The Anachronism

HE Excavator shut his eyes and tugged at a tamarisk root. A cloud of grey sand fell over him, and the dry fibres came away in his hand. The Excavator sputtered and rubbed the sand out of the corners of his eyes. An edge of something was poking out of the ground. Very gently the Excavator drew forth a round thing, dark brown and green—a brass shield eaten by centuries of rust. The Excavator whistled and sat down in the trench.

On the long rocks of Bodinnoc the rollers broke with a roar. The wet Atlantic gale had beaten the tamarisks flat. A big-bosomed black cloud caught on the peak of Grantor; stinging down wind came the driven rain. The Excavator started up, and, hunching his shoulders, ran before it to his iron hut.

Laloo was crying. She sat on the smooth grey slate of the foreshore and hugged her magic stone of serpentine to her little bosom, but the magic of it would not stop her bruises aching, and she sobbed to the roar of the breakers. Her beaver-skins grew glossy and damp, and her long black hair was matted with the spray. Mistily through the spindrift and the whirling rain she saw the ocean rollers dash grey on the black rocks of Bodinnoc, rush up into the caves, and shoot out again white torrents of foam. And the sea and the wind shouted together in her ears. Laloo started up and stood full-face to the blast, her beaver-skins flapping about her, her black hair streaming behind. Laloo flung out her white arms and prayed to the west wind.

Such was the way of Rataw, her father, the chief. But indeed the west wind had not availed Rataw at the last, for as he lay sick in the hut by the sacred stone, Peraw of the broad shoulders had broken in his head with a hammer of flint, and thereafter flung him into the quicksand. Laloo was held by Peraw's sister to see her father slain; and Laloo had gone to the quicksand with him, but that she alone of the folk had the trick to bevel the eyes of the slate needles. So Peraw was chief of the beehive huts under Bodinnoc, and his sister beat Laloo because her skin was white.

The men of Bodinnoc, little dark-haired fellows among the sand-dunes, were coming home from a river hunt, for the day was darkening, and, with two blood-quarrels afoot betwixt them and the men of Gantor [sic], they went abroad only in the light. Laloo should have been back with a skin full of dog whelks for Peraw's supper, and Peraw's wife was screaming for her. Peraw on his shaggy pony saw the girl with her white arms flung out to the wind.

“S—soo!” Peraw shouted, which means jelly-fish—which meant an insult, since if you are a jelly-fish you are not good to eat. “S—soo!” Peraw shouted, but his voice was fighting against the wind, and Laloo did not hear.

His brother Ammaw picked out of the sand a three-cornered piece of schist and flung it at her. It struck her head, and she staggered forward and fell on her hands, and the little men of Bodinnoc laughed heartily.

“An end of prayer magic,” said Peraw, and the little men laughed louder. For that was a jest of the chief.

Little five-feet-high men, shaggy with black hair and beasts' skins, they came skipping through the tamarisks, past the dark beehive huts, to have some sport with Laloo. Laloo had come to her feet again, and stood with her hand shading her eyes looking out over the grey travailing sea. Out of the west wind, out of the spindrift driving full for the black rocks of Bodinnoc, something long and low and black was cleaving the grey rollers. Tall, topped with fluttering gold, a form rose through the mist of rain and foam, then vanished into the waves. The black boat drove on before the wind to the rocks.

The little men saw it, and stopped running. “Prayer magic, prayer magic,” was muttered, and they spat to their left hands, where the demons lurk. Only Peraw went steadfast on, and his shaggy brows were drawn.

Laloo had run down to the verge of the rising tide, and was looking through the waves. Once and again she saw a brown arm rise out of the trough of the water. Once and again wet golden curls were shaken in the air. Then on a great wall of water a body was borne in and flung down on the wrinkled slate. It lay there under the water very still, and the backwash was dragging it swiftly out again, when Laloo drew a long breath and ran down and caught it with one hand under the armpit, and flung her other arm round a boulder and braced her lithe little body to bear the greedy drag of the sea. The strain of it tore her arm on the stone, but she held, and then, as a new wave came to help her, dragged the body up through the foam. Then, gasping a little, she knelt beside it and drew the long golden curls from the face. Oh, by the sacred stone, it was a fair body! Never one so long was seen at Bodinnoc, and the arms of it were bigger than Laloo's legs, and the hair of it was like the sunshine. This—this was the god of the west wind come to her prayers.

