The Gods Look Down (21 page)

‘Do the eyes of all the angels burn as fiercely as yours?' Samuel asked. He seemed to be in a trance.

Qābal looked at the boy and smiled. His flesh had lost some of its translucent quality, becoming dense and more palpable, though the tracery of arteries and veins and the cords of musculature were still faintly visible. He said, ‘There are many kinds of angels, some with great golden wings who can fly through the heavens. I cannot fly in space but I can traverse the generations which link the past to the future. My eyes burn with the secrets of time and all the things I have seen.'

‘I believe we shall overcome the Dagonites,' Samuel said.

Eli said nothing. He was alone in his darkness.

On the following day Qābal set out for the city of Ashdod. He took with him a guide and three camels carrying provisions for the nine-day journey to the south-west. The terrain was bleak and inhospitable, a lava-field baking in the heat of the sun, stretching interminably on all sides, sharp underfoot so that the camels had to pick their way through lava piles and outcrops of jagged grey rock. For two days they made slow progress across the plateau and on the third met the descending slopes and cliffs of sand which formed the beginning of the desert basin. Here the heat was more intense but the going was easier, the camels maintaining a steady loping trot which dulled the senses with its constant swaying motion. The leather harness and copper saddle bells, creaking and jingling, were the only sounds in this hushed world of sand and still heat.

Most of the journey would have to be endured under these conditions, with just the solitary respite of a grove of ragged palms marking a dried-out wadi. Here the sand had been baked hard and was split into irregular diamond-shaped cracks where lizards and desert scorpions hid from the sun's rays, their bodies motionless, held in an attitude of listening, their eyes fixed and unblinking. The camels plodded on heedless, leaving no sign of their passage except for a scuttling lizard.

They passed through the deepest and hottest part of the desert basin, like the centre of a gigantic frying pan, and then on the morning of the eighth day sighted the smooth low line of dun-coloured hills beyond which lay the land of the Dagonites. A day's travel remained: ascending the gentle slopes to the cooler regions and seeing, on the horizon, a hazy jumble of flat rooftops dominated by a severe perpendicular structure with a triangular roof which was the temple of Dagon.

It was at this time they saw the first of the Dagonites.

Indistinct shapes skulking in the shadows of the rocks. The glint of sunlight on a hard polished tubular surface. The rattle of a stone dislodged followed by the suspicious deadening hush of silence.

Neither Qābal or the guide paid any attention to these signs, having been forewarned to proceed directly towards Ashdod without any show of hesitation or alarm. The Dagonites would watch from hidden places, observing their progress, but would not interfere. Eli had called them ‘a sullen, emotionless people whose behaviour is like that of a graven image; they will not attack unless instructed to do so'. And this proved to be correct. As Qābal and the guide neared the city and came eventually to its boundary the Dagonites appeared and stood openly in view. They were never alone, always in groups of four or five, as indistinguishable as peas out of the same pod. The posture of each one was a parody of all the rest: the left shoulder raised higher than the right and thrust forward so that the entire trunk was twisted into an ungainly semi-stooping crouch. Their hoarse laboured breathing through the tubes which connected mouth to chest was like the dry rustling of dead palm leaves.

The city was walled, and inside its gates a shuffling crowd of Dagonites observed with no visible reaction the arrival of
Qābal: a tall spare figure wrapped in a cloak and shrouded in a black head-cloth so that he was hidden from their gaze – even the pale oval of his face lost in shadow.

The guide brought the camels to a halt and at a sharp one-syllable command they sank to their knees, enabling the travellers to dismount. It was at once evident that compared with everyone around Qābal was of immense stature, head and shoulders taller than the same size Dagonites who stood silently watching. Their faces showed nothing except a kind of blank loutish insolence; not even curiosity. Their manner was threatening but only in its dull-eyed shambling indifference, like that of a herd which could unthinkingly trample someone into the ground by sheer weight of numbers.

