The Land of Foam

VIII. THE SONS OF THE WIND

Hyenas barked and jackals howled plaintively in the impenetrable darkness. Kidogo was worried, he kept looking towards the east where an ash-grey strip of sky above the treetops heralded the rising moon.

“I don’t know if there are any wild dogs here or not,” muttered Kidogo. “If there are we’ll be in trouble. Dogs attack together, the whole pack of them, and overcome even the buffalo…”

The sky grew lighter, the grim, black rocks turned to silver, and the trees in the plain showed up as black silhouettes. The moon had risen.

The three friends, their spears grasped firmly in their hands, set out southwards along the chain of rocky hills. They hastened away from the gloomy battlefield where the carrion eaters were feasting on the dead elephants. The howls died away behind them, the plain around them seemed dead, and only the swift steps of the three men broke the silence of the night.

Kidogo carefully avoided dense groves of trees and thickets of bushes that formed mysterious black hills towering here and there above the grass. The Negro chose his path through open spaces that gleamed like white lakes in a labyrinth of black islands of vegetation.

The chain of rocky hills turned to the west, and a narrow strip of forest kept the friends close to the rocks. Kidogo turned to the right and led the way across a long, stony open space, that sloped down in a southerly direction. Suddenly the Negro stopped, turned abruptly round and stood listening. Pandion and Cavius strained their ears but not a sound could they hear in any direction. As before, absolute silence reigned supreme.

The Negro went hesitantly forward, increasing his pace, and did not answer the whispered questions of the Etruscan and the Hellene. They had advanced a further thousand cubits, when the Negro again stopped. His eyes showed a troubled gleam in the bright moonlight.

“Something’s following us,” he whispered and lay down with his ear to the ground.

Pandion followed his friend’s example, but Cavius remained standing, straining his eyes to see through the silver curtain of moonlight.

Pandion lay with his ear pressed to the hot stony earth and at first could hear nothing but his own breathing. The silent, menacing uncertainty alarmed him.

Suddenly a weak, scarcely audible sound was transmitted through the earth from a distance. The regularly repeated sounds grew more frequent — click, click, click. Pandion held up his head and the sounds stopped immediately. Kidogo continued listening for some time, pressing first one, then the other ear to the ground; then he leaped to his feet like a spring released.

“Some big animal is following us, it’s a bad thing that I don’t know what animal. Its claws are outside, like those of a dog or hyena, so that it isn’t a lion or a leopard…”

“A buffalo or rhinoceros,” suggested Cavius.

Kidogo shook his head energetically.

“No, it’s a beast of prey,” he snapped with confidence. “We must find cover… no trees near us,” he whispered, looking round in alarm.

The country ahead of them was an almost level stony stretch of open ground with occasional tufts of grass and small bushes.

“Forward, as fast as we can!” Kidogo hurried them on, and the friends ran along carefully, trying to avoid the long thorns on the bushes and the cracks in the dried earth.

Now the scratching of heavy talons on the stony ground could be clearly heard behind them. The increased frequency of the regular clatter of the claws told the friends that the animal had also broken into a run. Click, click, click — the sounds drew nearer and nearer.

Pandion looked over his shoulder and saw a tall swaying silhouette, a grey phantom pursuing them.

Kidogo kept turning his head this way and that, trying to pick out a tree somewhere ahead of them and to judge the speed of the unknown animal. He realized that the trees were too far away and that the friends would not be able to reach them in time.

‘The animal is gaining on us,” said the Negro stopping. “If we keep our backs to it, we shall die a sorry death!” he added excitedly.

“We must fight it,” said the saturnine Cavdus.

The three friends stood side by side facing the menacing grey phantom that was bearing down on them in silence. During the whole period of pursuit the animal had not emitted a single sound, and’ it was this strange fact, so unusual in the wild beasts of the plains, that disturbed the friends.

The diffused grey silhouette grew darker, its outlines became clearer. When the animal had reduced the distance between them to no more than three hundred cubits, it slowed down and approached at a steady walk, confident that its chosen victims would not escape.

The friends had never before seen any such animal. Its massive forelegs were longer than its hinds, the forepart of the body rose high above the spine, the back sloped away towards the croup. The heavy head, with massive jaws and a steep, prominent forehead, sat upright on the thick neck. The animal’s short light fur was speckled with darker patches. Long black hair stuck up on the back of its head and neck. It bore a distant resemblance to a spotted hyena but of a monstrous size such as nobody had ever seen before; its head was a good five cubits from the ground. The wide chest, shoulders and withers were frightening in their massiveness, the muscles stood out like hillocks, and the huge claws clattered maliciously on the ground putting fear into those who heard them.

The beast moved with a strange irregular gait, swinging its low rump and nodding its heavy head, so that the lower jaw almost touched the throat.

“What is it?” asked Pandion in a whisper, licking his dry lips.

“I don’t know,” answered the perplexed Kidogo. “I’ve never heard of such an animal.”

The animal suddenly turned; its huge eyes, directed straight at the waiting men, lit up with flickering flames. The animal sidled round the men to the right, then stopped again with its eyes fixed on them. Its rounded ears jutted out obliquely from its head.

“The brute is intelligent; it has moved round so that the moonlight is against us,” whispered Kidogo, his breath coming in short gasps.

A nervous shiver ran through Pandion’s body such as he always felt before a dangerous fight. ‘ The animal drew a deep breath and advanced slowly on the men. In its movements, in its malevolent silence, in the persistent stare of the big eyes under the protruding forehead, there was something that distinguished it from all other animals the friends had ever seen. The three men realized instinctively that the animal was a relic of an older world with other laws of life. Shoulder to shoulder, their spears held ready, the three men advanced to meet the nocturnal monster. For an instant it stood still, perplexed, then, uttering a short, hoarse sound, hurled itself at them. The huge jaw opened, the thick teeth flashed in the moonlight as three spears plunged into the broad chest and neck of the monster. The men could not withstand the pressure of the animal’s weight and, furthermore, it possessed enormous strength. The spears struck against bone and were turned aside and pulled out of their hands; the three of them were thrown back. Kidogo and Pandion managed to scramble to their feet, but Cavius found himself lying under the beast. The two friends rushed to his rescue. The monster sat back on its hind-legs and suddenly swung out its front paws. Blunt claws struck Pandion in the hip with such force that he fell and almost lost consciousness. The animal planted its enormous paw on Pandion’s leg, causing him terrific pain, the joints cracked, and the animal’s claws tore skin and flesh.

Pandion, keeping his spear in his hand, lifted himself from the ground with both hands in an effort to rise and, as he did so, heard Kidogo’s spear-shaft break. Rising to his knees, he saw that the Negro was held down by the animal whose open jowl was drawing near him. Kidogo, his eyes popping out of his head, was pressing both hands under the lower jaw of the monster in an effort to turn its head away. Pandion’s trusted friend was perishing before his eyes. The young Hellene was beside himself and, feeling no pain, jumped up and thrust his spear into the animal’s neck. The animal snapped its teeth loudly and turned on Pandion, knocking him off his feet with the movement. The young Hellene did not let go the spear and, holding the spear-shaft on the ground, for a short time held the animal fast, while Kidogo managed to get out his knife. Neither Pandion nor the Negro noticed Cavius rise up on the other side of the animal. Baring his teeth in a grin, the Etruscan coolly aimed at the animal’s flank with his spear and thrust it in behind the shoulder-blade with both hands. The long blade went in a cubit deep, a roar escaped the opening mouth of the monster; it shuddered convulsively and turned left, towards the Etruscan. The latter, hunching his shoulders and pulling his head down between them, staggered but did not fall. Kidogo with a piercing yell drove his knife into the animal’s throat, and at that same moment the Etruscan’s spear reached the animal’s heart. The great beast collapsed convulsively and an unbearable stench spread around it. Pandion withdrew his spear and thrust it again into the back of the animal’s neck, but this last blow was unnecessary. The animal stretched its neck, stubbed its jowl against Cavius and stretched out its hind-legs, that were still quivering; the claws scratched the earth, the muscles contracted under the skin; but the stiff hairs on the back of the neck had fallen flat. Great was the joy of the three friends at their deliverance from the terrible monster that lay motionless before them in the moonlight.

As soon as they had come to themselves the three friends examined their wounds. A piece of flesh had been torn out of the Etruscan’s shoulder, and the animal’s long claws had furrowed his back. Pandion’s leg was not broken, but he had a deep wound below the knee and apparently the tendons had been strained or torn so that he could not step on his foot. His side was swollen and black from the blow of the animal’s paw, but no ribs were broken. Kidogo had suffered more than the others — he had several deep wounds and had been badly crushed.

The friends bound each other’s wounds with strips torn from their loin-cloths. Pandion was more worried than the others, for his wounded leg made it impossible for him to walk.

Kidogo soothed his friend, assuring him that they were now out of danger, and that the body of the monster would be a sure protection against all other beasts of prey; the Elephant People would miss them and at dawn would set out to find them.

Bearing with patience and fortitude the pain of their burning wounds, the three friends stretched out on the hard stones, but were unable to sleep in their excitement.

