Page 1 of Circle of Days
The story begins around the year 2500 B.C.E.
Seft trudged across the Great Plain, carrying on his back a wickerwork basket containing flints to be traded. He was with his father and two older brothers. He hated all three of them.
The plain stretched as far as he could see on all sides. The summer-green grass was dotted with yellow buttercups and red clover that merged, in the distance, into a haze of orange and green. Great herds of cattle and sheep, many more than he could count, grazed contentedly. There was no path, but they knew the way, and they could make the journey with time to spare in a long summer day.
The sun was hot on Seft’s head. The plain was mostly flat but there were gentle ups and downs that were not so gentle when you were carrying a heavy load. His father, Cog, maintained the same walking pace regardless of the terrain. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can rest,” he would say—a stupidly obvious statement that irritated Seft.
Flint was the hardest of all stones, and Seft’s father had a heart like flint. Grey-haired and grey-faced, he was not big but he wasvery strong, and when his sons displeased him he punished them with fists like stones.
Everything that had a cutting edge was made of flint, from axes to arrowheads to knives. Everybody needed flints, and they could always be traded for anything else you wanted, food or clothing or livestock. Some people stored them up, knowing they would always be valuable and never deteriorate.
Seft was looking forward to seeing Neen. He had thought about her every day since the Spring Rite. They had met on his last evening, and had sat talking into the night. She had been so warm and friendly that he felt sure she liked him. As he toiled in the pit during the weeks that followed, he often pictured her face. In his daydream she was always smiling and leaning forward to say something to him, something nice. She looked lovely when she smiled.
When they parted she had kissed him goodbye.
He had not met many girls, working all day in a hole in the ground, but those he had met had never affected him this way.
His brothers had seen him with Neen and had guessed that he had fallen for her. Today as they walked they mocked him with vulgar comments. Olf, who was big and stupid, said: “Are you going to stick your thing in her this time, Seft?” and Cam, who always followed Olf’s lead, made thrusting movements with his hips, which made them both laugh, sounding like a pair of crows in a tree. They thought they were witty. They carried on in the same vein for a while, but they soon ran out of jibes. They were not imaginative.
They carried their baskets in their arms, on their shoulders,or on their heads, but Seft had devised a way of strapping his to his back with strips of leather. It was awkward to put on and take off, but once it was fixed it was comfortable. They had made fun of it, and called him a weakling, but he was used to that sort of thing. He was the baby of the family, and the cleverest, and they resented him for being smart. Their father never intervened; he even seemed to enjoy seeing his sons quarrel and fight. When Seft was bullied, Cog told him to toughen up.
As they progressed, Seft began to feel the weight of his basket, despite his contraption. Looking at the others, he thought they were not as weary as he was. That was strange, because he was just as strong as they were. But he found himself dripping with sweat.
It was noon, judging by the sun, when Cog announced a rest, and they stopped under an elm tree and put down their baskets. They drank thirstily from the flasks they carried, stoppered pots in leather slings. The Great Plain was bounded by rivers to the north, east, and south, but across the plain there were few streams or ponds, many of which dried up in summer, so wise travelers carried their water.
Cog gave out slices of cold pork and they all ate. Then Seft lay on his back and looked up at the leafy branches of the tree, enjoying the stillness.
All too soon Cog announced that they must move on. Seft turned to pick up his basket, and hesitated, staring at it. Flints from underground seams were deep, shiny black, with a soft white crust. When they were hit with a stone, flakes broke off, and that way they could be shaped. The flints in Seft’s basket had been part finished by his father, bashed into roughly the right shape tobecome knives or axe-heads or scrapers or piercers or other tools. In this form they were a little lighter to carry. They were also worth more to an expert flint knapper, who would knock them into their final form.
There seemed to be more of them in Seft’s basket than there had been when he set out this morning. Was that his imagination? No, he was sure. He looked at his brothers.
Olf was grinning and Cam was sniggering.
Seft realized what had happened. While they were walking, the others had taken flints from their own baskets and surreptitiously added them to his. He recalled, now, that they had come up behind him to make coarse jokes about his romance. That had distracted him from what they were really up to.
No wonder the morning hike had tired him.
He pointed at them. “You two…” he said angrily.
They fell about laughing. Cog laughed, too: he had clearly been in on the prank.
“Wretched pigs,” Seft said bitterly.
Cam said: “It was just a joke!”
“Very funny.” Seft turned to his father. “Why didn’t you stop them?”
“Don’t complain,” his father said. “Toughen up.”
Olf said: “You have to carry them the rest of the way now, because you fell for the trick.”
“Is that what you think?” Seft knelt down and tipped flints out of his basket onto the ground until he again had roughly his original load.
Olf said: “I’m not picking those up.”
Cam said: “Me neither.”
Seft lifted his basket, lighter now, and shrugged into it. Then he walked off.