The guide spoke to one of them and he cocked his head to listen: but after listening merely stood and gazed stupidly ahead. The guide, who was small, lean-faced, with a long pointed chin like a spatula covered in springs of grey hair, turned to Qābal and said, ‘He understands me, Lord, but he doesn't bother to reply. They are a dull-witted race,' he added, though taking the precaution of lowering his voice.

As though obeying a silent command four of the Dagonites detached themselves from the crowd, formed an escort round Qābal and marched forward, the rest falling back in sequence, row after row, as if drilled in the manoeuvre. He was led through their ranks and up a long shallow flight of stone steps into the temple itself which was nothing more elaborate than a perfectly erect block of masonry with narrow vaulted archways rising to an apex high up near the roof. Inside it was cool and – he was intrigued by this – although there were no windows there was sufficient illumination from somewhere to light up every corner and recess. The building was disconcerting, unsettling to the senses, for while they seemed to walk some distance – through several doorways, down a number of corridors – he had estimated the ground plan to be not much more than twenty metres square. No doubt it was an architectural sleight-of-hand, the devious use of perspective, but all the same it defied common sense.

In front of him a door of cedarwood inlaid with brass slowly opened and the four guards stood aside: a further group of Dagonites awaited him inside, and beyond them he could see a
throne of black polished marble raised up on slabs of black granite. The man seated there was dressed in robes which caught and reflected the light in soft silken gleams so as to give the illusion of shimmering movement when in fact he was quite still; below and to his right there was a woman, similarly attired.

Qābal came forward, unwinding the black head-cloth and letting it fall to his shoulders. His face appeared almost skull-like in its pale transparency and spareness, the bone a millimetre beneath the flesh. He stood before the throne, quite at ease.

‘It's taken you long enough to get here,' Dagon said pettishly. ‘We've waited ages.'

‘The delay was unavoidable. My apologies.'

‘You've had to travel a considerable distance, we understand that. I didn't mind waiting – what's a few more weeks after so long? – but my daughter grew impatient. You know how young girls don't like to be kept waiting for anything. Would you care for some refreshment?'

‘Don't go out of your way.'

‘No trouble. The local wine is palatable if a trifle immature.'

Without a gesture or word of command a flagon of wine was brought and poured into three glasses of lead crystal. Qābal didn't make any comment on this incongruity, though Dagon's expression was amused, acknowledging the unspoken question. After sipping his wine he said:

‘Your presence here is something of a paradox.'

‘Doesn't that also apply to you? And your daughter?'

‘Not at all,' Dagon said. He had a broad flat face with small dark eyes like raisins half-concealed in a lump of dough. His mouth was small, thin-lipped; it reminded Qābal of a purse on which the drawstring had been pulled tight. ‘We are here quite legitimately, the scriptures will one day confirm it.' He smiled thinly. ‘Surely the question we should ask, Qābal, is what are you doing here? Why have you come? You can't interfere with what is already written.'

‘I thought that was your purpose, not mine. It's true that the scriptures will speak of the god Dagon dwelling in the temple at Ashdod but they make no reference to what you hope to achieve here – or that you achieved it. Does that mean, I
wonder, that the scriptures are false or that you will fail in your schemes?'

‘I cannot fail,' Dagon said. He lifted his arms so that his silken sleeves rippled like rivers of light. He indicated the Dagonites standing passively all around. ‘My people are invincible. They have been constructed to overcome the people of the city of Shiloh and they will succeed. So it is written!'

‘They are mutants,' Qābal said softly. ‘They are the products of an experiment that failed. You intended to produce a race of superior human beings and instead you made a species of sub-human creatures without minds or souls. The experiment has failed already, even before it was begun.'

‘You are mistaken in many things, Qābal.' He glanced round the chamber, his eyes small and furtive. ‘It is my intention to produce' – he held up his index finger – ‘a single specimen, just one, with superior qualities. He will become the divine leader of men, revered throughout all the world as its spiritual father, placed on earth by the gods. So it
will
be written.'

‘Then why is it necessary to capture the Ark? The people of Shiloh mean you no harm and yet you threaten to make war.'