Dawn came very suddenly, and the sun drove away the mysterious and ominous shadows of the night. Pandion, tormented by the pain in his leg, opened his tired eyes at the sound of a loud shout from Kidogo. The Negro was examining their nocturnal pursuer and was explaining to Cavius that he had seen drawings of such animals in Tha-Quem amongst pictures of other animals in a tomb in the City of the White Walls. Cavius stuck out his lower lip incredulously. Kidogo swore and tried to convince his friend that the inhabitants of Tha-Quem had no doubt met with such animals in the distant past.

The sun rose higher. Thirst tormented the three friends, and they were racked with fever from their wounds. Kidogo and Cavius had decided to go in search of water when they suddenly heard voices. Three elephants with warriors on their backs were moving across the plain below the stony slope on which the friends had met the terror of the night. The Elephant People, hearing Kidogo’s shouts, turned their elephants towards them and set them at a faster pace. The elephants were approaching the three strangers when they suddenly shied and began trumpeting uneasily, raising their trunks and spreading their ears. The warriors jumped down from their platforms and ran towards the dead monster with cries of “Gishu! Gishu!”

Yesterday’s chief hunter gave the three friends a look of approval and said with a catch in his hoarse voice:

“You are indeed famous warriors if the three of you alone could overcome the terror of the night, the eater of the thick-skinned animals.”

The Elephant People told the three friends about the gishu, a very rare and dangerous animal. Nobody knew where it lay hidden by day, but during the night it wandered about in silence, attacking young elephants, rhinoceroses and the young of other big animals. The gishu was exceptionally strong and stubborn in battle. Its terrible teeth could bite off the leg of an elephant at one snap, and its powerful forepaws crushed its victims, breaking their bones.

Cavius made signs asking the hunters to help him skin the animal. Four warriors willingly set about the task, paying no attention to the horrible stench.

The skin and the head were lifted on to an elephant, where the three friends were also lifted by the warriors. The elephants, obedient to light blows of their drivers’ hooked knives, set out at a smart trot and in a short time covered the distance to the village, which they reached by midday. The villagers greeted them with shouts of welcome; from the height of the elephants’ backs the warriors shouted out, announcing the details of the great deed of valour.

Kidogo, his face beaming, sat proudly beside Pandion on the wide swaying elephant platform, five cubits above the earth. The Negro had started singing several times, but each time the Elephant People had stopped him, warning him that the elephants did not like noise and were accustomed to moving in silence.

Four days journey separated them from the village of the Elephant People. The chief had kept his word, and the party of former slaves was allowed to follow the tribe’s expedition to the west. As their wounds had not yet healed, Pandion, Cavius and Kidogo were given a place on one of the six elephants and their sixteen companions followed behind on foot. The elephants marched only half the day, the remainder of the time being required to feed and rest them. Those who were following on foot, however, could only overtake the elephants by nightfall.

The elephant drivers did not select for their charges the way that the people would have chosen for themselves. They avoided forests with stands of tall trees and crashed their way through bush country where the undergrowth was so thick that the men would have had to hack their way through. From time to time the leading elephant was changed and sent to the rear to rest. The elephants left a path behind them along which the liberated slaves marched without a single blow of a knife full of admiration at the ease with which the impenetrable thickets were crushed underfoot. The three friends on the elephant were even better off. The platform on which they sat swayed slightly as it floated continuously over the ground with its thorn-bushes, insects and dangerous snakes, stretches of foul, stinking mud, sharp stones on rocky slopes, grass that cut the feet, and deep, gaping crevices. Only now did Pandion realize the great care that had to be exercised by a traveller on foot through the African jungles and bushlands. Constant vigilance was necessary for a man to remain uninjured and preserve his strength and fighting ability for the journey ahead of him.

The elephants strode on through all obstacles with the reliability of granite blocks, and Pandion had ample time to drink in the beauty of this strange country, its colour, form and aromas, the magnificence of its plant and animal life. In the glaring sunlight of the glades the pure tones of the flowers attained such extraordinary brilliance that to Pandion’s northern eye there seemed to be something vaguely wrong with them. The glaring colour sequences seemed harsh and dissonant when compared with the soft, harmonious colours of his native Hellas. But whenever clouds covered the sky or the party plunged into the deep twilight of the shady forests this- galaxy of colour disappeared.

The party cut across an outjutting spur of the forest and found themselves in open, hilly, red-soil country where they again saw the leafless trees that exuded milky sap. Their bluish-green branches stretched mournfully into the blinding glare of the sky; the tops looked as if they had been deliberately trimmed straight some thirty cubits from the ground. The thick trunks and leafless branches had the appearance of candelabra cast from some green metal. Huge blossoms, glowing red at the tips of the branches, gave one the impression of hundreds of torches burning in a sunless cemetery. There was neither beast nor bird to disturb the deathlike stillness of the tropical heat in these motionless thickets.-

Farther on the soil was scarred by deep watercourses with dazzling white sand where the red soil had been washed away. The travellers entered a labyrinth of narrow gullies whose friable purple walls rose to a height of a hundred cubits on either side. The elephants picked their way carefully through a maze of eroded cliffs, pyramids, turrets and frail pillars. Now and again they passed through deep depressions, round like bowls, in which spurs of different soil spread radially across the level floor. These spurs formed steep sharp walls of friable earth that sometimes collapsed as the party passed by, frightening the elephants, who shied away from them. The colour of the eroded earth was constantly changing; a wall of warm red tones would give way to one of light brown which, in turn, was followed by bright yellow pyramids interspersed with strips and ledges of dazzling white. It seemed to Pandion that he had entered a fairy kingdom. These deep, dry and lifeless canyons hid a wealth of colour contrasts, the iridescence of inanimate nature.

Again came densely wooded ridges, again the green walls hemmed in the travellers, and the elephant platform was like an island floating slowly over a sea of leaves and branches.

Pandion noticed how carefully the drivers led their elephants, and how carefully they examined the animals’ skin at halts. When he asked one of them why they did this, the Negro placed his hand on a gourd that hung at his belt.

“It’s a bad thing for an elephant to graze its skin or injure it in any way,” said the driver. “If he does his blood turns bad and the animal soon dies. We have medicinal pitch we always keep at hand to treat all injuries without delay.”

The young Hellene was astonished to learn that the powerful, long-lived giants were so vulnerable, but then he realized why the wise old animals were so careful.

The elephants took a lot of looking after. The sites of the night’s bivouac and resting places were selected with great care after a lengthy examination of the country and numerous consultations; the tethered elephants were surrounded by keen-eyed watchmen, who kept awake the whole night through. Special reconnaissance parties were sent out far ahead to make sure that there were no wild elephants in the neighbourhood, and if any were met with, they were driven off with loud cries.

At the bivouacs the friends talked with their fellow-travellers, who answered all their questions.

On one occasion Pandion asked the caravan leader, an elderly man of short stature, why they went so willingly to the elephant hunts despite the terrible danger.

The deep furrows around the leader’s mouth grew even deeper. He answered unwillingly:

“You talk like a coward although you do not look like one. The elephants are the strength of our people. Owing to the elephants we live in ease and plenty, but we pay for that with our lives. If we were afraid, we shouldn’t live any better than the tribes that feed on lizards and roots. Those who are afraid of death live a life of hunger and misery. If you know that your death means life to your family, then you go boldly into any danger! My son, a brave man, in the prime of his life was killed during an elephant hunt.” The caravan leader screwed up his eyes morosely as he turned them on Pandion. “Perhaps you think different, stranger? If so, why have you journeyed through many countries, fighting against men and beasts, instead of remaining in slavery?”

Pandion grew ashamed and asked no more questions. Kidogo, who was sitting by the campfire, suddenly got up and shuffled over to a group of trees standing at a distance of two hundred cubits from the camp. The sinking sun turned the big oval leaves to gold and the thin branches quivered in the light breeze. Kidogo carefully examined the irregular, lumpy bark of their thin trunks, gave a shout of joy and pulled out his knife. A little later the Negro came back carrying two bunches of reddish-grey bark. One of the bunches he took to the leader of the caravan.

“Give this to the chief as Kidogo’s parting gift,” he said. “This medicine is quite as good as the magic grass from the blue plains. When he is sick or tired or sorrowing, let him crush the bark and make a decoction of it. He must drink only a little, if he drinks too much it will not act as medicine but as poison. This bark restores strength to the aged, brings joy to the depressed and new life to the weak. Take good note of that tree, you will be grateful for it.” (Corynanthe johimbe from the Rubiaceae family to which quinine and coffee trees also belong.)

The caravan leader took the gift with pleasure and immediately ordered his men to get more of the bark; Kidogo hid the second bunch in the skin of the gishu which Cavius carried with him.

The next day the elephants climbed on to a stony plateau overgrown with tall bushes so bent by the wind that they bowed down to the earth in green humps scattered about the grey dry grass.

Every breath of the wind that blew in their faces brought a pleasant freshness. Pandion brightened up. The air was filled with a strange fragrance, long forgotten yet still familiar and infinitely dear; but soon it was lost amongst the strong perfumes wind-carried from the sun-heated leaves of the forest that lay below them. Wide, easy slopes stretched to a great distance, dark strips and patches of forest thickets marring the even blue of their bare surface. Far away on the horizon a high mountain range loomed purple in the haze.

