By now Agamemnon’s fleets were huge, and the uneasy question remained: Where were they?
The rocky coastline of Argos was close off the port bow, and the fleet sailed on past small villages and ports, cutting toward the east and the islands southwest of Samothraki.
Toward dusk they spotted a high-prowed trading galley heading east. The ship made no effort to evade them, and Helikaon signaled two of his flanking galleys to intercept her. The trader complied, edging his vessel alongside the Xanthos.
Helikaon strode to the starboard rail and gazed down onto the decks of the trader. The rowers were sitting idle now, their oars drawn in. A fat-bellied merchant wearing voluminous robes of bright purple looked up at him. The man had long dark hair and a beard that had been curled with hot irons in the Hittite manner. “We travel under the protection of the emperor and have no part in your wars,” he called out.
“Where are you headed?” Helikaon asked him.
“Through the Hellespont and home.”
“Come aboard and share a cup of wine with me,” Helikaon said. A rope was lowered, and the chubby merchant heaved his way up to the taller ship, clambering over the rail red-faced and breathing hard. He gazed around with interest.
“I have heard of the Xanthos, King Aeneas,” he said. “A very fine vessel.”
“My friends call me Helikaon, and I have always been a friend to those who serve the emperor.”
The man bowed. “I am Oniganthas. Last year I could have described myself as a rich merchant. These days poverty beckons. This war of yours is ruinous to trade.”
Helikaon ordered wine brought and led Oniganthas to the high rear deck. The merchant sipped his wine, murmured appreciative comments concerning its quality, and then stood silently, his large dark eyes watching Helikaon.
“Where has your voyage taken you?” Helikaon asked.
“From Athens along the coast and up to Thraki. No trade there any longer.”
“So you sailed down to Argos?”
Oniganthas nodded. “And sold my cargo at a small loss. These are not good days, Helikaon.”
“And what news did you carry to Argos?”
“News? I carried spices and perfumes.”
“Let us not play games, Oniganthas. You are a neutral vessel. Were I one of Agamemnon’s generals or admirals, I would seek to use such a vessel to carry information. Have you been asked to perform such a service?”
“We must be wary here,” Oniganthas said with a sly smile. “Many people will talk on beaches or at ports, but as a neutral it would be ill advised of me to offer my services to one side or the other. That would make me an agent of one of the powers, and my neutrality would be forfeit.”
Helikaon considered his words. On the surface the argument seemed reasonable enough, but neither Agamemnon nor his generals would respect the neutrality of a Hittite vessel unless it suited their purpose. The only way Oniganthas could sail safely through the war zone would be if he carried evidence of Mykene safe conduct. With trade so savagely disrupted, the Hittite merchant was probably supplementing his income by relaying messages to and from Mykene generals.
“I can see,” Helikaon said at last, “that you are a man of subtlety.”
The merchant drained his wine and handed the cup back to a waiting sailor. “As all merchants must, I seek profit. There is no profit for me without neutrality. With it I am free to conduct business with any of the city-states or nations around the Great Green. Indeed, it has always been my hope to strengthen my dealings with Dardania.”
“And no reason why we should not,” Helikaon said. “I have been looking for a man of enterprise to hold some gold for me against such time when I might need that gold.”
Helikaon saw the glint of greed in the man’s eyes. “How much gold are we speaking of, Helikaon?”
“Enough, were it to be used so, to build several trading galleys, and certainly enough to offset a poor trading season.” Helikaon paused, watching the man and allowing the lure of the suggested bribe to work on him.
“And this man would merely hold the gold for you?” Oniganthas asked.
Helikaon smiled. “Or perhaps make it grow to our joint advantage.”
“Ah, you seek a business alliance, then?”
“Indeed so. We should talk more of this. Perhaps you would stay with us for the night.”
“I would enjoy that,” Oniganthas said, “for I have been starved of intelligent company recently. Most of my nights have been spent listening to Mykene sailors and soldiers and”—he looked into Helikaon’s eyes—“their endless talk of wars and victories and plans.”
The fleet beached on a barren uninhabited island, and Helikaon, Oniganthas alongside him, watched as Oniacus and several of the sailors brought out items they had plundered during their raids. There were cups and goblets of gold inset with gems and heavy jewelry of Mykene design. Everything was laid on a blanket on the sand.
Oniganthas knelt to examine the pieces in the fading light. “Exquisite,” he said.
While the cookfires were being lit, Helikaon led Oniganthas away from the men, and they sat and talked until they were called to eat. Later, as the merchant slept, Helikaon walked away from the campsite and up to the crest of a high hill. What he had heard from Oniganthas was dispiriting.
Gershom and Oniacus joined him. “Did you learn much from the merchant?” Gershom asked.
“I did, and little of it good. I need time to think. Let us walk awhile.”
The island was rocky and inhospitable, but on a nearby hilltop someone had built a temple. Moonlight shone on its white columns.
“I wonder who it is dedicated to,” Oniacus said.
Helikaon did not care, but he strolled with the others to the deserted building. There were no statues around the perimeter and none inside. The dust of centuries lay on the stone-slabbed floor. Part of the roof had collapsed, allowing moonlight to shine through. They searched the building but found no carvings, no implements, no broken cups or lamps.
Helikaon knelt and brushed away the thick dust from a section of the floor. Beneath it was a deep curved line carved into the stone slabs. Gershom and Oniacus joined him, and together they scraped back the dust from adjoining slabs. The symbol they revealed covered the entire floor. There were two circles, the larger enclosing the smaller, and a diagonal line cutting through them both.
“What does it mean?” Oniacus asked.
“It is an ancient symbol,” Helikaon told him. “You can find it on old maps. Merchants once used the symbols to mark areas of trade or military power. The outer circle, if broken, means there are no hostile forces. A broken inner circle means little trade exists in the area. Unbroken circles mean the opposite: strong defenses but good trade.”
“And a line like this, running through two unbroken circles?” Oniacus asked.
“It means the area has not been scouted. It is unknown.”
“So,” Gershom said, staring down at the carving. “Someone came to this barren rock and built a temple to the unknown?”
“It would appear so,” Helikaon answered. “How strange. They would have had to transport the marble and timber across the Great Green, then haul it up here. Scores, perhaps hundreds, of workers and stonemasons constructing a building no one would visit on an island without a settlement.”
Gershom laughed. “I think it is a grand jest. We all worship the unknown and the unknowable. That is the essence of our lives. All we can ever know is what was, not what will be. Yet we yearn to know, to understand the mystery. Whoever built this had a fine sense of humor and an eye for the future. A temple to the unknown, built by someone unknown, for an unknown purpose. It is delightful.”
“Well, I think it is nonsense,” Oniacus complained. “A waste of good marble and labor.”