A short story set in ancient Telmar under Calormene occupation. It contains some adult themes so it is not suitable for young children. No violence, no bad language, some peril.
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NEW CALORMEN
(An ancient history of Telmar)
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The Uffanglas wolf pack
Year 706 (Narnian reckoning) (1)
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Uffa growled at his cousin then stalked across the hilltop, to flop down beside Hyngrid (2). She wrinkled her nose a little to catch his scent, before turning back to their cubs. "So, we must stay here for a time," she went on.
"Are we in danger?" asked the most precocious of their offspring.
"We're always in danger," said their mother, gravely. "We are outlaws."
"Wolves' Heads," Uffa interjected, "Do you know what I mean?" Several such heads looked gravely at him. "It means that any Narnian can hunt us and be rewarded".
"Why do they hate us?" asked Blackpaw.
Hyngrid pushed her body weight against her spouse to caution him. The crimes of the Uffanglas weren't pretty to hear. "Because we aren't like them," the chieftain said vaguely.
"How so?" asked Moonbeam.
"We aren't from Narnia," said Uffa.
"Wolves aren't from Narnia?"
"Many are," Uffa admitted. "But we believe that our kin came here from the west. They were important there."
"Who were they?" Blackpaw pursued.
"We don't remember," Uffa admitted. "It was so long, long ago."
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Hukum (3) hill, overlooking Koloni (4), New Calormen
Year 312 (Narnian reckoning)
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Korkunc Yargi (5) stood on the hill overlooking the bustling town of 'Koloni'. A babble of voices carried occasionally on the air. He sighed - believing himself to be alone - then started on hearing a little cough behind him. A small, dark man sat on a stone regarding him. He wasn't Calormene, his features and black pig-tail made that clear, but Koloni attracted adventurers from other parts of the world. "You are sad?" asked the man.
Korkunc gave the stranger a rueful smile. "Oh, it's nothing," he tried deflecting.
"I think you disapprove of this place," was the insightful response.
The Calormene shrugged. "You must be cold," he said, observing the simple silk tunic and trousers that the other man wore. The wind was unkind up there on that promontory.
"A cold wind blows through Koloni". The man persisted, "to return to my observation: you do not like it here."
"You're very right," Yargi admitted. "What is there to like? The place is a cesspit. I hate everyone in it."
"Ah, you would see everyone drown in this cesspit?"
"Perhaps I would," agreed the Calormene.
"Is there no one that does good?" asked the stranger, rhetorically.
"Not even one," muttered Korkunc and moodily tossed a stone off the cliff-side. When he turned around, the stranger had slipped away.
Korkunc Yargi was a rising star of the Calormene civil service, which was still in its fledgling state. For a time it would be very powerful and effective but eventually it degenerated, becoming a byword for bureaucracy and inefficiency. Three months earlier he'd been called to his superior's office; a light, airy apartment overlooking a well maintained courtyard garden. "Yargi; come on in."
"Authentez,"(6) said the younger man, politely (this being a Calormene word meaning 'master' or 'sir').
"How is your Mother?"
"She is well, Authentez," said Yargi. His manager was an agreeable man who always asked after his subordinates' families.
"You have other brothers to support her, yes?"
"Yes, Authentez," he agreed, puzzled as to where the conversation is going.
"How would you feel about a journey?" The Memore (meaning 'Government Official') (7) looked out over the pleasant garden. "We need someone to go Koloni in 'New Calmormen', without delay". That was the name they were 'trying out' for the newly settled country that would go on to be Telmar.
"So be it, sir," agreed the young official.
"I almost envy you! It gets so very hot here in the Sarai [palace] in summer". The Memore turned back to his desk. "You will be there in a purely observational capacity, yes? You will have no authority."
"I understand, sir, but what am I to do?"
Their Government department was then rather vaguely called 'The Observances Bureau'. One day it would be renamed the 'Bureau of Public Morals' and become as infamous in its own world as the 'Spanish Inquisition' was in our own. "We're hearing some disturbing things about Koloni. There's debauchery on a scale hard to believe. I expect a lot of it is nonsense - sailors' talk - but we need someone to observe and report back."
"It would be an honour, Authentez!"
