Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 42

“So, as I was holding the beast that had gone amok, by the neck, I made another attempt to stop her,” with these,words the archeologist shot a furious glance at the mare who was peacefully grazing a few steps away, munching loudly on the lush grass. “I shouted right into her ear, ‘Halt, damn you!’ And what do you think she did?”

“She stopped?”

“Oh, how did you guess?” the archeologist asked suspiciously. “Yes, she did stop, but in what manner?”

Artem did not understand what Dmitro Borisovich meant.

“The damned beast did not stop all of her, so to say, at once. At first her front part stopped… Yes, yes, that’s how it was! I remember it very well! And her hind part kept on galloping in the mean time!”

“But that’s impossible!”

“But I’m telling you the hind part kept on galloping!

I can’t tell you for sure though for how long it continued in this manner because at some point, I was kicked up into the air by this bucking hind part, and sailed over the front part that was firmly standing on the ground. It’s a wonder I didn’t brake any bones when I landed! Only then did the mare stop completely, entirely, so to say… Oh, what has come over you?”

Artem was bent over almost double, leaning against the horse’s neck and shaking in uncontrollable fits of laughter. He was aware that it was so impolite to be laughing at someone else’s misfortunes, that his mirth, enjoyed at the expense of such a respectable person as Dmitro Borisovich,was absolutely unpardonable, and yet he could not control himself.

“Cut out that laughing, young man! I personally do not see anything funny in the situation. Will you please stop!”

At last, Artem regained control of himself and stopped laughing. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he tried to put on a serious expression:

“Why didn’t you join us afterward, when we began calling you?”

The archeologist glanced angrily at Artem above his glasses:

“Ha, do you imagine it is so easy to talk this beast into allowing me to remount? She flatly refuses! I’ve been pleading with her all this time! But she won’t even allow me to get close to her! And all of you told me how placid and manageable she was!”

“You should have taken the reins, and she would have followed you wherever you wanted to go.”

“Try for yourself. Incidentally, she’s got teeth, and on the other end she can kick you with her hind legs. And if you approach her from the flank, there’s nothing to grab on to…”

Artem was about to be overcome with a new wave of laughter, but to succumb to it would mean mortally offending the annoyed archeologist. So he silently jumped down from his horse, came over to the archeologist’s mare, took her reins, and walked her over to Dmitro Borisovich.

“Now you can mount. I’ll hold her.”

The archeologist glanced at the young man suspiciously: wasn’t he being a bit too careless in handling the horse? But as their friends were already impatiently calling, there was no more time to be lost. Throwing himself awkwardly astride the mare’s back, Dmitro Borisovich wiggled his way to a sitting position. In a moment they were riding quietly side by side. The archeologist was silent, from time to time glancing mistrustfully at his mount trotting along smoothly and sedately, and at Artem who seemed completely absorbed in thoughts of his own. At last, Dmitro Borisovich heaved a sigh, as though he was about to confess something and said:

“It seems to me, Artem, that our discussion of the little… errr… incident, involving… my horse, was, so to say, of a strictly confidential nature, and it’s probably not worthwhile… to tell our friends the details… Do you think it’s unreasonable?”

“Oh no, it’s not, it’s not unreasonable at all, Dmitro Borisovich!”

“I’m very glad you think that way. I knew from the start that you would immediately recognize the impropriety of informing them of the details… Could we say that I was delayed because of… well, because of…”

Artem searched his mind for a convincing reason that could have accounted for the archeologist’s falling behind:

“Say, you’ve had to stop because the horse’s belly-band — the one that holds the blanket on the horse’s back in place — was loose, and so it had to be tightened. That’s something a person without a previous experience would hardly be able to do single-handedly, and so, I was only too glad to help.”

“Yes, that’s what it was, exactly. I was just about to mention that… errr… band,” the archeologist said, pleased with the explanation. “There’s one more thing… err… a personal request. Why should we go at such a break-neck speed? What’s the hurry? What will we miss if we go a bit slower? All this galloping only makes you short of breath…”

“All right, Dmitro Borisovich,” Artem said. He realized that the highly strung archeologist should be given a chance to compose himself.

