Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 77

The six, after casting their rods on the ground, confirmed the findings of the first three:

“He is guilty! He is guilty on all counts! The gods have said it again! And the gods demand that he be punished!”

Once again, the hunter rejected the charges. Then Dorbatay called in twelve diviners — twice as many as before. These twelve gave the same reply:

“The man is guilty! This is what our gods tell us! And they demand a harsh punishment for him!”

No more evidence was required; everything had been done in accordance with the sacred traditions. Dorbatay turned to Hartak:

“You must give a verdict, o great and wise chieftain Hartak!”

Without looking at the accused hunter who searched in vain for some final hope in Hartak’s expression, the chieftain said as though repeating words he had just been made to learn:

“May the gods’ will be fulfilled! The guilty man must be punished!”

Dorbatay imperiously waved his hand and the priests brought a wagon filled with dry branches up to the dais. Fierce bulls were harnessed to the wagon. The hunter was bound hand and foot and gagged. Then he was put in the wagon and more branches were put on top of him. The wood was set on fire, and the bulls were lashed mercilessly. The frightened beasts ran into the steppe, pulling the blazing wagon in which an innocent man who could neither move nor even cry out in his terrible anguish, was being incinerated.

Dorbatay followed the burning wagon with his cold eyes for some time, then raised his hands in a solemn gesture and told everyone to pray to the great gods and thank them for having meted out just punishment to the criminal who had gone against the sacred traditions of the Skolots.

Two other hunters who also were Varkan’s friends were put to death with much less pomp. One of them was hacked to pieces by priests with axes in the middle of the night. Afterwards, the priests claimed he was a recreant who had secretly worshipped the Greek gods. The Scythian gods had punished him by hurling the heavy, sharp axes from the skies. The simple-minded Scythians believed it…

The other hunter died during a hunt, struck down by a spear the priests claimed had also come from the skies. The other badly frightened participants in the hunt confirmed this, saying that they had seen for themselves a spear coming from somewhere above their heads, deep in the woods. The spear had not returned to the heavens, true enough, but who else except the gods could have hurled it in that forest when there was no one around but the hunters? However, Dorbatay and his closest associates knew very well where the weapon had come from: Dorbatay himself had ordered one of the priests to track down the hunters, climb up a tall tree and hurl the spear at the doomed man.

Varkan and his friends knew of all Dorbatay’s evil deeds. Unfortunately, they were helpless to do anything to prevent the murders. No wonder there were so many defections to Varkan in the forest from the very first days of the funeral journey. Those who felt their fates would be similar to those who had already died preferred to run away. Dorbatay and the priests could easily deal with them one by one, secretly or in the open, but when they joined together, they were a considerable force, having the tacit support of the many hunters and herdsmen who stayed with the main body of the Scythians but disapproved of the blood-thirsty priests’ cruelty.

It was only later that Varkan decided to stop allowing new defectors to join him. All the younger warriors were already with Varkan, as were those hunters who were in danger of being murdered by Dorbatay and the priests. The rest of Varkan’s supporters could remain with the main body of the Scythians for the time being. There, they could be more useful, as they could help with various matters before the uprising, and they also constituted a surprise force within the Scythian ranks which could strike at Dorbatay from within — from where he least expected an attack.

The strength of Varkan’s group grew on other counts, too, and not just numerically. Varkan made sure there would be no clashes with Dorbatay’s forces before everything was ready for the final confrontation. Varkan reasoned that he had to solidify his forces and lull the vigilance of the old soothsayer. That is why the only action allowed was leading away horses from Dorbatay’s large herds. It was done in the dead of night, very stealthily, to avoid any clashes with the herdsmen. Everything was done very quickly; Varkan’s men were not even armed for such nocturnal raids. They were sure they would not be attacked anyway, as in accordance with the sacred Scythian traditions, it was forbidden to engage in any armed aggressive action until the deceased chieftain had been buried. Until then, the Scythians were permitted to use weapons only in self-defense.