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A walk through Koloni
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The 'Street of the Women' was near the harbour, and easily picked out because of its coloured lights and the gay ribbons strung across its length. Sadly, many such streets have existed in many such places, where men – desperate, wicked or self-centred – come into port. Few of its occupants would have chosen to live there; it was rarely freewill but circumstances, often abusive, that drove them. An old, self-styled matriarch sat on the corner, outside her own particular house, inviting men in. Matriarch! A word that should imply motherhood put to such a degraded use!
Where such areas exist, taverns also flourish. They clustered in the courts around the 'Street of the Women' like smaller pustules around a septic wound. Sailors and guardsmen could toss back the fiery 'Canban' spirit in order to pluck up courage to visit the street. Quite why they should need the courage isn't clear to me. Their victims were surely more in need of courage. "Come, drink the good Canban. Drunk for one Camel, dead drunk for two Camels!" shouted the barkers at the tavern doors. For those that aren't familiar with Calormen, a 'Camel' was an archaic, small coin.
An impoverished shanty town cluttered the harbour. Most of its residents worked on the waterside, servicing boats, transporting goods or making a modest living by fishing. It was a hard, brutal life and the very poorest of Calmormen had been attracted there by the promise of work. Their lack of education is to be pitied. Their rough and ready manners were hardly surprising given their tough life. Even their heavy drinking, fuelled by 'bath-tub Canban', is understandable for people expected to work between 12 and 15 hours a day. Quick oblivion is dangerous but hardly surprising. Nonetheless, there was an unexpectedly high level of vice and brutality in the town. Throughout history, even in the most appalling conditions, good has been found. Kinship, community feeling, solidarity, acts of kindness and generosity can flourish like wild flowers on a compost heap. Sometimes the morality of a community is not that of the host society, yet it still exists. Very little morality of any sort could be found in the shanty town. Husbands, wives and children fought, drunk and cheated both each other and their neighbours.
Calormen was not, at that time, a monotheistic society (although it was heading that way). Tash was perhaps the greatest of their gods but there were others too. Those 'also-rans' hadn't yet been relegated to the status of djinns and demons. The Temple of Tash in Koloniwas a modest affair, a ziggurat built of brick in the style of the original temple in the Hal Hallim (8). Its priest was Master Sahtekarlik, a smug, self-satisfied man who had the air of a cat with two homes and fish on demand. He had plenty to be satisfied about as he was' skimming off the top' of the 'Temple Tax'. He had a pleasant, white-washed house in the hills, well away from the townsfolk.
Fortune-telling was big business in Koloni, amongst the credulous. Booths could be found all along the harbour. If you wanted a good catch of fish, seek their advice. If you wanted to know your baby's fortune, seek their advice. If you wanted to build a house, seek their advice. There was a fraud for every imaginable circumstance.
A number of small shrines, overseen by rival priests, were dotted about the settlement. Typically there would be an altar, in front of a house, where a small offering could be bought and left for the god. One of the more successful locally was that of 'Belhelam of Ashanguar' (9), the god of travellers. Dark tales were told of sacrifices, made in the woods, to Belhalam. How sincere all of these priests were in their beliefs, I don't know. I do know however that they made a comfortable living from their calling.
The Calormene legal code was then rather simpler than it became and it attempted to give justice to the people. Now, there was (undeniably) an 'eye for an eye' feel to it. We should understand however that this is an attempt at proportionate rather than disproportionate justice. Sadly, back then, there were also laws allowing colonial governors to enact local regulations, overriding normal practice. The Bureau of Public Morals would eventually lobby against such clauses and get them rooted out. At the time of our story, however, they were still in use.
The 'Civic Guard' of Koloni was the Governor's own private police force. It had existed for just two years and yet it was already notoriously corrupt. If you were caught fighting, you could pay them and they'd turn a blind eye. If you were found in possession of stolen goods, you must make sure the Kapud (the Captain) got his share. If you murdered someone then, for a large fee, there'd be a delay in executing the warrant whilst you made your getaway on board ship. If a crime was actually investigated then it was simpler to torture the suspect and extract a confession than it was to piece evidence together. The Civic Guard was one of the most shameful excuses for a police force that had ever existed. Its police station was one of the best built buildings in the settlement. Its walls were thick enough to muffle the screams.
