lives only to return to his beautiful wife.”
“You may remember that I warned you of that, my lord. She is as lovely as he is talented. In fact she is a dancer, like my sister, and very like her in appearance.”
“But your sister schemed against one of my favored men,” Jaoch reminded him grimly. “I had to banish her.”
“I do not question that,” Zebub said quickly. “You acted as a seren must act. The lesson is exemplary. Yet I think she has taken it to heart, and you know I would like to have her back with me, however chastened.”
“And you think she can persuade the musician to join this court?”
“In the right circumstance.”
“Despite the fact that he has a wife who is by other accounts lovelier than she?”
“I think Scylla might—if the reward were sufficient.”
“The reward of residence in this city, and acceptance by this court.”
“Exactly, my lord. She loves her own people, and longs for the return of your favor which she forfeited by her indiscretion.”
“I will consider. It is possible that I will not need her assistance.”
“As my lord elects,” Zebub agreed. He exited quietly by the concealed doorway.
Jaoch sat for a time, meditating. He would prefer to win the musician by positive means, but was prepared to go another route if that were required. Zebub, an untrustworthy but sometimes useful officer, represented that other route. And it was true that the man's similarly untrustworthy sister also had certain qualities that could enable her to be useful on occasion. Jaoch had seen her dance, and might at one time have taken her as a mistress, had she not schemed foolishly against the captain of his guards. She had evidently developed a passion for the man, or perhaps for the power of his position, but he had disdained her. She had tried to get him in trouble, and almost succeeded. It had been chance as much as vigilance that had revealed the truth. Then Jaoch had had to act, lest a bad example be set. But if there came a pretext to forgive her—well, she was still a tempting woman who perhaps had the potential to become interesting for his bed. And it was true that at times diplomacy could be greatly facilitated by the presence of an alluring and unscrupulous woman motivated to get the job done.
Finally he rose and summoned his bedservants. Tomorrow would see what it would see.
The other musicians were from all across Philistia, and were the best in their specialties. There were lyres, including a fine ancient one from Mycenae whose bowl-shaped soundbox
He had met some of the others before, but most were new. There were politics within music as well as within cities, so that a musician might be in favor one year and out of favor the next year. But he knew there would be no bad musicians among them, for no city wished to be shamed at the festival.
The dancers were there too, of course, male and female, most of them young and healthy and well formed, but there were some for the elder roles. They looked like ordinary folk without their costumes, but that would change at performance time. It was said that the combination of talented men and comely women made for an extremely enjoyable festival for some of the participants, quite apart from the honor of the occasion.
And of course there were the historians, perhaps the most important members of this assemblage. Most of them were old men. Each had his own special aspect of the larger story, for this occasion, though of course all of them knew all of it. This was the occasion for the sharing of honors.
They rehearsed in the morning at a palace annex, playing the familiar melodies of the festival. The historians told abbreviated versions, mainly setting the scene, and the dancers did relaxed walkthroughs. It was coming together. A feeling of camaraderie developed, with strangers smiling at each other, and sometimes a young woman would embrace or kiss a historian or musician, and not protest when he goosed her pert bottom. This was the spirit of the festival.
A girl approached Huuo. She was possibly the youngest and cutest of the dancers; even in her deliberately drab day-robe the litheness of her body was evident, and her face was like that of a goddess who had not yet realized her power. “Your music is divine,” she said. “Do you have company this night? I am Leda.”
“I am married,” he said gently.
“But this is the festival. Does your wife have this?” She opened her robe to show him her full body within, blindingly close to nascent perfection.
“I am also cursed.”
“Cursed? How so?”
“This is my hand.” He lifted his left hand.
Leda laughed, her bare breasts rippling enticingly. “They wouldn't let you play if you were truly cursed. Seren Jaoch isn't cursed, is he? I think it would be interesting to be with one like that. I have a left side too, you know.” She stroked her left breast with her right hand. “Do you do it in mirror image?”
He had to laugh too. “No, there is only one of that part. But much as I would like to have a night with you, I must not risk it; my wife can fathom thoughts.”
“But she surely knows what the festival is like. Love doesn't count, here.”
Huuo did not want to offend Leda or hurt her feelings, because he would have to work with her for several days. Also, she seemed oddly familiar; it was almost as if she had invited him to sexplay before, though that couldn't be. So he finessed her offer. “You tempt me unmercifully. But I must not. But I think if you query that lyre player, he will not decline. I saw him watching you.”
She sighed. “Very well. But know that you were my first choice, for the beauty of your melodies.” She moved on to the lyre player, who was due for a pleasant surprise.
Actually, what Leda had said was correct: marriage vows had no special force during the festival, and men and women could indulge as they pleased. Annai accepted that, as he accepted her right to do the same. But his marriage had not yet progressed to the point where he craved that type of variety. Before meeting Annai, he had had some flings, but the appeal of those had faded like flowers in a drought once he loved her. When he returned he would tease Annai about the delights he had passed up for her, and she would tease him about his foolishness. They understood each other.
