Another three months later...
The boat lay rocking gently at anchor just beyond the low, breaking surf. It was springtime, and the clement weather had brought with it two other vessels. These were lying tilted upon the shore, against wooden ox-drawn walkways. The men in the floating vessel were waiting their turn to beach and offload.
Thersander pushed against the starboard side and tested his ability to rock the boat. Not very successfully. Then the sea did it.
He counted the waves passing.
The eighth wave approached and the boat rose more noticeably and rolled again as the next peak of swell passed underneath. The harbour beach was sheltered by a promontory a hundred swimming strokes away. Thersander could see that the surf was rougher on the promontory beach and almost fancied that he could see the incoming waves bending towards it as they came in from the open sea. He stood and wondered how this could happen. The waves near the harbour beach slowed up and bunched as they reached the shallow water of the shoreline, and Thersander began to see how the shallow water near the promontory beach might also slow up the incoming swell and bend the whole foamy line towards it, stretching and lowering the waves approaching the harbour beach.
Shouts rang out from the direction of the unloading, and the sound of the feet and breath of oxen and the clatter of copper clad wheels over cobbles. After a while the clanking of wine vessels added to the sound, and the cry of gulls as a fisherman returned. This was immediately imitated by the cry of men, as an amphora fell while being manhandled and broke on a timber walkway, letting its contents gush out onto the sand and pebbles below. Thersander watched the distant activity with amusement, as smaller vessels, jars and pots, were called for and rushed up to the scene. Oxen snorted.
It was wonderful to be home.
On the beach appeared a woman, holding a baby in her arms. She waved and Thersander waved back, excitedly.
He had spent three months voyaging from Albion, sometimes in the most atrocious of winter weather, and had joined this vessel at Calliste, two days before. On board were wooden crates containing mortars of volcanic stone, large jars of honey, amphorae of dried fruit and two nondescript sealed wooden boxes containing more tin than he could lift by himself.
The vessel began to drag its anchor and the shore slid past them for a while. Then the oars were taken and an easy haul brought them back to a position near the beached ships again. The stone was cast back over the side and with a splash, it sank down to plough another furrow in the sand and broken pithos shards.
It was late in the afternoon before the vessel was brought onto the beach and Thersander could disembark.
·
Later that evening, in a comfortable room on the ground floor of a large building, Thersander spoke with Neileus, his craft master. Flames crackled and sent fumes upwards to a central chimney flue. A wineskin hung from a tripod high above the charcoal embers in a corner of the hearth, keeping its contents nicely mulled and filling the room with a sweet and penetrating aroma.
Neileus took the wineskin down and filled two large cups. Then he stretched forward and knocked a log over into the brighter embers. A small flame burst into life and tickled along its blackened side. A substantial pile of tin cubes glistened at his feet. 'We have thirteen ships ready to set out tomorrow for the mines of Laurium,' he said.
'That's lucky,' observed Thersander. 'Does it leave any men at all to stay behind?'
'No,' said Neileus, abruptly and with a smile.
'How do the women feel about it?'
'I think they are looking forward to the peace!'
The town of Agia, on the (now treeless) island of Kea, is not large and lives solely upon the manufacture of silver. The previous two months have been very busy indeed. 'The potters have worked long hours to produce the extra crucibles and fireboxes for the task ahead, and every available ship has been made ready for the run across to Laurium, to collect the charcoal and the lead.'
'I had hoped to be back sooner,' said Thersander, 'but they seemed to like my company! You should see the quantities of beer they drink!' He took a sip of his wine. 'And what a journey back! Only a single storm but I know why we drag our boats up on land for the winter! I can still feel the ground moving beneath me.'
'I know of nobody who has made a voyage like that in winter,' said Neileus, trying to conceal his admiration. 'Are you certain you want to come with us tomorrow?'
'How much is waiting for us in Laurium?'
'I was over at the mines last month,' said Neileus. 'The woodmen assured me that all the charcoal would be ready in time. And the smelters were working very hard, getting ready for the normal spring exchanges as well as for our special shipment of lead. We will get the best grade for cupellation. And they have some hard coal dug from seams in the ground as well. I had never seen it before but it burns brilliantly.' Neileus sucked the flesh from an olive and tossed the stone into the glowing embers.
'I was shown the ore face which is providing the galena for our metal. It is in a horrible place and I cannot envy the poor miners bashing it out.'
A narrow line of smoke rose from the olive stone towards the circular terracotta chimney, caught a level of turbulence and dispersed erratically.
'How are the ram ships coming along?'
'They are ready. I saw one filled with cedar oil and honey for ballast. It makes quite good camouflage. When we get back from Laurium we will have a month to make as much silver as we can.'
As Thersander and Neileus talked by the hearth, the moon rose above a distant line of clouds, speckled the sea with shimmering shades and cast a silver light over the watchman's fire and over the leaning boats as they waited for the morning. It was the day of the spring equinox. Thersander had returned from Albion boat-weary and embroiled in questions that he could not answer.
