Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 53

Ivan Semenovich glanced at Hartak — he was holding a cup of. oksugala but did not drink. The geologist could see that his hands were trembling. Hartak put the cup down; his eyes were fixed on something outside the ring of kibitkas. Ivan Semenovich followed the line of Hartak’s gaze and saw some movement in the distance; then he discerned a group of people approaching. He wondered who they could be.

He scrutinized Hartak’s face and was convinced that the approaching party were the people Hartak had been waiting for all this time. Hartak clenched his fingers and a nervous tic appeared on his face; his eyes were riveted to the approaching people.

Right then, Ivan Semenovich heard Lida’s disturbed voice:

“Look over there; Dorbatay’s headed this way!”

“And he has his priestesses with him,” Artem added, peering through the semi-darkness at the approaching group in the uneven light of the flickering torches.

“I wonder what’s brought him here,” Dmitro Borisovich added pensively.

The old soothsayer was already walking among the seated Scythians, headed for the dais, his deportment as solemn and dignified as before; it was as if he had never suffered the humiliating defeat at the hands of Artem. He walked, ignoring the drunken shouts, like a terrifying and ominous ghost, his scarlet cloak dragging after him on the ground, the tall conical hat, decorated with gold figurines of animals, pushed low over his eyebrows. There was a long staff in his hand with a gold owl perched on top.

The laughter and loud talking died down in Dorbatay’s wake, as though he was extinguishing them with his dark shadow. He was closely followed by priestesses and priests, all ceremoniously attired: the women in embroidered linen dresses and the men in short red cloaks with ornaments and daggers under their belts.

In the silence that had fallen over the gathering, some cheers of greeting were suddenly heard; they came from the group of wealthy Scythians. Varkan, who watched the soothsayer and his party with mounting apprehension, said to Dmitro Borisovich under his breath:

“It’s very suspicious… Dorbatay almost never comes to feasts. And no one expected him to come tonight… except, perhaps, for those bloated…”

Skolot assumed a dignified posture, waiting for the old soothsayer to arrive at the dais. Dorbatay ignored the fact that his arrival had completely changed the mood of the feast. That was probably what he had intended to do. But in any case, remaining quite composed, he came up to the dais, bowed low to Skolot, and began speaking in a loud voice, looking straight into the probing eyes of the chieftain, who was evidently somewhat nonplussed by the soothsayer’s unexpected arrival.

“Illustrious Skolot, and much beloved by the gods, accept my greetings! And famed and mighty strangers, sitting so close beside Skolot, I also extend greetings to you!”

“There seems to be some menace in his voice,” Dmitro Borisovich said to Varkan who was translating the words of the old soothsayer for the archeologist.

“These strangers are mighty and powerful indeed,” Dor- batay continued, “otherwise they would not have been granted the honor of occupying the sacred place by the chieftain, which is reserved, as is well-known, for only the most gallant and most famed warriors! These strangers are powerful indeed since they have managed to bend the chieftain to their will by forcing him to allow a strange woman to sit by his side, whereas by law, no woman has the right to sit beside the chieftain, because it is an offense to the gods! But as the gods are silent, that means that the strangers are omnipotent and free to do whatever they please. They are free to break our sacred age-old laws and customs. So I, a humble soothsayer, must perforce greet the powerful strangers!”

Ivan Semenovich bent over and whispered to Artem:

“Be on guard, but keep quiet! Not a single movement that could be regarded as provocative! I’m afraid things are coming to a head. Watch out, Artem, watch out! The danger, whenever and wherever it comes from, must not catch us unawares!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The old soothsayer shows himself an excellent actor in the one-man play telling stories of the past and then offering reconciliation to Skolot; the gold owl is dropped into the bowl of ok s u gal a and Dorbatay puts forward new demands; Skolot rises to his feet to refect them only to drop dead; Hartak becomes chieftain and lets Dorbatay have his way; whereupon the soothsayer promptly orders the strangers seized.

“Be on guard, Artem.”

Why was Ivan Semenovich warning him? Why hadn’t he explained anything? Could Dorbatay be scheming to do something right here at the feast? The question had to be left without answer, but the soothsayer’s expression was quite ominous indeed.

