Knossos

by Laura Gill

  Gods, but the waves were high, and every time Dolphin crested, the vessel shuddered—sobering for sailors, outright terrifying for land-lubbers. The passengers were soaked to the skin and huddled together. Knos squinted through the flying sea spray to focus on the black mass looming opposite. Rocks. A holler to the helmsman set the drum rolling, instructing the oarsmen to veer and keep to the open sea. Marynos was testing them, after having granted them a generous ten days of excellent sailing. And they in turn had sacrificed to him, acknowledging his supreme power, which would surely sweeten his disposition and preserve them.

  Knos hunkered down with his wives, and inspected his children. All of them were dispirited, soaked through despite their waterproof goat-hair coverings, and very pale. Young Knos strove to put an optimistic face on his suffering. “It’ll pass soon, won’t it, Father?”

  “Of course, it will,” Knos answered. “Marynos is simply reminding us whose realm this is.”

  The boy smiled weakly, and laid his head back on his mother’s shoulder. As Dolphin started cresting another wave and the deck tilted, he winced, but bit back his fear. The timbers creaked, the drumbeat held steady, and the oarsmen strained at their benches. Urope held her breath. Fidra squeezed her eyes shut. Knos maintained his optimistic facade. Dolphin’s sturdy frame had a lot of give, and had weathered far greater storms, but there was always that one storm, that one time when the gods decided to lash out.

  “If it’s all right, Father,” young Knos confessed. “I think I’d much rather be a farmer.”

  *~*~*~*

  When he noted Dolphin’s heading after the storm ended and the storm clouds cleared, Knos did not recognize the coastline. Keeping his concerns private for the present, he carefully gauged the sun’s position in the sky, then after darkness fell he checked the stars against the map in his head. Once he finished making all the calculations, he realized that the squall had driven the ships farther west than they should have gone.

  Both ships had come through the storm unscathed, but the waves were still choppy and the wind was blowing too hard from the northeast to allow for beaching. Knos grew concerned. Water rations were growing short, and the oarsmen needed to rest.

  In the twenty-four hours since the storm had ended, they had been forced to surrender the hope of two ideal landing sites; the second one, possessing a broad harbor—two harbors, in fact, separated by a rocky promontory—was very fine, indeed.

  A lookout on Marynos first sighted the island. Menuash shouted across to Dolphin. Marynos must at last have been smiling upon them, for the island was substantial enough to permit the two ships to shelter in its lee until the wind softened. There might even be a spring. Knos called back, instructing Menuash to make for the south shore.

  The island really was a gift from the gods. In time, it would become sacred to Raziya and be called Dia, after one of her many manifestations. Not only was there a freshwater spring, but small game to hunt; the people were able to dine that night on hot, grilled rabbit meat, after sacrificing the blood and thigh meats wrapped in fat to Marynos in thanksgiving for their swift deliverance. Yikadi brought out his lyre and honored the gods with hymns.

  While daylight remained, Knos conferred with his kinsmen. The channel separating them from the mainland measured roughly six or seven nautical miles; they could cross in a few hours under a good tailwind, yet did they want to land and settle there, or turn about and head for the double harbor that Knos liked so well? Yikadi suggested consulting the oracle bones. He insisted on marking the circle, putting the question to the gods, and casting the bones himself, acting as a priest insofar as his limited experience with such divining tools permitted, but he left the interpretation to others.

  Masar crouched on his haunches. “The bone of good fortune points directly south. Hmm...” He waved the men aside, angling for a view of the distant shore, and squinted. “Ah, yes. Look how it forms a triangle with the bones of prosperity and longevity.” The bones which had fallen inside the circle formed what would have appeared to most observers to be a meaningless tangle; it needed a practiced eye to perceive how certain bones interacted and correlated with recent events or visible landmarks. Masar was a quick study, though, drawing out patterns and assigning meanings with a versatility that had never betrayed him, and which lent credence to his powers of divination.

  He pointed southward, to a hilly ridge and the solitary, almost perfectly conical mountain peak rising in the distance. “The triangle echoes that shape,” he observed. “That is a clear sign. Remember, the Great Goddess is also the Mother of the Mountains.”