The Governor, Ahlaksiz Yiyici (10), was from a 'good' Calormene family (by which I mean old and powerful; I'm not praising their morals). His grandfather and father had both been Beldi-Baskni (11) (mayors) of Tashbaan. Ahlaksiz' own career in the civil service had stalled due to allegations of corruption. Only the influence of his father had saved him. It was expedient for Ahlaksiz to leave Calormen for a time. His illicit share of the 'Temple Tax' was forwarded quarterly to his bankers in Tashbaan. In the meantime he lived comfortably on his salary, 'kickbacks' from the police and bribes from anyone in Koloni who wanted anything done at all. His house in the hills sat alongside the smaller one owned by the Priest of Tash. His single regret about his situation is that 'New Calormen' didn't enjoy the same warm climate as his homeland.
I can only conclude that Koloni was Babylon in microcosm. What is Babylon? It is any city where man sets himself up as the sole moral arbiter. Many places have, in their time, been Babylon. From ancient Rome to slave-trading Britain; Nazi Germany to ISIS held Raqqa. Koloni was just another in a long and wicked line.
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The final straw that broke the camel's back
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Korkunc Yargi chewed a date that he'd bought near the harbour. They weren't particularly good and were overpriced, being imported. Perhaps he'd been studying the Poliz Merghazi (12) just a little too keenly; whatever it was, he drew the attention of the Poliz Kapud. "Hey! You; what are you about?"
"Just eating these, Authentez" said the young man mildly.
The police captain demanded his name and then wanted to see his papers. "Hm; the 'Observances Bureau'. What's your business in Koloni?" Korkunc told him that he was to report back on the number and nature of 'tolerated' Gods worshipped there. The captain was suspicious and asked why he hadn't made himself known to the Governor; to which he had no answer. "You must see him today; bring any notes that you've made". He gave him directions to the Governor's house. "Be there at dusk; he may find time for you at the close of business. Don't go and I'll want to know why," he threatened.
As Yargi walked away, contemplating the forthcoming interview, he saw the Captain turn sharply. "You, pedlar!" he shouted, raising his stick. He lashed an old man viciously across the shoulders. "Your licence is good for the harbour only; don't let me catch you here again." The poor old fellow flinched, stumbled forward and dropped his load. The captain roared with laughter.
"This is a foul place," Yargi muttered.
"It is not for you, my friend," said a stranger at his elbow. The civil servant turned and noticed the foreigner that he'd met on the hill top.
"It is not a fit place for anyone," Yargi said grimly.
Late afternoon found Korkunc Yargi on a hired pony, heading into the hills. He was warmly wrapped, for New Calomormen was cooler than his homeland. In his bag were the meticulous notes that formed his cover story. He had thoroughly observed the local shrines and made favourable notes about them. His real work – to observe conditions in the territory – was all committed to memory.
At the same time the Governor was busy with official duties, such as meeting petitioners and accepting bribes. As he became weary and his wallet grew fatter, he called a halt to business to take refreshment. It was then that the captain of police intruded upon him. "Kapud, what brings you here?"
"I have an urgent matter to discuss with you, Excellency." The slaves were dismissed so that the two men could conspire. The captain explained what he knew of Yargi.
When the policeman had finished, the Governor asked, "Do you think that is his real purpose? It smells funny, like a goatherd of the Hal Hallim." (13)
The captain pulled a face, "Why send someone to do such a job? They could have gone through you."
The Governor stroked his oiled, scented beard thoughtfully. "It's suspicious; he's up to something. Is he digging of his own accord or is some busybody at the Bureau behind this?"
"We can find out, Excellency," hinted the Captain.
"Your thoughts…"
"I have four good men watching the road for him. They can take him and beat the truth out of him. He'll just be another victim of robbers, found dead in a ditch."
"I'll instigate a full inquiry, meticulously documented," said the Governor, decisively. "You'll find some known troublemaker and get a confession out of him. I'll have him executed the next morning. Good!" The Governor crossed the room. "If anyone comes looking for him, we'll be as obliging as possible." He poured some water from a jug into a pretty silver bowl and rinsed his hands. "There's always something to worry about," he complained.
Korkunc continued to ride but his pony was spooked; he wondered if it was the weather. Dark, ominous clouds were rolling in from the east. They tumbled through the air unnaturally like boulders down a mountain side. Small gaps in the cloud mass were picked out with brilliant, white light; Korkunc fancied that he could hear a crackle like dry leaves being crushed. An unpleasant burning smell played about his nostrils; it was like scorched hair. He halted his pony and looked uneasily at the houses in the distance. The town behind him was much nearer. "I'll go tomorrow," he vowed and turned about.
