“I have brought the fairest earrings and frontlet—”
Their hold each of the other loosened. Manners of the tribe demanded restraint in the open in love-tokens. But their faces still shone. Then the shining lessened, and there dropped between, neither knew from where, the sundering force.
“Wealth and wealth!” said Vana. “Kadoumin dreamed that he saw you dipping riches from the sea!”
“Kadoumin!... I have brought a gift for each of the children.”
A bale threatened falling. Mardurbo lifted it on strong shoulders, bore it to the room for storing built beside the main room. Bondmen followed, carrying much goods. The children chattered like monkeys, the watching town-folk, men and women, made admiration or offered help; over the place played red sunshine of the shutting day. Largely the gathered crowd were Mardurbo’s kindred. Vana stood still. In times before to-day assuredly she would have laid hand to matters herself, lifted and borne and called her bondwomen to the task. But now she saw Vana and her children one kindred, and Mardurbo with Kadoumin and the others one kindred, and between strangeness. She would not help put away Kadoumin’s goods—but lightly she would have helped to put away goods of the five children! Desire of riches that had trembled toward departure, came back and held her with full force. Standing in the bronze light, she knew covetousness—she knew hatred of Kadoumin and the other kindred—knew for that moment hatred of Mardurbo. Stronger, stronger!—richer, richer!—and how could she take the children with her, going trading to make them rich?... Those who spoke to her she answered shortly, standing in a brown study, then went into the house and, calling her women, fell to preparing supper.
The meal was over. Mardurbo’s followers gone away, the precious, the weighty things that he had brought home bestowed against further trading. Reclined upon an ox-skin spread without the door, Mardurbo watched the five children at play with other children in the pinky, twilight street. They ran up and down, they joined hands and swung in circles, they played at hunting and at war, stalking and capturing one another. Then they played the tribe by the sea and the tribe in the hills and Mardurbo with his horses trading from the plain to the hills and the sea. The children of Vana and Mardurbo claimed to play Mardurbo. It seemed that their claim was good. But other children set up shrill objection, put in an opposing claim. Mardurbo was their kinsman. Contention arose. “Mardurbo is our father!”—“Mardurbo is our kin!”—“He lives with us!”—“Ho! If he and your mother part he will come back to grandmother’s house!”—“He brought us presents!”—“Ho! your presents are only little bits! All the big things belong to kin! We’ve got horses and bondmen and salt and copper and silver!”—“Anyhow, we’re Mardurbo!”—“No, you aren’t! We’re Mardurbo!”
Mardurbo turned on his ox-skin. “What does a man toil and journey for? Kadoumin, and the children of Istara?”
Twilight deepened, earth faced night. The town went to sleep—all save prowling dogs and winged or creeping things of the dark, and human folk in pain of body or of mind. Vana and Mardurbo lay awake. They heard the children’s breathing and the breathing of the bondwomen and of Mardurbo’s men who slept at the door of the treasure chamber. Mardurbo turned again.
Vana spoke. “Did you have your fill of sleeping between here and the sea?”
“I slept little upon this journey. There were many to watch against.”