“Tengrela, my country, is over there!” screamed Kidogo in ecstasies of joy and the whole party turned to look in that direction.

Kidogo waved his arms, sobbed and laughed and his mighty shoulders shook with excitement. Pandion could well understand the feelings of his friend, but nevertheless an indeterminate sense of jealousy embittered him; Kidogo had reached his homeland, but how much had he, Pandion, to overcome before the great hour came when he, like his friend, would be able to say: “This is my native land!”

Unnoticed by the others, Pandion turned away and his head drooped; at that moment he could not share his friend’s joy.

The elephants descended a bare black slope of volcanic rock where no vegetation could get a foothold on the solidified lava. Their path crossed a level platform dotted with numerous small lakes. The gleaming stretches of clear, blue water stood out in sharp contrast to the black banks. Pandion gave a shudder as he suddenly saw before him Thessa’s deep blue eyes and black tresses. The blue lakes seemed to be looking at him in reproach like the eyes of Thessa herself. Pandion’s thoughts carried him back to Oeniadae, a vague but strong feeling of impatience filled his breast, and he moved over to his friend and embraced him. The tanned sinewy hand of Cavius lay in Kidogo’s black hand and the three friends joined their hands in a firm and joyous handshake.

The elephants were continuing the descent; the banks of a broad river-valley spread on both sides of them. A little farther on, it was joined by a similar valley on the right, and the two streams they carried, joining into a single river, raced on, gaining more water the farther they went. For a time the elephants followed the left bank, marching at the foot of a line of eroded cliffs. Ahead of them the cliffs dropped back from the river whose pure, clear water gurgled merrily as it rushed on through the shade of tall trees, that met in a green arch over the river which was here some fifteen cubits wide. The elephants halted before they reached the trees.

“This is the place,” said the caravan leader. “We don’t go any farther.”

The three friends descended from their elephant and said farewell to their hosts. The caravan crossed the river and the three friends stood for a long time watching the great grey beasts climb the slope leading to a flat-topped eminence to the north of the river. An involuntary sigh of regret broke from the lips of all three as the mighty animals disappeared into the distance. The friends lit signal fires to guide the party that was following behind on foot.

“Let us go and look for reeds and small trees to build rafts with,” said Kidogo to the Etruscan. “We can make the rest of the journey quickly by water. You, cripple, wait here by the fire and look after your leg,” said the Negro to Pandion with rough tenderness.

Pandion and Cavius left Kidogo on the bank of the river amongst his fellow-tribesmen.

The smell of the nearby sea intoxicated the two friends, who had grown up on its shores. They pushed off their raft and floated down the left-hand sleeve of the river. Soon the raft was brought to rest on a sand bar. The friends climbed up the steep bank, their feet and legs tangling in the tall grass. They made their way over a hilly ridge and, panting with excitement, hurried to the top and stood stock-still in silence, unable to speak or even to breathe.

They were overwhelmed by the endless expanse of the ocean; the gentle splashing of the waves sounded like thunder to them. Cavius and Pandion stood breast-high in the tall grass with the feathery leaves of palm-trees waving high over their heads. The line where the green of the foothills joined the burning sunlit sands of the seashore looked almost black. The golden sand was fringed with the silver line of the surf beyond which transparent green waves rose and fell. Farther out at sea a straight line marked the edge of the offshore reefs, dazzlingly white against the blue of the open sea. Light fluffy patches of cloud dotted the sky. On the beach, a clump of five palms leaned out over the water, the light even breeze opening their leaves out and then folding them again like the tattered wings of birds with dark-brown and golden feathers. The leaves of the palms, the colour of cast bronze, shut out the view of the sea and their sharp edges were tinged with brilliant fire, so great was the strength of the sun that shone through them. The moist wind, bringing with it the salt smell of the sea, flowed over Pandion’s face and bare breast as though it were embracing him after years of separation.

Cavius and Pandion sat down on the cool firm sand that was as level as the floor of a house.

After a short rest they threw themselves into the gently rolling waves and the sea welcomed them, tossing them tenderly on her bosom. Pandion and Cavius, their arms cutting through the sparkling crests of the waves, enjoyed to the full the smell of the salt spray until the sea-water began to make their healing wounds burn. When they left the water the two friends stood on the beach feasting their eyes on the distant ocean. It spread before them like a blue bridge that somewhere joined the waters of their native sea; at that very moment similar waves were rolling against the white cliffs of Hellas and the yellow rocks of Cavius’ native Etruria.

The young Hellene felt his eyes fill with tears of joyous excitement; he no longer thought of the tremendous distance that still separated him from his home. Here was the sea and beyond it Thessa was waiting for him; there awaited everything that was near and dear to him, abandoned and hidden by years of harsh trials and the countless stadia of wearisome journey.

The two friends stood on a narrow strip of beach, their faces to the sea. Behind them rose high mountains covered with ominous forests, the fringe of a strange land whose burning deserts, plains, dry plateaux and dark and humid forests had held them captive so long; a land that had taken years of life from them, years that could have been devoted to their families. Their liberation had been bought by a long heroic struggle and titanic effort. If all that effort had been devoted to their native lands, it would have earned them honour and glory.

Cavius placed his heavy hands on Pandion’s shoulder.

“Our fate is now in our own hands, Pandion!” he exclaimed. The fires of passion gleamed in his eyes, usually dark and morose. “There are two of us; surely we can reach the waters of the Green Sea now that we have fought our way to the shores of the Great Arc. Yes, we shall return and on the way we shall be the mainstay of our Libyan companions, who know little of navigation…”

Pandion nodded his head but did not speak. Now that he stood face to face with the sea he felt absolute confidence in his own strength.

Kidogo’s voice rang out over the beach. The worried Negro, followed by a crowd of his excited tribesmen and his fellow-travellers, was seeking the friends. Pandion and Cavius were taken back to the river and were ferried across to the other side where several oxen awaited them for the transport of the wounded and their weapons arid other belongings.

A short stage would bring their wanderings to an end. The promise made by Kidogo under the trees on the banks of the Nile, when they stood beside their dying comrades after the terrible battle with the rhinoceros, had been fulfilled. All nineteen of the former slaves were given a hearty welcome and an opportunity to rest in a huge village near the sea, on the banks of a wide river that flowed parallel to the one they had floated down after leaving the Elephant People.

As far as Pandion and Cavius were concerned, the finest thing of all was the news that the Sons of the Wind, after an interval of twenty years, had, in the previous year, again visited those shores. “Sons of the Wind” was the name given by Kidogo’s tribe to the Sea People who had, from time immemorial, come periodically from the northern seas to the Southern Horn in search of ivory, gold, medicinal herbs and the skins of wild beasts. The local people said that the Sons of the Wind were in outward appearance like the Etruscan and the Hellene, only their skin was darker and their hair even more curly. The year before four black ships had come, following the ancient route of their forefathers. The Sons of the Wind had promised to come again as soon as the period of storms in the Sea of Mists was over. According to the calculations of experienced people, the ships should come in three months time. It would take them much longer to build their own ship, quite apart from the fact that the sea route was unknown to them. Pandion and Cavius doubted whether the Sea People would take them on board their ships together with ten of their comrades, but Kido-go, winking and chuckling mysteriously, said that he would arrange that.

There was nothing left to do but wait, although they were tormented by uncertainty. The Sons of the Wind might not return again for another twenty years. Pandion and Cavius comforted themselves with the thought that if the ships did not appear by the appointed time they would begin building their own ship.

Kidogo’s return was an event that was celebrated by noisy feasting. Pandion soon grew tired of the feasts; he grew tired, too, of hearing his prowess praised and of having to repeat stories about his native land and about the adventures he had been through.

Quite accidentally it happened that Kidogo, constantly surrounded by his relatives and friends, distracted by the admiration of the women, somehow got separated from Pandion and Cavius, and the friends met less frequently. Kidogo was now journeying into the new life by his own path which did not coincide with that of his friends. Those of Kidogo’s travelling companions who belonged to related tribes soon left for their own homes. The party that was left consisted of Pandion, Cavius and ten Libyans, who considered that their return home depended on the Etruscan and the Hellene.

The twelve strangers were accommodated in a big house of grey-green sun-dried clay, but Kidogo insisted that Cavius and Pandion move to a beautiful dome-shaped house near his own. After the many years of wandering, Pandion was able at last to sleep on his own bed. These people did not sleep on skins or bundles of grass on the ground; they made bedsteads, wooden frames on legs, which supported a net of plaited, pliable reeds, that gave rest to the body and was especially pleasant for Pandion’s wounded leg.

Pandion now had a great deal of spare time which he spent near the sea where he sat for hours either alone or with Cavius, listening to the regular rumble of the waves. He was in a state of constant alarm. His boundless vitality had been sapped by the vicissitudes of his long journey in a hot debilitating climate. He had changed greatly and admitted it himself. There had been a time when, given wings by youth and love, he had been able to leave behind the girl he loved, his home and his native land, following the urge to learn more of the art of the ancients, to see foreign lands and to learn something of life.

