Knossos

by Laura Gill

  “With you?” Amanas at once shot down that suggestion. “We wrestle with the men aboard Asterion.”

  “You sail with them?” Rusa asked.

  “For two years now.” Amanas proudly thrust out his chest. “I’ve been to most of the Minoas, and even up north where the Hellenes dwell. Some of their lands are dangerous country.”

  Hamo interjected, “You wanna learn a new game?”

  A variation on the familiar pavement games the Knossians played, Hamo’s game nevertheless proved frustrating, with confusing rules, mostly because the youth kept slyly changing them.

  “You’re cheating,” Balinaru accused.

  “Who, me?” Hamo’s impish grin suggested otherwise. “Would I swindle a dear kinsman?”

  “Hamo,” Amanas said sharply, “Father warned you about that.” He waited till his brother threw up his hands in surrender to continue. “You’re lucky you had nothing to lose, Balinaru. They really hate him on the waterfront in Kommos. A Hellene he cheated there actually tried to cut off his hands, till Father smooth-talked him into taking two amphorae of wine for his trouble.”

  Hamo groaned, “Don’t tell them that.”

  “Why not? One day you’re going to turn up with no hands, no nose, no eyes, and probably no cock, either.” Amanas helped himself to some of the bread and cheese. “Here, lemme tell them about the Hellene tribe we encountered last summer.”

  “Those hairy wretches?” Hamo snatched a piece of cheese from his brother. Amanas cuffed him hard enough to leave a mark. Rusa watched in amazement. Did Uncle Lagish actually let his sons behave like ruffians? Balinaru would have been soundly beaten had he raised a hand like that to his younger brothers.

  “The Kentaurai,” Amanas said through a mouthful of bread. “They’re as hairy and smelly as the horses they breed, and the other Hellene tribes we met say they’re half-horse. Well, maybe some of them are. We never did see any of their women.” Hamo snickered. Amanas just kept chewing. “But whatever you do, don’t ever offer them wine, not even watered.” He swallowed. “You thought they were beasts before? Hah! They got into our amphorae. Then they’re killing each other with their teeth and bare hands like animals, and trying to kill us. We barely escaped with our lives. Launched Asterion in the middle of the night, while those damned savages hollered curses at us and held up severed heads and limbs from the shore. I swear, you never saw oarsmen row so hard in the dark as ours rowed that night!”

  “Really?” Balinaru sounded skeptical.

  “Really,” Hamo assured them. “That’s not the only adventure we had, though. There were—”

  “Who’s ‘we,’ little brother?” Amanas lazily shoved him with his foot. “You weren’t even there.”

  Hamo seized his brother’s leg in a wrestling hold. “What does that matter? I was there for the burning mountain on Antimelos, wasn’t I?”

  “A burning mountain?” Balinaru shook his head. “You’re lying again, Hamo. Mountains don’t burn.”

  “No, there are special mountains that do.” Amanas kicked himself free. “They’re haunted by fire demons. Last summer, when we passed between Melos and the little island Antimelos, the fire demon inside Antimelos was raging. It’s so powerful it can hurl flaming rocks into the sea. Father had to turn Asterion to starboard to avoid its wrath, but then the mountain belched, and it smelled like rotten eggs. Burning rocks shot up, and one of them landed on the deck. It almost hit one of the oarsmen. They couldn’t leave the benches, they were rowing so hard, so I grabbed an oilskin and went to put out the fire.” Amanas thrust a thumb into his chest to emphasize his heroism. “The rock was so hot it was glowing, but I grabbed hold of it and threw it over the side. Left a scorch mark on the planks this big.” He described a platter-sized circle with his hands. “Once we were safe, Father poured a libation over the mark to appease the demon’s anger. It didn’t attack again, but it raged all that night! We were camping on Melos, and saw the flames from that mountain glowing against the darkness. The demon rumbled and thundered and belched. Once we even felt the ground tremble under our feet.”