A grip on her shoulder dragged her backward, and she fell supine before Peraw.

“S—soo!” said Peraw, his black eyes kindling. “Jelly-fish! Witch! So prayer-magic brings the sea-demons to eat us all. White witch!” and he kicked her.

Laloo clapped her hand to her side. She did not dare roll away nor rise, but she looked at her god. Sure, he would aid her from Peraw. But her god only made a noise in his throat. Behind Peraw gathered the little men of Bodinnoc—not too near, for fear of the witch and her sea-demon, but they fingered sharp throwing-stones.

“Witch!” cried Peraw, putting his foot on her neck. “Send back thy demon to the sea.” But Laloo said nothing: only her big blue eyes gleamed stormily at Peraw. Peraw tossed back his bison-hide. His short thick hand went to his girdle for the chief's knife of flint. “Send back your demon, witch,” he snarled, and bent over her with the broad knife ready to cut out her heart.

But the sound of a scurry in the blown sand made him turn. The men of Bodinnoc had seen fit to go backward. For the body beside Peraw was sitting up, and certainly it was not a man. It was too big by far, and an oblong yellow thing grew along its hip, and a round box of moonshine along its side, and a long thing, grey-white, stuck up in the air far above its shoulder, and a band of sunshine was about its right arm above the elbow. The thing was coughing and wringing out its hair. Peraw turned to it with the flint knife uplifted. Peraw was minded to slay the demon before its strength came to it. The demon seemed to fear Peraw, for it fell on its knees before him and lifted its hands to beg of him mercy. Peraw came nearer and struck at the side of its head. The demon flung itself forward and caught Peraw about the middle, and sprang up and cast him mightily over its shoulder. And Peraw went down on his forehead on the slate, and his head was bent far back, and he lay very still.

The demon started to run. The men of Bodinnoc hurled their throwing-stones after him in a shower; but they struck him only on the back or not at all, for he ran stooping low, and he ran in zigzags, and he ran fast.

The men of Bodinnoc followed him but a little way. It is ill chasing demons in the twilight. And Laloo sat on the slate and laughed low to herself. For the god of the wind had come to her prayers, and her god had killed Peraw, and her father Rataw's blood was paid with blood.

The women came running from the huts and gathered about Peraw. But Peraw's head waggled loose on his shoulders as they raised him, and shrill to the roar of wind and wave they made the wail for the dead. The men came back and stood at gaze. But Ammaw, Peraw's brother, thrust through the men and the women, and took from the dead man's hand the flint knife of the chief.

“Now am I chief,” Ammaw muttered, and looked round in the gloom to see who would deny it. “Now am I chief,” cried Ammaw loud, and laughed.

And the men, bowing themselves, murmured “Chief!”

But Peraw's sister, with her hair about her face and blood on her breast where she had smitten it, checked in her wail, and “The blood debt, Ammaw!” she cried—“the blood debt!”

Ammaw fingered his stone. “A demon,” he said. “No hunt for demons.”

The men of Bodinnoc muttered praise of a wise chief.

“The witch, chief! the white witch!” cried Peraw's sister.

“Oh, ay,” said Ammaw, fingering his stone. “The witch!” and he turned to Laloo, sitting alone by herself and smiling. Ammaw smote her down prone. “White witch!” he growled, and set his foot on her neck to be like his brother, and bent to strike.

Laloo tried to roll away.

“The sand, chief!” cried Peraw's sister.

“Oh, ay, the sand,” said Ammaw, and called to the men to come bind the witch and cast her into the quicksand.

“Nay,” said Peraw's sister, rising from beside the dead. “By the stone, no quick death, chief. Bind the white jelly-fish and tie her above the kissing sand, where the waves shall roll her in. Let her see death, let her think death all the night ere it comes.” And she struck Laloo across the mouth and on the breast, and laughed shrill. Then she helped bear Peraw away to lay him with honour in the burial-place.

And Laloo, struggling and screaming, was bound with pigskin thongs. And Laloo was left on the slippery stone above the wet quicksand, staring wide-eyed through the dark at the foam-line creeping nearer and nearer to whelm her and cast her down to the greedy, loathsome embrace of the cold sand where her father lay.