  “Hmm, yes, she is.” Yikadi scratched his stubbly beard, unable to conceal irritation over an observation he should have made. “So we head south, and honor Mother Raziya.” But he said it without the certainty a fully trained high priest would have voiced.

  The site looked quite promising from afar, with its sentinel peak sacred to the Mother of the Mountains. There were hillsides for grazing and evidence of abundant trees for building houses and ships, yet from their current distance the men could not gauge the fertility of the land. Knos smothered his disappointment over losing the double harbor with an optimistic expectation that this location would serve just as well.

  Therefore, he never beached in the place that would one day be known as Amnissos.

  Afterward, Knos, Menuash and Yikadi conveyed the good news to the people. While daylight lingered, everyone crowded the shoreline wanting a glimpse of their future home. They liked the favorable aspect of the mountain and the natural harbor, and offered prayers to Potidnu and the Great Goddess to guide them.

  The winds buffeting the channel calmed the very next day, and it was not yet noon when the ships landed. A joyful chaos ensued the moment Dolphin and Marynos ran aground. People simply could not wait to be among the first to set foot upon the virgin soil.

  Despite his own excitement, Knos was determined to maintain some kind of order. He assigned tasks before allowing anyone—even his own crew, who had yet to haul the ropes and pound the wooden chocks in place—to disembark. Men were to divide into teams of seven and scout the surrounding countryside for a source of fresh water, wild goats, game and other edibles. Women, children, and any remaining men would erect tents, dig latrines, and gather kindling for bonfires; the encampment would serve until a permanent village with suitable housing could be constructed.

  Pines and juniper grew nearby. Some of the women and children gathered branches and twigs for fuel and to build temporary pens for the livestock which the sailors herded from the ships. Knos saw Urope helping young Knos drive a spotted young bull down the beach. She was barefoot in the sand, wearing her linen skirt hiked above her knees, and a carefree smile that Knos had not seen since they were first married.

  It gladdened him to see her so joyous, because at that moment he did not quite know what he ought to feel; his emotions rioted within. Of course, he felt profound relief that the voyage was over, that all the people and livestock had survived unscathed, and found a suitable place to settle—yes, but he was overwhelmed, too, and a little afraid. There was nothing familiar about this virgin wilderness. No landmarks from his childhood, no shrines to the ancestors, nothing to anchor him.

  The people congregated that evening around the fires to feast on wild goat flavored with herbs. The scouts had reported that there was a nearby river, plentiful cypress, juniper, oak, and pine for building, and herbs growing on the hillsides. There were marshes to the east abundant with fowl. Everyone was jubilant, weary from the day’s labor, but excited to at last have important work to do. No one expressed any reservations or homesickness, but Knos could not help but wonder whether anyone secretly shared his sense of feeling overwhelmed by the monumental task ahead.

  After the meal, the people wanted to sing and dance, and give thanks for the bounty the gods had granted them. It was chilly and brisk, typical for an autumn night beside the sea, and Knos had all three wives snuggled against him. He liked the arrangement, an
d wondered whether another wild coupling in the tent might be forthcoming. But they were not ready to retire—no, far from it. They threw back the blankets, grabbed his hands, and pulled him into the line of people sinuously winding around the fires. Knos laughed, gave up thoughts of conquest, and amiably humored them. It was good to move about and dance, to celebrate, after being confined so long aboard the ships.

  Aramo suggested situating their village on a hilltop near the river, which they could divert into channels to irrigate their crops. Everyone who visited the location agreed that it was a good site, so Aramo and his team of farmers immediately began cutting down trees for timber to build houses. People wanted to clear land in preparation for the spring sowing. They also wanted to visit the mountain peak farther inland to lay their offerings at the foot of the Mother of the Mountains, and to find a sacred cave in which to worship and bury future dead. Sometimes, the frenetic energy of the people suggested that a hundred projects were going on at once, but no one complained about exhaustion or scant resources, and everyone worked hard, improvising from the natural materials with which the gods provided them.

