by Hilary Green
He spoke from close behind me. 'I keep thinking it could be you, lying down there like Xouthos. What we did today was stupid. I should never have permitted it.'
I looked at him. 'It was my fault. And it could have been you - or worse, one of us could be dead.'
The breeze had blown a lock of hair across my face. He put up his hand and pushed it back over my shoulder, and suddenly I knew that we had come to a defining moment. If I made a mistake now things would change forever between us. He would never abandon me, I knew that, but something in him would die, a flame that could never be re-kindled.
I found myself staring at the sand between his feet. I forced myself to look up and meet his eyes and felt his hand slide round the back of my neck. I leaned towards him and his lips brushed mine in a touch as subtle and as brief as a whispered question. My searching mouth left him in no doubt about my answer.
At the end of that first, long kiss he held me close and groaned softly into my ear,
"Oh, my dear, I've waited so long for this! I had almost convinced myself that it would never happen."
"I'm sorry," I whispered in return. "That day at the farm, you took me by surprise. Since then I've never known how to show you how I felt."
"If only I'd known," he murmured, his lips against my neck. "If anything had happened to you today..."
"But it didn't. We're both safe, and we have the rest of our lives in front of us. Let’s not waste any more time.’
He kissed me again and then drew me down onto his outspread cloak and folded me into his arms. For the first time in my experience passion and tenderness went hand in hand. He was a skilful lover, though it was not until sometime later that I asked him where he learned the art. The past was irrelevant and the future hardly more real, only the present mattered, poised upon the needle point of desire.
Our lovemaking was not prolonged that first time. We were both too tired. When it was over he wrapped his cloak about both of us and drew me against his shoulder. Drowsily I asked, as I suppose all new lovers do, 'How long? When did you first…?
He hugged me closer. 'Longer than you would ever imagine. Since you were twelve years old.'
I drew back to look at him. 'So long? But you never gave any hint - until the day we went hunting.'
'I never intended to,' he replied. 'I daresay if I had spoken at the start you would have done whatever I asked. But I swore to myself I would say nothing until you were old enough to make your own decisions. And then, well, it never seemed the right time. I didn't want you to come to me out of gratitude, or because you were afraid.'
'And I had almost decided it wasn't what you wanted after all.'
He groaned and gave a wry smile. 'I know. I was beginning to think I had made a terrible mistake.'
'No,' I said softly, settling once more against his shoulder. 'I was the one who almost did that.'
'Sleep, my prince,' he murmured. 'It is almost dawn.'
I mumbled into his neck, 'You can't go on calling me prince. Not after what we've just done.'
I felt him laugh softly. 'Oh yes, I can. More than ever now, you are my prince, the ruler of my heart.'
'I'll remember that,' I murmured drowsily, 'next time I want to do something you disapprove of.'
He said nothing but tightened his arms around me, and in a moment more I was asleep.
When we walked back to the ship, our shadows long in the first rays of the sun, we found Xouthos sleeping quietly. Cresphontes was still sitting by him, his head hanging in exhaustion. As we approached he looked up and a shadow of his familiar ironic grin crossed his haggard face.
'So, you finally came to your senses! About time, too!'
Chapter 7.
All that long, golden day we coasted northwards under oars. The sailors pulled with a will, content I suppose with the thought of the extra reward they had won themselves: but it seemed to me that my own happiness had infected the whole ship. Certainly I was incapable of concealing it. Now I could look back on yesterday’s raid and count it a triumph and it seemed that my ordeals were over and I was returning home in glory.
Xouthos lay quiet under the awning, making no complaint although he must have been in pain. The fever had left him and Kerkios had brewed a foul smelling infusion of herbs for him to drink that seemed to have dulled his senses. Cresphontes, convinced at last that the boy was going to live, slept most of the day.
As we made camp at nightfall I saw Kerkios surveying the sky with narrowed eyes. A small number of clouds had drifted up from the west.
‘What’s the matter, Kerkios?’