Now he knew the meaning of the bitterest nostalgia, he knew the meaning of joyless captivity, the oppressiveness of despair, the stultifying drudgery of the slave. Uneasily Pandion asked himself whether or not his creative inspiration had left him, whether or not he was capable of becoming a great artist. At the same time he felt that he had seen and experienced much that had left its mark on him, that had enriched him with a great knowledge of life, with numerous unforgettable impressions.

Pandion would often gaze lovingly at the spear presented to him by the father of his lost Iruma, the spear that he had carried through plains and forest, the spear that had so often saved him in moments of mortal danger. He regarded it as a symbol of manly courage, a guarantee of human fearlessness in the struggle against the Nature that reigns supreme in the hot expanses of Africa. He would carefully stroke the long blade before he returned it to the bag that Iruma had stitched. This piece of leather, brightly embroidered in wool, was all that was left to remind him of the distant, kind and gentle girl that he had met at the crossroads on his difficult journey home. With these thoughts in his mind Pandion turned to look at the dark mountains that stood between the ocean and the country he had passed through. The endless days of that long journey floated slowly before his eyes…

And over all stood the image of Iruma, full of life, and beckoning him irresistibly… She was the same as he had seen her the last time, standing against the trunk of the tree whose flowers were like red torches… Pandion’s heart began to beat faster. His imagination gave him a perfect picture of the sheen of her dark and tender skin, her mischievous eyes filled with the fires of passion… Iruma’s tiny round face drew, close to his and he heard the endearing notes of her voice…

Pandion gradually became acquainted with the manners and customs of Kidogo’s jolly and friendly people. They were tall, their black skins had a coppery hue, all of them were well built. Most of them engaged in agricultural pursuits. They cultivated the low palms for their oil-bearing nuts and also bananas, huge herbaceous plants with gigantic leaves that spread fanwise from a bunch of soft stems. The curved, crescent-shaped fruit of the banana plant grew in huge clusters and provided tasty and aromatic food. Bananas were gathered in large numbers and formed the staple diet of the people. Pandion enjoyed them greatly, eating them raw, boiled or fried in oil. The local inhabitants also engaged in hunting, gathered ivory and skins and also collected the magic, chestnut-like nuts that had cured Pandion of his strange torpor; they also kept poultry and herds of cattle.

There were many skilled craftsmen amongst Kidogo’s people — builders, smiths and potters. Pandion admired the work of many artists whose skill was no whit less than that of Kidogo.

Their huge houses, built of squared stones, sun-baked brick or hard, rammed clay, were all decorated with intricate and beautiful ornaments carved with great precision on the walls. In some cases the walls were decorated with highly coloured frescoes that reminded Pandion of the ancient frescoes in Crete. He saw earthenware vessels of beautiful shape and covered with fine drawings, delicately executed. In the buildings devoted to public meetings and in the houses of the chiefs there were many coloured wooden statues. Pandion greatly admired the carvings of people and animals in which characteristic features were portrayed by the faithful recording of the artist’s impression.

Pandion, however, considered that the sculptors of Kidogo’s tribe lacked a profound understanding of form. The same was true of the masters of Aigyptos. The statues of Tha-Quem were lifeless in their fixed poses despite the precision with which they were carved and the brilliant finish that resulted from many centuries of experience. Kidogo’s people, on the contrary, recorded in their carvings the most acute impressions but only in partial, deliberately stressed details. When the young Hellene pondered over the work of the local craftsmen, he had a vague feeling that the path to perfection in sculpture must lie in some completely new direction and not in the blind effort to reproduce nature nor in attempts to reflect certain partial impressions.

Kidogo’s people loved music and played on complicated instruments made of rows of little wooden planks fixed on long hollow gourds. Some of the sad and tenderly expansive songs affected Pandion greatly, reminding him of the songs of his homeland.

Cavius was sitting beside the dying fire near their house, chewing stimulating leaves* and pensively stirring with a stick ashes in which yellow fruits were baking.

(Leaves from any bush of the Sterculiaceae family.)He had learned to make flour from bananas and bake cakes from it.

Pandion came out of the house, sat down beside his friend and looked idly over the high rows of the houses and at passers-by.

A soft evening light descended on the dusty paths and was lost in the motionless branches of the shady trees.

Suddenly Pandion’s attention was attracted to a passing woman. He had noticed her when they first arrived at Kidogo’s village, but since then had not chanced to meet her. He knew that it was Nyora, the wife of one of Kidogo’s relatives. Even in a tribe whose women were famous for their beauty, Nyora was outstanding. She walked slowly past the friends with all the dignity of a woman who was conscious of her own beauty. Pandion gazed at her in frank admiration, and the creative urge came back to him in all its former strength.

Nyora wore a piece of greenish-blue cloth tightly bound round her loins; a string of blue beads, heavy heart-shaped earrings and a narrow gold band on her left wrist were her only ornaments. Her short black hair was gathered on the crown of her head and braided in a fantastic style that made her head seem longer. Her big eyes showed calm from under long lashes and the cheek-bones under the eyes formed little round hillocks, like those of healthy and well-fed children amongst the Hellenes.

Her smooth black skin was so resilient that her body seemed to be cast from iron; it shone in the rays of the setting sun, its coppery hue turning to gold. Her long neck, inclined slightly forward, gave her head a proud poise.

Pandion admired Nyora’s tall and lithe figure, her easy but restrained movements. To him she seemed like an incarnation of one of the three Graces, goddesses that, according to the belief of his country, had control over living beauty and made its attraction irresistible.

Suddenly the Etruscan gave Pandion a light tap on the head with his stick.

“Why don’t you run after her?” asked Cavius, half in joke and half in chagrin. “You Hellenes are always ready to fall in love with a woman…”

Pandion looked at his friend without anger but rather as though he were seeing him for the first time and then threw his arms impetuously round his shoulders.

“Listen, Cavius, you don’t like to talk about yourself… Aren’t you at all interested in women? Don’t you feel how beautiful they are? Don’t you feel that they are part of all this,” Pandion made a sweeping circle with him arm, “the sea, the sun, the beautiful world?”

“No, whenever I see anything beautiful I want to eat it,” laughed the Etruscan. “I’m only joking,” he added in serious tones. “You must remember that I’m twice as old as you and behind the bright face of the world I can see the other side that is dark and ugly. You have already forgotten Tha-Quem.” Cavius passed his finger over the red brand on Pandion’s back. “I never forget anything. I’m jealous of you, you will create beautiful things, but I can only wreak destruction in the struggle against the forces of darkness.” Cavius was silent for a few moments and then continued in a trembling voice: “You don’t often think of your own people back at home… It is many years since I saw my children; I don’t even know whether they are alive, whether my clan still exists. Who knows what may have happened there, in the midst of hostile tribes…”

The sorrow that tinged the voice of the always reticent Etruscan filled Pandion with sympathy. But how could he comfort his friend? And then the Etruscan’s words struck home painfully: “You don’t often think of your own people back home…” If Cavius could say such things to him… Could it be true that Thessa, his grandfather, Agenor, all meant so little to him? If such were not the case, he would have become as morose as Cavius, he would not have absorbed the great variety of life, and how would he have learnt to understand beauty? Pandion’s thoughts were so full of contradiction that he could not understand himself. He jumped up and suggested to the Etruscan that they go to bathe. The latter agreed, and the two friends set out across the hills beyond which, at a distance of five thousand cubits from the village, lay the ocean.

A few days before this Kidogo had gathered together the young men and youths of the tribe. The Negro told his people that his friends had no property of any kind except their spears and loin-cloths and that the Sons of the Wind would not take them aboard their ships without payment.

“If every one of you helps them just a little,” said Kidogo, “the strangers will be able to return home. They helped me escape from captivity and return to you.”

Encouraged by the general approval that followed, Kidogo suggested that they all go with him to the plateau where the gold deposits were and that those who could not go should contribute ivory, nuts, hides or a log of valuable wood.

Next day Kidogo informed his friends that he was going away on a hunt, but refused to take them with him, recommending that they save their strength for the forthcoming journey.

Kidogo’s travelling companions, therefore, knew nothing of the real object of his expedition. Although the problem of payment for the journey home worried them, they hoped that the mysterious Sons of the Wind would hire them as rowers. If the worst came to the worst, Pandion knew he would be able to offer the stones that came from the south, the old chief’s gift to him. Cavius, also without a word to Kidogo, gathered the Libyans together two days after his Negro friend had left and set out up the river in search of blackwood trees; he wanted to fell a few of them and float them downstream on rafts of light wood as the ebony and other blackwoods were too heavy to float in water.

Pandion was still lame, and Cavius left him in the village despite his protests. This was the second time that his comrades had left Pandion alone, the first time had been when they went on the giraffe hunt. Pandion was infuriated, but Cavius, superciliously thrusting out his beard, said that on the first occasion he had not wasted time and could do the same again. The young Hellene was in such a rage that he could not speak, and he rushed away from his friend, feeling deeply insulted. Cavius ran after him, slapped him on the back and asked his forgiveness, but, nevertheless, insisted on Pandion remaining behind, to complete his recovery.

