CHAPTER THREE

Kellios glittered hard beneath Bel’s fire-bright disk as it rode high in the sky of cool azure, trailing wisps of clouds like gossamer streamers. The streets had been swept clean and washed the day before and were now crowded with people who had come from all over Sarras to see the spectacle and enjoy the festivities.

The line of royal carriages emerged from the King’s Gate in the northern wall of Avallach’s palace and entered the Processional Way-led by the king’s gleaming chariot, pulled by four stallions and driven by Avallach himself. Charis peered from the queen’s coach at the crowds thronging the streets and hanging from upper windows, cheering noisily as the procession rolled slowly past. The princess waved now and then and accepted the gifts of flowers that were tossed into the coach. Her two younger brothers caught bouquets in the air and threw them back, making a game of it as they went along.

At length the carriages arrived at the arena. “The best seat is mine!” announced Guistan, vaulting from the carriage as soon as it rocked to a halt outside the main entrance.

“Wait one moment!” called Briseis. “It will do no good to shove your way through the crowd. Our seats have already been assigned in the royal loge. Ushers will seat us.”

“Aw!” whined Eoinn, “I want to sit in front.”

“Perhaps we shall,” replied Briseis. “In any event you will conduct yourselves like civilized beings. Guistan! Do you hear me? And there will be no squabbling for seats. Do you understand?” She received muttered promises and they disembarked.

Charis did not care where they sat. as long as it was inside the arena. Many would be shut out that day; most in fact. The bull dances, all too rare in Sarras, were always well attended by an enthusiastic and appreciative crowd.

Blue-clad ushers muscled them through the knot of people at the arena gates where Briseis paused. “I think we should wait for Belyn and Elaine.”

“We will lose our places,” Eoinn whined.

“Be quiet,” said Charis. “Consider yourself fortunate to get to go at all. Long ago there was no room for anyone-no one but the king attended the ceremonies.”

“Who told you that?”

“Annubi,” replied Charis. “Ask Mother if you do not Believe me.”

“Is that true?” wondered Eoinn

“Only the king?” asked Guistan.

“Only the king, and perhaps a few Magi,” Briseis acknowledged.

“What about the races?” Eoinn wanted to know.

“There were no races,” informed Briseis. “And no tableaux, either.”

“What did they do?” asked Guistan.

“They performed the sacred rites of purification, sacrificed to Bel, and dined on specially prepared foods.”

“They ate borsemeat,” added Charis importantly.

“They did not!” complained Eoinn, finding this fact hard to accept.

“They did!” insisted Charis. “Annubi told me.”

“It was long ago,” said Briseis. “People Believed differently then.”

Charis wondered what else they Believed long ago that no one Believed now. “Why did they change?” she asked.

“It happens,” said her mother. “Little changes, like small steps all along the way, bring you to a different place. One day you wake up and things are not the same anymore.”

Belyn and Elaine’s carriage rolled up then and when the two had joined the others, they all entered the cool darkness of the entrance, ringing with the distant-sounding voices of those already filling the arena. A moment later they were blinking in the bright sunlight once more, the muted cheers now a throaty roar. They entered the royal loge, a large wooden gallery filled with chairs and rows of padded benches and covered by a rippling blue canopy on poles of burnished bronze.

The ushers led them to a high-backed chair with a long bench beside, which to the delight of the princes was but one row from the very front. A few of Belyn’s men and others Avallach had invited were already seated. Belyn excused himself and took a seat next to one of his courtiers.

With a stern admonition to the princes not to besmirch the family honor, Briseis allowed the boys to find their own places while she and Charis joined Elaine. The two women fell into easy conversation and Charis, thoroughly enjoying the excitement of the crowd streaming into the arena, turned her attention to the sights and sounds around her.

The arena was an enormous oval of white stair-stepped stone, affixed with wooden stands and benches, most of which were uncovered, although many far-thinking spectators had erected sunshades of various types to keep off the worst of a hot afternoon sun. These shades gave the steep sides of the stadium a patchwork appearance as colorful and rowdy as the throng clustered beneath, voices raised, all of them, to highest pitch.

Horns blared and drums boomed as musicians wandered up and down the wide aisles. Across the carefully raked sand of the arena floor a section opposite the royal logo erupted in a spatter of applause as a trio of acrobats practiced their craft; jugglers amused the crowds for the coins flung to them. Above the commotion vendors shouted, their well-seasoned voices cutting through the din as they waved their wares: ribbon bands and small bulls carved from olive wood.

And the smells-a pungent perfume concocted of the thick, greasy scent of food cooking in heavy olive oil; the rich, earthy odor of the cattle stalls beneath the stadium; the light, airy tang of sun-warmed salt air off the sea.

For the moment, the world surged around her with excitement and Charis exulted in the splendor of the day in all its disparate elements.

From the top tier of seats above the royal loge, trumpeters gave forth a shimmering volley that seemed to pierce the air like a flight of silver arrows, echoing and reechoing through the stadium. At the signal, a huge garland-decked staircase emerged Below the royal loge; from the far side of the arena a door opened and a chariot pulled by four white stallions rolled out onto the white sand as the trumpets sent a welcoming flourish spinning through the air.

“Look!” cried Charis. “There is Father!”

The chariot made a circuit of the arena and rolled to a stop at the foot of the staircase. King Avallach handed the reins to his driver, Kian, stepped lightly from the chariot, and proceeded up the stairs to take his place in the royal loge.

The heralds trumpeted once more, sending a cascade of glittering sound into the air and Avallach rose to speak, raising his hands for silence. “My people!” he called, his voice penetrating the restless quiet. “We have come together to renew the bond between king and kingdom. Today you are part of this ancient and holy rite.” He paused to gaze over the impatient masses. “Let the ceremony begin!”

The trumpets blared and the arena doors were opened. Huge platforms drawn by oxen in gilded harness trundled slowly into the bright sunlight, each platform a mobile tableau. Though she had seen them many times before, Charis leaned forward eagerly. As each tableau moved past, she felt as if she were there, transported back through the ages to the event portrayed: Astea toiling at the loom of the Cyclopes; King Corineus wrestling with the giant, Gogmagog; Dryope plucking the lotus from the pool of Eternity; Me-lampus among the wise serpents; Tisiphone with her whip of scorpions, punishing the sons of Incubus for stealing the souls of her children…

One after another, the platforms made their slow way around the arena to a chorus of gasps and sighs from an appreciative audience. Musicians assembled in the center of the arena filled the stadium with melodious sound. Charis gazed entranced at each and every one and applauded with the rest when the last rolled by.

“I am hungry,” whined a voice, disturbingly near. Charis turned to see Guistan leaning over her mother’s chair. “I am hungry. “ The delicate mood was broken.