  That night, Lagish told longer versions of the episodes with the Kentaurai and the wine, and the escape from the Antimelos fire mountain. “That’s nothing. We picked up some Egyptian wine in Avaris, and made the mistake of drinking it neat. Like Kentaurai, except without all the hair and severed limbs. Heh, I don’t remember much more than chasing this sweet little honey around the senet house. She wore nothing but a strand of beads around her waist, and these tinkling bells that made such music when she lifted her legs in the air.” Elissa narrowed her eyes. “After that, nothing, except for the splitting headache I had the next morning.”

  “Serves you right,” his wife muttered.

  Lagish ignored her comment. “Did I tell you we woke up in prison? Bah! The Egyptians are so uptight you’d think they can’t take a shit. It was a harmless night of amusement, but, no, they hauled us before the local magistrate, and there was a hearing with witnesses and a lot of shuffling papyrus, and shaking of heads—except ours, which were throbbing so much we could hardly follow what was going on. And then—can you believe this?—the judge sentenced us to six months of hard labor in a sandstone quarry in the middle of the desert. That’s it, we’re done for, I thought. I’ll never see my poor, dear, sweet Elissa again...”

  Kitane harrumphed loudly.

  “My dear, sweet, faithful wife, left a grief-stricken widow,” Lagish continued. “How could I bear to leave her in such a state?”

  Zuhatta chuckled. “How, indeed?”

  “I swear by Lady Pipituna’s tits, I languished in that cell, weeping bitter tears at the thought of my wife suffering in her widowhood, and my children growing up without their father.” Lagish wore a long face. “But then, the most remarkable thing happened. All of a sudden, in the midst of my grief, I heard the sounds of revelry. Bells and flutes and women’s laughter. More shocking: I saw the guards flirting with and fondling a troupe of dancing girls while on duty! Unconscionable! And you know what else? Those were the tallest, ugliest girls I ever saw, including the one with the mean right hook.” Somehow, Lagish did not seem very distressed over the ugly girls; he was even chuckling as he demonstrated the right hook, punching the empty air.

  “Those lovely ladies let us out of prison, only...” He laughed again, harder this time, even though Rusa failed to understand the joke. “I never suspected Nabdal had such shapely thighs under all that hair, but I still have no idea how he hid his twig and balls in that tiny girdle!”

  Amid the adult laughter, Balinaru complained, “What happened?”

  “Nabdal tucked his cock and balls between his legs to fool the Egyptians,” Amanas explained bluntly.

  “Mind your tongue, young man.” Realizing where her son got his uncouth manners, Elissa rounded on her husband. “And shame on you, Lagish. That’s not a story for mixed company.”

  Rusa was spellbound. He wanted to be like Lagish, to have adventures in strange, wonderful places, tell off-color jokes and be the man everybody liked.

  When his kinsmen left the next day, Rusa could not summon any enthusiasm for his lessons, and performed so poorly copying his figures that Naptu was forced to discipline him sternly for the first time in months. Rusa could have wept from the frustration; the sting of Naptu’s switch did not pain him as much as the certainty that he would never, ever get to go anywhere or do anything remotely interesting.

  Naptu gave him a curious sidelong look. “This is quite unlike you, Dadarusa. You have had only a day’s liberty, so you cannot have been too spoiled. Get up, wash your face, and stretch your legs, then come back straightaway and start these columns afresh. I want them perfectly done before noon.”

  Rusa’s mother shook a scolding finger at him when he went downstairs to find water to wash with. “No tantrums, young man.”

  Though he obeyed, Rusa felt sulky and depressed the rest of the day. That night, eavesdropping from the head of the stairs, he overheard a conv
ersation he did not quite understand.

  “You can’t be serious,” Kumurru complained. “Rusa’s the brightest of the lot, you realize that, don’t you? You want a son following you as a senior scribe in the Minos’s court, he’s the one.”

  Whatever Yikashata had said to elicit that remark, and whatever reply he made now, he spoke in such a low tone that Rusa could not quite make out the words. It must have been something to do with a punishment for that morning’s sulk, but Rusa could not so be certain from what his grandfather was saying about him being good enough for the Minos’s court. Maybe he would not be allowed to have lessons anymore. Maybe Naptu was so annoyed with him that he no longer wanted to be Rusa’s tutor, and had decided to resign. No! Rusa liked doing figures and signs, writing his own name, and learning history, and did not want another tutor.