After a long argument Pandion agreed; he regarded himself as a pitiful cripple and hurriedly hid himself in the house so as not to be present when his healthy comrades were leaving.

Left alone Pandion felt a still stronger urge to test his ability — he thought of his success with the statue of the elephant trainer. He had seen so much death and destruction during the past few years that he did not want to have anything to do with such an unenduring medium as clay; he wanted to work with more durable material. No such material was at hand and even if he found it, he still had no tools with which to carve.

Pandion often admired Yakhmos’ stone which, Kidogo insisted, had in the end brought them to the sea, for Kidogo naively believed in the magic properties of things.

The clear transparency of the hard stone gave Pandion the idea of carving a cameo. The stone was harder than those normally used for such purposes in Hellas where they were polished with emery stone from the Island of Naxos, in the Aegean Sea. Suddenly he remembered that he had stones that were harder than anything else in the world, if the old chief of the Elephant People was to be believed.

Pandion took out the smallest of the stones from the south and carefully drew its sharp edge along the edge of the bluish-green crystal — a white line appeared on the hard surface of the stone. He pressed harder and cut a deep furrow such as a chisel of black bronze would cut in soft marble. The unusual hardness of the transparent stones from the south was in all truth greater than anything then known to Pandion. He had magic tools in his hands that made his work easy.

Pandion smashed the little stone and carefully collected all the sharp fragments; with the aid of hard pitch he fixed them into wooden handles. This gave him a dozen chisels of various thicknesses suitable both for rough carving and for the cutting of fine lines.

What should he carve on that bluish-green crystal that Yakhmos had obtained from the ruins of a temple thousands of years old and which he had carried safely to the sea, the sea for which it had served as a symbol during the long years of stifling captivity on land? Pandion’s head was filled with vague ideas.

He left the village and wandered about alone until he reached the sea. For a long time he sat on a rock, staring into the distance or watching the shallow water that ran across the sand at his feet. Evening came and the shortlived twilight robbed the sea of its sheen; the movement of the waves could no longer be seen. The black velvet of the night became more and more impenetrable, but at the same time big, bright stars lit up in the sky and the celestial beacons, rocked in the waves, brought life to the dead sea. Pandion threw back his head and traced the outlines of constellations unknown to him. The arc of the Milky Way spread across the sky like a silver bridge, just as it did over his own country, but here it was narrower. One end of it was split up by wide dark stripes and separate dark patches. To one side and below the Milky Way two nebulous star clouds gleamed with a bluish-white light. (* The Large and Small Magellanic Clouds, big star clusters and nebulae in the Southern Hemisphere.) Close beside them he could see a huge impenetrable black patch, shaped like a pear, as though a gigantic piece of coal hid all the stars in that part of the sky. (** The Coalsack — a concentration of black, opaque matter in the sky of the Southern Hemisphere.)

Pandion had never seen anything like it in the sky at home in the north and was astonished at the contrast between the black patch and the white star clouds. Suddenly the young Hellene sensed the very essence of Africa in that black and white contrast. In its direct and clear-cut crudity this was the combination which made up Africa, its whole aspect, as Pandion conceived it. The black and white stripes of the extraordinary horses..? the black skin of the natives, painted with white colour and accentuated by their white teeth and the whites of their eyes; articles made from black and pearl-white wood; the black and white columns of the tree-trunks in the forest; the brightness of the grasslands and the darkness of the forests; black cliffs with white streaks of quartz — all these and many other things passed before Pandion’s eyes.

His homeland on the poor rocky shores of the Green Sea was quite different. There the stream of life was not a tempestuous flood; its black and white sides were not in such open conflict.

Pandion stood up. The boundless ocean, on the other side of which was Oeniadae, cut him off from Africa, the country that lay hidden morosely behind the night shadows of the mountains and that in his heart he had already left. In front of him the reflections of the stars ran across the waves, and away there in the north the sea joined his native Oeniadae where Thessa was standing on the shore. For the sake of returning home, for the sake of Thessa, he had fought and struggled through blood and sand, through heat and darkness, against countless dangers from man and beast.

Thessa, distant, loved and unapproachable, stood like those hazy stars above the sea, where the edge of the Great Bear just touched the horizon.

It was then that the solution came to him: on the stone, the enduring symbol of the sea, he would create the image of Thessa standing on the shore.

In a frenzy Pandion squeezed the chisel in his hand until the strong stick broke. For several days he had been working on Yakhmos’ stone with beating heart, stemming his impatience with difficulty, at times drawing a long line with confidence, at others cutting tiny marks with infinite care. The image was becoming clearer. Thessa’s head was a success — that proud turn of the head stood before him as clearly as it had done in the hour of farewell on the seashore at Cape Achelous. He had carved the head in the transparent depths of the stone, and now the frosted blue face stood out in sharp relief on the mirror-like surface of the stone. Locks of hair lay in easy free lines where a clear-cut arc marked the curve of the shoulder, but further — further Pandion suddenly found that he had lost his inspiration. The young artist, more confident in himself than he had ever been before, cut in bold sweeping lines the fine outlines of the girl’s body, and the beauty of the lines told of the success of his undertaking. Pandion cut away the surrounding surface of the stone to bring his carving into even sharper relief. It was then that he suddenly realized that it was not Thessa that he had drawn. In the lines of the hips, knees and breast the body of Iruma came to life, and there were certain features that undoubtedly owed their existence to his last impression of Nyora. Thessa’s figure was not the body of the Hellene girl — Pandion had created an abstract image. He had wanted something else, he had wanted to depict the living Thessa” that he loved. He tried hard to get rid of the impressions of recent years by a supreme effort of memory, but it proved impossible, the new was still too fresh.

Pandion felt much worse when he realized that once again he had proved unable to breathe life into an image. While the figure was still in outline, there had been life in its lines. As soon as the artist tried to bring the flat figure into relief, however, it turned to stone, it became cold and inert. And so, after all, he had not fathomed the secrets of art. This image, too, would remain lifeless! He would not be able to put his ideas into effect!

After he had broken the chisel in his agitation, Pandion took the stone and examined it at arm’s length. No, he could not create the image of Thessa, and the wonderful cameo would remain unfinished.

The sun’s rays shone through the transparent stone, filling it with the golden tinge of his native seas. Pandion had carved the figure of the girl on the extreme right-hand edge of the biggest surface of the stone, leaving most of it still untouched. The girl with the face of Thessa, but who was not Thessa, stood at the edge of the stone as though she were standing at the edge of the sea. The enthusiasm that had inspired Pandion to work from dawn to dusk, waiting impatiently for the coming of each new day, had left him. Pandion put the stone away, gathered” his chisels and straightened his aching back. The grief of defeat was made lighter by the realization that he could still create a thing of beauty… but, alas, how poor it was in comparison with the living being! He had been so immersed in his work that he ceased awaiting the return of his comrades. A little boy who came running up to him took Pandion’s mind away from his dark thoughts.

“The man with the thick beard has come and has sent for you to go to the river,” announced Cavius’ messenger, proud of the task entrusted to him.

The fact that Cavius had stayed by the river and sent for him to go there worried Pandion. He hurried to the river-bank along a path that wound its way through thorn-scrub. From a distance he could see a group of his companions on the sandy river-bank, standing around a bunch of reeds on which lay a man’s body. He hopped clumsily along, trying not to step on his injured foot, and entered the circle of silent friends. He recognized the man lying on the reeds as Takel, a young Libyan who had taken part in the flight across the desert. The Hellene knelt down-and bent over the body of his comrade. Before Pandion’s eyes flashed a picture of the stiflingly hot gorge in the sandstone mountains where he plodded along half-dead from thirst. Takel was one of those followers of Akhini who had brought him water from the well. Only now that he knelt before Takel’s body did Pandion realize how near and dear to him was everyone who had taken part in the insurrection and the flight. He had grown used to them and could not imagine life without them. For weeks Pandion might not have anything to do with his companions when he knew that they were safe, each going about his own affairs; but this sudden loss crushed him. Still on his knees he turned inquiringly to Cavius.

“Takel was bitten by a snake in the undergrowth,” said Cavius sadly, “while we were wandering in search of blackwood. We didn’t know any cure — “ he sighed deeply — “so we abandoned everything and sailed back down the river. When we carried him ashore, Takel was already dying. I sent for you to say good-bye to him… it was too late…” Cavius, his head bowed, clenched his fists, and did not finish what he was saying.