‘Nothing, maybe, sir. But I think we may have a storm tomorrow.’
‘A bad one?’
‘Probably not, but it may be enough to keep us ashore.’
‘I hope not,’ I said. I was eager now to be home.
After supper Cresphontes remarked, ‘Forgive me for raising the matter, but I think it’s time we divided the spoils among us.’
‘Certainly,’ I responded. ‘How shall we go about it?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘since a third is to come to me and Xouthos …’
Alectryon, who had seemed to be dreaming of something else, looked up quickly and said, ‘A quarter. That was the agreement.’
‘A quarter then,’ said Cresphontes grinning, quite undisturbed. ‘On one condition. The woman I took from the chief’s house is mine by right. She is not part of the deal.’
The girl had sat silent all day in the bottom of the boat and met the casual insolence of the sailors with stubborn pride. I thought of the timid, downcast eyes of Purwa and reflected that this girl would find it hard to bend herself to the Dorian idea of a woman’s life. I felt sorry for her and was on the point of protesting but Alectryon had already said, ‘Naturally, that goes without saying. She is yours.’
When the booty had been divided and we had each presented a suitable gift to Kerkios and Dexeus for their part in the enterprise, we strolled down to the ship to examine the captives. Seeing us approach the servant girls clung to each other and began to weep, but the other merely lifted her head and gazed at us with a look that was at once defiance and acceptance of her fate. Cresphontes took her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet, saying with a cruel grin, ‘You are mine, so you might as well come to understand it now.’
The words, of course, meant nothing to her but the gesture and the look in Cresphontes’s eyes must have been unmistakable. She bent her head and her hair fell about her face.
Cresphontes was about to lead her away when I said abruptly, ‘Cresphontes! Let me buy the woman from you. I’ll give you more than her value.’
He checked and looked back at me, surprised. I was aware, also, of Alectryon’s eyes on my face. Cresphontes came back a pace or two.
‘You surprise me, prince. I thought your desires were elsewhere.’
‘It’s not a question of desire,’ I returned stiffly. ‘She appeals to me. Her bearing would fit her to attend upon me at my father’s palace.’
He laughed and made a coarse joke, then looked at the girl and considered. Finally he said, ‘What will you give for her?’
I thought of the contents of my treasure chest and made him an offer.
He grinned, ‘It’s a generous price, but it won’t meet my needs tonight. I’ll tell you what. I’m not so particular about this girl. She looks a sullen bitch to me. Give me one of the others in her place – the little plump one who is crying. I’ll soon cheer her up! And then throw in those other things you mentioned and it’s a deal.’
I bargained over the additional articles but finally let him have more than the woman was worth. He shoved her over to me so that she fell at my feet and seized the other girl. Her howls faded into the forest behind the beach. I stooped and took the chief’s daughter by the arm to raise her and she looked up at me with wide, hopeless eyes. I looked at Alectryon.
‘I wish I could speak to her.’
‘Are words necessary?’ he answered shortly.
&n
bsp; I lead the girl back to her companion and sat her down. The food we had sent them from our evening meal stood nearby, untouched. I put a piece of bread into her hands and nodded encouragingly.
‘Eat.’
Slowly, without taking her eyes off me, she raised it to her mouth. I pointed to my own chest and said, ‘Alkmaion.’
She gazed at me. I pointed to her and, after I had repeated the two gestures and my own name once or twice she whispered, ‘Andria.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now don’t be afraid, Andria. No one is going to hurt you.’
She seemed to understand my tone, if not the words, and some of the fear went out of her eyes. I rose and rejoined Alectryon, who had moved away up the beach.
‘I just wanted to reassure her,’ I said curtly, and walked on past him.
He came after me and caught my arm. ‘I’m sorry.’
I met his eyes and found myself smiling. My anger had never been more than pretence. We walked on along the beach together. He said, ‘You gave Cresphontes too much for her.’
‘I know.’
‘Why do you want her so much?’
