Page 162 of Circle of Days

“At most.”

“And having seen the reaction to her speech this morning, how many of those cheering youngsters will she take away from their work?”

“I don’t know,” said Keff. “Nor do you.”

“Precisely,” Scagga said triumphantly. “We don’t know. And that’s why I think we should set a limit. Otherwise it’s out of control.”

Keff said: “That’s sensible, I suppose.”

Ani’s heart sank. Joia would be furious. And who could tell how many people would be needed to move a giant stone?

She said: “What limit do you suggest?”

Scagga again indicated both hands, both feet, and both hands again, and said: “Keff envisaged three times that number, so that should be our limit.”

“Very well,” Ani said reluctantly.

“I’ll leave you to tell Joia,” Scagga said to Ani.

“No, you won’t,” Ani said firmly. “It’s your idea—you tell her.”

Scagga pretended not to care. “All right, then,” he said. “I’ll tell her.”

Some days earlier, Joia had acquired an entire pig, slaughtered and salted, ostensibly for the priestesses. Salt was a luxury, produced in small quantities by seaside dwellers who boiled sea water in giant pans until the water disappeared, leaving only the salt. Salt pork was a treat. Joia had used all her charm to get this boon.

Chack and Melly and their family were frantically busy preparing the feast—thin Chack humping great carcasses, fat Melly boiling nettles and dandelion leaves with wild garlic—and Joia, wanting their goodwill because she needed them to feed her volunteers on the mission, did not wish to trouble them on their busiest day of the year, so she had built a roasting frame at the back of the houses. At the end of the day, she and Sary spitted the pig. Cooking slowly inside its skin, it would roast all night, turned by a couple of novices. The fire would deter owls and other creatures from stealing the pork.

Joia had just lit the fire when Scagga appeared.

She expected him to demand to know how come she had a whole salted pig, but he was too focused on what he had to say to notice what she was cooking. He had a gratified look, as if he had been proved right about something. He said: “You’ve been limited.”

With weary patience she said: “What now, Scagga?”

“The elders never gave you permission to take an unrestricted number of volunteers away from their work.”

“As far as I know, the elders never specified numbers.” Anyway, they struggled to count above thirty, she thought, but she did not say it.

“Well, they have specified numbers now.” He made the sign for thirty, then said: “That many, three times.”

Ninety, she thought. Nowhere near enough.

She was about to protest when she had second thoughts. Perhaps the time for opposition would be tomorrow morning, when—all being well—the eager volunteers would have gathered. Scagga would then have to try to stop people doing what they wanted to do, and that would be extremely difficult. How would he decide which hundred people had to stay home, and—more importantly—how would he enforce his decision?

There was nothing to be gained by protesting now. However, she did not want to look too compliant—that would make him suspicious. So she said: “That may not be enough.”

“You should have thought of that before.”

“You say the elders agreed to this?”

“Yes.”

“Including my mother?”

“Yes.”

Under protest, I expect, Joia thought. “I’ll speak to her,” she said.

“She won’t change her mind. Keff backed me against her.”