Pandion stood up. Takel’s death seemed so senseless and unjust to him — not in a glorious battle, not in the struggle against wild beasts, but here, in a peaceful village where he had promise of a return home after great deeds of valour and courageous fortitude on the long journey. This death caused the young Hellene great pain; he felt the tears welling up in his eyes and to conceal them stared hard at the river. On either side of a sand-bank rose the green walls of dense thickets of reeds so that the mound of light-coloured sand seemed to stand in open green gates. At the fringe of the forest grew gnarled and twisted white trees with tiny leaves. From all the branches of these trees hung luxuriant garlands of bright red flowers (* Combretum purpureum) whose fluffy flat clusters looked like transverse bars of red threaded on thin stems, some of which hung down in garlands, while others pointed upwards to the sky. The flowers gave off a red reflection, and the white trees burned in the green gates like funeral torches at the gates of the nether world to which the spirit of the dead Takel was on its way. The dull leaden waters of the river, broken by banks of yellow sand, rolled slowly along. Hundreds of crocodiles lay on the sand-banks. On a sandy spit near where Pandion was standing, several of the huge reptiles had opened their jaws in their sleep, and in the sun they looked like black patches surrounded by the white spikes of their terrible teeth. The bodies of the crocodiles sprawled out on the sand as though they were flattened by their own weight. The long folds of the scaly skin of their bellies lapped over flat backs covered with rows of protuberances of a lighter colour than the black-green spaces between them. Paws, with their joints awkwardly turned outwards, stretched on either side in an ugly pose. Now and again one of the reptiles would flick its long ridged tail against another who, his sleep disturbed, would close his mouth with a snap that resounded loudly down the river.

The wayfarers raised the body of the dead man and carried it in silence to the village under the alarmed glances of villagers who came running up. Pandion walked behind, away from Cavius. The Etruscan considered himself guilty of the death of the Libyan since the idea of hunting for ebony had been his. Cavius walked beside the sad procession, biting his lip and running his fingers through his thick beard.

Pandion also felt qualms of conscience. He also felt himself guilty. What right had he to grow enthusiastic over the carving of the girl he loved, at a time when he should have busied himself with something in memory of the fighting friendship of people of different races who had passed through all trials together, had remained true in face of death, hunger and thirst, in the sorrowful days of their wearisome march. “Why did this idea not occur to me before?” the young Hellene asked himself. Why had he forgotten the friendship that had grown up in the fight for freedom? Not for nothing had his work been a failure — the gods had punished him for his ingratitude… Let today’s sorrow teach him to see better…

Like a herd of buffaloes, the low purple and grey clouds crawled heavily across the sky, bunching together in a solid mass. Dull rumbles of thunder filled the air. A tropical downpour was on its way, and people hurriedly took everything that had been lying about into their houses. Cavius and Pandion had only just time to take cover in their house when the huge bowl of the heavens tipped over, and the roar of the falling water drowned even the peals of thunder. As usual the rain soon stopped, the vegetation gave off an acrid smell in the fresh, humid air, and countless streams gurgled faintly as they made their way to the river and the sea. The wet trees rustled dully in the wind. The noise was grim and sad, nothing like the rapid rustle of leaves on a fine dry day. Cavius sat listening to the noises of the forest and said suddenly:

“I can’t forgive myself Takel’s death. It was my fault; we went without an experienced guide, and we are strangers in this land where carelessness means death. The result is that we have no ebony and one of our best comrades lies dead under a heap of stones on the river-bank… A high price to pay for my foolishness… I can’t make up my mind to try again, and we have nothing to pay to the Sons of the Wind.”

In silence Pandion took a handful of the sparkling stones out of his bag and laid them before the Etruscan. Cavius nodded his head in approval, but suddenly doubt showed on his face.

“If they don’t know the value of these stones, the Sons of the Wind may refuse to take them. Who has heard of such stones in our countries? Who will buy them as valuables? Although…” Cavius paused to think.

Pandion took fright. Cavius’ simple explanation of their position had not entered his head before. He had lost sight of the fact that the stones might have no value in the eyes of the merchants. The hand he stretched out towards the stones trembled in consternation and fear for the future. Seeing the alarm in Pandion’s face, Cavius spoke to him again. “I seem to have heard that transparent stones of great hardness were sometimes brought to Cyprus and Caria from the distant east and had a very high value. Perhaps the Sons of the Wind know that?…”

The morning after his talk with Cavius, Pandion set out along a path that led to the foothills where the bananas grew. It was time for Kidogo to return, and his friends were awaiting him in impatience; they wanted his advice on how to obtain something valuable for the Sons of the Wind. Cavius’ doubts had shattered Pandion’s faith in the stones from the south and the young Hellene now knew no peace. Without realizing it Pandion set out towards the mountains in the hope of meeting the expedition of his Negro friend. Apart from everything else, he wanted to be alone to think out a new work of art that was beginning to take form in his mind. Pandion walked soundlessly along the hard trampled earth of the footpath. He was no longer lame and his former easy gait had returned to him. Local people, loaded with clusters of yellow fruits, whom he met on the way, grinned at him or waved bunches of leaves to him as a sign of friendship. The path turned to the left. Pandion walked on between solid green walls of succulent vegetation, filled with the golden glow of sunlight. In the hot glare of the sun a woman whom Pandion recognized as Nyora was moving gracefully along the path. From the hanging clusters of bananas she was selecting the greenest fruits and packing them in a high basket. Pandion stood back in the shadow of the huge banana leaves and the feelings of the artist put all other thoughts out of his mind. The young woman went from one bush to another, her figure bent gracefully over the basket, and again she stretched up on tiptoes, straining her entire body to reach the higher fruits. The golden sunlight sparkled on her smooth black skin, accentuated by the bright green background of leaves. Nyora gave a little jump, her body arched into a curve as she plunged her hands into the velvety foliage. Pandion was so engrossed that he caught against a dry twig, and a loud crackle broke the silence. In an instant the young woman turned round and stood stock-still. Nyora recognized Pandion, and the body that had been tensed like the string of a musical instrument immediately became calm as she smiled at the young Hellene. Pandion, however, noticed nothing. A cry of ecstasy broke from his lips and his wide-open golden eyes stared at Nyora without seeing her, his mouth opened in a faint smile. The astounded woman stepped back from him. The stranger suddenly turned and ran away shouting something in a language she could not understand.

Pandion had suddenly made a great discovery, something he had been groping for unconsciously but persistently, something he had always been very near to in his unceasing mental search. He would never have found it if he had not made comparisons and had not sought new paths for his own art. That which has life in it can never be immobile. In a beautiful living body there is never dead immobility, there is only repose, the moment when a movement has been completed and is changing to another movement, its opposite. If he could seize that moment and reproduce it in the motionless material, the dead stone would live.

This is what Pandion had seen in the motionless Nyora, when she stood still like a statue cast from black metal. The young Hellene went away alone to a tree in a small glade. If anybody had seen him there, he would have been sure that Pandion was mad: he was making jerky movements, bending and straightening his arm or his leg, and trying hard to follow the movements, twisting his neck and straining his eyes till they hurt. He did not return home until evening. He was excited and had a feverish gleam in his eye. To Cavius’ great astonishment, Pandion made him stand up in front of him, march about and halt at his command. At first the Etruscan was patient with his friend and his antics, but at last he could stand it no longer and sat down on the ground with an air of determination. Even then Pandion gave him no rest. He stared at him as he sat there, first from the right and then from the left, until Cavius, letting out a stream of profanity, said that Pandion had a touch of fever and threatened to tie him up and lay him down on the bed.

“You can go to the crows!” shouted Pandion in a joyful voice. “I’m not afraid of you; I’ll twist you up like the horn of the white antelope.”

Cavius had never seen his friend in such a childishly jolly mood before. He was glad of it, for he had long been aware that Pandion was spiritually depressed. He muttered something about a boy who was making fun of his father and gave Pandion a light blow; Pandion immediately calmed down and announced that he was as hungry as a wolf. The two friends sat down to supper, and Pandion tried to explain his great discovery to his friend. Contrary to Pandion’s expectations, Cavius showed interest in the matter and asked Pandion many questions, trying to understand the nature of the difficulties that faced the sculptor in his efforts to depict real life.

The two friends sat talking for a long time, until it was quite dark.

Suddenly something stood in the way of the stars that shone through the open doorway, and Kidogo’s voice gave them a pleasant thrill. The Negro had returned unexpectedly and decided to pay an immediate visit to his friends. When they asked him about the results of the hunt, he gave them an indefinite answer, said he was tired and promised to show his trophies the next morning. Cavius and Pandion told him about the expedition in search of ebony and about Takel’s death. Kidogo was infuriated and in his frenzy showered curses upon his friends, said that their actions were an insult to his hospitality and even went to the extent of calling Cavius an “old hyena.” In the end the Negro grew calmer — his sorrow at the death of a comrade was greater than his wrath. Then the Etruscan and the Hellene told him that they were worried about finding something to pay the Sons of the Wind with and asked his advice. Kidogo showed the greatest indifference to their worries and went away without having answered their questions.

The despondent friends blamed Kidogo’s strange behaviour on to his sorrow at the death of the Libyan, and both of them for a long time tossed sleeplessly on their beds, pondering over the situation.

Late next morning Kidogo came to them with an expression of shrewd cunning on his kindly face. He was accompanied by all the Libyans and a crowd of young men of his tribe. Kidogo’s people winked at the puzzled strangers, whispered amongst themselves, laughed loudly and shouted snatches of incomprehensible phrases. They hinted at the sorcery that was supposed to be a feature of their people and said that Kidogo was possessed of the ability to turn ordinary sticks into ebony and ivory, and river-sand into gold. The strangers had to listen to all this nonsense on their way to Kidogo’s house. Kidogo led them to a small storeroom, a building that differed from the other simple houses in that it had a door which was closed from the outside by a huge stone. With the aid of several of his men Kidogo rolled the stone away, and the young people stood on either side of the wide-open door. Kidogo, bending down, entered the storeroom, beckoning to his friends to follow. Cavius, Pandion and the Libyans did not know what it was all about and stood for some time in the gloom until their eyes got accustomed to the half light coming through a narrow gap that encircled the wall under the eaves. Then they saw a number of thick black logs, a pile of elephant tusks and five big baskets filled to the top with medicinal nuts. Kidogo watched the faces of his comrades attentively as he spoke to them.