‘I couldn’t bear to think of her in Cresphontes’s hands. At home she will be treated more in the manner she has been accustomed to.’
He smiled. ‘Lucky girl! Trust you to be more concerned about the happiness of a slave then her value. What will you do with her?’
‘She can attend on me.’
‘Mukala will be jealous.’
I shrugged and sat down in the shelter of a rock, looking up at him. ‘So what? Let them fight it out between them. It doesn’t concern me at the moment.’
We woke next morning to an overcast sky and a brisk wind from the south west. Kerkios was doubtful about putting to sea but I persuaded him that it would be foolish not to make use of the wind to help us on our way. So we launched the ship and for a while she sped along under the straining sail, the keel slicing through the water. The cool breeze was refreshing after days of heat and voices rang cheerily. Even the captives looked a little more reconciled. In fact, the girl whom Cresphontes had taken the night before giggled every time he looked in her direction, until her one-time mistress spoke sharply to her.
The sky, instead of brightening, grew darker and the wind freshened. The ship began to pitch and Xouthos let out a little moan and went very pale. Cresphontes propped him across his knees to steady him against the movement of the ship and I noticed that he, too, had changed colour.
Then the steersman called to Kerkios, ‘The wind’s veered round. We’re being blown out to sea.’
Kerkios nodded briefly and shouted to the sailors to lower the sail. They leapt to his command, battling with the canvas as if with a living creature, and as they did so the wind freshened still further.
‘Get to your oars,’ Kerkios shouted. ‘We must try to make the shore.’
I got up and braced myself against the wind. We were further from the coast than I had realised and the wind was blowing directly from it. There were white crests on the waves now. Alectryon rose also and I shouted, 'Do you think we shall reach it?’
He shrugged, pushing back the hair from his face. ‘I can’t tell. Kerkios knows what he’s doing.’
The crew took their oars and strained against the force of the wind. The waves began to break white over the figurehead in the prow and flying spray whipped our faces. Then a sudden squall struck us and the ship yawed and began to roll broadside on to the waves. Kerkios shouted to his men. I saw that the helmsman was struggling with the great steering oar and leapt to help him. Somehow we got the ship round into the wind again. Kerkios was down among the crew, shouting above the noise of the storm, giving them the stroke. Alectryon called to Dexeus and they jumped down to help pull an oar apiece, but after a few minutes of such effort it was apparent that we were making no headway.
Kerkios came back onto the deck and shouted, ‘It’s no use! There’s only one thing we can do and that’s run before the wind.’
He gave orders and we let the ship fall off until she was broadside on again and then, with a struggle, brought her round with her stern to the wind. At once we seemed to rush forward as though hurled from the hand of a god. Each wave lifted us and swept us onwards into the wild grey waste of the open sea. Alectryon and Dexeus struggled back on deck and we huddled together, clutching our cloaks around us and gripping on to anything that gave a firm hold.
‘What are our chances, Kerkios?’ Alectryon asked.
The captain was watching the scudding clouds above us. ‘Who can say? We are in the hands of Poseidon now and we must pray that he will save us. But if he lets us live we may be home sooner than you expect, Prince Alkmaion.’
‘Home?’
‘The wind is now almost due north-west. South-east of here, if I am right, lies the coast of your own country.’
‘But that is wonderful!’
He gave a small, ironic smile. ‘Perhaps. But there is a great distance of wild and hostile sea between us yet, with who knows what rocks or craggy islands. And if the wind is more northerly than I think we may be blown past the south cape and on towards Crete.’
‘Then let us invoke the Lord Poseidon,’ I said, ‘and beg his favour.’
This we did, and I prayed, ‘Father Poseidon, great ancestor of my family, I have already promised you the sacrifice of a black bull when we reach the long beaches of sandy Pylos again. I beg of you, do not let the great line of Neleus, your son, perish but bring me home safely with my friends. And I will offer a still richer sacrifice to show my gratitude.’