  When the land was cleared, everyone came out to dedicate the soil to Mother Rhaya. Excitement was rife throughout the encampment. The people made yet another celebration, with the music of pipes and drums, and garlands of wildflowers.

  Yikadi as the high priest performed his duties in earnest, sacrificing rabbits on the makeshift altar, and sprinkling the blood into the dark, rich earth. The women hung reed effigies from the trees in lieu of the youth who was sometimes sacrificed to Raziya. By then, it was time for the traditional six married couples to lie together on the newly consecrated ground.

  To Knos’s utter shock, Urope seized his hand and hustled him onto a patch of soil. “Come!” she exclaimed. “The goddess summons us.”

  Aramo waved cheerfully at him—his elder brother was an old hand at this ritual—and Alit was pulling her dress over her garlanded head so she was completely naked. Now Urope was doing the same, displaying her ample white flesh before the people, and it disturbed him. Knos had no objection to his wives or eldest daughter baring their breasts during ceremonies, for that was what women did when honoring the Great Goddess, but the dark triangle shadowing Urope’s thighs was his alone.

  Because he hesitated—of all ironies, the great seducer put to stud before everyone—Urope had to press him into removing his tunic and lying on the ground beside her. Knos shivered, his flesh prickling with goose pimples. Not that he minded being naked before the people—he was splendidly fit, after all—but, gods, it was cold beside the river!

  “Raziya, Great Goddess, Mother Earth! Potidnu, Earth-Shaker, Lord of the Heavens, Mighty Bull! We are your devoted servants.” Yikadi lifted his arms. “Husbands and wives of the Bull Clan, come together in love. Demonstrate to the immortal ones that their servants understand the ways of earth and heaven.”

  Urope reached under Knos’s loincloth, drew him out, and started fondling him with a no-nonsense ease. “Think about that night when you had all three of us.” She leaned forward to murmur huskily in his ear. Usually, it was he doing the talking. “Remember those hands on you, those mouths.” His mouth hung open, and his throat went dry. “Do you even know which one of us you came inside?” Her tongue swiped the shell of his ear, teasing. “We know.”

  The possibility her words conjured shot straight to his groin. Ah, yes, he remembered pushing inside one woman’s wet heat, and three sets of hands stroking his back and flanks, but during the coupling none of them had spoken to give themselves away. A hot flush suffused Knos’s face and chest.

  When he was ready, Urope started to straddle his lap, but Knos would have none of it. She had done quite enough work. He grasped her around the waist, and reversed their positions so he was on top and thrusting. They were the last couple to finish, and, having lasted the longest, the people agreed that they had given the gods the best showing.

  Fidra and Hariana kissed and congratulated them both, while he refrained from asking which one of them had lain under him that special night; his first wife’s tone hinted that she would not reveal the knowledge.

  For some odd reason the question nagged Knos—aroused him, especially after the morning’s rites—so when the people lit celebratory bonfires in the fields that evening, he invited Hariana to share his blanket. Alone together but for the distant clamor of singing and music and the eternal rhythm of the sea, he tried to decipher through darkness and caress the secret the women kept from him, but to no avail. Hariana was eager and accommodating, guiding him twice to fulfillment, yet she gave nothing away.

  The next afternoon, when the embers of the bonfires were still smoldering, and the people were hard at work clearing additional land to plant crops in the spring, Yikadi climbed to the high ground, a rocky limestone hill overlooking the fields and river, in order to plant stakes for the sanctuary site. It was an excellent location, commanding views of the hills, the surrounding countryside, and the harbor all the way across the water to the island that had sheltered them. “Yes, this will please the gods greatly,” Yikadi said.

  Knos’s wives had immediately claimed land south of the sanctuary; the plot faced the hills when he preferred an ocean view. “But we need elders to approve the claims and resolve disputes,” Urope said, “because some families are already arguing.”

  “I know all this,” he said. His wives were washing their hands in a wooden bowl after having spent part of the morning helping make mud bricks for the sanctuary. “People are being agreeable for the most part.”