  Then he heard his grandfather say, “Let Didanam do it. Gods know, he’s proficient at knocking things down.”

  What did Dida and knocking things down have to do with his punishment? Rusa wondered. He pondered it even when his mother hustled him to bed, after Balinaru crammed beside him, and Kitane blew out the lamp. Even after his brother started snoring, Rusa lay awake in the darkness trying to figure out what his elders meant.

  Adding to his confusion, when his mother woke him the next morning, she gave him different instructions than usual. “Put on your old tunic and your sturdiest shoes. Your grandfather Zuhatta is taking you out today.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because he wants to show you what he does.” She nudged him toward the washbasin. Balinaru was already getting dressed, and Dida had barely stirred. “Be sure to behave and pay attention. You’re not going for your pleasure.”

  Rusa was tall enough now that he could reach the basin without standing on a footstool. “Am I being punished?”

  “Punished?” Kitane pulled the blanket off a whining Dida, and was trying to drag him upright. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because I’m not having lessons today.” Rusa sluiced cool water onto his face before scrubbing a washcloth behind his ears; his mother always made sure he cleaned back there. “I was bad yesterday.”

  Kitane hauled her youngest into a sitting position and gave him a familiar smack to motivate him. “So you like your lessons today, do you? Well, it’s only for today. Your grandfather thought you might like visiting the tomb of Daidalos, and the quarries and workshops that serve the Labyrinth.”

  “Can I come?” Balinaru asked hopefully.

  “No, your grandfather did not ask for you, and your father did not give his permission. Besides, you have lessons.”

  Balinaru was visibly crushed and dragged his feet on the way downstairs. Rusa did not think it was fair that he could not come. Why would Zuhatta request one brother but not the other?

  A booming voice outside announced the presence of his grandfather. Dida, thinking Zuhatta was staying for an extended visit, jumped up and down until Kitane ordered him to finish his breakfast. Rusa started to get up when Kumurru, still dawdling over his porridge, caught his arm.

  “Remember, Dadarusa, you’re the son and grandson of scribes. Never mind what that uncouth meddler tells you about his craft.” Kumurru pressed something sticky into his hand. “This is a little something between you and me, yes?” When Rusa looked down, he saw a sesame ball that looked a week old. He murmured his thanks, but did not feel comfortable agreeing to disparage his other grandfather; it sounded like a two-faced, dishonest thing to do. He was not even sure he wanted the gift.

  Zuhatta was dressed for traveling in grubby clothes and stolid sandals, and carried a walking stick almost as tall as himself. “Good morning there, young man!” he boomed, grinning. “Are you ready to go?”

  Kitane outfitted Rusa with a straw hat and waterskin, and, noticing the sesame ball, wrapped it in a cloth. As Rusa licked the honey from his fingers, he noticed his older brother sitting dejectedly by the hearth. “Grandfather, can Balinaru come with us?” he asked. “He wants to see what you do, too.”

  Balinaru brightened for the few moments it took for their grandfather to dismiss that proposal. “No, not today, Dadarusa.” Zuhatta made it plain through his surprised reaction that he had not even noticed the older boy. “Your father said only you.”

  “You’re wasting your time with that boy.” Kumurru indicated Rusa with a thrust of his chin. “He’s got soft hands.”

  Rusa was blinking back tears by the time he and Zuhatta set out. On the one hand, he welcomed the escape from the schoolroom, especially after yesterday’s reprimand, but on the other he felt guilty and confused. Why had Kumurru disparaged him after giving him a rare, albeit stale treat? Why would they not let Balinaru accompany him? Although he knew now that he was not being punished, it nevertheless seemed so.

  The morning was still young, the air cool, and the light soft. Zuhatta led the way past neighboring houses to the east-west road that Yikashata traveled each day to the Minos’s mansion. “Grandfather,” Rusa asked in a small voice, “why couldn’t Balinaru or Dida come with us?”

  “Because today has nothing to do with them.” Zuhatta paced his strides so that his grandson could keep up. “Balinaru is the eldest of three sons, and as such will follow your father’s trade. Sometimes it’s good to be the eldest, to inherit the best part of everything. Younger sons, on the other hand, have more freedom to choose. What that means for you, Dadarusa, is that you’re under no binding obligation to become a scribe like your father or brother.”