“All that is yours. My people have gathered it all for you to make your journey pleasant and easy! The Sons of the Wind ought to take a couple of dozen passengers and not one for such a price…”

“Your people are making us such a present,” exclaimed Cavius, “what for?”

“Because you are good people, because you are brave men, because you have performed so many deeds of valour and because you are my friends and helped me return home,” chanted Kidogo, trying to appear imperturbable. “But wait a minute, that isn’t all!” The Negro stepped to one side, thrust his hand down between the baskets and picked up a bag of strong leather as big as a man’s head.

“Take this,” said Kidogo, handing the bag to Cavius.

The Etruscan held out his hands palm upwards and almost dropped the bag as his arms bent under the weight of it. The Negro roared with laughter and danced a few steps as a sign of pleasure. The loud laughter of the youths outside was like an echo.

“What is it?” asked Cavius, clutching the heavy bag to his breast.

“How can you, a wise old soldier, ask such a question?” said Kidogo in the merriest of tones. “As though you don’t know that there’s only one thing in the world that is as heavy as that.”

“Gold!” exclaimed the Etruscan in his own language, but the Negro understood him.

“Yes, gold,” he said.

“Where did you get so much?” put in Pandion, pinching the tightly packed bag.

“Instead of hunting we went to the plateau where gold is found. For eight days we dug the sand there and washed it in water…” The Negro paused for a moment and then added: “The Sons of the Wind won’t take you to your homes. When you reach your own seas, your roads will be different, and everybody will have to make his own way home. Divide the gold and hide it carefully so that the Sons of the Wind won’t see it.”

‘“Who else went on that ‘hunt’ with you?” asked Cavius.

“All these people,” said Kidogo, pointing to the young men crowding round the door.

Deeply touched and filled with joy, the friends hurried to thank the Negroes. The latter, confused by this display of gratitude, shifted from one foot to the other and one by one drifted away to their houses.

The friends left the storeroom and pushed the stone back in front of the door. Kidogo had suddenly become silent, his gaiety had gone. Pandion drew his black friend towards him, but Kidogo immediately slipped out of his embrace, placed his hand on the Hellene’s shoulder and stared deep into his golden eyes.

“How can I leave you!” exclaimed Pandion.

The Negro’s fingers dug into his shoulder.

“The God of Lightning be my witness,” said Kidogo in a dull voice, “I would give all the gold on the plateau, I would give everything I have, down to the last spear, if you would remain here with me for ever…” There was an expression of pain on the Negro’s face and he covered his eyes with his hands. “But I do not even ask that of you.” Kidogo’s voice trembled and broke off. “I learned the meaning of home when I was in captivity… I realize that you cannot stay… and I, as you see, am doing everything to help you go…” The Negro suddenly released his hold of Pandion and ran away to his own house.

The young Hellene stared after his friend and tears made a haze before his eyes. The Etruscan heaved a heavy sigh behind Pandion’s back.

“The time will come when you and I must part,” he said softly and sorrowfully.

“Our homes are not very far apart and ships sail between them very often,” said Pandion, turning round to him. “But Kidogo… he will remain here on the outer edge of Oicumene.”

The Etruscan did not say another word.

Now that Pandion was sure of the future he gave himself up wholeheartedly to his art. He was in a hurry; the magnificence of friendship, cemented in the struggle for freedom, was a tremendous inspiration that compelled him to hurry. He could already see the details of his cameo.

The three men must stand embracing each other against the background of the sea towards which they had struggled, the sea that promised them return to their homes.

On the larger flat side of the stone Pandion had decided to depict the three friends, Kidogo, Cavius and himself, in the sparkling, transparent light of the expanses of the sea which the bluish-green stone represented as nothing else could.

The young sculptor made a few sketches on thin pieces of ivory such as the women of the tribe used to grind and mix some sort of ointment. The discovery that he had made necessitated his having a living figure constantly before his eyes. This, however, presented no difficulty since the Etruscan was with him the whole time, and Kidogo, feeling that the ships would soon be coming, left his own work to spend as much time as possible with his friends.

Pandion often asked the Etruscan and the Negro to stand in front of him with their arms round each other’s shoulders, which they, laughing at him, always did.

The friends often sat talking together for a long time, confiding to each other their most secret thoughts, their worries and their plans, and deep down in each of them the realization that they must part dug into his heart like a thorn.

While Pandion talked he did not waste time but worked persistently on his hard stone. At times the sculptor would sit in silence; his glance would become sharp and penetrating — he was trying to catch some detail in the features of his friends that was important to him.

The three embracing figures began to stand out in ever greater relief, all the time becoming more lifelike. The central figure was that of the huge Negro, Kidogo; to the right, turned slightly towards the blank space on the stone stood Pandion, and on the left Cavius, both with spears in their hands. Cavius and Kidogo thought that their images were very lifelike, but insisted that Pandion had drawn his own portrait poorly. The sculptor laughed and said that that was not important.

The figures of the friends, despite their diminutive size, were extremely lifelike and there was real virtuosity in every line of them. There was strong, impetuous movement in their bodies, but at the same time there was elegant restraint in them. In Kidogo’s arms, thrown around the shoulders of the Etruscan and the Hellene, Pandion had managed to express a movement of protection and fraternal tenderness. Cavius and Pandion stood with heads inclined warily, almost menacingly, with the tense vigilance of mighty warriors ready at any moment to repel the attack of any foe. The group as a whole gave this impression of might and confidence, and Pandion made every effort to express in his carving all the best that was in those who had become his dearest friends on the long road from slavery to his native land. The sculptor realized that at last he had succeeded in creating a work of art. Kidogo and Cavius stopped making fun of Pandion. For hours they sat with bated breath watching the movements of the magic chisel, their new attitude towards Pandion being the expression of a vague sort of adoration. Their young friend, bold, merry and even childish, — at times amusing in his admiration of women, had proved himself a great artist! This was a fact that both pleased and astonished Kidogo and Cavius.

Pandion put all his love for his friends into that burst of creative enthusiasm. His original idea — that of carving Thessa on the stone — did not have any further appeal. Thessa, Iruma and Nyora, women from different peoples, were sisters in their beauty; in all of them he felt the same power of attraction… Whether they were sisters in all other respects Pandion did not know. Could Thessa form as firm a friendship for Nyora as he had for Kidogo? In Pandion’s friendship with Cavius and Kidogo, in their comradeship with the other fugitive slaves — but few of whom were left together now — there was a fraternity of identical thoughts and efforts, cemented more firmly than stone by loyalty and courage. They were real brothers although one of them had been born here under the strange trees of Africa of a mother as black as himself; the second had lain in his cradle in a hut that trembled in the bitter storms of the northern lands at a time when the third was already a warrior fighting against the fierce horsemen of the distant steppes on the shores of a dark sea… Their hearts, tested hundreds of times in adversity, were joined by strong sinews and… of how little importance now were differences of country, faces, bodies and religion!

The days passed quickly. Pandion suddenly realized that three months and a half had passed, and that the time appointed for the arrival of the Sons of the Wind had also passed. Pandion experienced mixed feelings of anxiety and relief — anxiety because the Sons of the Wind might never come at all, and relief because the inevitable parting with Kidogo was being postponed. In his wearying anxiety Pandion often left his work — it was, incidentally, almost completed. The Hellene again began making frequent trips to the sea, always hurrying back so as not to be long away from his friends.

One day Pandion was making ready to go for his usual bathe in the sea. He got up and called his friends, but they refused; they were engaged in a heated argument on the best way to prepare leaves for ‘chewing. In the distance they suddenly heard the sounds of numerous voices, shouts and screams of ecstasy, such as Kidogo’s excitable people gave vent to on every occasion of importance. Kidogo jumped up, his face turned ash-grey, the pallor even spreading to his mighty chest. Staggering slightly, Kidogo ran to his own house, shouting over his shoulder to his astonished friends:

“That must be the Sons of the Wind!”

The blood rushed to the heads of the Etruscan and the Hellene, and they, too, set off at a run along a short path to the sea known to Pandion. On the crest of a hill Pandion and Cavius stood still.

“The Sons of the Wind!”

The dark purple shadow of the huge mountain lay on the shore and stretched far out to sea, dulling the sparkle of the waves and giving the water the gloomy tones of the forest thickets. Black ships, in shape like those of the Hellenes, with curved swanlike breasts and high prows, were already drawn up on the greying sands. There were five of them. With their unstepped masts they looked like black ducks asleep on the beach.

Bearded warriors in rough grey cloaks walked up and down in front of the ships, the bronze of their shields flashing; in their hands they carried broad battle-axes on long handles. The chiefs, the merchants and all those who were not on guard duty must have gone to Kidogo’s village. The Etruscan and the Hellene turned back.