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"The wages of sin"
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The 'Street of the Women' was in uproar. This wasn't the usual commotion caused by some wanton act of violence or a customer refusing to pay. A number of frightened ladies stood on their doorsteps watching the bizarre events of the evening. A small drift of piglets ran about the street, frantically bumping into each other and oinking incomprehensibly. Half an hour before those piglets had been customers: sailors - fishermen - watermen. They made the kind of racket that must have had Noah reaching for his earplugs.
"Take that!" said a woman, taking a sly kick at a dog. That sounds abominably cruel of course. Until recently that dog had been the self-styled 'Mother' of the street. Her collusion in that abusive trade wouldn't be easily forgiven by the women. One should never kick animals; nevertheless, I can understand the woman's motivation on that occasion.
A flock of ducks quacked as they both walked and attempted to fly, heading for the nearest fresh water. They'd been a group of fisherman busily engaged in a brawl in a tavern. Suddenly they'd lost all taste for Canban and for fighting. A good swim seemed much more appealing. Korkunc Yargi walked through a mostly deserted street. By evening it should have been bustling. Here and there stood a man or a woman, with their children, trying to make sense of what had happened. One old chap was on his knees, praying to Tash, thanking him for his deliverance. "Thank Tash for me too," Yargi called out, sincerely, as he passed the man.
Lined up on the steps of the Poliz Merghazi was a murder of crows; a dozen all told. Each looked at Yargi with beady eyes as he walked past. Most crowed at him incoherently but one managed to speak, "stop, search, stop, search" he cawed creakily. Some remnant of his past life clearly still remained. Ahead of Yargi was a young woman coping with a group of children. Her little charges wore the plain uniform of the 'Orphan Hospital'. "Come along," she urged. "In twos; take someone's hand." The youngsters were wide-eyed at what they'd seen that evening and inclined to chatter.
Yargi was startled, as he passed the small court house, by a little army of frogs streaming out of an open window. There was a croak from what used to be a judge. The former usher also croaked. The sergeant croaked too. The members of the corrupt jury did likewise. "There is a fountain around the corner," Yargi suggested, not meaning to be unkind or sarcastic. Perhaps they understood, for they hopped off in that direction.
The relative peace was disturbed by the braying of an ungainly donkey that trudged along the street. Unbeknownst to Korkunc, the donkey had once been the gate-keeper at the temple of Tash. His wife, a little, browbeaten woman, followed in his wake, attempting to calm him. "He isn't such a bad man," she wailed, trying to commend him to the stranger. "Not when he's sober."
An elderly couple sat on their steps. Cut into the side of the house was a little shrine to Tash. Their neighbours would leave offerings there, which the couple would distribute to the poor. They weren't 'professional' priests. Korkunc dropped a coin into the box and nodded at them. "Strange times," said the old man solemnly.
The priest who kept the shrine of 'Belhelam of Ashanguar' hadn't fared so well. The blood could not be washed from his hands (metaphorically speaking). Rumours of human sacrifice in the woods were all too correct. Now he sat in front of his own house, having been brushed out by his housekeeper. He was a mustard yellow toad, as wide as a saucer and as plump as a bread-roll. His throat swelled indignantly and his chest puffed up in outrage. If it is not bad enough to become a loathsome toad, being ejected at the end of a broom is adding insult to injury.
Korkunc walked into the house where he was staying; all was quiet. He didn't see the landlord and landlady for they were now sat on the roof. How eminently fitting was it that they should become jackdaws, given their love of all that glitters? The young civil servant spent a disturbed night laid on his bed. He thought that he ought to go to the Governor's house in the morning and see the situation there. Before I finish, I must take you to those fine houses on the hills. Let us visit the Priest of Tash first.
Master Sahtekarlik (14) (priest of Tash) sat on the mat, in his elegant dining chamber, mewing piteously. He was still sleek but had become rather more hairy, being a cat. One of his former slaves, now a much bigger cat, prowled about the dinner table nibbling at this and that. His other two slaves – most definitely still human -had fled in terror. His wife and spoilt, adult daughter had turned into sparrows. Disliking the look on Sahtekarlik's feline face, they'd taken flight out of the window.
Ahlaksiz Yiyici had invited the Poliz Kapud to dinner. "After all, your men can cope with that fellow from the Bureau," he'd pointed out. By the sixth course – fruits preserved in spirit – the two men were feeling a little sleepy and very full. Mistress Yiyici lay draped over her chaise longue like an indolent python. "I wonder if they've got that young man yet?" she speculated (for she was in on all her husband's plots). "Guh," she added.