The musicians and dancers broke in due course for a light noon repast, none of them wishing to become weighed down with too much food and be clumsy for the presentation. Then it was time for the dressing and assembly, for the hour of the show was approaching. They got ready, with dancers changing openly before the others, a signal of their unity as a company, and of their confidence in the appeal of their bodies. Then they marched as a group to the temple of Ashtoreth, the mother goddess.
The common folk of the city were already thronged. The nobles had seats set up in front, while the others packed in behind, filling the square and streets beyond. There was a roar of applause as the performers made their way through the aisle reserved for them and mounted the outer steps of the temple. It was a fine sunny day, which was just as well, because it would have been impossible to accommodate the crowd inside the temple.
Seren Jaoch walked out in front as the performers found places on the steps and temple dais. “There will be wine for all at the palace gate after the ritual,” he announced, and there was a cheer. “And the temple will be open for worshippers. Let the performance begin!” He went to take his seat at the front. No fancy speech was required; he had said what was necessary.
The first historian took the stage. The crowd went quiet, for all wanted to hear. “It begins with a beautiful woman,” he said, his voice strengthening into a chant. “Her name was Helen, and she was of godly descent, the daughter of the king of Lacedaemon in the old country.” Now the dancer who had approached Huuo, Leda, walked out from behind a concealing column, in a diaphanous gown that masked yet enhanced her figure teasingly. Again Huuo almost thought he knew her, perhaps from when she had been younger, when she had not yet developed her phenomenal beauty of form and face. It seemed possible, for he had played at many events, and encountered many children and youths. The splendor of her maturity must have burst from the dullness of her cocoon in the past two years, fuzzing his recognition.
The music started, first with a gentle background drum beat that matched the dancer's footsteps, then with a melody representing her. Huuo was the one assigned to that theme; he played point and counterpoint on the double flute, catching the swing of her arms and body. Leda twirled and flashed a smile at him, perhaps hoping that they would get together on another day.
“But Baal, chief of gods, spied her, and was intrigued by her beauty,” the historian continued. There was a murmur through the audience: only a dead man would not be intrigued by the seductive vision on the stage. “Fearing that Ashtoreth would observe, he masked himself by assuming the form of his other nature, that of the bull, and approached Helen.” Now the music of the harp came, augmented by that of the zither, as a dancer in a horned bull costume walked onto the stage, sporting a massive mock phallus. What followed was of considerable interest to the audience, despite the pantomimed distress of Helen and the piercing flute music that accompanied her attempted flight and struggles. That was of course why this mythical episode introduced the narration; there was nothing like a graphic animalistic rape of a lovely girl to work up an audience. Three times the damsel almost escaped, to the alarm of the watchers; but three times the bullheaded figure caught her and hauled her brutally back, bringing applause. He drew up her gown to expose her lovely body, turning it as she spread her legs so that everyone could have a fair view. Then the bull bore the damsel down on the pavement and pressed close to her in a dramatic rape, while the screaming flutes were dominated by the harp, zither, and intensifying drums. Both actor and actress did a fine job, making it look so real that even Huuo wondered. This was, after all, the festival, where such scenes could indeed be public.
“Thereafter,” the historian resumed, after the commotion died down and the bull departed, “Baal abducted her and carried her away to a foreign city, where she lived in captivity and bore the bull's calf.”<
Whereupon it was time for a new historian and new dancers, taking the story through the Mycenaean expedition against her captors. The deeds of the heroes were given full play and dramatization, with suitably gory fight scenes. Some of the heroes, instead of returning home, decided to settle in the backward lands they saw along the way, thus bringing civilization to the natives. Unfortunately some of the natives were not properly appreciative, notably the Egyptians, and treacherously counterattacked. They sneaked up and trapped the fleet in the Nile River, and fired dastardly arrows at the heroes from the shore, then barged in with grappling hooks and overturned the ships. The dancers formed the semblance of a ship, and tumbled as it overturned. The audience groaned appreciatively.
The heroes of Philistia were able to beat them off despite their disadvantage, and keep possession of their fair new land. There was some thought of mounting a punitive expedition against the Egyptians, as they had before against the Trojans, but too many of their subtribes were more interested in consolidating their local resources. So in the end the five main tribes focused on their territories, and buttressed the great leading cities of Gaza, Ashkelon, Ashdod, Gath, and Ekron. These cities soon begat daughter cities, forming trading communities and spheres of influence. They labored diligently to civilize the backward Canaanites and beat back the savage hill folk who called themselves Israelites. Such nuisances were chronic, but progress was being made. And so came to be the present community of Philistia in all its glory.
The history play ended with a flourish of all the dancers jumping and whirling together, and all the musical instruments playing. The story of their culture had been presented once again, and the audience loved it, for all its familiarity. Then the exodus to the free wine at the palace began. A number of men headed instead for the interior of the temple, preferring to worship first in the arms of the attractive priestesses. There was more than one way to celebrate the occasion, and the re-enactments of the Helen story had surely whetted some appetites.