A Quiver Full of Arrows Read online

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” I said, “and when you are next in Somerset you must come to Lympsham and meet my family.”

  “Lympsham? I cannot place it,” he said, looking worried.

  “I’m not surprised. The village has a population of only twenty-two.”

  “Enough for two cricket teams,” remarked the professor. “A game, I confess, with which I have never come to grips.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, “neither have half the English.”

  “Ah, but I should like to. What is a gully, a no-ball, a night watchman? The terms have often intrigued me.”

  “Then remember to get in touch when you’re next in England and I’ll take you to Lord’s and see if I can teach you something.”

  “How kind,” he said, and then he hesitated before adding: “But I don’t think we shall meet again.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Well, you see, I have never been outside Hungary in my whole life. When I was young I couldn’t afford to, and now I don’t imagine that those in authority would allow me to see your beloved England.”

  He released my hand, turned and shuffled back into the shadows of the side streets of Budapest.

  I read his obituary in The Times once again as well as the headlines about Afghanistan and its effect on the Moscow Olympics.

  He was right. We never met again.

  THE FIRST MIRACLE

  Tomorrow it would be 1 A.D., but nobody had told him.

  If anyone had, he wouldn’t have understood, because he thought that it was the forty-third year in the reign of the Emperor, and in any case, he had other things on his mind. His mother was still cross with him and he had to admit that he’d been naughty that day, even by the standards of a normal thirteen-year-old. He hadn’t meant to drop the pitcher when she had sent him to the well for water. He tried to explain to his mother that it wasn’t his fault that he had tripped over a stone; and that at least was true. What he hadn’t told her was that he was chasing a stray dog at the time. And then there was that pomegranate; how was he meant to know that it was the last one, and that his father had taken a liking to them? The boy was now dreading his father’s return and the possibility that he might be given another thrashing. He could still remember the last one, when he hadn’t been able to sit down for two days without feeling the pain, and the thin red scars didn’t completely disappear for more than three weeks.

  He sat on the window ledge in a shaded corner of his room trying to think of some way he could redeem himself in his mother’s eyes, now that she had thrown him out of the kitchen. Go outside and play, she had insisted, after he had spilled some cooking oil on his tunic. But that wasn’t much fun, because he was only allowed to play by himself. His father had forbidden him to mix with the local boys. How he hated this country; if only he were back home with his friends, there would be so much to do. Still, only another three weeks and he could … The door swung open and his mother came into the room. She was dressed in the thin black garments so favored by locals: they kept her cool, she had explained to the boy’s father. He had grunted his disapproval, so she always changed back into imperial dress before he returned in the evening.

  “Ah, there you are,” she said, addressing the crouched figure of her son.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Daydreaming as usual. Well, wake up because I need you to go into the village and fetch some food for me.”

  “Yes, Mother, I’ll go at once,” the boy said as he jumped off the window ledge.

  “Well, at least wait until you’ve heard what I want.”

  “Sorry, Mother.”

  “Now listen, and listen carefully.” She started counting on her fingers as she spoke. “I need a chicken, some raisins, figs, dates and … ah yes, two pomegranates.”

  The boy’s face reddened at the mention of the pomegranates and he stared down at the stone floor, hoping she might have forgotten. His mother put her hand into the leather purse that hung from her waist and removed two small coins, but before she handed them over she made her son repeat the instructions.

  “One chicken, raisins, figs, dates and two pomegranates,” he recited, as he might the modern poet, Virgil.

  “And be sure to see they give you the correct change,” she added. “Never forget the locals are all thieves.”

  “Yes, Mother…” For a moment the boy hesitated.

  “If you remember everything and bring back the right amount of money, I might forget to tell your father about the broken pitcher and the pomegranate.”

  The boy smiled, pocketed the two small silver coins in his tunic and ran out of the house into the compound. The centurion who stood on duty at the gate removed the great wedge of wood, which allowed the massive door to swing open. The boy jumped through the hole in the gate and grinned back at the young officer.

  “Been in more trouble again today?” the guard shouted after him.

  “No, not this time,” the boy replied. “I’m about to be saved.”

  He waved farewell to the guard and started to walk briskly toward the village while humming a tune that reminded him of home. He kept to the center of the dusty winding path that the locals had the nerve to call a road. He seemed to spend half his time removing little stones from his sandals. If his father had been posted here for any length of time he would have made some changes; then they would have had a real road, straight and wide enough to take a chariot. But not before his mother had sorted out the serving girls. Not one of them knew how to lay a table or even prepare food so that it was at least clean. For the first time in his life he had seen his mother in a kitchen, and he felt sure it would be the last, as they would all be returning home now that his father was coming to the end of his assignment.

  The evening sun shone down on him as he walked; it was a very large red sun, the same red as his father’s tunic. The heat it gave out made him sweat and long for something to drink. Perhaps there would be enough money left over to buy himself a pomegranate. He couldn’t wait to take one home and show his friends how large they were in this barbaric land. Marcus, his best friend, would undoubtedly have seen one as big because his father had commanded a whole army in these parts, but the rest of the class would still be impressed.

  The village to which his mother had sent him was only two miles from the compound and the dusty path ran alongside a hill overlooking a large valley. The road was already crowded with travelers who would be seeking shelter in the village. All of them had come down from the hills at the express orders of his father, whose authority had been vested in him by the Emperor himself. Once he was sixteen, he too would serve the Emperor. His friend Marcus wanted to be a soldier and conquer the rest of the world. But he was more interested in the law and teaching his country’s customs to the heathens in strange lands.

  Marcus had said, “I’ll conquer them and then you can govern them.”

  A sensible division between brains and brawn, he had told his friend, who didn’t seem impressed and had ducked him in the nearest bath.

  The boy quickened his pace, for he knew he had to be back in the compound before the sun disappeared behind the hills. His father had told him many times that he must always be locked safely inside before sunset. He was aware that his father was not a popular man with the locals, and he had warned his son that he would always be safe while it was light since no one would dare to harm him while others could watch what was going on, but once it was dark anything could happen. One thing he knew for certain: when he grew up he wasn’t going to be a tax collector or work in the census office.

  When he reached the village he found the narrow twisting lanes that ran between the little white houses swarming with people who had come from all the neighboring lands to obey his father’s order and be registered for the census, in order that they might be taxed. The boy dismissed the plebs from his mind. (It was Marcus who had taught him to refer to all foreigners as plebs.) When he entered the marketplace he also dismissed Marcus from his m