They rode over to their friends who had been waiting rather impatiently for them. Artem gave them, in a few words, the invented reason that had supposedly held the archeologist back; Dmitro Borisovich shot anxious glances at Artem, evidently somewhat worried that the young man would not be able to check himself and would reveal the actual reason for the delay. But everything went off without a hitch, and the group started on its way. Now they were moving much slower, and soon enough Dmitro Borisovich regained some of his composure. He even began interpreting the explanations of Varkan who pointed to the slope of the hill situated close to the steep cliff the cavalcade was approaching.

“Here, on this slope, the Scythians mine their ore. It is taken from the open pit in baskets. The metal is smelted not far from here. All the work is supervised by Varkan’sfriend, Ronis, the very man who attracted our attention on our first day here.”

As they drew nearer to the slope, they could discern pairs of people carrying big baskets of ore to a fair-sized furnace in a large hole in the ground. Black smoke was billowing from the chimney; the smoke was so heavy it sank low and spread over the ground.

“Only slaves and a few Scythians work here,” Dmitro Borisovich translated. “A sample of the ore will be brought to us in a moment. I’ve asked Varkan to bring some especially for you, Ivan Semenovich.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Varkan also says that he has sent for Ronis. It may be of some interest to talk to him. Varkan says that Ronis is well versed in matters of mining.”

Ivan Semenovich, whose curiosity was thoroughly aroused, looked around, taking in all the details. An ordinary hill, by the looks of it. Jagged rocks on the cliffs beyond… Aha, the pre samples had arrived. High-grade ore of good quality… hut with other metals in it; the experienced eye of the geologist immediately discerned all this. That’s why they smelted bronze from this copper ore which also has some tin or antimony, zinc or lead… The bronze was of quite a decent quality. But…

Ivan Semenovich turned to Dmitro Borisovich:

“Everything is clear as far as the bronze is concerned, Dmitro Borisovich. But another question arises…”

“What is that?”

“To the best of my knowledge — a geologist’s knowledge, not that of an archeologist, of course — the Scythians lived in the Iron Age, not the Bronze Age; is that correct?”

“Yes, you’re right, Ivan Semenovich. Iron was widely used by the Scythians, and in fact, Scythian culture as we know it was formed after the complete preeminence of iron over bronze.”

“That’s what I thought. But this tribe is using bronze, not iron. And here we see them digging for copper ore. So, the question is: why do the Scythians we’ve encountered here make and use bronze, not iron?”

« Dmitro Borisovich pulled at his beard indecisively, evidently at a loss, not being able to provide an immediate answer.

“Why indeed?” the archeologist said pensively. “No doubt, bronze arrowheads, helmets, and ornaments and copper cauldrons and so on were still used after bronze was superceded by iron, the metal favored by Ares, the god of war. But even though bronze was still used, it did not determine the overall picture of that age; the Age was decidely that of Iron. You’re absolutely correct in this respect, my dear Ivan Semenovich. But in apparent contradiction to this fact, our Scythians are making bronze…”

“We have not seen anything made of iron at all, so far,” the geologist said.

“No, we haven’t, and that’s very strange… But I have an idea, Ivan Semenovich!” Dmitro Borisovich said, his eyes shining with the excitement of a possible solution that had dawned upon him. “What if our Scythians, who already knew how to use iron, found themselves cut off from the rest of the world in this… errr… cave, and had to go back to using bronze? What do you say to that?”

“Why should they? Just because they wanted to? I don’t quite follow you, Dmitro Borisovich.”

“In fact, it’s quite simple. Our Scythians are living in a sort of a cave, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Or anyway, that’s what we think this place is. So, what follows from this fact?”

“What follows? They searched for deposits of iron ore in this spacious but nevertheless limited cavity and failed to find any. But they discovered copper ore. Do you see my point now? And cut off as they were from the rest of the world, they could do nothing else but start using bronze again!”