The 22 Letters (4 page)

“The priests of Egypt might well be angry at such disrespect for their mysteries,” said Ish gravely, “but I cannot think it was a sin. Show me though, these twenty-two letters which you have invented.”

Aleph blushed again. “They're of no interest to you, sir, surely?” But Ish gently insisted, and Aleph squatted in the dust and took a thorn twig, and began to trace shapes on the ground. “Here's my sign, the head of the ox—horns, ears, mouth:

or Beth used to draw it quickly, like this:

“And that signifies?” queried Ish.

“Well, that's just it, sir, it doesn't signify anything. I told you there's no mystery to it. It's just a sort of noise A-A-A— The first sound of my name, that's all. Then there's Beth's sign too, the little house with the door:

or this way up if you like, it makes no difference. It doesn't
mean
house, of course, just the sound, B-B-B—”

In the heat of the afternoon, in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, Aleph became absorbed in the game he had played at home with his sister. Then he suddenly became embarrassed again that he should be wasting the time of this educated stranger, and he stood up and said sadly: “It was like this that my father caught us, and sent me up the mountain to count the shipment of forty trees he was expecting from the loggers. And Beth gave me the pigeon in the cage, to let go when I got to the lumber camp. That was her idea. She keeps pigeons, you know, sir …”

But Ish was still poring over the signs Aleph had drawn in the dust, and the words he had made up with them, with grave concentration. At last he spoke.

“You must teach me these signs of yours, Aleph, my young friend. I find them very interesting indeed. But now we must return to Jericho, or they will wonder what has become of us.”

And Aleph blushed with pride, but wondered if Ish were not really mocking him.

2

The Valley of Centaurs

The journey of Zayin, the soldier—Talk of the centaur-myth on the Syrian plains—In the Taurus mountains—Man-horses or horse-men?

“Call yourselves soldiers!” Zayin jeered. “I've collected eggs in the farmyard from creatures with more guts than you! I've seen them clip wool from animals with as much sense! Why I bring a dismal pack like you along with me I don't know—I'd be better off by myself or with a dog on a lead!”

Zayin was in his element. Eldest brother of Nun, Aleph, and Beth, he had always been a leader and he felt it his due that he should now be leading the army of Gebal. And to be many days' march away from home, far away from everywhere on the Syrian plains, followed by his men who looked unquestioningly to him to lead them on—what more could a soldier want?

His little army, now standing round him with blank faces, were satisfied, too, in their own way. They were enjoying this speech from their commander. There was no pleasure and precious little sense in marching over the empty interior with nothing but dry bread in their packs, not knowing whether a day's march would find water or not. But their comfort was that they had a leader who seemed to be sure of what he was doing, and could spur them on by strong and scornful words when they felt faint-hearted.

The expedition had started off happily enough up the coast from Gebal. So long as they had the high mountain on one side and the sea on the other the men of Gebal were content. The watercourses that cut the coastal strip into sections were dry, or shallow and easy to ford; the few fishing villages were honored to accommodate the Giblite soldiers and provide them with food for their next day's march. But then they had come to a place where the mountain range fell away. A wind from the interior seemed to be eternally blowing through the drafty gap: there was no longer the snug feeling of being enclosed by the mountains. The inhabitants of the miserable villages of black stone were sullen and suspicious. When Zayin turned inland, and the friendly sound of the sea receded, the men wondered uneasily what strange destination they were headed for. But, as long as their leader knew, it was not theirs to worry.

But, in fact, Zayin had little idea where they were going. It was simply not in his nature to worry. He was a soldier and a leader because it suited him and he liked it; Gebal had an army because every little state had to have an army; the soldiers were soldiers because they could not stick to any other job, and the King had sent them on this expedition partly because they had been behaving so badly at home, and partly—well, there had to be expeditions. There had been times in the history of Gebal, so their annals told them, when they knew exactly who their neighbors were and just what their relations with them should be. But now new rulers were rising in Egypt, or some said the old ones were coming back, and in the North and East entirely new nations were coming into being. Zayin's army had been sent to see what it could see.

He remembered the King's words: “We live in a time of change. The birds of the air tell me that Babylon is not what it was, and that Egypt is ruled by a woman, and who knows what barbarians may next appear from the North? Go, Commander of Swords, take your men who do nothing but play dice and trouble slave girls, go and find out what in the name of Horus is happening in the world.” So he had gone.