The sea was licking at her feet, white foam lay on her hair, when she heard a thud. The demon had put a foot in the quicksand, and flung himself violently back. Laloo turned her head and peered landward. She saw the tall form rise faintly through the gloom. Then it vanished again, and she heard the rustle of tamarisks.

The demon drew his bronze sword and hacked at them. Casting armfuls on the quicksand, he made himself a path. Laloo saw him coming to her slowly. Then she was lifted in his arms and borne swiftly away. She heard him laugh softly above her head. Back on firm ground again, he set her down, and, stooping swiftly, sliced the bonds.

Laloo cast her stiff arms about his legs, and bowed her head in the sand before him.

The demon lifted her and laughed again, and, tapping his breast: “Glaucon, Glaucon,” said he.

But Laloo, bowing her head, murmured, “Da, da,” which meant god.

Glaucon patted her shoulder. “Da?” he asked, thinking it her name.

Laloo shook her head. “Laloo, Laloo,” she said.

Glaucon laughed, and “Eu ge,” said he, which means “good.” “Laloo he opened his mouth, made signs of eating, and spread out his hands.

Laloo shook her head and began to cry. For she too was very hungry, and surely a god should have food at need!

“Have heart, for surely day comes,” said Glaucon: but since he said it in Greek it consoled Laloo not at all. So he took her in his arms and caressed her, and that consoled her much. “But, as it seems to me, this place is evil,” said Glaucon, and began to lead her away. So Laloo went with her hand in his through the tamarisks towards Grantor.

But soon she was dragging at his hand, for he was leading her to the burial-place, and not even with a god is it good to go at night to the place of the dead.

Glaucon turned to her. Laloo shook her head violently. Glaucon plucked his beard.

“Little one seems to think it evil,” said Glaucon, looking round in the dark. “But I seem to smell baked meats. Wait, then, little one.” And he left her, and stumbled on through the grave-mounds. “Hermes!” said Glaucon to himself, as his nose led him true to the half of a baked pig, warm yet from the spit.

It was set beside Peraw's unburied body, to feed him in the halls of the dead. “It is likely thou wouldst be less kind in life,” said Glaucon. “But thou givest it with gracious hand dead. Dost give anything else, friend?” And he peered and fumbled in the dark. He found a bundle of dry sticks and flint and felspar and charcoal, for Peraw to kindle himself a fire in the other world. “Hermes thrice-great!” said Glaucon, and loaded himself and went back to Laloo.

Laloo drew back from him, making obeisance, for none but a god should dare thus to steal from the dead and pass unscathed. Then she came to him, and would have taken his burdens, for no man of Bodinnoc but would have held it shame to burden himself when he had a woman to be burdened. But Glaucon would give her no more than the scraps of flint and felspar, and Laloo marvelled at the ways of her god.

Glaucon led on up Grantor. The dead of Bodinnoc were useful, but he misliked the living as neighbours. He listened through the roar of the sea for the sound of running water; then, hearing none, turned to Laloo following humbly behind, and made the motion of drinking. Laloo pointed upward and towards the sea. Blacker than the night before them loomed the narrow mouth of a cavern, and out of it over the bare rock ran a tiny stream. Glaucon strode on into the cool gloom; but Laloo stopped, for it was the sacred cave of Grantor, where the god of the water lived, in the stream that was never dry in hottest summer drought.

“Good!” said Glaucon, sniffing the clean air, and set down his burdens and called “Laloo!” But Laloo would not come, lest the god of the water should be angry, and Glaucon ran back to her and caught her up with a laugh, and bore her in and set her down and kissed her lightly.

Then he took the flint and the felspar out of her little hands, and struck them together, and caught the spark on the charcoal, and blew it red, and soon the sticks were flaming yellow and weird shadows a-dance in the cavern. Turning flushed from the flame, he saw Laloo crouching humbly beside him and awe in her big blue eyes. Glaucon took her chin in one hand and tilted her face to the firelight. The round face was very white in its cloud of black hair, but her lip was broken and swollen where Peraw's sister had struck it. There was the blue bruise of Peraw's foot on her neck, and when Glaucon put his arm about her she shrank away with a moan, for he had touched her aching side.

