They picked their way daintily about, their waists nipped in like wasps’, their kilts embroidered; some had found fresh flowers to stick in their long hair. From their wrists hung carved seals on bracelets of gold or beads; and the scents they wore were strange and heady.
I went through the market, greeting the craftsmen and the farmers. Though the Cretans could not well have taken me for a son of the village, they heeded me no more than a passing dog, except for a few who stared. I saw, as I looked round, that they were treating the place as if tumblers and mimes were putting on a show for them, pointing at people or at the goods, calling out to each other or giggling with heads together. One man had filled his cloak with radishes and onions; going up to the potter, he said in his mincing Cretan Greek, “I want a crock to keep these in. That one will do.” When the potter said it was his best piece, meant for the table, he only said, “Oh, it will do, it will do,” and paid the price without question, and tossed his vegetables in.
Just then I heard a woman call out in anger. It was the oilman’s young wife, who sold in the market while her husband worked the press. A Cretan was thrusting money on her, and clearly not for her oil jars, for he was grabbing at her breast. Some village men were coming up, and there were the makings of a brawl; so I tapped the Cretan’s shoulder. “Listen, stranger; I don’t know what your customs are at home, but these are decent wives here. If you want a woman, the house is over there, with the painted doorway.”
He turned and looked at me; a sallow creature, wearing a necklace of fake gold, which was peeling from the glass below. Then he winked. “And what do you get out of it, eh, my lad?”
I could not speak at first. Something seemed to give him pause, and he jumped back. But he was beneath a lesson, so I only said, “Thank your gods you are a guest of the land; and get out of my sight.”
As he went, an older man with a beard came up and said, “Sir, I ask your pardon for that low fellow. A nobody who can’t tell a gentleman when he sees one.” I said, “It seems he can’t even tell a whore,” and walked away. I could see, behind his civility, that he was pleased at having been gracious to someone below him. None of us was of consequence to these people. I remembered my grandfather’s words; he had understood it.
I was going, but paused as a loud voice began to speak. It was the shipmaster, standing up on a stone bollard. “Anyone for Athens?” he was saying. “Now’s your chance, good people; now’s the time, while the weather holds. If you’ve never crossed the sea, don’t be afraid, Sea Eagle will get you there smooth as milk and safe as houses. No need to risk your necks on the Isthmus Road and get your throats slit by robbers. You’ll meet no pirates on this run; that’s what you pay taxes to King Minos for, so come and get the worth of it. Sail in Sea Eagle, for speed and ease. And if you can’t judge of a ship for yourselves, let me tell you this: your King’s own grandson is booked with us this trip.”
So far I listened, standing behind the crowd. Then I said, “Oh, no.”
It was the people of Troizen, all turning round, that brought him up short. He said, “And who may you be?” and looked again and said, “Sir?”
“I’m King Pittheus’ grandson,” I said, “and I’ve changed my mind. Your ship won’t do; I’m used to better.” At this all the Troizenians cheered. You might have supposed that they believed it.
The master looked at me, put out. “Well, my lord, that’s for you to say. But you won’t do better for a ship than this, any nearer than Corinth. They don’t call at these small ports.” I was getting angry, but would not make a show of myself before the people. I was at pains to keep my voice down, but somewhat surprised to find it saying, “I shan’t need one. I am going overland, by the Isthmus Road.”
I turned on my heel, hearing behind me the people clucking and the chattering of the Cretans. As I went, I had a glimpse of the fellow with the necklace, who had taken me for a pimp. I was sorry to leave him with a whole skin; and then for many years forgot him. Yet I see, when I look back, that he let flow the blood of as many men as if he had been some great War Leader; the blood of chiefs and princes, and the blood of a king. It may be that if all were known, palaces and kingdoms have fallen by such men. But they go to their unmarked graves, and never know it.
6
THUS I SET OUT by land for Athens. My grandfather, though he thought I had acted like a fool and was concerned for me, could not ask me to go back on my word before the people, and disgrace the house. My mother went to the House Snake, to get me an oracle. Though she saw dangers in my way, she did not see death. But she said weeping that the dangers were very great, and she had no surety for me. She made me vow to her that I would not tell my father’s name till I had reached him; she was afraid of my falling into the hands of his enemies, and to comfort her I promised this. I asked her if she had any message for him; but she shook her head, saying I was her message, and for the rest, it was long ago.
So two days later my pair was harnessed, and I mounted beside my charioteer. I had meant to drive myself, but Dexios had begged to come. He had been suckled by a mare, as the saying is; for a driver or a friend, one could not do better.
We drove echoing under the great gate of Troizen, which giants built, and where my great-grandfather set up the device of our house, a thunderstone on a pillar, with an eagle either side. My grandfather, and my uncles, and the young men set me on my way as far as the shore, where the road turns northward. Then they rode back, and our journey had begun. The first night we slept at Epidauros, at the sanctuary of Healing Apollo; the second at Kenchreai. When we saw at evening the round mount of Corinth stand above the plain, we knew that next day we should cross the Isthmus.
The crossing took a day. That is the truth, behind all the harpers’ nonsense. Nowadays I am content to deny such fables as no grown man in his senses would believe, and let go the rest. They are dear to the people, and hurt neither them nor me.
I met no monsters, nor did I kill a giant with a cudgel; a fool’s weapon for a man with spear and sword. I kept my arms, though more than one tried to have them off me; I had no need of monsters, with the men I met. It is rocky country, where the road tacks about, and you can never see far ahead. Among the rocks by the road, the robbers lie up.
Dexios saw to the chariot, while I took on whatever came. He had to be ready to get us sharply away. That was his work, and he did it well. Having no change of horses, we could not risk them. Now, after the years, these scrimmages get confused together in my mind, except for the last.
Deep blue, and black, the Isthmus is in my memory; blue sky above, with seldom a cloud to break it; and always on the right, black plunging rocks with their feet in a blue sea. The pink dusty road before us, the scrub and the dark pines, lay always between these depths of blue. The sea was calm; as one looked down, it drowned the eye like a second zenith, but bluer still; bluer than lapis, or sapphire, or whatever flower is bluest; and then again, in the dark clear shadows round the deep roots of the rocks, green and grape-purple, like the ring-dove’s sheen. It must have been seldom I stood in quiet to gaze at it. My eye was sharpened for other matters. Yet it is the blue that I remember.
I remember that, and the feel of a land without law. On the Isthmus Road, a wounded man by the wayside, his blood black with flies and his mouth cracking for water, is the sign for wayfarers to flog on their donkeys and get out of sight. There was not much to be done, by the time one found him. I remember one I could only dispatch like a dog gored by the boar. I did it quickly, while he was drinking; he got the taste of the water first.