  Rusa did not understand why his grandfather was telling him such things. “You mean Father doesn’t want me to be a scribe?” He had always assumed that he and Balinaru—and Dida, once he was old enough—would become scribes together.

  “Your father wants what’s best for you,” Zuhatta replied. “But there are many opportunities for those who have had the right schooling. You needn’t limit yourself to becoming a scribe.”

  “Like what?” While Naptu often told him and Balinaru about the various scribal professions they could aspire to, it had not dawned on Rusa until now that he could get an education without becoming a scribe. Successful merchant-adventurers like Lagish also kept tallies, and could read and write. “Could I be a sea captain?”

  “What?”

  Where the road met a juncture, Zuhatta turned onto the south route leading toward the Labyrinth and bull dancing enclosure. Two-and-three-story mansions with shaded courtyards fronted the road. Minos Hammuras lived in this neighborhood; his mansion overlooked the Kairatos. Rusa had never been inside, but he was proud that his father had been granted such close access to the ruler of Knossos.

  “A sea captain like Uncle Lagish,” Rusa repeated. “I could sail to sorts of marvelous places, and—”

  “I heard what you said, Rusa,” Zuhatta answered sharply, “but you could be a court official, a teacher, or even a priest. You could be wealthy and comfortable, not like that cheating, lying braggart of a sailor who calls himself my son-in-law.”

  Rusa frowned. “I thought you liked him.”

  “Not as a son-in-law, but that’s none of your concern. Put all thoughts of going to sea from your mind. Now look to your right.” Zuhatta’s hand came down on Rusa’s shoulder, encouraging him to take in the view of the temple mount. “What do you think of that?”

  Rusa saw the Labyrinth every day. Its sheer physical presence dominated the skyline, a constant reminder that the gods were near. “I think it’s very big.” Did his priest-architect grandfather want him to comment on the architectural features? Rusa did not know the correct names for half of them. Did Zuhatta want him to sigh and express a desire to see inside? Everyone knew little boys were not allowed.

  “Big?” Zuhatta exclaimed. “Look again!” He gesticulated wildly, drawing curious glances from the elegant ladies, servants, and others out for a stroll. “Every time you look, there’s something new to see, and it’s different from every angle. Every entrance serves a different purpose.”

  An
other junction in the road brought them to the end of the fashionable river district. Ahead, a stone bridge spanned the confluence of the Kairatos and Vlychia. Zuhatta crossed, following the road south into a ravine leading toward the hills separating Knossos from the Archanes valley and holy Mount Juktas. The north-south road was a busy thoroughfare connecting inland towns to the sea. Rusa saw mules laden with amphorae and other goods heading in both directions, and foreigners mixed with the local foot traffic.

  “There are workshops all over that make fine things for the temple, or for trade elsewhere.” Zuhatta steered Rusa toward the shoulder, where they would not get in the way. “Have I ever told you that the very first structures Daidalos built on the temple mount were workshops?”

  Many times. “Yes, Grandfather.”

  As the morning steadily grew warmer, Rusa was grateful for the hat his mother had pressed upon him. He supposed that right about then he would have been engaged in his sign drills, writing out neat rows of everything he had memorized before Naptu taught him that morning’s new vocabulary word. Sometimes if he did well, he would receive two or three words.

  “Grandfather,” he asked, “how do you write out Daidalos?” Naptu had not started teaching him names aside from his own and a handful of others.

  “Hmm, well, it’s been a while.” Zuhatta pondered the question so long that Rusa wondered whether he actually knew the answer. “Ah, yes, I remember the rule now. You replace ‘l’ with ‘r’ and write it as da-da-re-so.” He enunciated each syllable for Rusa to memorize.

  Rusa tried the syllables on his tongue. It seemed to him that da-da-ro-so would have been a more approximate spelling, but guessed that maybe there was some reason, some grammatical rule that Naptu had yet to teach him. Then something else occurred to him. “It sounds a lot like my name.”

  Zuhatta expressed delight over the observation. “Why, yes, that’s right. Very clever.” Then, still chuckling, he asked, “Have you ever thought about becoming a priest-architect, Rusa?”