Kidogo awaited them impatiently at their house.

“The Sons of the Wind are with the chiefs,” the Negro informed them. “I’ve asked my uncle to talk to the big chief, and he himself will talk to them about you. It will be safer that way. The Sons of the Wind will not dare to quarrel with him and will bring you safely home.” And in the Negro’s wan smile there was no joy.

Hundreds of people gathered on the shore to bid farewell to the parting ships. The Sons of the Wind were in a great hurry; the sun was already setting, and for some reason of their own they were determined to set out that day. The loaded ships were slowly rocking on the swell beyond the reefs. Amongst the other goods lay the gift of Kidogo’s people — payment for the return of the former slaves to their own countries. To reach the ships they had to wade breast-high through the water that covered a sand-bank. The chiefs of the Sons of the Wind held back to talk with the Negro chiefs, asking them to prepare a greater number of goods for the next year, swearing that they would arrive at the appointed time.

Cavius stood beside Kidogo, holding in one hand the huge bundle that contained the skin and skull of the terrible gishu. As a parting gift Kidogo gave Cavius and Pandion two big throwing-knives. This implement of war, invented by the Tengrela people, consisted of a large sheet of bronze divided into five fingers, four of them crescent-shaped with sharpened edges and the fifth long and thin with a horn handle on it. This weapon, when hurled by able hands, whistled through the air and killed its victim at twenty cubits distance.

With a heavy heart Pandion looked round him, examining his new fellow-travellers and masters. Their harsh, wind-burned faces were the colour of dark brick; their undipped beards were tangled on their cheeks; in their heavy gait, in the grim folds of their foreheads and lips there was none of the kind-heartedness that was typical of Kidogo’s people. Nevertheless Pandion trusted them, perhaps because the Sons of the Wind, like he, were loyal to the sea, lived in concord with it and loved it. Or perhaps it was because he and Cavius met familiar words in their speech.

The Sons of the Wind willingly consented to take the former slaves with them for the payment offered. Kidogo’s uncle, Yorumefu, even bargained for a reduction of six tusks and two baskets of medicinal nuts, which were loaded on to the ships as the property of Cavius, Pandion and the Libyans. The Sons of the Wind separated their passengers against their will — six Libyans on one ship, Pandion, Cavius and the other three Libyans on another.

The harbour of the Sons of the Wind was near the Gates of the Mists, a tremendous distance from Kidogo’s country, no less than two months sailing in the most favourable weather. Cavius and Pandion were dismayed at this; they had had no conception of the enormous distance and realized that the Sons of the Wind were men as skilled in their battle against the sea as were the Elephant People in their battle against the plains of Africa. Pandion still had to sail almost the whole length of the Green Sea from the harbour of the Sons of the Wind to his own country; but this was a distance that was little more than a third of that from Kidogo’s village to the harbour of the Sons of the Wind. The Sons of the Wind pacified Pandion and Cavius with the assurance that Phoenician ships often came to them from Tyre, Crete, Cyprus and the Gulf of Sidra.

As Pandion stood on the shore, however, he was not thinking of that. In his confusion he stared at the sea as though he were trying to measure the long journey before him and then turned to Kidogo. The commander of the fleet of ships, a man with a circlet of solid gold in his curly hair, shouted loudly, ordering them to get aboard.

Kidogo seized Pandion and Cavius by their hands, making no effort to hide his tears.

“Good-bye for ever, Pandion, and you, Cavius,” whispered the Negro. “When you are there, — in your distant country, remember Kidogo who truly loves you both. Re: member our days of slavery in Tha-Quem, when our friendship was our mainstay; remember the days of the insurrection, the flight and the great march to the sea…I shall always be with you in my thoughts. You are leaving me for ever, you who have become dearer to me than life itself.” The Negro’s voice grew stronger. “I shall believe that the time will come when people will learn not to be afraid of the expanses of the sea. The sea will unite them… But I shall never see you again… Oh, great is my grief…” Bitter sobs shook Kidogo’s huge body.

The friends joined hands for the last time as the Sons of the Wind called to them from the ships.

Pandion’s handclasp slackened, Cavius turned away. They stepped into the warm water and, sliding over the slippery stones, hurried to the ships.

Pandion stepped on to the deck of a ship for the first time in many years; he was flooded with memories of the days of happy sailing in times long past — no more than fleeting thoughts, however, for the memories soon disappeared. All his thoughts were concentrated on the tall black figure standing aloof from the others on the seashore at the very edge of the water. The oars splashed, their rhythmic beat grew faster, and the ship passed out beyond the reefs. The seamen raised the huge sail, and the wind carried the vessel before it.

The figures of the people on the shore grew smaller and smaller; and soon Kidogo, lost to his friends for ever, was no more than a tiny black dot. The deepening twilight hid the coast-line, but the dark mountain ridge hung gloomily over the stern of the ships. Cavius wiped away a big tear, and it was not the first. A huge bat that flew out from the coast, parallel to which the ships were travelling, brushed Pandion’s face with its wing. That light, silky touch affected Pandion like the last word of farewell from the land he was leaving.

It was with a sense of dismay that Pandion parted from his Negro friend and from the land in which he had gone through so much, where he was leaving part of his heart behind. He had a vague feeling that in future days of weariness or sorrow, at home in his own country, Africa would appear before his eyes beckoning and beautiful, and that only because it was lost to him for ever, like Iruma. In abandoning everything that had become part of his very life, in turning his face and his heart towards Hellas, Pandion was stricken with doubt. What awaited him there, after so long an absence?

How would he settle down amongst his own people, he who was returning a different man from the one who had left? Who would he find amongst the living? Thessa — was she still alive, and did she still love him? Or?…

The ships, headed westwards, dived wearily into the troughs of the waves. The Sons of the Wind had told their passengers that they would sail westwards for a whole month before turning north. The mighty breath of the ocean ruffled Pandion’s hair. The taciturn sailors were unhurriedly busy at their work beside him. The Sons of the Wind, descendants of the ancient mariners of Crete, seemed more alien to Pandion than the black-skinned inhabitants of Africa. The Hellene squeezed the bag that hung on his breast — it contained the stone on which was carved the image of Kidogo — and joined his companions huddled together sadly in a corner of a strange ship…

A round, orange-coloured moon rose from behind the mountains. In its light the ocean, the Great Arc that encircled all the lands of the world, was furrowed with black hollows over which the brightly lit caps of the waves glided smoothly on their way. The tiny vessels sailed bravely on, pointing their sharp prows straight up at the star-filled sky amidst showers of silvery spray, then racing downwards into the dull roar of the sombre depths. To Pandion this seemed like his own life story. Far away ahead of him the opalescent crests of the waves merged into one bright path of light, the stars descended and rocked on the surface of the water just as they did by the shores of his native Hellas. The ocean had accepted these courageous men, had consented to carry them on its bosom over an immeasurable distance — to their homes…

“Eupalin, did you see that cameo cut on a stone the colour of the sea — it is the most perfect work of art in Oeniadae, or rather, if the truth be told, in all Hellas?”

Eupalin did not answer immediately. Listening attentively to the strident neighing of his favourite horse, held by a strong slave, he wrapped himself more closely in a cloak of fine wool. In the shade of the stable the spring wind had a tinge of cold in it, although the grey slopes of the stony hills were already covered with blossoming trees. Down below, the almond groves stretched in delicate pink clouds; above them, higher up the slopes, patches of dark rose, almost violet, colouring marked the thickets of dense shrubs. The cold breeze from the hills carried with it the fragrance of almond blossoms, the herald of a new spring in the valleys of Oeniadae. Eupalin took a deep breath and tapped with his finger on a wooden post.

“I’ve heard,” he began slowly, “that it was carved by the adopted son of Agenor who’s been wandering abroad for many years. He was believed dead, but recently returned from some very distant land.”

“And Agenor’s daughter, the beautiful Thessa… You’ve heard of her, of course?”

“I’ve heard that she refused to marry for six years in the firm belief that her lover would return. Her father, the artist, allowed her…”

“I know that he not only consented to her waiting, but himself also awaited the return of his adopted son.”

“This is one of those rare occasions when things turn out according to expectations. He did not die, but became Thessa’s husband and a great artist. It’s a pity you did not have an opportunity to see the cameo; you are a connoisseur and would have appreciated it!”

“I’ll do as you wish and go to see Agenor. He lives on Cape Achelous which is no more than twenty stadia from here…”

“Unfortunately, you’re too late, Eupalin. The artist who carved the cameo made a present of it — just imagine! — to a friend of his, some Etruscan vagabond. The man fell sick on the journey home and he took him to Agenor’s house, looked after him until he was well again and then gave him a jewel that would have made all Oeniadae famous. The Etruscan rewarded him with the skin of a disgusting beast, a horrible thing that has never been heard of before…”

“A beggar he left and a beggar he has returned. Didn’t he learn anything from his wanderings that he can make a valuable gift to anybody he meets?”

“It’s hard for you and me to understand a man who has lived so long in strange lands. Still, I’m sorry the cameo has gone from us!”