Then we sang a hymn and settled down with as much cheerfulness as we could muster to endure the violence of the storm. During the struggle to reach land and the offering of the prayers I had been too occupied to notice our Dorian companions. Now I saw to my surprise that Xouthos’s face was streaked with tears. I remembered his earlier courage and thought it strange that he should cry now, until I realised that he was weeping with sheer terror. Cresphontes was in little better case, his face strained and white. As I watched he clapped his hand to his mouth and I was just in time to catch Xouthos out of his arms before he dived for the side of the ship.
I propped Xouthos against me and held him tightly, trying to cushion his shoulder, and said in his ear, ‘Don’t be afraid. Poseidon is the forefather of my family and has ever favoured us. We shall survive.’
He shook his head and cried wildly, ‘Nothing can live in this!’
Kerkios heard him and gave a short, grim laugh. ‘Come, there’s worse than this, you know. I’ve lived through far greater storms and come safe home to tell the tale.’
‘And I,’ shouted Alectryon, who had once, to my great envy, travelled as far as Egypt. ‘This is nothing to the one that drove us onto the coast of Crete that time.’
In this way we tried to reassure ourselves, and particularly our two friends, but they were not to be comforted. Cresphontes hung over the side, moaning as loudly as the wind, and Alectryon had to take a firm hold of his belt to prevent him from falling overboard, while Xouthos clung to me, shivering with terror. And so we drove across the wind-whipped sea all day and into the night.
At nightfall we shared what cold provisions we had and I gave orders for one of the remaining jars of wine to be broached. I also had the prisoners untied so that they could eat, and so that if some disaster struck us during the night they might have at least a chance of survival.
Cresphontes was laying on the deck now, his eyes closed. When we tried to cheer him his only comment was that he wished the ship would sink quickly and bring an end to his misery. Night closed round us and still we fled before the wind. Each wave flung the stern of the ship up into the turbulent darkness until it seemed we must drive prow first into the depths, and then let us fall sickeningly back while the lookout in the bows hung above us. We were silent now, watching the dark sea ahead for rocks or the cliffs of some unknown island. Alectryon moved over to me and took Xouthos from my numbed arms and the three of us
huddled close to each other.
Then, sometime in the middle of the night, the wind abated as suddenly as it had arisen. For a while no one spoke, for fear that it might be only a temporary lull. Then the first stars appeared through a rift in the clouds and Kerkios said, ‘The storm is over.’
Everyone stirred and breathed a prayer of relief, but he added warningly, ‘The sea is still running. We are not safe yet.’
Then he called to the lookout to keep a closer watch, now that the star-light enabled us to see a little further ahead, and told the men to be ready to take the oars. But Poseidon was not unmindful of my promised sacrifice and all night the ship sped onwards without harm.
At dawn the sky was clear and delicate as the petal of a flower and the air was still. When the sun rose the sea stretched around us, brilliant blue and sparkling with crests of white foam. For a few minutes our view was bounded by mist and then, as it cleared, the lookout gave a shout.
‘Land!’
Kerkios leapt to his feet. I disentangled myself from Alectryon and Xouthos and jumped up also, stiff from bracing myself against the movement of the ship. Ahead of us a long, mountainous coast stretched from north to south. I stared, afraid to voice my hopes, until Kerkios said, ‘Well, Prince Alkmaion, don’t you recognise the mountains of your own country?’
I stared a moment longer and then whispered, ‘Truly, the Lord Poseidon has taken us in his hand and brought us home.’
Like an echo the grateful prayers of the whole crew rose into the still air. Then the sailors took their oars and began to row for the distant land as if they had spent the night in refreshing sleep rather than crouched on their thwarts amid the flying spray. The sun’s warmth began to make itself felt and we spread ourselves gratefully before it. Soon everything on board was steaming. Alectryon laid Xouthos down and turned to Cresphontes, who had fallen into an exhausted sleep. He shook him gently, saying, ‘Wake up, Cresphontes. The storm is over and the coast of Messenia is before us. We shall soon be ashore.’