He felt differently from his men about leaving the coast and turning into the interior. The mountains made him feel shut in and the fretting of the sea irritated him, but the wind from over the endless plains gave him a feeling of freedom. No obstacles now between here and Babylon! And if he journeyed on and on, all the nations of the flat world lay before him.

So Zayin was happy, but all the same his military experience made him cautious. It was a very little army of foot soldiers that he led, merely a reconnaissance patrol, compared with the great masses of men that Pharaoh could send on his expeditionary forces, or with the well-drilled battalions of Assyria. He had watched from observation points in the mountains as these had passed along the broad valley beyond the range, filling it like a tide with spearmen, chariots, and baggage trains, or strung out through a defile in an endless line. The Giblite troop was not sufficient to carry all before them like that. Old men remembered when chariotry had been quartered on Gebal, but now he had none. It was not for him to sweep up to the gates of Babylon. They would have to avoid all but the smallest towns, where they could frighten the inhabitants into giving them food and shelter.

So it was that they had turned north up the Syrian plain, and every day's march was like the one before, rolling empty country littered with rocks that made every step uncomfortable. Beyond each rise you felt
something
must lie on the other side, but it never did. The men straggled over the rough plain, picked wild flowers and put them in their helmets, and did nothing but grumble when the time came to bivouac at night.

But an advance scout had just returned to say that he had sighted a town in the distance, and it was the difficulty of getting some sense out of his report that had provoked Zayin into his outburst at the troops.

“You say this town is right ahead? How far ahead?” Zayin questioned the scout.

“Who can tell, sir? The sun lights it, like a ship on the flat sea. It may be a day's march, may be an hour. There's no knowing on this cursed plain.”

“Well, then, how big is it? Is it a great city, or just another wretched village of the plains?” Zayin persisted.

“Same thing, isn't it, sir?” the man replied. “Can't tell till you get there. Remember that clump of rocks yesterday? Some swore it was the walls of Babylon, one fellow said it was a few packs of wool dropped by an ass. I bet them anything they liked it was a clump of rocks, and most of them owe me their next week's ration, though I don't suppose—”

“Never mind your bets,” Zayin interrupted. He turned to the troops. “Listen, you rabble of fishermen! There's a habitation ahead. We don't know how far or how big it is, thanks to the efficiency of our advance guard. We're going to find out. But remember this. They don't know how strong we are either. For all they know we're the vanguard of Pharaoh's thousands. If we march up in a smart and soldierly manner with an air of confidence, they'll bow in the dust before us and it'll be feasting and soft beds for all of you tonight. If you straggle up like a parcel of tinkers they'll set the dogs on you and the children will pelt you with stones. So just try and look like soldiers for once. All right?”

A surly sergeant spoke: “Aren't we going to put them to the sword?” Some of the men grunted approval, Zayin looked at them and smiled.

“Thirsty for blood, are you, you dogs? Not today though. For me, I'd rather get a comfortable night's rest under a good roof by peaceful means than wade in blood for the fun of it. Make yourselves at home—but even at home you don't burn down your father's house and slaughter your grandmother just because you need exercise—or do you? It wouldn't surprise me with some of you.”

This raised a laugh at the expense of the troublemakers. They re-formed ranks and marched off in good order. After they had breasted a couple of rises the township came into sight, first a cluster of cones on the horizon. They marched on through the afternoon, the soldiers muttering bets as to how many cooking pots awaited them with appetizing suppers. Every now and then it would disappear as they advanced into a hollow, and each time it came into sight again it seemed a little nearer.

It was two hours before they got to it, and when they did they were not greatly impressed. A huddle of mud-built beehives, perhaps a hundred in number. But still, it was civilization of a sort. And coming out toward them was a party of men dressed in saffron robes. As Zayin had predicted, it was the elders approaching to make peace. “Come on, then, men!” called Zayin. “Close ranks! Square your shields! Spears erect! Swing those arms!” The soldiers swaggered with martial vigor, Zayin strode out in front, and the white-bearded, saffron-robed elders prostrated themselves in the dust before him.