He was not the frightened old man, trembling and looking around despondently after the defeat at the altar two days before. No, now standing before Skolot was an imperious, self-assured, grave soothsayer uttering words of overt threats. Artem could not fail to see that the general gaiety of the Scythians had given way to an uneasy silence. Now it was hard to believe that only a short while before the Scythians had been laughing and giving the outlanders friendly glances, so complete was the reversal of the general mood after the arrival of Dorbatay. It also encouraged the group of the wealthy Scythians to make menacing noises! And Varkan had grown abruptly sullen, his hand clasping the hilt of his sword.

“Artem! Dorbatay’s got something nasty up his sleeve!” the young man heard Lida’s voice filled with apprehension.

“How can you tell?” Artem said attempting to sound casual and carefree. But there was too much strain in his voice to pass unnoticed.

“Why should you pretend?” she said reproachfully. “Is there something you’re trying to hide from me? Why are you treating me like a child? I can see very well what’s going on.”

Artem shrugged, not knowing what to say. The atmosphere had indeed become charged with menace, but there was nothing for the explorers to do except wait for further developments.

Dorbatay was still standing in front of the dais, leaning on the staff with the gold owl. He made a well-timed pause in his address, as if checking the impression his sinister words had made; then he continued, gradually raising his voice in the manner of an experienced orator:

“I also greet you, noble Hartak, son of the chieftain and heir apparent! I see that you are the only one here who has not been foolishly rejoicing, having felt the portentous breath of the wrathful gods. Accept my greetings, future chieftain! You are beloved of the gods! You hold sacred the ancient traditions of the Skolots. You will bring, in your time, much happiness to the Skolot people!”

A murmur ran through the crowd; the Scythians were stretching their necks to get a better view of Hartak who did his best to assume a dignified posture worthy of Dorbatay’s praise. He did not achieve much, as his head was bent sideways and his eyes were blinking timorously; besides, he had trouble of keeping them open.

One of the hunters must have said something not very flattering about Hartak and the soothsayer must have heard it, because he wheeled round abruptly, raised his staff, and cried out wrathfully:

“Who dares to gainsay me? Let him remember then that he speaks against the gods! I, the humble soothsayer Dorbatay, call upon the gods to witness that I heard their awesome voice last night! The gods told me and bound me to tell you — and the earth quaked from their voice! — : ‘Go, and impress upon your people that our blessing is with the wise Skolot and his son, the noble Hartak! Make sure the people remember this!’ These words from the gods came to me amidst terrible thunder and flames from which I, your humble soothsayer, had to shade my face!”

“Wasn’t it with my help that the gods told him all this?” Artem said mockingly but in a very low voice after he had heard the translation.

“I came here,” Dorbatay continued, “because I wanted to listen to the story of wise old Ormad along with everyone else. Unfortunately I have missed it. But now I want to tell you something that I have been reminded of by the gods. I want to tell a tale from the glorious past of the Skolot people. And if the wise chieftain Skolot will deign to allow me, I will do as I have been bidden by the gods!”

He raised his hands into the air and froze in his favorite posture, his eyes half-closed, as though listening to the voice of the gods.

“The old creap’s playing his role excellently!” Dmitro Borisovich could not help exclaiming. “Isn’t he, Ivan Semenovich? I wonder what it is he’s going to tell them? It may be very interesting. What if it is something that is somehow connected with the histories of Herodotus and other ancient historians?”

The geologist did not say anything in reply. There was something else on his mind at the moment. Dorbatay lowered his long wrinkled hands at last and looked Skolot straight in the eye:

“I am waiting for your permission to speak, o chieftain! And I hope it will be granted!”

“Tell your story,” Skolot said rather curtly without returning the stare. He must have felt that the soothsayer was playing his game with some definite and important purpose in mind. The chieftain shifted his eyes to Varkan to make sure Varkan had a firm grip on the hilt of his sword. Varkan was on guard. Now, in a more relaxed tone, Skolot repeated turning his gaze to Dorbatay: