Black Ships (9 page)

Aeneas looked annoyed. “Father, do you see a cave where we may go apart? We are on the open sea, storm battered. I would have counsel here and now. And I am not a king.” He turned to me. “Lady, you are the only representative of the gods among us. I would ask you to stay.”

“I will stay if it pleases you, Prince Aeneas,” I said.

Anchises snorted. I could see that not all of the men were pleased. I kept silent, though in truth I had nothing to add. She did not touch me, and I knew little enough of sailing.

The crux of the matter was this: We were five ships in the middle of the ocean. Where the other four warships or the three fishing boats were none of us could say. Two ships had seen
Winged Night
during the storm, so it seemed certain that she at least had survived. One had seen a ship they thought was
Lady’s Eyes,
but she was the oldest of the warships and not as sound as she had once been.

“She’s stoutly built,” Xandros put in. “And Jamarados is a good captain. I wouldn’t give her up yet.”

We did not know where we were. In a day and a half with the storm at our backs we could have been blown far. Also, none of the ships had adequate water.

“Our casks are fouled with seawater,” Xandros said. “We have three or four water skins, and the amphorae of wine, but that’s it.”

One of the other captains had not even that, so plans were made to send some wine over to his ship.

“We’ve plenty,” Xandros said. “More than a hundred jars.”

I noted to myself that I had not kept careful watch on him in Pylos at all.

While we were at council, a shout was heard from the prow of
Seven Sisters.
“Land!”

We all went forward.

It was a smudge on the horizon, a low semicircular island.

Two captains jostled each other, naming islands they thought it might be.

“That’s too far,” one said. “That’s clean up north of Lazba.”

“Well, it’s not Dana,” the other said. “We can’t be as far south as that.”

Anchises gripped his son’s shoulder. “This is our punishment for not pouring a libation to Aphrodite Cythera when the storm ended. That is the Island of the Dead!”

“We cannot be there,” one of the men protested. But it seemed as though we were.

“The Island of the Dead?” I asked Neas.

He nodded. “In my great-grandfather’s boyhood there was an island that had everything that men might want—green pastures and olive trees, a fine town, a strong defensible location on the trade routes, a high mountain that rose out of the sea and could be seen from afar. There was a mighty kingdom there, allies of Krete. They had many ships and sailed all the seas there are. But somehow they angered the gods. The mountain exploded and destroyed it all, groves and pastures, town and fair people.”

His voice was very quiet, his eyes focused on something I could not see, as if he remembered. “The sea rose up in great green waves and drowned the cities all along the coast. A quarter of the people of Krete died on that day, and all the ships that were at sea. Only the palaces and towns on high hills survived. And when the seas calmed, there was nothing left of the island except two crescent beaches low on the sea, which churned with bodies and ruined trees.”

“That was here?” I said. “I have heard the story of the Drowned Land, but I didn’t know where it was.”

“It was here,” Neas said. “Thera That Was, the Island of the Dead.”

“It is accursed,” Anchises said. “We must steer away.”

“If it is Thera,”
Hunter
’s captain said, “then there is not another island near at hand where we can get water.”

“We must have water,”
Cloud
’s captain said.

“We cannot set foot on the Island of the Dead,” Anchises said. “Or the curse will come upon us.”

“Is there water there?” I asked.

“We do not know,” Xandros said.

“It’s large enough to have water,”
Hunter
’s captain, Amynter, said. “All those fair pastures that Neas spoke of must have had some springs.”

Anchises pursed his lips. “That Prince Aeneas spoke of.”

“Father,” Neas said.

“We need water badly,”
Cloud
’s captain said. “I think we should go ashore and look for a spring.”

One look at Xandros told me he was not the one who wished to go.

“Anyone who sets foot on the Island of the Dead trespasses in Death’s realm,” Anchises said.

“That is not to be taken lightly,”
Pearl
’s captain, Maris, said. “Danger on the seas is one thing, but the wrath of the gods is another.”

Xandros nodded in agreement.

“I will go,” I said.

Neas whipped around to look at me.

“I am not trespassing in Death’s realm,” I said. “I am Her handmaiden. I have nothing to fear in Her holy places.”

“What will you do, Lady?” he asked.

“I will go and find a spring, if there are any. I will ask Her leave for us to take Her water, and make whatever propitiations are necessary.” Anchises scowled, and I looked straight at him. “To inquire further about Her sacred rites is unseemly.”

There was no answer possible to that, so he held his tongue.

“I will come with you,” Neas said. “I must speak for the People. It is fitting and fair. Besides, there may be snakes.”

I
N THE END
,
Seven Sisters
came in close, nearly beaching at the end of the larger of the two semicircular islands. Neas jumped down into the water and reached up for me. The water was cold and the waves still running high, but not dangerously so. We waded in.

“The beach is broad and sandy,” Neas said. “We could bring the ships in if we wanted.”

I nodded. He took my hand to help me to the top of a dune. We looked over at the lagoon between the islands.

The water was as clear as glass, lapping over white sand, turquoise near the shore and then deepening to cerulean quickly, as though there were a very deep place in the midst of the island. On the bottom I could see walls, the foundation of a building, what looked like a dock, all underwater lapped by the waves. I saw a movement, and for a moment I thought it was a woman in a dark cape poised in one of the empty doorways, but then it moved and I saw it was an octopus. It flowed into the darkness.

Neas still held my hand. “This was a mighty city once,” he said.

“And now it sleeps,” I said, “beneath the waves. It is the Sea Lady’s city.”

“It’s not deep,” Neas said. “Three spans or less. Two even. I could dive.”

“And do what?” I asked. “Disturb the dead?” I reached down and picked up something from the sand beneath my feet. It was a piece of broken pottery, worn by the waves, but with still the whorls and border visible. “If you must have something of them, take this.” I pressed it into his hand and led him away from the water, toward higher ground.

He turned it over and over in his hand.

I climbed the rocks, as black as night, new and as sharp as bronze. I was very careful, for I am not sure-footed.

He was looking still at the water. I called him and Neas climbed up to me. There was a look in his eye I had never seen on a man.

“What do you see?” I asked gently.

“A city,” he said. “A ship with an octopus on her prow. Palaces with red columns and painted roofs. A great wave.” His blue eyes were unfocused, the stubble on his chin golden in the sun.

“Things that were,” I said. “In your great-grandfather’s day.”

“Yes. I cannot remember.”

“We cross the River,” I said. “And dwell in the fields of undying grain under the sun that never sets. And when the time comes, we cross the River that is Memory, Lethe. We return to this changing world, and remember nothing of what came before.”

“Not our loves? Not our dearest companions?”

I turned his hand over, caressed the shard in his broad palm. “Not unless something recalls it to us.”

He looked at me now. “Do you think she has forgotten me, beyond the River?”

“Who?” I asked.

“My wife, Creusa,” he said. “She was lost when the city fell. And my world is darkness without her.” He ducked his head, choking off the last words.

“You can cry, my prince,” I said. “Tears for the honored dead are honorable indeed.”

He sank to his knees on the black rocks, clutching a broken piece of pottery to his chest, his shoulders shaking. I knelt beside him. “Cry, my prince,” I said. “You are carrying us all. You can cry on a deserted island where there is none but me.” I stretched my black sleeves over him like dark wings.

I did not catch any words he said, except “Creusa, my beloved.” I clasped him about with my arms, and held him until he ended. Above, the black-winged gulls whirled on the sea wind.
I am Gull,
I thought.
I am the granddaughter of a boatbuilder in the Lower City.
Even were I not Pythia, I could not look so high as Aeneas, the last prince of Wilusa.

At last he moved. “Your pardon, Lady,” he said, and did not meet my eyes.

I touched his face, the warm rough line of his jaw, lifted his eyes to mine. “It is nothing. She is used to the sweet tears shed at the foot of Her throne.”

He nodded sharply. “It is so?”

“It is,” I said, and smiled at him. “All is well, Prince Aeneas.”

“Neas,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed.

Neas turned over the shard in his hand, then slid it into his belt pouch. He stood. “I’ve been foolish,” he said. “These islands are low and rocky. There is no water here.”

“There is,” I said.

“Why do you say so?”

“Because the gulls are nesting,” I said. “See? They will not nest where there is no fresh water to be found.”

We climbed up together. There was a tumble of stones, old ones, worn and shaped, with bits of shell in them. Some looked as though they had once been squared. Nearly at the top, there was a green hollow, and a small spring that trickled from between the stones. The gulls screamed at me and beat at us with their wings.

“We will not disturb your nests,” I said aloud, “or anything of this island that does not belong to us. We know you are the creatures of the Lady of the Dead.” I knelt beside the water. “Great Lady,” I said, “this water comes from Your holy places beneath the earth. Grant that we may fill our casks and have water for the People.” I took a sip. It was sweet and fresh and cool as a mountain stream, as sweet as Her assent.

“We will fill our casks here, Neas.”

HER MERCY

I
n the end, we were three days on the Island of the Dead.

At first, most of the men were reluctant to set foot on the island. Even when Neas came back to the ships and explained that there was water, I saw the eyes rolling and the motions to avert evil.

“I spoke to the Lady of the Dead,” I said, “and asked Her for water. She sent Her birds to show us where it was, a sacred spring as clear and as pure as any in the world. We may fill our casks as long as we disturb no living thing on the island that is Hers.”

After this there were some who would come ashore, and they began loading water for
Hunter
and
Seven Sisters
first.

By the end of the first day we had just begun loading clean fresh water onto
Dolphin
and
Pearl
when a sail was sighted. There was a flurry of movement, oars unshipped, sailors recalled from the island.
Seven Sisters
and
Hunter
ran out, preparing to meet and delay the newcomer as long as possible. We heard their cheers coming back over the water. It was
Winged Night,
and she had all of
Menace
’s people aboard.

As twilight came the three ships returned to the island and we heard their story.
Winged Night
had ridden out the storm, seeing other ships in the distance, but essentially alone. At dawn on the second day, as the storm was abating she had come upon
Menace,
near foundering with her decks awash. She had closed on the sinking ship and lying alongside had taken all her people off with ropes, except for one woman who had fallen in the sea and drowned.
Menace
was lost, but twenty-one sailors, five women, and four children were saved. The loss of the ship was hard.

“Ships may be replaced,” Neas said, “but the blood of our People is spread thin. We cannot spare even one, even the smallest child, and you have rescued thirty who would otherwise have been lost. Tonight we will honor the crew of
Winged Night.
”

Amid the reunions, he drew me aside. “We will have to be several days here. Is that well with your Lady?”

“It is,” I said. “If She had not meant for us to find refuge here, She would not have let Her sister bring us to Her doorstep. I have seen no sign that She is displeased.”

“The beaches are broad and the water shallow over a sandy bottom. There is water aplenty. No man comes here. We must stop a day or two, heal our hurts, and find room for
Menace
’s people on the other ships. Also, perhaps
Lady’s Eyes
and
Swift
will join us.” He did not mention the fishing boats. One doesn’t speak of ill, as that may invite it, but as time passed it seemed more and more likely they were lost, especially since
Menace
had been overwhelmed. She had been one of the newer warships, if not the largest.

So we stayed. That night Neas lit a bonfire, and the men paid tribute to the courage of
Winged Night
’s crew with the best wine of Pylos. Drums and flutes were produced, and before long there was singing beneath the almost-f moon, the long line dances weaving around the fire, singing familiar songs of home. In their rhythm I heard the echo of the flax slaves. This was where they had come from, the songs they had sung as they worked, sounding of sorrow and loss. I heard them now outpouring relief and release.

Tia did not dance, but she stood near the fire clapping the dancers on, a wine flush on her face. Kos pirouetted in a circle and then threw his arm over Xandros’ shoulders, shouting out the words at the top of his voice. Bai could not dance. He took a few steps and nearly fell. Tia saw and helped him sit, near enough to the fire to sing, but not to be trampled on. He spoke to her. Words of thanks, I thought. Her flush rose higher. He looked up, patted the ground beside him. She hesitated, then sat down on his left, the width of a man still between them. But she smiled.

I turned away.
I will go out from the dance,
I had said.
And none shall call me beloved.
It had not seemed hard at the time.

And now what should I dream of? A prince’s courtesy, smiles and trust that were for his oracle, not for me?

Instead I found myself thinking of a lean, smooth form darkened by sun, of Xandros’ still, deep eyes.

I walked away from the crowd on the beach, drawing my mantle about me, walked down toward the inner lagoon with its dark water and secrets. No one followed. I followed the lagoon around until I found a place where a tumble of rocks spilled down into the water, perhaps part of the fallen wall of some great palace that Neas remembered. I sat there on the rocks under the moon, wrestling with my heart.

Great Mistress,
I said,
it is not that I do not love You more than life. Or that You are not mother and father both to me. But as Cythera said, my body is a young woman’s. Is it so odd that I should be moved by a man of my people?

There was no answer except the quiet lapping of the waves. The reflections of moonlight on the water rippled across sunken doors and windows. No bones remained, just the skeletons of houses waiting underwater, reminders of what had been. The water was shallow. The houses were deceptively close, as though you could simply wade out and walk those streets, step into the Land of the Dead.

What had I forgotten when I crossed the River? Had I lived in those houses, slept behind those windows? I could not help imagining a palace with red columns, a great soft bed where I lay entwined with warm arms, golden stubble against my breast, my hands against his shoulders, doomed lovers on the last day of the world.

But the world is not ended,
She whispered in me.
The world ends, and begins again. That is the Mystery, if you have courage to follow it.

I belong to Death, not to beginnings,
I said.

Ah,
She said.

I heard then the scattering of small stones, as though someone else was climbing up the rocks. I waited to see who it would be, not certain which I wished it to be.

It was Tia.

I sighed.

She startled when she saw me and almost fell. “Lady! I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“You didn’t expect anyone to be here,” I said. “You have walked apart, and wanted solitude. I will go.”

“No,” she said. “Stay.” Tia looked away, out over the sea. “There is something I...”

“Sit beside me then,” I said.

She folded up next to me, her knees hugged tight to her chest. “I know that there are things...I mean, if you think...”

I looked at her, waiting for her to go on.

“There are things that can stop a baby, yes?”

“Ah,” I said.

“I don’t...I can’t...Kos doesn’t know yet, but he’ll wish me dead when he does.”

“Kos will do no such thing,” I said. “You are blameless in this, as are all captives. He loves you dearly. He risked everything to find you and rescue you. Kos will never turn away from you.” I had seen enough of the man to know this, the love and relief on his face in Pylos when he saw his sister alive against all hope.

“I dishonor him,” Tia said.

“You do not,” I said. “Are you certain it is so?”

“I think. It’s been a long time since my courses.”

“Let me see,” I said. “Lift your tunic. I will touch only your stomach.”

She flinched, but did as I asked.

“Lean back a bit.” Tia was so thin that her hip bones were sharp, but there was a little pooch of flesh that should not have been there. Under my hand it was firm, as hard and as solid as muscle, rising four finger widths above the bone of the pelvis. I pressed gently, and it was firm. “Yes,” I said, “you are with child. How many moons since your courses?”

“I don’t know,” Tia said. “Since I was on the boat to Pylos, I think. Three, maybe four moons? Can you stop it? My mother once said that there are herbs?” Her voice was hopeful.

I shook my head. “There are, but I have none of them. And even if I did, I could not give them to you now. You are too far along. They could kill you.” I moved my fingers, pressing a little, and felt it, the faint flicker of movement, almost imperceptible, the movement of a child with many months still to go before breathing air.

Tia bit down on her lip. “That might be better.”

“It would not,” I said. “Tia, look at me.”

She did, and I did not see what I feared, the real desire to die. “I can’t tell Kos,” she said. “But sooner or later even he will know.”

“He will know,” I said. “And it will be well. Kos would never do you harm.”

She bent forward over her knees. “Everyone will know. I want to just be rid of it. And you are telling me I must bear it.”

“All these women here know what it is to be prizes of war, even the few who escaped from the City. There are many who have borne the child of their captor. None will blame you or consider you without honor. You remember what Prince Aeneas said earlier?”

She looked up at me and shook her head.

“Every life of the People is valuable. Is irreplaceable. Including yours.”

“Even the smallest child,” she said. “But Sybil, I do not want this child! I will look at it and hate it. I will cast it into the sea. I will wish it never born, or dead. Tell me that when it is born I can leave it in some deserted place.”

“No,” I said. “You cannot.” And it was Her implacable mercy that spoke through me. “Her hand is upon it.”

“It will die?” she said.

I reached forward and put my hand on her stomach again. “The child is a daughter,” I said. “And if she lives, she belongs to the Lady of the Dead.”

I had dreamed on the boat, sitting next to Tia, of a girl in black with long red hair, a place with young olive trees, of Death speaking to me through pomegranate lips. Those, perhaps, were always Hers, but not the freckled hands, thin and fair like Tia’s, but spattered with gold. Those belonged to a real girl. “She is the granddaughter of Iaso the boatbuilder, and when she is weaned you will give her to me to be my acolyte. I will raise her as a daughter to the Shrine, and she will be Sybil when I am gone.”

“You will take her?” Tia said. “Really?”

“Yes,” I said. I drew her tunic down. “I will take your child. She will have honor and a place. It is so.”

You are not alone,
She had said. I did not carry Her alone. There was also this tiny scrap of life with the capacity to hold Her, She Who Would Be Pythia after me.

“You’ll tell Kos this?” Tia asked.

“I will tell Kos,” I said. “I will help you tell him if you wish. But he will not be angry at you, no matter how much he curses the Achaians and vows dire vengeance upon them.”

I
N FACT
, he didn’t. Tia and I sat with him on the rocks the next day, while
Dolphin, Winged Night,
and
Pearl
spread nets behind them and fished offshore as though they were little fishing boats, not warships. Feeding this many people took a lot of food, and if we were forbidden the gulls’ eggs on the island, we were not forbidden the fish offshore.

What Kos did was cry and beg Tia’s forgiveness that he had not protected her. He had been away at sea. Their parents had been killed, and a younger brother still at home. Tia’s baby nephew had been taken from her arms and killed in front of her. She had been watching him while his mother was at the market, a sister older than Kos who was missing and whose fate was unknown.

“I should have been there,” Kos sobbed. “I should have died rather than let this happen to you.”

“If you were dead,” I said gently, “who should care for Tia now? Who should support her and the child she carries? She needs her living brother.”

“It is my fault,” he said. “Tia, dear sister.” He cried against her neck while she held him and cried too.

“It’s not your fault, Kos,” she said. “I know you’d have done anything to keep this from happening. It is my fault. I should have run. I should have done something else. I dream it over and over. And every time I stand there frozen and do nothing.”

“There was no place safe,” he said. “Where would you run to?”

I let them cry before me, alone on the rocks with the wheeling gulls. “You are together,” I said. “There is nothing you can do now for your family, except live. Live as your parents would have wished, and take care of each other.”

“That’s all any of us can do,” Kos said. “Take care of each other.”

“We are all one kindred now,” I said. “Sea people and horse people, Lower City and Citadel. We must act as one kindred, bound in honor and love.”

Kos wiped a tear from his sister’s face. “This baby is the last of our line. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself and not do anything foolish. Mother wanted a granddaughter so badly. Remember how she was when Kianna was pregnant? Everyone kept wishing her a boy, but Mother kept wishing for a girl?”

Tia was laughing and crying at the same time. “She did. That’s exactly what she did.”

“I promise I’ll take good care of both of you,” Kos said. “Until it’s time to give her to the Lady, as Sybil says.”

“She will be my acolyte,” I confirmed. “She will be a daughter to me.”

W
HEN
I
WAS DONE
with them the sun was high and I was thirsty. My head was aching. I did not go back to the camp. There were too many people who needed something, who wanted a word just now. I went apart, toward the spring, my head hurting so badly that all I wanted was to lie down in the shade of the stones, in the dark.