Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 56

“Look, Hartak’s trembling all over as if he were having a seizure!” Artem cried out in surprise.

“He must be in a mortal fear of something,” Lida said. Hartak was indeed trembling perceptibly; his face seemed filled with great fear; he clasped and unclasped his hands nervously, jerking his head as if chasing away an annoying fly. Dorbatay kept his disdainful gaze on him. At last Hartak managed to pull himself together — probably after he intercepted the piercing glare of the old soothsayer. Then Dorbatay again turned to Skolot:

“I hope you’re not greatly displeased with this small gift. It is surely much too modest for such a great and wise chieftain.”

Skolot looked up, his eyes still distrustful.

“I’m well pleased with the gift… provided it has been given as token of good will…”

Dorbatay said with a short dry laugh:

“I have given this sacred image to you with the blessing of the gods and before all your guests. How can such a gift be a token of anything but the most sincere good will?”

“That is very good, I must accept your assurances. What is it that you want to ask of me in return, Dorbatay?” Skolot asked. “According to tradition I cannot refuse you anything now. But mind you, there are certain things… or rather people… that I’d advise you not to ask for, because…”

The chieftain let the end of the sentence hang in the air and there was an all-too evident threat in his voice. Dmitro Borisovich commented:

“Did you get that hint? Skolot wants the soothsayer to understand that he is not to ask that the strangers be given to him in exchange for his gift. The chieftain is keeping his word to protect us, as you see.”

“But how long will he be able to do it?” Ivan Semenovich asked pensively.

Hearing the chieftain’s words made Dorbatay assume a pose of hurt pride:

“I’m not going to ask for anything valuable, my brother Skolot. And you know very well that I don’t need anything. It would not be proper for a humble soothsayer to ask for anything for himself personally. I only want to fulfill the will of the gods. It was the gods who bade me tell you and all the Skolots today of the fate of the traitor Scylas. I have done so. The gods also bade me make peace with you today and make you a gift of the sacred image. I have done this, too. But the gods also advised me as to what I must ask of you, o Skolot! You cannot refuse me, because you will be refusing the gods! You must fulfill the will of the gods and the sacred tradition of the Skolots!”

The old chieftain shook his head:

“Let’s not argue, Dorbatay. I have warned you. Now tell me what it is you ask!”

Dorbtay’s crackling voice now sounded sharp and menacing:

“The gods demand that you give them the strangers!”

And he emphasized his words by pointing to them with his hand.

“I will not let you have them,” Skolot said with determination. But as soon as he had uttered these words, a discontented murmur arose from the Scythians who had been worked up by Dorbatay and then by the elders and the rich, and were much displeased with their chieftain’s reply.

Dorbatay, who stood still facing the dais, said, with a sweeping gesture of his hand:

“Look around, my brother Skolot, and take heed! Ask the elders, ask the people. What will they tell you? You’ll hear their indignation — indignation against you. Take heed!”

Skolot looked around and saw the gazes of the crowd, directed at him, expectant and anticipative. The Scythians watched the confrontation with avidity, waiting for its outcome, weighing the chances of the powerful contenders. But,one thing was clear: the man who had the miracle-working strangers in his power would eventually overcome his opponent. And Skolot, realizing that, was adamant in his refusal.

“No, you can’t have them!”

“The gods command it!” the soothsayer suddenly shrieked. “The gods command that you make this sacrifice to them! The gods have already threatened to destroy the Skolots with thunderbolts! That was a terrifying warning! The strangers profaned the sacred altar; they mocked our gods and me, their humble priest! Only with the blood of the strangers can the gods be placated and the offense expiated. Give us, o Skolot, the strangers, or the wrath of gods will smite you, the terrible wrath of the omnipotent gods!” The soothsayer’s voice broke into a furious, piercing scream. He seemed to have gone berserk; he flailed his arms wildly, shaking his head and foaming at the mouth. His lips went livid, he stamped his feet and screamed:

“Give us the strangers who have defiled our sacred places!”

“No,” said the chieftain, shaking his head.

“The gods will destroy you, Skolot! Remember Scylas! You are betraying our gods! Change your mind! Give us the strangers!”

“No!”

Abruptly, Dorbatay stopped shrieking and fell silent. And all the Scythians present fell silent, too. The pause that ensued was an ominous one, filled with great tension. The silence was broken by Dorbatay, his voice sounding quite different now — solemn and prayerlike:

“o gods, great and just gods! I beseech you to listen to me, your humble servant!”

The old soothsayer again raised his arms into the air. He lowered his voice and spoke in a very loud whisper, so loud in fact that it could be heard easily all through the crowd:

“Great and wrathful gods, I beseech you, I pray that you will hear the voice of your meek servant, Dorbatay! I have told Skolot all that you bade me. I have warned him, I have done all I could. It grieves me to think of the retribution that is forthcoming, of the terrible punishment that you will dispense, o gods! But may this punishment not touch either me or the courageous Skolot people! May this punishment fall only on the one who violates your sacred laws and disregards your commands!”

Ivan Semenovich noticed that Dorbatay shot a glance at Skolot when he stopped talking, as though checking to see what impression his words were making on the old chieftain. Skolot was silent, his brows knit. Dorbatay began speaking again, alternately lowering his voice almost to a whisper only to raise it to an unbearable high-pitched shrieking:

“I beg of you, o gods, not to punish the innocent people, not to destroy them with your scorching thunderbolts in your wrath! If in your ire, you must punish someone, then strike down the one who has done you wrong!”

He fell silent; his raised arms began trembling as if with fatigue. A tense silence settled in, and then this silence was shattered when someone, inspired either by enthusiasm or fear, shouted:

“Give the strangers to the gods, o Skolot! Give them to the gods!”

This shout served as signal for the rest, and the crowd burst into a wild clamor which strongly resembled an incantation:

“Give them to the gods! Give them to the gods! Skolot, give them to the gods! Don’t provoke the wrath of the gods!”

In this undulating uproar, several voices could be easily distinguished for their unremitting fervor: they were the voices of the nobles who had discarded their unusual reserve and were shouting the loudest, inciting the rest of the Scythians to do the same:

“Do what Dorbatay tells you to, o Skolot! Give the strangers to the gods! Give the strangers to the gods to appease their wrath!”

Skolot sprang to his feet. Standing on the dais, tall and of forbidding appearance, he said to Dorbatay who stood opposite him:

“So this is how you understand reconciliation, Dorbatay! You’re again instigating strife among my people! You have not given up your pernicious scheming, but you cannot scare me with your frenzied shouting and imprecations because I know their true worth very well. Now, listen to me, my courageous warriors and hunters, listen to me, all Skolot people! I will now disclose the secret of Dorbatay, this.wicked and worthless man! Listen…”

His voice suddenly broke; he clasped his throat with his hand; he was breathing heavily, as though short of breath. He opened his mouth wide, gasping for air; then he tore open the collar of his ceremonial dress.

The eyes of the old soothsayer flashed with joy. He began shouting hysterically in a shrill voice:

“The gods are punishing Skolot! Look, warriors and hunters! Look, everyone! The gods have stopped Skolot from speaking! Punish the apostate, o gods, if you must, but do not harm the innocent people. o gods, punish the violator of our sacred laws as once you punished Anacharsis and Scylas!”

Skolot’s face had gone deathly white. He swayed; his hands groped for support. With a tremendous effort Skolot said:

“Wait… now… Ill tell you…”

Dorbatay’s triumphant roaring drowned out the chieftain’s words:

“The gods are punishing the backslider! The gods have struck Skolot in their terrible wrath!”

The Scythians began pushing toward the dais but no one dared to come too close.

Skolot made another attempt to say something and again failed. He made visible efforts to regain control of himself; he raised his hand and opened his mouth to speak but not a word passed his lips. A moment later, the old chieftain collapsed, sprawling on the ground. Several warriors rushed to his aid, but they were stopped by a harsh bellow from Dorbatay:

“Halt, fools! Stay where you are unless you want to be stricken by the gods! Do not approach the apostate punished so terribly by the gods!”

They stood still, irresolute, shifting their gaze from Dorbatay, who had assumed the posture of a supreme master \vith the power to decide the matters of life and death, to Skolot who was lying motionless on the rug. The gold helmet had fallen from his head and rolled to the side; his face was ashen, and his eyes had rolled up so that only the whites showed; his arms, spread wide, jerked spasmodically.