Artem once said, commenting on the situation:

“It’s like the legend old Ormad, or whatever his name was, told at Skolot’s feast…”

“It was not a legend, my dear Artem, but a piece — somewhat embroidered of course — of actual history,” Dmitro Borisovich remarked.

“All right, so it really happened. But anyway, this funeral procession on the way to Gerrhus could be compared to the march of Darius’s hordes. And we, here in the forest — to the Scythians who avoided battle and used hit-and-run tactics… See, Dmitro Borisovich, how some knowledge of history, or legend, helps one assess the present situation? Ormad should be thanked. Now, what about a little workout?”

Artem and Dmitro Borisovich had already scored some successes in mastering the Scythian weapons. Artem took to archery. For some reason or other, he liked the excitement of shooting arrows, and every time he had a chance — mostly when their group stopped to rest — he practiced. After some time, he could claim considerable improvement in his archery skills — he was able to hit a tree with an arrow from twenty yards away. In spite of what he considered to be a great achievement, he was still way behind Varkan and the other Scythians who could hit the same target two or three times the distance!

Besides, Artem could hit only stationary targets. Any moving target — a hare or a fox — was beyond his capabilities.

Dmitro Borisovich had taken to the axe, the very same long-handled axe he had picked from the pile of weapons shortly before the surprise attack of Dorbatay’s soldiers. In the time that had passed since that day, Dmitro Borisovich had learnt to handle it with considerable dexterity. His height and long sinewy arms increased his reach significantly. When the archeologist, his spectacles flashing menacingly, challenged Varkan to a mock battle, the Scythian had a very hard time defending himself. The sharp axe had become a very dangerous weapon in the hands of the persevering but hot-tempered archeologist.

“There’s only one thing that spoils the effect somewhat, Dmitro Borisovich,” Artem said jokingly. “With this axe in your hands, you remind me of Don Quixote who proclaimed the beauty of his lady Dulcinea to the world…”

“What impertinence!” the archeologist cried out, sounding rather offended.

“Oh, don’t get cross! It’s true! Upon my word! You’re lanky as Don Quixote’s supposed to be, gawky… err, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that — honest — I used the wrong word,” Artem began mumbling, dropping his teasing tone, as soon as he saw the long, steady arm of Dmitro Borisovich reach out toward his ear. It would have been an impossible disgrace to have his ear pulled in front of the Scythians! And whose ear would it be? The ear of the young but powerful magician who, among other things, could summon thunder and fire from the ground!

Artem quickly stepped back, shut his mouth, and pulled his helmet still lower over his head. Both he and Dmitro Borisovich were obliged to wear round bronze helmets which left their faces open, most of the time now. It was Yarkan who insisted, and Ronis supported him, saying:

“Why take unnecessary risks? When attacking, the Scythians aim for the head. If you wear helmets, you lessen your chances of being badly hurt. You never know what might happen any moment now.”

Varkan’s group followed the funeral procession on its way to Gerrhus day in, day out. Sometimes they kept close behind it, camping at its tail, and sometimes they moved parallel to it. The procession could hardly be seen in the extremely tall pink grass a horse’s head high. Among other things, this mode of travel allowed Varkan and Ronis to communicate easily with their supporters who had stayed in the main Scythian camp. Artem was happy to be able to maintain a steady correspondence with Lida and Ivan Semenovich.

Messages were exchanged without the help of Diana. There was no need to send the dread poskina back and forth, thus reminding Dorbatay and the priests of their existence. The slaves helped them get the messages in and out. Hartak had sent Lida two slave women to cater to all the whims of the chieftain’s fiancee. He could never imagine that the slaves did in fact serve the girl very well but in a manner he would hardly have approved of. For with the two slaves, as well as most of the rest, the word of Ronis weighed much more than the orders of Hartak. So, the two slave girls took Lida’s messages and passed them on to other slaves who carried them to the forest at night. Lines of communication were thus opened permanently in all weather.

Varkan was almost constantly in conference now. Two newly-arrived hunters had just told him of what had been going on at the camp. After hearing them out, he talked to Ronis and gave some orders. The hunters headed back to the camp.