Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 32

Now it was Artern’s turn to think the answer over, as it was brief and seemingly ambiguous, but evidently there was a lot of meaning hidden in it. The Scythian apparently did not think it wise to give a more explicit answer. But even what he had said was revealing. Here was Varkan, a warrior of Skolot’s, enjoying the trust of the chieftain — Artem had noticed that much! At the same time, he was on friendly terms with the Greeks in spite of possible disgrace if it became known… Very, very interesting…

Nothing more was said for some time: there was quite a lot to ponder.

Artem walked over to the plates of food: it was high time to attend to it, not as an archeological necessity, as Dmitro Borisovich might regard it, but simply to get a decent meal at last. The meat smelled very appetizingly, and the bread also looked quite good; the earthen jug held aromatic fresh milk.

Artem sat down to have his meal close to the entrance, not forgetting of his duties as a guard. He fell to eating with such gusto that the rest couldn’t help doing the same. In a minute everybody was heartily partaking of the food. Varkan watched the strangers with a benevolent smile. He refused to have anything to eat when Dmitro Borisovich asked him to join them.

Only after the explorers had finished the meat and bread and begun drinking the milk did Varkan begin to speak again, Dmitro Borisovich listening again with a concentrated attention.

“My friends,” the archeologist said after a while, “Varkan says that we are not in immediate danger, at least until morning. Dorbatay’s planning a major ceremony for tomorrow, but Skolot intends to buy you from him.. He has a good chance of succeeding, since Dorbatay is greedy. Varkan thinks that Skolot is prepared to give him some jewels in exchange for your release.”

“Oh, are we just goods to be bought and sold?” Lida flared up in anger. “And isn’t Skolot — at least judging by what you said — just another version of Dorbatay? The soothsayer is very hostile to us, and the chieftain is not, but aren’t they basically the same? In the words of Artem — don’t they make a pair?”

“Lida, don’t let your emotions get the best of you,” Ivan Semenovich said. “We must think hard and decide what to do without letting emotional outbursts interfere with our reasoning. There are some things that demand our close attention. For example, Varkan mentioned his relations with… what’s his name… Ah, Ronis, isn’t it? I think I’m on the right track in figuring out what’s what…”

“So am I,” Artem put in, looking triumphantly at Lida.

“That’s good,” the geologist said. “I’m happy we share the same opinion on the matter. So, I think we should put our stakes on Skolot, or rather not even him but on…”

The geologist did not pronounce the name but looked at Varkan quite significantly. But Varkan, who did not understand a word of what was being said, was patiently waiting for the interpretation. Suddenly he shuddered with fear, his gaze riveted on Diana. She got to her feet and walked over to Ivan Semenovich, sniffing the air.

“Oh, it’s too bad we forgot about the dog! We’ve had our dinner, but what about poor Diana?” said the geologist reproachfully. He took what was left of the meat and gave it to the dog. Varkan watched the dog eat silently but suspiciously. Then he addressed himself to Dmitro Borisovich, pointing to Diana. His question made the archeologist laugh.

“No, my friend, no!” he said to Varkan in Greek. “It’s an ordinary dog, and a very good dog indeed, pure bred, devoted, even intelligent — but just a dog. There’s nothing magical or extraordinary about her, I can assure you!” Then he turned to his friends. “What a great sway superstition can have over people! Even such a bright man as Varkan cannot suppress his fear of Diana. He asked whether we’re afraid she might eat us one day. He regards our Diana as an incarnation of the sacred panther!”

It did sound preposterous, but the conversation was brought to a sudden halt, for Artem heard footfalls approaching the kibitka; he sprang to his feet and shushed them.

Varkan’s head disappeared under the felt; Diana began growling menacingly.

“Diana, down! Down!” Ivan Semenovich commanded sternly. The dog lowered herself to the ground reluctantly, still making a low growling sound.

A hand threw a flap at the entrance aside; a twinkling light was seen outside. A Scythian holding an oil lamp came in and stopped at the entrance. He was followed by the old soothsayer wearing his ceremonial scarlet cloak and felt hat with sundry gold decorations glistening in the wavering light of the oil lamp. He looked around sharply, his face grim and forbidding. The gold decorations were of many sizes with various images carved into them. Similar decorations adorned the soothsayer’s felt hat, long strands of gray hair stuck from under it.

“I wonder what it is he wants from us now?” Artem asked in a low voice, not really expecting an answer. None of them could provide it; they all waited guardedly for what would follow next.

The soothsayer assumed a dignified, self-assured posture. He made an almost imperceptible gesture, and a short swarthy man immediately rushed in. He bowed very low before the soothsayer and stood beside him, casting glances at the explorers, his curiosity evidently piqued by their strange appearance.

The soothsayer began speaking without turning his head to the swarthy man, ignoring his presence altogether. The words fell from his lips one by one, very distinctly, in measured intervals but completely lacking in emotional coloring. He seemed to be speaking about matters totally unrelated to the captives. When he paused, the swarthy man began translating. Evidently, he had been called in specifically for this purpose — to interpret the soothsayer’s pronouncements into Greek. But how had the soothsayer learned that one of the captives could communicate in Greek?

The swarthy man translated and Dmitro Borisovich, in his turn, translated what had been said for his friends. Both the interpreters were careful in choosing their words so as to render the soothsayer’s address as adequately as possible:

“The glorious Dorbatay, beloved-of-the-gods, does not harbor any ill feelings towards the strangers. Dorbatay understood they had been sent by the gods the moment they emerged from the forest accompanied by their yellow panther. It is known that no ordinary mortal can be accompanied by a panther — this beast of evil and terror incarnate.”

“That is you, my dear Diana, he’s speaking about,” Artem whispered into the dog’s ear, but in reply, the dog only moved her ear slightly.

“The glorious Dorbatay had another proof of the strangers’ unearthly abilities,” the translation continued, “when he saw smoke coming from the mouth and nose of the young magician. This is a feat beyond the powers of ordinary mortals…”

“Aha, now, he’s talking about me…”

“Artem, stop it,” Ivan Semenovich said sharply.

“Yes, sir,” Artem replied submissively.

The soothsayer did not seem to hear any of this exchange or just ignored it. The moment the swarthy interpreter and Dmitro Borisovich had been done with their translations, he began speaking again:

“The glorious Dorbatay,” he said in translation, “does not want any quarrels with the strangers; he’s loath to do them any harm. He wants to give them worthy tasks to perform. He wants them to become his friends, in which case no one would dare to trouble them. Dorbatay himself will see to it that they have everything they please. They’ll have the best cattle, the best horses, the best food, the best kibitkas, and as many slaves as they want. To have all this, they only must do as the glorious Dorbatay instructs them to do.”

“But what is that he wants us to do? Let’s hear it,” Ivan Semenovich said distrustfully.

“If the strangers promise Dorbatay to abide by his will, nobody will touch a hair of their heads. They’ll be made rich and powerful, and Dorbatay will give them everything they would like to have because Dorbatay is omnipotent.”

The swarthy translator was so impressed by such a fantastic proposition that his eyes shone with greed.

“All right, and what is it precisely that the glorious Dorbatay wants us to do?” Dmitro Borisovich asked.

Now the soothsayer showed that he deigned to hear: the moment the archeologist mentioned his name he shot a glance at him and a ghost of a smile appeared on his face. A moment later he resumed his quiet and haughty attitude and said:

“Dorbatay puts forward the following conditions: the strangers shall abstain from performing any miracles without his express approval. They shall assist him in performing miracles during the rituals. As far as the woman is concerned…”

“What does hu have in mind?” Artem said, his suspicion immediately aroused.

“The woman, who has had the good fortune to be fancied by Hartak, son of the great chieftain, shall receive even a greater reward: she’ll have the honor of becoming his fourth beloved wife…”

“What?”

“His wife?”

“The fourth wife?”

“Who — me?”

This outcry of indignation came from all the four explorers immediately and simultaneously. Did he really mean it? Lida to become the fourth wife of the deformed Hartak? To be given the honor of becoming his wife?!

“Somebody has gone nuts! And it’s either us or them!” Artem cried out in a temper. “But I’m inclined to think it’s Dorbatay who’s out of his head. Tell him that it’s the custom with us to ask the girl first whether she wishes to marry someone, and only if she does not reject the proposal do any further discussions take place! Go ahead, tell him that!”