‘The Ark is their strength, the symbol of their god. Take it away and they will lose heart, lose faith, become as any other tribe. They have the power to defeat my purpose, Qābal, but they will not do it: the Dagonites will triumph and the Ark brought to the temple – as a symbol of
my
power. Do you understand? Thereafter the rule of Dagon will be absolute over all the earth and for all time.'

‘Do you know who gave the Ark to the tribe and for what reason?'

Dagon's eyes seemed to sink deeper into his head, retreating from the light, evading Qābal's scrutiny. His daughter was more forthright: her eyes were dark too, like her father's, but brilliantly large and challenging. She had long black hair, luxuriously thick, framing a face that was cool and self-possessed to the point of arrogance.

She said, ‘If we thought the information was necessary to us we should have obtained it long ago. We know that the Ark provided sustenance for the tribe in the wilderness, the sons of
Eli have told us that much. How the tribe came by the Ark is of no importance.'

Qābal watched her. He said with a smile, ‘It's convenient to say that, even to pretend that it's true.' He sipped his wine. ‘But the truth is that you fear the Ark because you don't understand it. You may have been expecting my arrival, Dagon, but there are many things you don't know and it makes you afraid.'

Dagon said lightly, ‘I know that once I possess the Ark no power on earth can stand in my way, not even you, Qābal, which is why you have come to Ashdod. You think that by hinting at some dreadful secret you can frighten me into calling off the attack; it's a childish stratagem, I'm surprised you thought it would work.'

‘The purpose of my visit isn't to threaten you, it's more in the nature of a warning. The Ark is dangerous and a law unto itself. It can provide food but it can also destroy. I realize that you're not in the least concerned about losing Dagonites – after all, they are renewable – but you might consider the risk to yourself and your daugher …'

Dagon was amused by this. His small hard mouth parted. His tongue flicked out and he held it lightly between his upper teeth and bottom lip. ‘Meria and I appreciate your concern for our safety, Qābal, but speaking for myself I really had expected a more convincing reason for your visit. We were led to believe,' he tittered, ‘that the Angel of the Lord would have something more impressive to offer. A miracle perhaps.' He was smiling openly now as if at some private joke.

‘I'm sorry to disappoint you. If I thought that a few magical tricks would have impressed the god Dagon I'd have brought some along.' He bent his head for a moment. The robes of silk were shimmering in front of his eyes, dazzling him. ‘Perhaps you'd like me to turn the wine into water.'

‘We can all do that.' Dagon said, and laughed again, his mouth a small dark hole.

‘Now that your experiment has failed how do you intend to produce your superior race of men? Is your magic powerful enough?'

‘Not mine – but my daughter's.' Dagon's eyes were fixed on Qābal with a peculiar intensity. ‘Why do you suppose you are here?' he asked in a whisper. ‘I said that we were expecting you
and now you have come – you have come at my bidding. Meria was growing impatient, having prepared herself, but I told her that you would come … eventually.'

Qābal lifted his head and tried to focus. The chamber had become darker, or it might have been his imagination or the effect of the wine.

Dagon went softly, insistently on, ‘She has waited so long and so patiently for the act of consummation and now that you are here the experiment can begin.'

Qābal shook his head. The robes of Dagon and his daughter were like rivers of molten fire. His senses seemed to slide in a long spiral, dragging his eyes downwards as if they were too heavy to resist the pull of gravity. The crystal glass, still half full, slipped from his fingers and broke on the stone floor, ringing out like a thousand fractured bells.

‘You can't hope to …' he tried to say, but the words evaded his tongue and escaped into the air.

‘The supreme act of genesis: the daughter of Dagon and the Angel of the Lord. The divine seed of your loins shall enter into her and bring forth a race of gods to rule over all the earth. The line of Dagon will continue, Qābal, for ever and ever.'

‘Amen,' Meria said, stepping down in robes of shimmering fire.

*

‘He was surrounded by a veil of mist. Everything was quiet. He thought that he perceived a giant's head with black-pupilled eyes staring straight at him and then saw they were the distended aureoles of a woman's breasts and she was bearing down on him with a gentle insistent pressure.