'Have any oracles been consulted about this endeavour?'
'Of course,' replied Neileus.
'I wouldn't bother to listen to any of them,' said Thersander.
·
Hermione placed the cup on the table and, kneeling on a red cushion, stirred the infusion which was simmering in a bowl. Then, with a wooden stirrer, she carefully skimmed the floating leaves towards the side furthest from the spout. Finally, she poured the liquid slowly into a cup, allowing it to flow smoothly through the strainer that plugged the inner entrance to the spout.
She liked this time of the afternoon, as long as she was out of the sun; it was peaceful. Most people were resting and many were asleep. Even the sea seemed much quieter than at other times. One could sit still and hear almost nothing. A very enjoyable nothingness that seemed to be amplified by the one or two intermittent noises that broke the silence now and again. Pleasing, afternoon noises.
Hermione looked through the columned frontage of her house, past a row of flowering lilies in stone pots, towards the sea. She had never known how her mother had felt when she had been captured from the Temple of Athens and taken to Troezen before Hermione herself was born. Her mother had died before Hermione had been old enough to ask anything sensible, anything she could now cling to herself. The other six captive 'maidens' were far away in the hinterland and she was alone. Hermione smiled and listened to the silence. She was thirty-five years old and her five sons were young and healthy, and her daughter Iocepe would look after them. She began to think of things she could have told Iocepe and had not, little things about her own life and about the grandmother she never knew; little things. Memories of Iocepe's childhood began to creep into Hermione's mind, and accompanying them, memories of the son she had lost. She could not forgive Theseus for enticing her son to his death; it was not possible to find such forgiveness in her heart. She would take her revenge. And it would soon be time.
It was a wonder they had not forced Theseus upon her, she thought, and shivered at the possibility.
·
Theseus paced up the dark corridor, turned and paced back again, then came to a decision and walked to a flight of stairs that led to a room he had but recently encountered. Hanging from the handle of the door was the remains of a length of thread.
Poseidon looked down from the vault of heaven and saw Theseus entering a large hall in the Temple Mansion, leading a young Lady of the Goddess by the hand. They were both naked. Nearby stood a huge double axe of bronze, upright on its shaft, stiffly erect as though in emulation and pointing its blades extravagantly towards the walls. Nearby stood a stone ewer and a large bronze cauldron. Theseus poured water into his cupped hand and drank, spilling water into the vessel. Clitia lowered herself to the floor beside an oil lamp which illuminated an area of the hall beyond a low balustrade. The wall was decorated with a spiral frieze and, beneath this, were polished slabs of white stone upon which she gently rested her knee. Upon the polished gypsum floor were blankets, spread invitingly.
Poseidon addressed the Great Goddess.
'Men struggle in a belief that they can improve the world; they change the world in your name. They wield the Axe in your name. But are they working to their own advantage or to yours? Who will look after them when their purpose is served?'
The Goddess smiled with amusement. 'Let my people change the world as I desire,' she said.
'Your world is forever changing. It has been changing for a thousand million years,' said Poseidon. 'Let them seek the changeless!'
'Let them not,' replied the Great Goddess, equably. 'This silliness amuses them and does no harm.' And she became a dove, and flew into the hall where the sounds of lovemaking had become steady and prolonged. And there she settled on a blade of the double axe and took a close look at Theseus.
·
Hermione put down her cup, nestling its round base into the surface of the table and decided to change the sand. In many places, as here, sand painting had been elevated to an art form. After brushing away the last of the old pattern, neither stained nor dusty but simply too familiar, brushing it into a corner of the table and scooping it out with a small hand shovel, she tipped a pot of new, dark brown sand into the rink of the table. What would become of her daughter Iocepe? Was she looking after her brothers properly?
Iocepe would take part in the ladies' Games at Midsummer, at Troezen, when the daughters of the Ladies of the Goddess would race for the privilege of entry into the Temple. Those who performed badly would be slain.
After spending a little time smoothing the sand, Hermione began to cut grooves in it with a wooden spatula, a succession of sweeping spirals, and filled them with silver sand, pale against the dark brown background of iron-stained sand. She remembered showing Iocepe the pattern and explaining its meaning to her. Interconnecting with each other, the spirals were separate but formed from the arms of the two next to it. In fact, each spiral was entirely the work of its neighbours; intertwining, holding hands to create a new spiral. Just as the trees and plants are all believed to be connected with each other by their roots beneath the ground, so the souls of men and women and all of the animals that roam upon the Earth are connected in the inner world, all a part of each other. This is the meaning of the spiral pattern she had taught Iocepe.
'The leaves in light and wait for night, the roots in clay and wait for day.' A childrens' song.
'...the roots are hol, dinghands in clay...' Hermione knelt over the sand-table and covered her face, unable to control her tears.