“Little one,” said Glaucon gently, and stroked her hair so that she should understand. Then he turned away to the pig.

With his bronze sword he cut the daintiest meat and gave it to Laloo; and Laloo, taking it timidly, gazed round-eyed at him. For the women of Bodinnoc were used to pick the bones when the men had done.

But never a man of Bodinnoc ate so much as Laloo's god. And it was long ere he stretched out his great limbs and rose and went to the spring. First he washed his hands and his beard, and then he lifted water in his hands and spilt it on the stone, muttering the while, and then he filled his scabbard with water and brought it to Laloo and put it to her lips and tilted it for her to drink. Laloo drank long, but her big blue eyes never stirred from watching his face.

Glaucon went out to the hillside and came back with his arms full of heather, and strewed a bed for her bruises, and pointed to it. “Laloo, little one,” said he smiling. But Laloo knelt down at his feet and bowed herself, and fell a-crying. For it was wondrous, past all hopes and prayers, that god or man should be thus kind. Glaucon lifted her, talking gently in his own tongue, and laid her down on the heather. Before sleep came she heard him crooning softly strange sounds: “Zeu ana Dodonaie...” Glaucon prayed to the father of all.

In the dawn the little men of Bodinnoc were troubled; for behold Peraw's death-feast was gone and the sand about Peraw's corpse was marked with the demon's feet. So, since Peraw was surely bait for the demon, they hurried him into a cyst, and wasted no more good meat upon him. Then all went down to the beach. The sea had washed Glaucon's tamarisks into the quicksand, and there was never a sign of Laloo. So they danced the blood-dance and sang the blood-song on the foreshore.

Lying flat on their faces in the mouth of the sacred cave, Laloo and Glaucon watched the little men skip. Laloo laughed low and looked round at Glaucon. His grey eyes were dancing with light, and he put his arm over her, and the two laughed together.

Thereafter things sad and strange began to befall the little men of Bodinnoc. All the beaver-skins pegged out on the sand to dry vanished in one night. Vanished on that same night the fattest pig of the common litter. At noontide, when the sun was straight above Bodinnoc, Ammaw stood upon the sacred stone and prayed to the demon for mercy. But neither the pig nor the beaver-skins came back.

In the sacred cave on Grantor Laloo and Glaucon had coverlets to their heather beds; and the pig was a fat change from the gulls and the rabbits which they snared.

Then on a night the chief's pony whinnied loud and long, and inside the beehive huts the little men and women clung together in fear. And behold, when they came out fearful in the yellow dawn, the hair was gone from the pony's tail. So there was more praying on the sacred stone. But the hair of the tail did not come back.

In the cave on Grantor Laloo looked at Glaucon, and horseshoes came on her little white brow. Glaucon was twisting together the pony's hair, and his big fingers worked clumsily, man-fashion. Laloo came and took the hair in her little hands, “Mine,” said she. She had learnt words of Glaucon's tongue. “Mine.” Glaucon laughed, and let her take the hair. Laloo sat down beside him and tied the ends of it round one of her tiny toes and began to plait with swift deft fingers. And she laughed and began to sing low. It was good to let Glaucon see she could work for him.

The big man drew his sword and began to whet it on a piece of schist; but often he looked up from the edge to Laloo. The broken lip had healed again and was full and red. The bruise had gone from her white neck. Pink heath-bells peeped from her glossy black curls. Her round white cheeks dimpled as she laughed in her song, and her blue eyes shone.

Her little brown fingers knotted the loose ends, and she slipped the plaited string from her toe and rose lightly and came to Glaucon and put her work in his hands. “Thine, Glaucon,” said she, and smiled at him.

Glaucon took it and took her hands with it, but he did not smile at her. His grey eyes were glowing dark, and as she looked into them Laloo's smile died and she hung her head, and the white round cheeks and neck grew shell-pink, and she drew back. But Glaucon held her hands still, and made a knee for her to sit, and drew her down. “Laloo, little one, dear maid,” and the soft Greek words came low to her ear. Laloo hung her head, and the black curls fell about it, come kindly to hide her glow. Glaucon did off the ring of sunshine on his right arm, a gold bracelet wrought like a snake eating its own tail. Glaucon drew away her black curls and clasped it about her neck. “Laloo mine,” said he, and kissed her mouth. Laloo hid her face between his neck and his shoulder. She trembled a little in his arm.