  “But they won’t be so agreeable forever.” Urope gesticulated with the threadbare towel to assert her point. “I’m telling you, Knos. We need a council of elders, and priestesses to make offerings and act as midwives, and soon.” Hariana cleared her throat. Urope nodded, as though acknowledging some prearranged sign. “Fidra has something important to tell you.”

  Knos sensed his wives were somehow conspiring against him. It told in their demeanor, in the way Urope and Hariana flanked Fidra as though protecting her from some threat—him? “What’s this?” he asked.

  Hariana murmured soft but persuasive encouragement in her sister-wife’s ear. “Go ahead, tell him.”

  “Tell me what?” Knos looked from Hariana to Fidra, who was demurely blushing, her gaze lowered. When did any of his wives ever blush? “What’s so important, so dire that you hesitate like a young girl?”

  Fidra licked her lips, and glanced quickly at him. “I’m with child.” She took a breath. “That night aboard the ship, when the eyes were painted and...” Her cheeks flushed pomegranate-red.

  So she had been the one! “That was five weeks ago,” he exclaimed, “and you’re not...” He described a pregnant woman’s roundness with his hands. “You’re not showing.”

  “Foolish man,” Urope scolded. “Women can tell what’s going on inside their wombs before they ever show. Fidra’s missed her bleeding. Her breasts are tender. She feels tired and ill.”

  Knos was not thinking so much about the fact that his second wife was not showing as he was about the fact that Fidra had embarked on the voyage with a child in her womb. Marynos did not approve of women venturing into his realm. Pregnant women going to sea were doubly taboo. “How long have you known about this, Fidra?” Knos asked.

  Fidra stared at the ground, leaving her sister-wives to answer for her. Hariana said, “Only a few days. It was just yesterday that she started having the morning sickness.”

  “Is this so?” Knos asked his second wife. “You had no idea you were carrying when you went aboard Dolphin?” Meeting his gaze, Fidra shook her head. Knos believed her; she would not have wittingly committed an impiety or endangered the ships.

  “We need priestesses,” Urope repeated, “which means we need elders to appoint them. If there’s a baby, it’s because Alauta and Mother Raziya have blessed Fidra’s womb and your seed. The goddesses must be properly thanked for their bounty and placated, and that isn
’t anything a priest can do.”

  Knos had no objection to becoming a father again—it was a sign of both his virility and the gods’ favor with their settling in the new land—and only a fool contradicted his women, who controlled access to the powerful goddesses. “Yes, of course.”

  Then he saw that Fidra was anxious, gazing sidelong at him. “Come here, my dear.” When he opened his arms to her, she went to him, and he held her close and kissed her mouth and face. Just the knowledge that it had been her, that Potidnu’s spirit had entered his loins that night and made a bull of him, excited him. He could not help but want to bed his expectant wife again, to revel in his potency and her fertility. But Hariana had said that Fidra had the morning sickness, so she might not wish to lie with him. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll see to the matter straightaway.”

  Urope nodded sharply. “Make sure you come back as clan chieftain.” Hariana echoed her sentiment with a firm harrumph.

  His first wife’s statement startled him, but only because she read him so well. Knos released Fidra with an affectionate pat on the bottom. “So you three want to be chieftain’s wives, is that it?”

  “Want?” Urope snorted. She set her hands on her hips, a familiar posture. “We expect it.” Hariana and Fidra chuckled while voicing their agreement.

  Knos laughed with them. “We’ll see what we can do.”

  When he heard, Yikadi expressed profound relief. “I have been wondering myself when elders would be elected and priestesses appointed. For how can I concentrate on serving the gods or making new songs when everyone wants my attention?”

  That was an exaggeration, but Knos humored him. “Let it be today, then,” he said, “so you can better serve the gods.”

  They sent runners to fetch as many people as possible from the fields, the encampment, and surrounding countryside.

  It took a while for the people to gather. Knos passed the time by contributing labor to the new sanctuary. The weather was still warm enough to make mud bricks, meaning that the settlers would not have erect a temporary holy place and chance displeasing the gods.