“Halt!” cried Zayin, and with a clash of arms the battalion came to a more or less simultaneous stop.

Later that evening Zayin was reclining at ease in the living-room of one of the beehive huts. It was clean, and good smells were coming from a cooking pot near by. The headman of the village, who had not ceased from murmuring, “Welcome, welcome,” ever since they had arrived, was squatting opposite him. Zayin had been relieved to find that they had a language in common that served well enough for conversation.

“I don't suppose you have guests like us very often, old man?” asked Zayin.

“Oh, welcome, welcome!” answered the old one eagerly. “Your words are indeed true and full of wisdom. And yet armies come and armies go not infrequently over these plains. Only yesterday it seems we had a great multitude of spears passing by!”

Zayin sat up with a jerk. “Yesterday? What multitude?” This might be serious news for him and his small army.

“Yesterday, did I say?” the old man went on hurriedly. “Oh, it may have been a month back, a year, who knows? Nothing much happens between the passing of armies. It
seems
like yesterday.”

Zayin relaxed; this old fool was not to be depended upon for accurate military information.

“Whose army was this, then, Grandfather?” he asked. “What country did they come from?”

“Oh, you are welcome, welcome!” muttered the old man distractedly. “Your lordship would know all these strange tongues and strange nations. I am but a simple villager.”

“Well, say, old muddlehead!” Zayin persisted. “Did they come from the North or the East? Did they speak of Pharaoh or of the Lord of Babylon?”

“By my beard,” answered the old man, “I understood not a word they spoke. But they came from the North.”

“From the North?” Zayin repeated. This was interesting. The North was a zone of mystery and myth wrapped in clouds and darkness. No one knew all the tribes and nations that lived there. South was Egypt and the desert, East was great Babylon, West was the sea and the great kingdom of Crete. But from the North came things and people that were strange and new and frightening.

“Yes, from the North,” affirmed the old man. “And there were creatures among them that had six limbs: four legs like an ass, but much stronger, besides an arm for a spear and an arm for a shield and a human head with a mane like a lion.”

Zayin laughed shortly. “I am a soldier, old man,” he said. “Not a fanciful scribe to write down marvels. I shall believe in your six-limbed man-beasts when I see them.” But at the same time a chill ran down his back. What horrors had these plain-dwellers seen?

“I saw them,” asserted the old man doggedly. “I saw them with these good eyes of mine, and so did many of our village, though we hid at a distance in the desert.”

“They are ignorant and fanciful peasants,” Zayin told himself. “They have looked at their reflections in the water and seen donkeys.”

They continued their supper in silence, and then spoke of other things, but that night Zayin dreamed of warlike man-beasts with four legs and two arms. And next morning he re-formed his troops and marched northward.

After a few more days Zayin became aware one morning of a change in the behavior of his soldiers. Ever since they had launched out into the open plains they had been depressed and uneasy, but now they seemed to be laughing and smiling again, and even singing. Zayin spoke to one of the sergeants marching near him.

“The men seem happy this morning,” he said.

“Sir,” said the sergeant.

“Getting used to the plains, eh?” said Zayin.

“No, sir,” said the sergeant.

“What do you mean, ‘No, sir'?” said Zayin.

“They don't like the plains, sir,” said the sergeant.

“What's come over them, then?” asked Zayin.

The sergeant hesitated. “Don't know, sir,” he said at last. “Some foolishness, I reckon.”

“What is it, man?” Zayin persisted. “Something I don't know about?”

“Reckon it's nothing, sir. But it makes 'em happy,” said the sergeant curtly.

Zayin was mystified. “Come on, man, out with it!” he said with some sharpness. “If you know something, or the men know something, it's your duty to tell me at once.”

The sergeant continued marching, looking straight ahead. “If they see a bit of cloud on the horizon, and it makes 'em sing, it's nothing to bother you about, sir, to my way of thinking,” he said.

“Cloud?” repeated Zayin. “What's remarkable about a cloud? We see them every day, don't we?”

“Nothing remarkable, as I told 'em, sir. Take no notice, I said. If some of them like to think it's mountains, well, it does no harm, does it?”

“Mountains!” exclaimed Zayin. “Sergeant, if someone's sighted mountains and not reported the fact to me—there'll be trouble!”