‘Great Baal,’ he omitted the more flowery titles, and came swiftly to the main body of his protest, ‘following your evident wishes, I have saved this one who bears your marks. Although I do not wish to complain, nor to question your motives, yet you should know that this has been no easy task. I have made serious sacrifices. I have weakened the position of the High Priest of Baal in the king’s favour - I think not of myself, naturally, but only of my influence as your agent and servant. What weakens me, weakens the worship of the gods.’ Huy said this with relish, that must surely catch their attention, and Huy was delighted with it. He felt it was entirely justified, it was high time that certain things were said and that the reciprocal duties of loyalty were stated.
‘You know of old that no command of yours is too difficult of execution, no burden you place upon me but I shoulder it cheerfully, for always I have been secure in the certainty of your wisdom and purpose.’
Huy paused for breath, and thought. He was angry, but he must not let anger run away with his tongue. He had offended the king, best not offend the gods also. Quickly he moderated his closing address.
‘However, in the matter of this marked barbarian I have no such certainty. I have saved him at great cost - to what purpose? Is it your intention that he must now die?’ Huy paused again, letting his point sink in.
‘I ask you now, most humbly,’ Huy spread a drop of honey, ‘most humbly, to make your intentions plain to your always attentive and obedient servant.’
Huy paused once more, should he dare the use of stronger terms? He decided against it, and instead spread both hands in the sun sign and sang the praise of Baal, with all the skill and beauty at his command. The sound of his voice shimmering and aching sweet in the breathless heat-hush of the wilderness was enough to make the gods weep, and when the last pure note had died upon the heated air Huy went down to the camp and with a bronze razor he lanced the grotesque swelling in the slave king’s loin. Manatassi screamed with pain even in his delirium, and the poison gushed out thick yellow and stinking. Huy poulticed the open wound with boiled corn wrapped in a linen cloth, scalding hot to drain the poisons.
By evening the fever had passed, and Manatassi lay in exhausted, but natural sleep. Huy stood over him smiling and nodding happily. He felt that he had won this wasted giant, wrested him from death’s dark jaws with prayer and endeavour. He experienced a proud warmth of ownership and when the old slave crone brought him a brimming bowl of good Zeng wine, Huy lifted it in a salute to the sleeping giant.
‘The gods have given you to me. You are mine. You live under my protection now, and I pledge it to you,’ And he drained the bowl.
The weakness of his body smothered him, pressing him down on the hard mattress of straw. It was an effort to lift head or hand, and he hated his body that had failed him now. He rolled his head slowly and opened his eyes.
Across the tent, on a mat of woven reeds sat the strange little man. Manatassi watched him with a quick flaring of interest. He was stooped over a roll of the strange glowing metal that had been beaten out into a thin pliable length, and with a pointed knife he was scratching and cutting marks into the soft surface. He spent many hours of each day at this unusual activity. Manatassi watched him, noticing the quick nervous birdlike movements of head and hands that set the golden earrings jangling and the thick black plaits of hair dangling down his back.
The head seemed too large for the oddly hunched body, and the legs and arms were long and thick and brutal- looking, dark hair grew on the forearms and the back of the long tapered hands - and Manatassi remembered the speed and strength of that body in battle. He lifted his head slightly and glanced down at the linen bandages which swathed his lower body.
At the movement Huy was on his feet in one swift movement, and he came to the pallet and stooped over him, smiling.
Huy said, ‘You sleep like a breastfed baby.’ And Manatassi looked up at him, wondering that a man could speak such a deadly insult to the paramount king of Vendi - and smile as he said it.
‘Aia, bring food,’ Huy shouted for the old slave woman, and settled down on a cushion beside Manatassi’s couch. While Manatassi ate with huge appetite he listened with only a small part of his attention to a ridiculous description of the moon as a white-faced woman. He wondered that such a skilled warrior could be so naive. It was only necessary to look at the moon to see that it was a cake of ground corn, and as the Mitasi-Mitasi the one great god devoured it, so the shape of his bite could clearly be seen cut from the round cake.
‘Do you understand this?’ Huy asked with deep concern, and Manatassi answered readily, ‘I understand, high- born.’
‘You believe it?’ Huy insisted.
I believe it.‘ Manatassi gave the answer which he knew would please, and Huy nodded happily. His efforts to teach the slave king were most rewarding. He had explained the theory of symbolic representation very carefully, showing Manatassi that the moon was not Astarte but her symbol, her coin, her sign and promise. He had explained the waning and waxing as the symbolic subjugation of the female to the male, repeated in the human female by the periodic moon-sickness.
‘Now, the great god Baal,’ Huy said, and Manatassi sighed inwardly. He knew what was coming. This strange person would now talk about the hole in the sky through which Mitasi-Mitasi made his entrances and exits. He would try to make Manatassi believe that this was a man with a flowing red beard. What a contradictory people they were, these pale ghost-like beings. On the one hand they had weapons and clothes and wonderful possessions and almost magical skills in civil and military matters. He had seen them fight and work, and it had amazed him. Yet these same people could not recognize truths that even the unweaned infants of his tribe understood completely.
Manatassi’s first conscious thoughts when he had emerged from the hot mists of fever had been of escape. But now, forced by his weakness into the role of observer, he had time to reconstruct his plans. He was safe here, this hunch-backed manikin wielded some strange power, and he was under its protection. He knew this now. No one would touch him as long as his new master held his shield over him.
The other thing he knew was that there was much to learn here. If he could acquire the skills and knowledge of this people, he would be armed a thousand times. He would be the greatest war chief the tribes had ever known. They had used these skills to defeat him, he would defeat them with the same skills that he learned from them.
‘Do you understand?’ Huy asked earnestly. ‘Do you understand that Baal is the master of the whole of heaven and earth?’
‘I understand,’ said Manatassi.
‘Do you accept Astarte and great Baal as gods?’
‘I accept them,’ Manatassi agreed, and Huy looked very pleased.