“Thine, Glaucon,” said Laloo, very low. Her arms were crossed on her bosom, and her hands clasping tight on her magic stone. Glaucon took her arms in his hands and put them round his neck. Laloo had never dared of herself. But now, made bold, she looked up with wondering dark eyes. He smiled at her. Then she clasped him tight, and “Mine! mine!” she cried.

And that is how Glaucon came by string to his bow. That day he strung the long white stave, while Laloo watched wondering, and from the round box of moonshine, the quiver of tin, he took one of the strange things with sharp yellow points that Laloo had fingered fearfully when he was out, and shot the arrow whizzing to the sky, making trial of the bow-string. When the arrow shot up singing in the sunlight Laloo ran away for fear deep into the cave. Laughing, Glaucon came back to her, well pleased with his string, and made much of her, and taught her more words of his own tongue. That pleased her best of all things.

But the next night Laloo was in sore trouble. All day Glaucon had wrought with tough tamarisk boughs, weaving them into a long basket, and he covered them with the beaver-skins from his bed. At night the moon was at the full, and the grey slate of the foreshore lay glistening. The tide was far out, and still as glass. Glaucon went to the mouth of the cave with his basket on his back, and looked keenly down at the beehive huts. All there was still and silent. Glaucon strode out into the moonlight, and Laloo came after timidly. Down to the marge of the silver water he went, and there set down his basket. He was striding out to sea, pushing the basket before him on the water, when Laloo ran up to him, crying “Glaucon” in misery. Glaucon waved his hand to her and laughed, and plunged into the sea, swimming out with his basket rippling the water before him.

Laloo sat down on the rock and hid her face in her hands, and rocked herself to and fro sobbing. For her god was gone away from her back to the sea.

Laloo could not bear to look, but the golden head went straight to the long rocks of Bodinnoc. There, cast high by the gale, was half his broken boat. Glaucon scrambled about on the rocks awhile, then dived and came up again—once, twice and thrice. But the moon was high still when a most wretched little woman sobbing between her knees felt a wet hand on her shoulder, and started up to see Glaucon all sparkling from the sea in the moonlight. And she caught him dripping to her bosom, and laughed and sobbed still.

But there were noble glittering things in the basket of beaver-skin and tamarisk. Another leathern quiver of the long arrows, and a round shield of brass, and a brazen helmet. Laloo spent the next day in burnishing them till they shone like the sun, while Glaucon laughed at hex.

Now there was little heart in the Bodinnoc huts, for the demon troubled them sore, and had stolen other pigs and a she-goat. The men of Grantor, spying, had marked that the men of Bodinnoc went cowardly to the hunting, and went out late and went early back to the huts. And they did not talk together at all, which means that fear has hold. So the men of Grantor judged that the time had come to end their blood-quarrel.

In the grey dawn the sharp slate throwing-stones began to beat down the skin roofs of the huts, and the men of Bodinnoc, creeping out, heard Bagaw, the chief of the Grantor folk, raise the song of red war. A shower of the edged stones beat on the men of Bodinnoc as they gathered round Ammaw, and Ammaw raised his song in answer.

The din came to Glaucon's ear in the cave, and he started up with his hand to his sword and went stealthily to the mouth of the cave. But when he was there he laughed loud. For the war of Bodinnoc and Grantor was like no war he had ever seen. Two crowds of little men, thirty yards apart among the tamarisks, dancing wildly till the blown sand flew in the air, with their skins and their shaggy hair flapping, and two hoarse voices howling uncouth sounds—it was matter for laughter, and Glaucon sat down on the rock and held his sides. Then the song and the dancing stopped, and the air was dark with throwing-stones, and still the two crowds kept together, to make each a good mark for the other.

Laloo came swiftly, putting the slate pins to her beaver-skins, and Glaucon looked up at her laughing. But Laloo caught her hand to her heart, and tears came in her eyes. For though they had given her to the sand, yet the little men of Bodinnoc were her own folk, and Rataw, her father, had been their chief. Glaucon watched her, and stopped laughing. Little men lay below them writhing on the sand, and still the men of Grantor had store of throwing-stones. They were drawing nearer and howling louder, and the men of Bodinnoc fell back, leaving their wounded. Out from the throng of Grantor folk a man ran and pounced on one of Bodinnoc, and dashed in his flint knife and began to cut out the heart.