The Governor raised his eyebrows; assuming that his wife had belched (which was quite indelicate of her). "I do hope so," he said, finishing his answer with a "Grr".
The Poliz Kapud surreptitiously loosened his belt. He rubbed his chin and felt that his beard was getting rather untamed. "They'll get him and beat some information out of him."
Mistress Yiyici raised her napkin to her nose to take a cautious rub at an itch. "This whole business bothers me, Ahlaksiz," she told her husband.
"Me too," he admitted. "Guh…many pardons! Guh!" The Governor patted his chest and stood up. "I don't know what's come over me!"
The lady tried to focus her eyes on her nose, because she had the horrible feeling that she could see some little grey hairs sticking up. Self-consciously, she applied her napkin again so that she could have a good rub. "You've eaten too much, my love," she scolded.
"Guh. Grr. I dare say you are right," her husband groaned.
"I don't feel…guh…too well myself," the Captain confessed.
"By the golden beard of Kaviz, have we been poisoned?" asked the Governor wildly.
Mistress Yiyici – unable to stop herself – rolled off the chaise longue and ended up on all fours. "What's…grrr..hap…grrr…happening?" she gasped, alarmed.
"Are you…grr… in pain, oh…Rose of the Dawn?" asked her panicked spouse. His wife threw her head back and let out a few supplementary growls. The Captain, meanwhile, slid to the floor unnoticed and lay on his side, hands and feet twitching. His motions were that of a dog enjoying an especially good dream.
"Whas' happening…grr…grr," cried the lady. Her back began to arch and suddenly, instead of a clothed woman, she became a very hairy she-wolf.
"I…don't…grr…grr," the Governor tried to respond. The former Captain of Police was also now wholly lupine. Yiyici threw back his head and howled as his own transformation took place. Soon the three wolves circled each other, sniffing, and growling warily. He that had been the Governor managed to speak, "come," he said – with a tremendous effort of will. With that they disappeared into the night.
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Epilogue
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'New Calormen' was abandoned by the Calormenes. The few survivors had boarded boats and vowed never to return to that terrible place. Since that time Calormenes have had a horror of magic with explains their antipathy and fear of Narnia. Something awful (yet just) had happened there and it was supernatural in the true sense of the word. The land would eventually be settled by the first Telmarines, the Sea People, who didn't make quite such an awful job of it. Yes, they were wicked at times, but no wickeder than other men.
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THE END
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Notes:-
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Calormene in many ways resembles the Ottoman Empire yet with a pre-Islamic religion. CS Lewis was broadly antipathetic to the Calormene Empire if not necessarily to its people. It is of course always unfair to blame a people for its leadership. This much I do know: that the Turkish people I have met were the friendliest and most helpful that I have had the privilege of knowing. I don't know the origins of the Calormene people and yet, linguistically, many of their words have Turkish counterparts. I will detail these coincidences below.
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1 Narnian Reckoning: the generally accepted Narnian timeline, which can be confusing given the number of 'Good Kings Frank'. It is a numbering scale devised here and was never in use in Narnia itself.
2 For more Uffa, Hyngrid, the Uffanglas and their crimes see my short story 'The Apple Tree in Winter'. Maugrim (Jadis' chief of police) was of their line.
3 Hukum: identical to Turkish word 'judgement'
4 Koloni: identical to Turkish word 'colony'
5 Korkunc: identical to Turkish word 'terrifying'. Yargi: identical to Turkish word 'judgement'
6 Authentez: similar to Turkish 'efendi'
7 Memore: similar to Turkish 'memur'
8 See my short story 'The First Temple of Tash'
9 Elsewhere in this period the demons of 'Ashanguar' were not universally revered – see my short story 'The First Temple of Tash'
10 Ahlaksiz: identical to Turkish word 'unscrupulous'. Yiyici: identical to Turkish word 'eater'.
11 Beldi-Baskni: similar to Turkish 'Belediye Baskani' meaning mayor
12 Poliz Merghazi: similar to Turkish 'Polis Merkezi' meaning police station
13 For more on the desert of Hal Hallim see my short story 'The First Temple of Tash
14 Sahtekarlik: identical to Turkish word 'Fraudulent'