Michael Larrabeiti - The Golden Goat

But the Caliph never returned to claim his riches and for centuries men had sought to capture the Golden Goat, believing that under the threat of death she could be forced to reveal the whereabouts of the cave of treasure. The goat had been seen often enough over the years, glimpsed between the dusk and the dawn, but no one had come near her and lived unscathed to tell the tale. Once or twice in a generation a poor witless shepherd had been found, wandering far from his sheep, muttering crazily that he had met and talked with me Princess Suhar and seen her treasure.

Pacorro stirred himself, wound his hand deeper into the goat's long hair and thought of one other thing that his father had told him. The Golden Goat would lie, cheat and deceive, would murder and betray, would do anything to escape from he who found her. He who wished to take her treasure would have to become as cunning and as evil as she. "If you find her, kill her," the old shepherd had said, "before she drives you mad."

Pacorro pushed his knife between the goat's horns and cut the noose that held her.

"There," he said, "you are free."

No sooner did the rope fall from her than the goat leapt twenty paces along the river-bed, clearing bushes and trees in a gigantic bound. Pacorro was wrenched from his feet, dragged through the thorns and his legs were made bloody and his body was bruised, but he did not relax his grip on the goat's long hair. When he regained his feet, angry with pain and surprise, he raised his knife to the goat's neck and pressed the blade close up against the vein that throbbed there and only a thought kept the knife from the blood.

"My father needs a house," said Pacorro, "so show me your treasure as you promised or I will slaughter you as I have slaughtered many other goats, and skinned them too.."

"I only leapt for joy," said the goat "I rejoice that I am free and will see my treasure again.'' She nuzzled the boy's shoulder and said, "Come, we have far to go."

And so the goat led the shepherd boy across the slanting darkness of the hillsides, hoping to exhaust him, hoping that his grip on her fleece would weaken. As she ran she spoke to him, trying to deceive his senses with her soft voice but Pacorro only tightened his fist in the golden hair and ran pace for pace with the goat and as nimbly, gritting his teeth and thinking of the land he would buy for his father.

At last the goat rested in a deep ravine and Pacorro felt the full weight of her brown eyes upon him as she told of the great battles of the past, how many men the Caliph had tortured and slain for his pleasure. She told of the slaves he had captured too and the shepherd boy shivered as he heard the sounds of death and the clashing of weapons and the cries of the wounded. He saw the ghosts of dead warriors and he felt the touch of their breath on his cheek and fear crept under his skin like a maggot, but he was brave and again tightened his hold on the fleece and said, "I swear I will slay you and steal your crown if you do not keep your promise."

"I tell you stories of the Caliph." said the goat, "so that the road we travel may seem less wearisome," and she led Pacorro into a cleft that was narrow and full of stubborn bushes carrying thorns of sharp iron-wood. As the goat advanced the thorns swayed back from her though they clutched at Pacorro and brought blood to his arms and face. The noise of battle and the screams of the injured were louder here and the boy wanted to turn and run to his father but now he did not dare.

Suddenly the clamour stopped. The Golden Goat halted before a blank rock wall in which there was no fissure or crack. She lowered her head and spoke in Saracen words more than a thousand years old and the granite wall rolled aside and the goat stepped into a cavern whose roof was so high that it could not be seen. Pacorro was drawn in with her and the cavern door closed behind him.

He was deep under the hillside, shut in with the Golden Goat of Abd-al-Rhaman.

Now Pacorro released his hold on the fleece and stumbled forward. There was treasure all about him and the light from it dulled even the sheen of the goafs golden coat. Here in the cavern was everything that a man, even in his greatest greed, could desire. Everything that the Saracens had torn from the conquered land. stolen at the price of blood, death and slavery. The floor was ankle deep in precious stones, they overflowed from deep seachests, carelessly filled. There were ivory statues draped with gowns of silk and cloth of gold; there were orbs and sceptres, thrones and crowns, tapestries and gem-woven vestments, still stained with the blood of dying priests. It was all thrown down in disorder and it had lain there for hundreds of years, waiting for the Caliph to return.

The goat stalked proudly into the cavern and Pacorro followed, his eyes unequal to the task of looking at so much splendour. The goat went on and everywhere she walked there was treasure. At last she stopped by a huge throne of gold thickly decorated with diamonds; across its arms rested a great jewelled sword in a scabbard of silver.

The goat looked in disdain at the trembling shepherd boy and her eyes blazed up with pride and greed. "What a mighty fellowship," she said, "was the fellowship of my father the Caliph. Stronger than all your Princes, bolder than your kings and more daring than your knights. How they feared us."

She touched the throne with a horn, "This we took from an Archbishop, those tapestries we took from his cathedral . . . those caskets of jewels we had in ransom for your most powerful king, and all you see is mine until my father returns ... Then I shall be a princess once more and I shall live with my own people."

The goat moved on and Pacorro walked with her, his scarred and filthy feet stepping over rich silks and precious stones, but the boy did not forget his father and he thought of the little he had. Once more he showed his knife, "And where is my reward?" he asked. "Three choices from amongst your riches you promised me. I want them; remember that I saved you from the hunter's noose."

The goat lowered her head and her eyes went dull.

"Shepherd boy," she said. "choose."

Pacorro pointed to the jewelled sword on the magnificent throne. "The sword," he said, thinking that he could strap it to his body, leaving his arms free to carry something more.

"Oh choose some other thing," answered the goat, "for that was the Caliph's favourite sword. I would be disgraced if he were to return and find it gone."

Pacorro pointed next to a caftan made of gold and silver thread, heavy with rubies and saphires and opals and pearls of matching beauty. "That," he thought, *'I shall be able to slip over my shoulder and leave my hands free to carry something more."

The goat stamped a foot and her voice was angry. "Fool, you cannot take the caftan of the Caliph; when he returns he will look for this caftan before any other thing."

Pacorro felt pity for the goat in her trouble and cast his eyes all round the cavern for another treasure to bear away with him. "I will have that turban," he said at length, thinking mat he could place it upon his head leaving his hands free to carry away something more. The turban bore a rich diamond at its front, a diamond as big as the boy's clenched fist.

The goat placed her head on Pacorro's shoulder and her brown eyes filled with tears as she looked at him. "My father wore this turban on his wedding day, I dare not let you take it ... he would punish me sorely if I let it go."

Still Pacorro had pity and chose again but the goat made yet another excuse and bade him choose elsewhere. But whatever it was that the boy chose the Golden Goat refused and hours went by in this way and Pacorro grew weary and fell silent, realising that the goat would allow nothing to be taken from her hoard, not the smallest diamond nor the meanest silver pin, and he began to fear that he would die amongst all that treasure. He felt a madness beginning to stir in his brain and he forgot about a field in the mountain and a field in the valley with a hut for his father. He longed to be out in the night air but at the same time a wave of pity rose in his heart and he wept, weeping for the Princess Suhar, abandoned, alone, loveless for so long. He knew, as every shepherd knew, that the Caliph and his sorcerer had been dead for hundreds of years and would never return to seek the treasure and to change the Golden Goat back into the form of a young princess.