Laloo caught Glaucon's hand. “Glaucon—mine!” she gasped, and flung out her white arm to the fight.

Glaucon looked at her tears a moment, then ran back into the cave. A moment, and he was back again, with helm on head and shield slung about him, and he made his bowstring twang.

Then lightly down the heather of Grantor, through the sunlight, their demon came to the little men of Bodinnoc. The throwing-stones were all spent, and they were come hand to hand with staves sharpened in the fire and knives of flint and slate. Bagaw was grappling with Ammaw, and had a hold of his right hand: Bagaw drove his flint knife into Ammaw's throat and fell upon him.

With the sun glittering on his helmet, on the shield that covered his heart, Glaucon stood still on the hillside. Once he looked up to the sky, and “O Zeu!” he said; then took an arrow, and the bow began to sing. Bagaw rolled over, with an arrow sped through his throat, dead upon dead Ammaw, and another man of Grantor, and another. Suddenly the fight was stayed, and all the little men turned gasping, to see how death came from afar. And the men of Bodinnoc knew their demon, and fell down in the sand and grovelled. Two of the Grantor folk picked up throwing-stones and cast them at Glaucon, but they fell far short. “O kunes,” shouted Glaucon, and laughed, and shot an arrow at one, who flung out his arms wide and spun round and round and fell. The men of Grantor began to run. Glaucon shot at the foremost, and the man fell down in his tracks, plucking at the shaft that stung his thigh. Then the others too fell down and grovelled, like to the men of Bodinnoc.

Slow stately down the hill to them came Glaucon, leading Laloo by the hand. All glittering in the sunshine, taller by head and shoulders than any man of them, Glaucon sprang upon the sacred stone and made the bow sing under his thumb. And the little men rubbed their foreheads in the sand. Glaucon made the sign of rising to Laloo, and Laloo cried to them in their own tongue: “Rise, rise!”

But the little men only wriggled in the sand. Then Glaucon, taking the word from her, shouted, “Rise!” fiercely.

Fearful and trembling, the little men rose up and huddled together in two crowds: “Da, da!—god, god!” they cried with one voice, and held out quivering hands for mercy.

Glaucon bent and lifted Laloo. They stood together on the sacred stone, the big man a-glitter with armour, the little white woman with her beaver-skins and her black curls glossy in the sunshine. Glaucon began to fit another arrow to the string. The little men huddled together very close, gasping. Laloo, with a quick glance at Glaucon's laughing eyes, put out her little hand and laid it on the arrow. Glaucon let her take it. Laloo beckoned the little men nearer. They came timidly and fell down on their knees before the stone.

“Laloo,” said Glaucon.

So they came and bowed in the sand before Laloo and kissed her feet.

“Thine,” said Glaucon, putting his arm round her.

“Thine and mine,” said Laloo.

And the men of Grantor and the men of Bodinnoc cried together, “Thine, Laloo, thine?”

Thirty-three centuries afterwards, in this last summer, the Excavator smoked a pipe over a rusted brass shield. “You're absurd,” said the Excavator severely through his teeth. “You're anachronistic. You didn't ought to do it. Brass in the neolithic strata—brass when the tomahawks are schist! Brass! You're beastly brazen.”

The rain had stopped rattling on the iron hut. A gleam of sunshine broke between the fat grey clouds as the Excavator strode out. The dash of the rain had set the sand sliding. There was a gap in the side of the trench. Something lay sparkling. The Excavator picked it up, and the raindrops on it flashed trembling to the sun. It was a gold circle—a snake eating its own tail, The Excavator sucked in his breath and fell on his knees and went a-burrowing in the hole. Soon his fingers rubbed against something flat. He drew out a thin slab of slate neatly squared. Gently he dusted the fine sand from it; then sprang up with a “Great Jove!” and held it to the sunlight. Scratched on it was a picture of a big man and a little woman. “It's the Greek touch!” muttered the Excavator, turning it all ways in the light. “Oh, Gad! it is Greek! This is what they call a Find.... And I'll be called an untruthly faker—in four languages.”